“Possibly not. I am accounted to be a very dull fellow, not at all knowledgeable about the latest opera or play, or who is cozening whom. There are a great many cockscombs at court, and some of them resemble my handsome rooster.”
A smile twitched at the corners of Celeste’s mouth, but she simply returned to the culling inventory and read, “Twelve bushels neeps, wrinkled but in good condition.” She frowned a moment, then gave a little laugh. “That is why we had turnip soup and mashed turnips. The Duchess was exceedingly wroth with that menu.”
The Duke smiled in return. “I read the note she sent down to the cook. It is fortunate that there are melons in the orangery and that the spring strawberries are coming on. Otherwise I fear I might have had to protect our cook, whom I should be exceedingly sorry to lose. He does a fine job of producing excellent meals with whatever he has on hand.”
Celeste nodded emphatically. “I have never eaten so well as I have here. I fear I shall soon grow fat with all the good food.”
“Then we shall simply have to keep you too busy to become rotund.”You could use a little extra meat on those bones, although they are very fine bones, indeed.
When the hour candle had burned down a mark and a half, Jonathan declared that they had done enough for the evening. “Go down and get a little something from the cook, then seek your bed. You have been hiding yawns this last quarter hour. We have made good inroads on this mound of paper, and Mr. McAhmladhson will be relieved not to have to do it himself or to rely on clumsy apprentices to take care of it.”
Celeste carefully corked the ink bottle and wiped the wooden pen on the cloth that lay ready to do that duty. She then rose, gave a little curtsy and said, “Thank you, Your Grace, for a most instructive evening. I have enjoyed it.”
“So have I, Miss Singer. Your questions are cogent and your views quite refreshing. Perhaps I can count on your assistance tomorrow evening?”
Celeste flashed him a smile of genuine pleasure. “I shall be very glad to help, Your Grace.”
Chapter 35
The shadow man tapped lightly at the Duchess’s door as soon as he was sure that Miss Singer would not be returning. That the abigail had gone into the Duke’s office was not necessarily a good thing, but from the tenor of the snippet of conversation he had listened to, they would be busy for some time.
When the Duchess opened the door, he slipped inside, closing it behind him.
“It’s about time,” she hissed. “My stomach is roiling, my head aches, and I was ready to throw the stupid abigail out the window.”
“Shh, shh, my love. Come sit down, I have your medicine. You will feel better in just a few minutes.” Margery sat on the vanity stool. From an inner coat pocket the shadow man produced a small, brown vial and a spoon. He poured a small amount of the liquid into the spoon. “Open up now, there’s a good girl. Into the mouth and down the hatch. Now, give it a minute and you will soon feel better.”
Margery sat still for a moment, then said, “Oh! I feel better already.”
“That’s good. Now, let me guide you over to the bed before you begin to feel its full effects, and you can tell me how you allowed the abigail to entertain you.”
“She read to me.”
“She reads?”
“Yes, in two languages. One wonders why she did not become a governess instead of an abigail.”
“Perhaps because she needed a position, or perhaps she had some other motive. Tell me, what did she read?”
“She read from Tales from Shakespeare. I asked her to read ‘All’s Well that Ends Well’.”
“Awwww,” the shadow man crooned, “Were you so desperate as all that, my love?”
“Oh, Roddy, I was.”
“Shhh, shhh, no names. The walls have ears.”
“Big, pink ears?”
“Aye, and little brown ones. Let’s not give them anything to use against us. Besides, it is just the two of us, my little sweet. Who needs names?”
“A rose by any other name…” Margery giggled. “I do love Shakespeare. If I can’t call you by your name, what should I call you?”
“Romeo?” the shadow man asked roguishly.
“I don’t like that one,” Margery pouted. “The lovers die in the end, and there is no fun in that.”
“Jacque?”
