“I, ah, I appear to have missed a vital piece of information, Duchess.”
“It’s a reading salon, Raine. You are first,” the duchess said as if she’d already told him this, and not just spoken the words for the first time.
She’d never seen this man anything but confident and assured. Usually there was arrogance also, but right in this moment, Dimity could see only panic. She bit back her smile.
“Reading salon,” he said slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“I never took you for one of those men who don’t pursue the arts, Raine,” the duchess said, looking just a little bit mean. “Too important to lower themselves to read to others.”
“Reading salons are meant to be for literary books.Captain Broadbent and Lady Nauticusbooks are for pleasure, not slumber,” he said.
“Roman mythology is not boring!” The cane thumped.
“So you say.” He looked in control again. “I would disagree, as would at least one in fifty people.”
“That’s because it takes intelligence to understand the great works,” the duchess snapped. “Forty-nine in every fifty people appear to be dimwitted.”
“If you say so.” Lord Raine smiled.
The duchess sniffed, then patted her forehead with a handkerchief. “My head is paining me today. Perhaps a tisane, Dimity.”
“You don’t really expect me to fall for that,” the earl said. “You’re healthier than an ox.”
The duchess lowered the handkerchief. “Acting has never been my strong suit.”
Abby was fighting a smile.
“You’re next to read.” The duchess jabbed her cane at Abby, and she paled. Michael just smiled.
“You’re after them.” She jabbed the cane at him. He nodded regally. “Now move, Raine, we do not have all day.”
“I shall be delighted, Duchess,” Michael simpered.
“Perhaps Lord Raine is shy, Duchess.” Dimity thought she’d at least try to rescue him. After all he had rescued her. “I will read first.”
He shot her a grateful look.
“No, I’m tired of hearing your voice.”
“Charming.” Dimity nibbled her cake.
“Start at page one of the book you brought me, Raine.”
“Loaned you,” he corrected, and she had to admire him for that. Even looking uncomfortable again, he could still rebuke the duchess. Not many did that. But then this man had always spoken his mind and never stepped away from confrontation.
“Mr. Diard and Mr. Allard have arrived, Your Grace,” Chibbers said from the doorway.
“Excellent, and just in time.” The duchess thumped her cane.
In walked an elegantly dressed man. Slender, tall, with blond hair styled perfectly. His face was handsome, with high cheekbones and dark brown eyes. His soft gray coat was embroidered down the lapels in silver. His cuffs were lace. White breeches; an elaborately knotted necktie. His shoe buckles sparkled. The man at his side was smaller, with a solid build, his face pale, expression blank, and he wore a black jacket. Everything about him was the opposite of the man he assisted.
“Your Grace.” Diard bowed deeply. “I am most excited to meet with you.”
“Mr. Diard is here to paint my portrait,” the duchess said. “He has recently arrived from France. This is his assistant.” She waved to Mr. Allard, who was making his way to the far corner of the room, where he pulled out a chair and sat. “He has painted royalty and nobility, and now I am paying him an exorbitant sum to paint me with Romulus.”
Dimity had heard the Frenchman was coming but had not expected someone quite so flamboyant.
“Do you read, Mr. Diard?” the duchess asked. The man showed no surprise at the question.
