The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [42]
“Tickets, Miss Lytton?” the dowager asked.
“Exactly,” Olivia replied, giving her a serene smile. “I know it’s a great fault, but I find I’m so much happier if I have paid for a lecture, even if I fall asleep during it. Education should be expensive, don’t you think?”
“That is absurd,” the dowager pronounced.
“As you yourself have written, Your Grace, ‘A lady should always be aware of the weaknesses in her character.’ ” Then she added, “It hardly needs saying that my mother is a great admirer of The Mirror of Compliments.”
“I am aware of that,” the dowager said, thawing a trifle. “I have met your mother on several occasions, and she always struck me as remarkably sagacious for one of her rank.”
Anger flashed through Olivia’s eyes, and then her smile deepened. No dimple appeared. Quin mentally took a step back. Anyone who thought that smile indicated appreciation was completely deluded.
“You bring to mind another aphorism that might apply,” she said sweetly. “ ‘Even the ghosts of one’s dead ancestors would rather sleep than listen to someone twitter like a jug-bitten parrot.’ ” She paused. “Although now I think on it, perhaps that cannot be attributed to The Mirror of Compliments.”
“You have a lively sense of humor, Miss Lytton,” the dowager remarked. It was not a compliment.
“I’m curious about the ghosts of my living ancestors, not the dead ones,” Justin said, his eyes full of mischief. “What do they do when Quin launches into mathematical conniptions?”
Quin intervened. “Miss Lytton.”
“Your Grace?”
“I promise not to inform you about square roots again without issuing tickets first.”
“I, for one, would enjoy receiving one of those tickets,” Georgiana said, giving him a warm smile. “And I apologize for my sister’s irreverence. I’m afraid that we are used to funning between ourselves.”
She was perfect for him in every way.
“I no longer have the moral fortitude to endure lectures in mathematics,” Justin put in. “So, if you’ll forgive me, Coz, I won’t be buying a ticket to lectures on the complexities of square roots.”
“Miss Georgiana,” his mother said, “I should like to ask your opinion of stone window casements in the Gothic style.”
“Your comment implies you once had the moral fortitude to endure mathematical lectures,” Olivia said to Justin. Her eyes had a way of smiling when she was speaking—as if she were thinking naughty thoughts—that Quin found he quite appreciated.
“No, no, I’ve never had it,” Justin replied, leaning slightly forward. “At least, not when it comes to mathematics. Now if you were talking about something truly interesting . . .”
“Fashion?” she guessed.
“I adore it!” Justin exclaimed, adding, “Life is nothing without the embellishment offered by the proper attire. But my true passion is writing poetry and ballads.”
“Justin has written one hundred and thirty-eight sonnets, all for the same woman,” Quin said, inserting himself into the conversation, though by all rights he should talk with Georgiana. Still, he had nothing to say about casements, a fact his mother had to appreciate.
“Really!” Olivia said, sounding quite impressed.
“It’s called a sonnet cycle,” Justin informed her.
“That is a great many sonnets, and even more rhymes. When you’re writing such a cycle, are you allowed to repeat a few rhymes along the way? Say love and dove?”
“Not doves,” Justin said with a wave of his hand. “Doves are for chimneys and the elderly. And love is harder to rhyme than you might think. How often can one write about gloves, for instance? After you’ve longed to be the glove on your lady’s hand, what else is there to say?”
“Why would anyone want to be a glove on a lady’s hand?” Quin inquired.
Justin rolled his eyes, something he was prone to do whenever Quin participated in a conversation. “Because that glove touches her cheek, of course.”
“Other places, too,” Olivia said thoughtfully.
Quin surprised himself by almost laughing.
“Such as her nose,” she added.
“That is not very romantic,” Justin said, shaking his head at her.
“I’m afraid that I don’t have a romantic soul,” Olivia said apologetically.