“Thank you, Makepeace,” Percival said. “I look forward to hearing facts I had not considered and am open to changing my opinion. For now, my opinion is this—Theobald did have a manuscript namedCardenio, I believe it was co-written by Shakespeare and Fletcher based on the similarities of writing found in another of their collaborations,The Noble Kinsman. I also believe Theobald thought he was improving on Shakespeare and Fletcher’s work by doing away with the subplot and the usual complications associated with Shakespeare. Though, I think we can all agree thatDouble Falsehooddoes not accomplish the aim of improving on Shakespeare. I speculate that Theobald refused to show the original manuscripts because he was either not as confident of his work as he claimed, or that he had obtained the manuscripts in some manner less than usual. Perhaps there was even written a clue on them as to where they had come from.”
Percival paused and looked round the room. It seemed everyone had settled themselves where they wished to be. The gentlemen who would have studied the linguistics were already together, those that would have raked through records and gathered correspondence had already various papers laid out, a certain group who were all friends had taken up a corner, and then there were his newest members—his aunt and her “troupe.”
“Discuss and debate,” Percival said, “while I circulate the room.”
An immediate chatter rose up. Makepeace made his way to the grouping who had laid out their records. Percival went to the board for a glass of wine and surveyed the scene.
It was very gratifying to see so many brought together with the same thirst for knowing. It had always been so with himself. His father used to complain that most young men had to be chased into a schoolroom, while he had to be chased out of it.
There was so much to know, and one life would never be enough time to know all of it.
He smiled to himself when he thought back to how hard he’d worked to master those things thetonvalued. He’d learned to ride creditably, and he really did enjoy it, but he’d come at it with full concentration and effort so it might be mastered in as little time possible.
Taking up a sword had been a straightforward effort, as he’d found it easy to pick up. The same with shooting bird.
He was a good shot, at least he used to be—he could not remember when last he’d bothered with it. As for hunting fox, that was where he’d put his foot down. People could be hired to do it and he thought it the stupidest waste of time in the world to go riding all over creation for a full day and usually return with nothing to show for it.
All his childhood, aside from some of his tutors, he’d been surrounded by people who did not spend much time in a library. For him, the library had been a sanctuary away from the doings of the household. It had been one of the great joys of reaching his majority to surround himself with like-minded people.
These days, he did not always closet himself away with a book. He’d learned that was not a very good way to go on. He enjoyed balls and parties as much as the next man, and he valued the friendships he’d made through Darden and the YBC, but he must have his intellectual pursuits too or life would feel very empty.
As he thought which group he might eavesdrop on first, as that was always what he did on such a night—act the magpie collecting bits and bobs of ideas—his aunt’s grouping kept pulling at his attention.
He’d thought they’d all be looking around and rather lost, but they were heads together and talking.
Perhaps he had been wrong about the ladies. Perhaps he ought to be ashamed of his assumptions. He did not like to misjudge people.
He walked over. “Ladies, might I listen in on your debate?”
All of them looked up, very startled to see him. Lady Cordelia looked almost frightened to see him.
Lady Rawley was the first to speak. “Nephew, we do not have the first idea of anything Makepeace said just now.”
Percival nodded, and he had to admit to himself that he’d been unfair. All the other members had months of time to look into the question. The ladies could hardly be expected to know much about it.
“This is understandable,” he said. “I send out a list of literary debates over the summer and so everybody else has had ages to prepare.”
He signaled to a footman, who hurried over. “James, please retrieve five copies of our schedule for the ladies.”
“That is most kind, Lord Harveston,” Lady Cordelia said.
He nodded, feeling somehow proud of himself, though he could not say why. “Perhaps, for this evening, you might all simply enjoy the offerings on the sideboard?”
“Oh, you are not to think we do not have our own subject to debate,” Lady Rawley said. “In fact, I’ll have a look at your little list of proposed topics and see if we might fit in some of our own suggestions.”
“Suggestions?” Percival asked warily.
“Indeed,” his aunt said. “My dear, you must admit that this night’s subject is rather…dry.”
“Dry?”
“Yes, Lord Harveston,” Lady Agatha said, “rather dry. Now, you are not to feel downhearted about it. A bachelor cannot manage everything on his own.”
“I see,” Percival said, feeling less sympathetic to the group by the minute. “And your suggestions would run along the lines of?”
“Well, take us talking just now, Lord Harveston,” Mrs. Robinson said. “We are having a lively discussion overThe Dreadful Doings of Dembric Dale.”
“Is someone going to kill the duchess’ father?” Miss Mayton said. “Will it be the duke?”
