perhaps the first attempt at standardizing a uniquely American system of spelling and pronunciation.”
“It must have taken him years. When I was at school, we had to copy out passages from Dr. Johnson’s dictionary whenever we misbehaved. I never made it past the letter C .”
“Perhaps you misbehaved less than most.”
“No.” She laughed. “Quite the contrary. None of the other girls even got through B .”
He glanced across at her, and a look of almost boyish embarrassment crossed his face. “I’ve made myself sound wretchedly dull and pedantic, haven’t I? But language fascinates me, especially its history. In America, for instance, they say fall for autumn and gotten for the past participle of got , exactly as Shakespeare once did. The words have been preserved there, tucked safely away across the ocean, though they’ve since faded from use in England.”
“So you’re interested specifically in the history of English?”
“Yes, though of course our language has been influenced by a host of other tongues, from the Old High German of the Anglo-Saxons to the French of their Norman conquerors. One can even read the clash of those two cultures in the words we use today. While the conquered Saxon peasantry worked the land and gave the animals they tended good Anglo-Saxon names like cow and pig and sheep , their Norman rulers were enjoying the benefits of that labor, conferring French names on their food like beef and pork and mutton . As a result, our animals have one name, while their meat has another.”
“Oh. I never realized...”
“All the borrowing English has done has given it a richness of nuance no other language can match. We have both an Anglo-Saxon and a Latinate word for nearly every idea, with the Latinate generally giving the loftier impression, and the Anglo-Saxon the more direct. My favorite example comes from Macbeth . ‘Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.’”
Rosalie savored the words. They sounded so stirring when he spoke them, so poetic. “‘Making the green one red...’”
“Incarnadine.” He nodded. “I’m hardly the first man to say it, but Shakespeare was a genius—’not of an age, but for all time.’” The marquess smiled ruefully. “I have been droning on, haven’t I? I apologize for inflicting my eccentricities on you.”
“No, I’m most interested! I’ve been to several of the places where Shakespeare set his plays—Verona, Venice, even Kronborg Castle in Denmark. Do you speak any other languages, Lord Deal?”
“I do, though I’m interested principally in their influence on English. Greek and Latin, of course, but also French, Italian, German, Dutch, Spanish, and a smattering of Persian and Hindi.”
“All those?” She gaped at him. “You speak that many languages?”
“Well, I can read and write them, with varying degrees of fluency.” Again, he looked vaguely embarrassed. “I had the misfortune to inspire one of Brummell’s witticisms a few years back, when he remarked, ‘I’m told Deal speaks ten languages—just not to anyone we know.’”
Rosalie giggled. “Oh, dear. I suppose I shouldn’t laugh.”
“No, I don’t mind. I laughed myself, when I heard it from my valet.”
How comfortable she felt with him, talking amid the familiar sounds of the ship’s creak and the lapping waves—how much freer and lighter than before. For the first time since her father’s death she’d been feeling like her old self again, if only for a little while.
But beside her, Lord Deal had broken into a pensive frown. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday after your father’s burial service.” He slid one hand along the ship’s rail. “Indeed, it’s been so much on my mind I feel I must ask you another personal question.”
She waited, searching his face.
“You’ve said you mean to live with
“It must have taken him years. When I was at school, we had to copy out passages from Dr. Johnson’s dictionary whenever we misbehaved. I never made it past the letter C .”
“Perhaps you misbehaved less than most.”
“No.” She laughed. “Quite the contrary. None of the other girls even got through B .”
He glanced across at her, and a look of almost boyish embarrassment crossed his face. “I’ve made myself sound wretchedly dull and pedantic, haven’t I? But language fascinates me, especially its history. In America, for instance, they say fall for autumn and gotten for the past participle of got , exactly as Shakespeare once did. The words have been preserved there, tucked safely away across the ocean, though they’ve since faded from use in England.”
“So you’re interested specifically in the history of English?”
“Yes, though of course our language has been influenced by a host of other tongues, from the Old High German of the Anglo-Saxons to the French of their Norman conquerors. One can even read the clash of those two cultures in the words we use today. While the conquered Saxon peasantry worked the land and gave the animals they tended good Anglo-Saxon names like cow and pig and sheep , their Norman rulers were enjoying the benefits of that labor, conferring French names on their food like beef and pork and mutton . As a result, our animals have one name, while their meat has another.”
“Oh. I never realized...”
“All the borrowing English has done has given it a richness of nuance no other language can match. We have both an Anglo-Saxon and a Latinate word for nearly every idea, with the Latinate generally giving the loftier impression, and the Anglo-Saxon the more direct. My favorite example comes from Macbeth . ‘Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red.’”
Rosalie savored the words. They sounded so stirring when he spoke them, so poetic. “‘Making the green one red...’”
“Incarnadine.” He nodded. “I’m hardly the first man to say it, but Shakespeare was a genius—’not of an age, but for all time.’” The marquess smiled ruefully. “I have been droning on, haven’t I? I apologize for inflicting my eccentricities on you.”
“No, I’m most interested! I’ve been to several of the places where Shakespeare set his plays—Verona, Venice, even Kronborg Castle in Denmark. Do you speak any other languages, Lord Deal?”
“I do, though I’m interested principally in their influence on English. Greek and Latin, of course, but also French, Italian, German, Dutch, Spanish, and a smattering of Persian and Hindi.”
“All those?” She gaped at him. “You speak that many languages?”
“Well, I can read and write them, with varying degrees of fluency.” Again, he looked vaguely embarrassed. “I had the misfortune to inspire one of Brummell’s witticisms a few years back, when he remarked, ‘I’m told Deal speaks ten languages—just not to anyone we know.’”
Rosalie giggled. “Oh, dear. I suppose I shouldn’t laugh.”
“No, I don’t mind. I laughed myself, when I heard it from my valet.”
How comfortable she felt with him, talking amid the familiar sounds of the ship’s creak and the lapping waves—how much freer and lighter than before. For the first time since her father’s death she’d been feeling like her old self again, if only for a little while.
But beside her, Lord Deal had broken into a pensive frown. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday after your father’s burial service.” He slid one hand along the ship’s rail. “Indeed, it’s been so much on my mind I feel I must ask you another personal question.”
She waited, searching his face.
“You’ve said you mean to live with
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