The Lost Duke of Wyndham by Julia Quinn Page B

straight ahead as she answered, “Nonsense. All of the best opinions are formed in an instant. You know that very well. ‘Else you’d be married to that repulsive little cousin of yours, wouldn’t you?”
    Grace thought of Miles, ensconced in her old home. She had to admit, every now and then the dowager got things exactly right.
    â€œSurely you have something to say, Miss Eversleigh.”
    The fan rose and fell three times before Grace decided upon, “He seems to have a buoyant sense of humor.”
    â€œBuoyant.” The dowager repeated the word, her voice curious, as if she were testing it out on her tongue. “An apt adjective. I should not have thought of it, but it is fitting.”
    It was about as close to a compliment as the dowager ever got.
    â€œHe is rather like his father,” the dowager continued.
    Grace moved the fan from one hand to the other, murmuring, “Is he?”
    â€œIndeed. Although if his father had been a bit more… buoyant , we’d not be in this mess, would we?”
    Grace choked on air. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I should have chosen my words more carefully.”
    The dowager did not bother to acknowledge the apology. “His levity is much like his father. My John was never one to allow a serious moment to pass him by. He had the most cutting wit.”
    â€œI would not say that Mr. Audley is cutting,” Grace said. His humor was far too sly.
    â€œHis name is not Mr. Audley, and of course he is,” the dowager said sharply. “You’re too besotted to see it.”
    â€œI am not besotted,” Grace protested.
    â€œOf course you are. Any girl would be. He is most handsome. Pity about the eyes, though.”
    â€œWhat I am,” Grace said, resisting the urge to point out that there was nothing wrong with green eyes, “is overset. It has been a most exhausting day. And night,” she added after a thought.
    The dowager shrugged. “My son’s wit was legendary,” she said, setting the conversation back to where she wished it. “You wouldn’t have thought it cutting, either, but that was simply because he was far too clever. It is a brilliant man who can make insult without the recipient even realizing.”
    Grace thought that rather sad. “What is the point, then?”
    â€œThe point?” The dowager blinked several times in rapid succession. “Of what?”
    â€œOf insulting someone.” Grace shifted the fan again, then shook out her free hand; her fingers were cramped from clutching the handle. “Or I should say,” she amended, since she was quite sure the dowager could find many good reasons to cut someone down, “of insulting someone with intention of their not noticing it?”
    The dowager still did not look at her, but Grace could see that she rolled her eyes. “It is a source of pride, Miss Eversleigh. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
    â€œNo,” Grace said softly. “I wouldn’t.”
    â€œYou don’t know what it means to excel at something.” The dowager pursed her lips and stretched her neck slightly from side to side. “You couldn’t know.”
    Which had to be as cutting an insult as any, exceptthat the dowager seemed completely unaware she’d done it.
    There was irony in there somewhere. There had to be.
    â€œWe live in interesting times, Miss Eversleigh,” the dowager commented.
    Grace nodded silently, turning her head to the side so that the dowager, should she ever choose to turn her head in her direction, would not see the tears in her eyes. Her parents had lacked the funds to travel, but theirs had been wandering hearts, and the Eversleigh home had been filled with maps and books about faraway places. Like it was yesterday, Grace remembered the time they had all been sitting in front of the fire, engrossed in their own reading, and her father looked up from his book and