What Lucinda Learned Read Online Free

I trust.” His nephew filled his own glass. “You’re in no danger at the moment, I suspect. You would never miss a Season.”
    “I enjoy myself, neffy. I’m not as cynical as you, or as romantical as Charles here.”
    “Romantical?” Sir Charles Grantham spluttered indignantly as he reached for the port decanter. “What do you mean, romantical?”
    “It’s all those plays you see, Charles. They can’t help but have an effect. For instance—” Dev shook his head mournfully “—I notice that you have taken to wearing your hair a la Kemble in last Season’s Hamlet. It does for the stage, my dear fellow, but not, I assure you for London drawing rooms.” He closed his eyes and said in a faint voice, “If you do not care for vintage port, Charles, I have some mediocre claret you may brandish about if you wish.”
    “Great heavens!” Ivor rescued the decanter and set it reverently down. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, push, don’t lift port?”
    Sheepishly, Charles apologized, then went on, “But, truly, Dev, are you not looking forward to the Season?”
    Richard raised one straight dark brow and his air of well-bred boredom increased. “When you have seen as many Seasons as I have, Charles, you too will become a trifle weary.”
    “Had as many caps set at him, you mean, and held off as many matchmaking mamas,” Ivor put in with a grin.
    His nephew frowned at him but Ivor continued irrepressibly. “I don’t doubt you’re a catch yourself, Charles, but you can’t compare with Beau Devereux.”
    “I shouldn’t try,” said Charles frankly. “But is that really why you don’t enjoy the Season, Dev?”
    “It’s why he won’t enjoy this one.”
    “Ivor,” said Richard gently, “haven’t you ever heard that good wine is best appreciated in silence?”
    “I don’t suppose you enjoyed much silence with m’sister Melpond.”
    Richard’s lips twitched, and his rare, charming smile lit his face. “How did you know my aunt had visited me?”
    “Told me she was goin’ to. Wanted me to come along as well.”
    “Did she indeed!”
    “Now don’t fly up in the boughs, Ricky. I told her I wouldn’t interfere. Not my affair—not hers, either, if it comes to that, but Melpond never could mind her business.”
    “My aunt was quite right,” said Richard calmly.
    Ivor choked and wine splashed on his waistcoat. “Demme, boy, don’t say things like that when I’m drinking. Hang it, how could Melpond be right?”
    “Her luck has to change sometime.”
    “Come now, Ricky, be serious. You can’t have agreed with her. Dash it all, Charles, you tell him. He can’t have agreed with her.”
    Sir Charles’s bewilderment increased. “I don’t quite...”
    “Parson’s mousetrap,” said Ivor succinctly.
    “Married? You, Dev? Married ?”
    Richard regarded his guests through his monocle. “Your enthusiasm touches me deeply, my dears.”
    Sir Charles flushed. “I say, I didn’t mean, that I never—”
    “Means he never thought to see you under the cat’s foot.” Ivor was unrepentant.
    “Never thought to see it myself.”
    “If you’d done your duty years ago, Ivor, you’d now be surrounded by a parcel of brats and my aunt would not be hounding me to save the family line.”
    “Never one for the petticoats, neffy,” Ivor replied with a chuckle. “But tell me, have you any particular gel in mind, or are you waitin’ to see the current crop?”
    The eyebrows rose. “A schoolroom chit, Ivor?”
    “No, not the thing at all. Sorry I mentioned it. What’s it to be, then? A widow? Not too old, but with—”
    “You are incorrigible, Ivor.”
    “Well, if you don’t have a preference, I’ll wager m’sister Melpond does. Who’s she backing?”
    “You are becoming excessively vulgar, my dear,” Richard complained; nevertheless, he answered. “If you must know, Lady Melpond favours Lady Chloris dePoer.”
    “Lady Chloris dePoer!” his guests echoed.
    “I am glad,” drawled Richard,