and set the decanter on the table next to the leather armchair that had once been his grandfather’s. For some minutes the three sat in comfortable contemplation of the fire crackling in the stone fireplace. Finally, Brummell broke the silence. “Interesting evening, your grace, although I suspect Rankin had the best of it.” He smiled lazily at the man sitting beside him. “Dare I ask what subject you and the fascinating Miss Haliburton found so engrossing during dinner?”
“Mesopotamian myths and legends; her father’s research into the God-King Gilgamesh, to be precise.” Edgar Rankin sipped his brandy. “It turns out Miss Haliburton is the daughter of Farley Haliburton, the scholar who wrote that treatise on Orestes you liked so well, Jar…your grace. She was most pleased to learn it was in the library of your London town house.”
“Unless my memory has failed me, I believe Orestes was a Greek, not a Mesopotamian,” the duke said dryly. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen Edgar so enthusiastic about any female. It was a little disconcerting.
“According to Miss Haliburton, her father spent the greater part of his life researching Greek and Roman mythology. It was only after the British Museum staged that exhibition of the Nineveh tablets a few years ago that he became interested in Middle Eastern mythology. She hopes to complete the Gilgamesh work and publish it in his name.”
“So Miss Haliburton is not only an accomplished pianist, but a bluestocking as well.” Montford poured himself another brandy and handed the decanter to Rankin. “Has this original any other talents that you know of, or should I ask that question of you, Brummell? I noticed you spent a considerable time conversing with her later in the evening.”
“That I did,” the Beau admitted. “I was attempting to ascertain why a discerning fellow like Rankin was so drawn to a woman with such execrable taste in clothing—as well as one whose chief function appears to be bear-leading her lovely young cousin.” He smiled his famous, caustic smile. “Although your heir presumptive appears to be relieving her of some of her duties in that quarter.”
“And was your curiosity about Miss Haliburton satisfied?” the duke asked, pointedly ignoring the reference to the way that young fool, Percival, had ogled Lady Lucinda all evening.
Entirely. The lady informed me both idiosyncrasies stem from necessity rather than choice.” He chuckled. “When I complimented her on the originality of her dress, she flat out accused me of dealing her Spanish coin. I believe her exact words were ‘It is one of Lady Lucinda’s done over. It probably suited her admirably. I, however, resemble an overstuffed Christmas goose.’”
The duke stifled a laugh; he could well imagine the outspoken Miss Haliburton saying such a thing.
Brummell accepted the decanter from Edgar Rankin and poured an inch of brandy into his glass. “The lady is no beauty but she is as you say, your grace, an original. If I could take her in hand, starve off a few pounds and dress her decently, I guarantee she would take London by storm.”
“By all means a change of dress, but never suggest reducing the lady’s measurements in the duke’s presence,” Rankin said with a chuckle. “It is well known his grace prefers his women plump.”
“Voluptuous. Not plump. However, Miss Haliburton is not one of my women,” the duke pointed out. “I am amazed you both should be so intrigued by a lady of plain countenance with five beauties to choose from.”
Edgar Rankin shrugged. “But the beauties had eyes only for you, your grace.”
“Or for my title, at any rate,” the duke said sourly. “But that is a subject best left unexplored.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “However, do continue your discussion of the fascinating Miss Haliburton. Tell me, was her expertise limited to Mesopotamian legends or could she converse on other subjects as well?”
“She had a
“Mesopotamian myths and legends; her father’s research into the God-King Gilgamesh, to be precise.” Edgar Rankin sipped his brandy. “It turns out Miss Haliburton is the daughter of Farley Haliburton, the scholar who wrote that treatise on Orestes you liked so well, Jar…your grace. She was most pleased to learn it was in the library of your London town house.”
“Unless my memory has failed me, I believe Orestes was a Greek, not a Mesopotamian,” the duke said dryly. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen Edgar so enthusiastic about any female. It was a little disconcerting.
“According to Miss Haliburton, her father spent the greater part of his life researching Greek and Roman mythology. It was only after the British Museum staged that exhibition of the Nineveh tablets a few years ago that he became interested in Middle Eastern mythology. She hopes to complete the Gilgamesh work and publish it in his name.”
“So Miss Haliburton is not only an accomplished pianist, but a bluestocking as well.” Montford poured himself another brandy and handed the decanter to Rankin. “Has this original any other talents that you know of, or should I ask that question of you, Brummell? I noticed you spent a considerable time conversing with her later in the evening.”
“That I did,” the Beau admitted. “I was attempting to ascertain why a discerning fellow like Rankin was so drawn to a woman with such execrable taste in clothing—as well as one whose chief function appears to be bear-leading her lovely young cousin.” He smiled his famous, caustic smile. “Although your heir presumptive appears to be relieving her of some of her duties in that quarter.”
“And was your curiosity about Miss Haliburton satisfied?” the duke asked, pointedly ignoring the reference to the way that young fool, Percival, had ogled Lady Lucinda all evening.
Entirely. The lady informed me both idiosyncrasies stem from necessity rather than choice.” He chuckled. “When I complimented her on the originality of her dress, she flat out accused me of dealing her Spanish coin. I believe her exact words were ‘It is one of Lady Lucinda’s done over. It probably suited her admirably. I, however, resemble an overstuffed Christmas goose.’”
The duke stifled a laugh; he could well imagine the outspoken Miss Haliburton saying such a thing.
Brummell accepted the decanter from Edgar Rankin and poured an inch of brandy into his glass. “The lady is no beauty but she is as you say, your grace, an original. If I could take her in hand, starve off a few pounds and dress her decently, I guarantee she would take London by storm.”
“By all means a change of dress, but never suggest reducing the lady’s measurements in the duke’s presence,” Rankin said with a chuckle. “It is well known his grace prefers his women plump.”
“Voluptuous. Not plump. However, Miss Haliburton is not one of my women,” the duke pointed out. “I am amazed you both should be so intrigued by a lady of plain countenance with five beauties to choose from.”
Edgar Rankin shrugged. “But the beauties had eyes only for you, your grace.”
“Or for my title, at any rate,” the duke said sourly. “But that is a subject best left unexplored.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “However, do continue your discussion of the fascinating Miss Haliburton. Tell me, was her expertise limited to Mesopotamian legends or could she converse on other subjects as well?”
“She had a
Similar Books
