Losing the Earl: Regency Romance Clean Read (Yearnings for Love Book 2) by Rebecca Grave Page B
Authors: Rebecca Grave
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secure in himself as well. Her Samuel was an honorable man to be sure, but something felt out of place she couldn’t quite identify.
The American gentlemen seemed satisfied, and the guests began talking amongst themselves as three footmen entered with food. It looked to be an interesting night ahead.
Chapter 3
Placing sterling platters on the table, they removed the lids in unison revealing three different cooked birds.
Samuel started, “I see we have cooked pheasant, partridge, brazed goose, and off to the side we have a libertine swan and a saintly savage raven.” He burst into laughter and a few other guests added their chuckles, including Mary who felt it only right to join in.
“And a rather dim roasted pig!” said William, flashing a brilliant white smile as the dinner table erupted in laughter. At the far end of the table, Mary’s father suddenly whooped louder than the rest. His face turned a bright red, and Mary worried if it was not laughter but choking. He covered his face with one hand, his free hand slapping the tabletop as he regained composure. It was unlike her father.
Mary looked at her disapproving in-laws to be. To make things worse her father continued, “Good lord boy, dim roasted pig! Next time I get a meal at The Seven Stars I have to tell that one.”
Mary’s anger doused her mortification. Her father was a wealthy man and worldly traveled, excelling in all manner of custom, so why this display?
It bothered her. But those laughing were not the true offenders; this William Caulfield from America dealt the barb in the manner of a true vulgarian. He and his companion filled their plates with her family’s food while ridiculing them.
Their gall could not go unchecked.
“Are all men from America as brutish in wit as you are sir?”
He placed his hand on heart, “Forgive my impertinence if I offended you, Lady Mary.”
Samuel cleared his throat, “We have a man who has lived amongst the savages in the wilderness of the America’s. He has brought with him a slave,” a slight raise of the eyebrows from the two men, “I’m sorry, a former slave, amongst polite society, they must be permitted grace. We should be glad they are not eating with their hands,” said Samuel, looking around. “What was it the great bard said in Othello? ‘Thick-lips sure is lucky if he can pull this off.’”
Mary ignored Lucy's tittering and focused on Mr. Caulfield, wondering how he’d react. After he finished chewing his food, he reached for his wine glass and sipped. Putting the glass back down, he picked up his napkin and wiped his lips. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave the table, and then she realized he was taking his time to reply.
“It is my observation that men of false culture quote Shakespeare but seldom know other poets or playwright. If they can quote anything from a book not by written by your bard, it is something they heard at mass or authored by a French Lord in a lunatic asylum.”
“A French Lord in a lunatic asylum?” Mary asked.
“He’s referring to the horrid works of the Marquis De Sade,” said Samuel. “A vile lunatic, he wrote the most disgusting books known to man. Among his titles ‘Justine’ and the infamous ‘The One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom.’ The books are description after description of unspeakable carnal acts with no plot or characters.”
“I have not read them myself, but you seem to know how to describe them with accuracy. But to my point, when people quote Shakespeare using his words in lieu of wit, I find it fascinating he is the only poet chosen.” The conversation had moved further into personal territory now, with other guests leaning to hear. “Sonnets and plays aside, do you know any other work? Your own Ben Johnson perhaps?”
Samuel chortled, “Pray tell good sir, do you not come from a country filled only with barbarians? America will sooner turn out a great poet then
The American gentlemen seemed satisfied, and the guests began talking amongst themselves as three footmen entered with food. It looked to be an interesting night ahead.
Chapter 3
Placing sterling platters on the table, they removed the lids in unison revealing three different cooked birds.
Samuel started, “I see we have cooked pheasant, partridge, brazed goose, and off to the side we have a libertine swan and a saintly savage raven.” He burst into laughter and a few other guests added their chuckles, including Mary who felt it only right to join in.
“And a rather dim roasted pig!” said William, flashing a brilliant white smile as the dinner table erupted in laughter. At the far end of the table, Mary’s father suddenly whooped louder than the rest. His face turned a bright red, and Mary worried if it was not laughter but choking. He covered his face with one hand, his free hand slapping the tabletop as he regained composure. It was unlike her father.
Mary looked at her disapproving in-laws to be. To make things worse her father continued, “Good lord boy, dim roasted pig! Next time I get a meal at The Seven Stars I have to tell that one.”
Mary’s anger doused her mortification. Her father was a wealthy man and worldly traveled, excelling in all manner of custom, so why this display?
It bothered her. But those laughing were not the true offenders; this William Caulfield from America dealt the barb in the manner of a true vulgarian. He and his companion filled their plates with her family’s food while ridiculing them.
Their gall could not go unchecked.
“Are all men from America as brutish in wit as you are sir?”
He placed his hand on heart, “Forgive my impertinence if I offended you, Lady Mary.”
Samuel cleared his throat, “We have a man who has lived amongst the savages in the wilderness of the America’s. He has brought with him a slave,” a slight raise of the eyebrows from the two men, “I’m sorry, a former slave, amongst polite society, they must be permitted grace. We should be glad they are not eating with their hands,” said Samuel, looking around. “What was it the great bard said in Othello? ‘Thick-lips sure is lucky if he can pull this off.’”
Mary ignored Lucy's tittering and focused on Mr. Caulfield, wondering how he’d react. After he finished chewing his food, he reached for his wine glass and sipped. Putting the glass back down, he picked up his napkin and wiped his lips. For a moment, she thought he was going to leave the table, and then she realized he was taking his time to reply.
“It is my observation that men of false culture quote Shakespeare but seldom know other poets or playwright. If they can quote anything from a book not by written by your bard, it is something they heard at mass or authored by a French Lord in a lunatic asylum.”
“A French Lord in a lunatic asylum?” Mary asked.
“He’s referring to the horrid works of the Marquis De Sade,” said Samuel. “A vile lunatic, he wrote the most disgusting books known to man. Among his titles ‘Justine’ and the infamous ‘The One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom.’ The books are description after description of unspeakable carnal acts with no plot or characters.”
“I have not read them myself, but you seem to know how to describe them with accuracy. But to my point, when people quote Shakespeare using his words in lieu of wit, I find it fascinating he is the only poet chosen.” The conversation had moved further into personal territory now, with other guests leaning to hear. “Sonnets and plays aside, do you know any other work? Your own Ben Johnson perhaps?”
Samuel chortled, “Pray tell good sir, do you not come from a country filled only with barbarians? America will sooner turn out a great poet then
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