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Alice suppressed a giggle, and March and Berthold grinned widely, but Bill’s face remained impassive.
Nick frowned. “I said an easterly wind. To fill her sails. On her voyage. She won’t be staying with us for long.”
“Oh?” the duke said. “Where are you going, my dear?”
“To India,” Alice replied.
“Bully!” cried March. “Hear that Bill? She’s leaving soon.”
Alice chose to ignore him. Really, if she responded to every outlandish or discourteous pronouncement this evening, she’d say something she might regret.
“India, my dear? Why, how smashing,” said the duke. “Do say hello to the Sultan of Mysore. Do you know they call him the Tiger? But he’s a dear old fellow upon better acquaintance. Are you planning to visit his palace?”
Alice knew the sultan had died twenty years ago, in the act of fighting off her countrymen. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”
“You simply must visit him. I’m a great favorite of his. He’s a devoted admirer of my nose. ‘Such a nose,’ he said to me one day, as we walked in his lovely gardens, ‘such a nose denotes vast wisdom. You should be King of England, Barry old boy...’”
He continued on with his story, barely stopping to breathe.
Alice was beginning to see why Nick had interrupted his father before.
He broke into the monologue when the duke finally paused. “She won’t be visiting any sultans, Barrington. She’s a studious lady who plans to visit libraries.”
“Oh?” The duke’s impressively unruly white eyebrows climbed. “Are you one of those... What do they call them? Something to do with stockings.”
“I rather think her stockings are blue,” Nick drawled.
“But you must have some real adventures, dear lady,” said the duke. “You can’t spend all your time in musty old libraries.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve done dozens of exciting things already. I fell into a river once. And I drank brandy.” She’d had a sip from the Duke of Harland’s flask.
And I kissed your sinful son today.
“Do you indulge in a nip every now and then, m’dear? How nice to find a lady who’s willing to admit such a thing. March, my boy, bring the lady some of my special supply of ouzo from the Greek isles. What did you say was your name, madam? Have I told you that you remind me very strongly of a young Marie Antoinette? She had such melting eyes and rosebud lips...”
Thankfully, March arrived with the requested bottle before the duke had a chance to expound upon the splendors of his nose again. The footman poured clear liquid into small, thin glasses and passed them around the table.
“Drink it straight down, my dear,” urged the duke. “I find it takes the bite from the air on these chilly winter evenings.”
“I believe it’s summer, Your Grace,” Alice said respectfully. “Although it’s always winter in some places. The Northern Pole, for example.”
“Well said, my dear. Drink it down now. It’s bound to improve your outlook on my son.”
“I don’t suppose I might have some water as well?” asked Alice.
“Water?” sputtered Nick. “My friend Captain Lear risked life and limb to bring us this bottle. It’s precious. Every last drop. Watering it would be a crime.”
Though she rarely indulged in spirits, as the duke had said, a few sips could only improve this meal. And might give her courage for what lay ahead. After the meal.
In Nick’s bedchamber.
Alice lifted her glass and gave her father-in-law a cheeky smile. “To your nose, Duke.”
He chortled. “To your beauty, my dear.”
The clear liquid burned going down, but it left a very pleasant licorice aftertaste, like the herbal drops Alice’s nurse used to give her when she had a head cold.
“She’s not a classic beauty, if you ask me,” mumbled March.
