Read Online A Christmas Gambol by Joan Smith - Free Book Online

flatter a scholar of classics without making a fool of yourself? I assume you haven’t studied Latin or Greek?” He was coming to realize, however, that she had read more widely than most young girls. Where had she come across the idea of incest? She had picked up pretty quickly on the questionable ethics of Murray’s association with the Quarterly as well.
    She cast her eyes down modestly. “Indeed no. I am only a simple country girl, Lord Montaigne. We leave such scholarly pursuits to you gentlemen. How should I hope to understand the wisdom of Socrates and Aristotle, even if I could read Latin?”
    “Actually they were Greeks,” Montaigne said.
    Cicely gave a shy smile, allowing her long lashes to flutter a moment. “There, you see how ignorant I am. I wish I knew about such things. I want to be a really serious writer, you know. Could you recommend a good translation into English of those great philosophers for me, Montaigne?”
    “I wish you would call me Monty,” he said, in a warmer tone. She lifted her downcast eyes and smiled shyly at him. Montaigne began to see Cicely was really more interesting than he had imagined. There was more to her than a provincial miss. “That is very ambitious of you, my dear. I should be happy to find a copy of a good translation. I daresay I have one in my library somewhere.”
    “Perhaps you would lend it to me, sometime when you have a moment free, I mean. Naturally I would not impose on your important work in the House.”
    “I’ll dig it out this very night and bring it tomorrow.”
    Sissie’s fluttering eyelashes fell still. Her shy smile turned to an impish grin. “And you think I can’t flatter an aging bachelor into submission! I have just conned you, Monty. You did ask me to call you Monty, did you not?”
    “Good God! Hoist by my own petard.”
    “No, sir, by the wind of vanity.”
    “Not much chance for vanity when you call me an old bachelor.” Was that how she saw him?
    “I didn’t say old! Don’t worry. With all your blunt and an abbey besides, you’re still young enough to be eligible.”
    “Nothing like an estate to maintain one’s youthful eligibility.”
    “As good as Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth. But you underestimate your charms, Montaigne,” she said, with a tinge of admiration lighting her eyes. “You have a good deal more to offer than an abbey.”
    “Dare I ask the meaning of that mischievous remark?”
    “I refer, of course, to your title.”
    He glared. “Of course.”
    “I was just joking. You’re not as bad as most of them, from what I have seen.”
    “Let us end the subject of my multifarious attractions on that faint praise.”
    “Yes, it’s time for you to be leaving. My cocoa is gone. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” Montaigne allowed a small smile to peep out. “You did promise to bring me that translation.” His smile faded. Cicely’s grew broader.
    She rose, made a curtsy, and left. Montaigne sat on a moment, frowning at the task before him: to contain the mischief of this chit for the few days she was to remain in London.
     

Chapter Six
     
    In the morning, Cicely jotted down her recollections of the previous evening while the details were fresh in her mind. That done, she began seeking out and writing up new research for her next novel. This involved not only a tour of Fairly’s house but a particular perusal of Meg’s room. She counted the gowns in her armoires, examined them to see what sort of ornaments were in style, and lifted the lid of each silver-topped container on her toilet table. Meg was in attendance, to explain any mysteries.
    “At home, wearing rouge is considered pretty fast. Do all the young ladies wear it here?” Cicely asked.
    “Three-quarters of them do. Not that they admit it. Sukey Dorman tries to pretend her color is natural, but once when she was weeping because her horrid husband wouldn’t buy her a high-perch phaeton, I noticed that her handkerchief had pink