The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [11]
“Juliet Fallesbury? Whom did her father choose? All I remember is that she ran away with a gardener she nicknamed Longfellow.”
“Romeo and Juliet, ninny!”
“Shakespeare never wrote anything relevant to my life,” Olivia stated, “at least until they discover a long-lost tragedy called Much Ado about Olivia and the Fool. Rupert is no Romeo. He’s never shown the least inclination to dissolve our betrothal.”
“In that case, I expect he feels too young to be married. He wants to sow some wild oats.”
They were both silent for a moment, trying to picture Rupert’s wild oats. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?” Olivia said, after a bit. “I simply cannot envision the FF shaking the sheets.”
“You shouldn’t be able to envision anyone shaking the sheets,” Georgiana said weakly.
“Save your tedious virtue for when there’s someone in the room who might care,” Olivia advised her, not unkindly. “Do you suppose that Rupert has any idea of the mechanics involved?”
“Maybe he’s hoping that by the time he comes back from France, he will be an inch or two taller.”
“Oh, believe me,” Olivia said with a shudder, “I have recurring nightmares about the two of us walking down the aisle in St. Paul’s. Mother will force me into a wedding dress adorned with bunches of tulle so I’ll be twice as tall and twice as wide as my groom. Rupert will have that absurd little dog of his trotting at his side, which will only call attention to the fact that the dog has a better waistline than I do.”
“I shall take Mother in hand when it comes to your gown,” Georgiana promised. “But your wedding dress is irrelevant to this discussion as pertains to tomorrow’s seduction.”
“ ‘Pertains to?’ I really think you should be careful, Georgie. Your language is tainted by that pestilent Mirror even when we’re alone.”
“You’ll have to think of tomorrow as a trial, like Hercules cleaning out the Augean stables.”
“I’d rather muck out the stables than seduce a man who’s a head shorter and as light as thistledown.”
“Offer him a glass of spirits,” Georgiana suggested. “Do you remember how terrified Nurse Luddle was of men who drank spirits? She said they turned into raging satyrs.”
“Rupert, the Raging Satyr,” Olivia said thoughtfully. “I can just see him skipping through the forest on his frisky little hooves.”
“Hooves might give him a distinguished air. Especially if he had a goatee. Satyrs always have goatees.”
“Rupert would have trouble with that. I told him tonight that I thought his attempt to grow a mustache was interesting, but I was lying. Don’t satyrs have little horns as well?”
“Yes, and tails.”
“A tail might—just might—give Rupert a devilish air, like one of those rakes who are rumored to have slept with half the ton. Maybe I’ll try to imagine him with those embellishments tomorrow evening.”
“You’ll start giggling,” Georgiana warned. “You’re not supposed to laugh at your husband during intimate moments. It might put him off.”
“For one thing, he’s not my husband. For another, one either laughs at Rupert or bursts into tears. While we were dancing tonight I asked him what his father thought about his plan to win glory, and he stopped in the middle of the ballroom and announced, ‘The duck can dip an eagle’s wings but to no avail!’ And then he threw out his arm and struck Lady Tunstall so hard that her wig fell off.”
“I saw that,” Georgiana said. “From the side of the room it looked as if she was making a rather unnecessary fuss. It just drew more attention.”
“Rupert handed back her wig with the charming comment that she didn’t look in the least like someone who was bald, and he never would have guessed it.”
Georgiana nodded. “An exciting moment for her, no doubt. I don’t understand the bit about the duck, though.”
“No one could. Life with Rupert is going to be a series of exciting moments requiring interpretation.”
“The duck must be the duke,” Georgiana said, still puzzling over it. “Perhaps dipping the eagle’s wings should be clipping? What do you think? That implies Rupert thinks