“So, Sheridan,” Thorn said, seeming to dissect his roast beef most deliberately, “what did you think of the play?”
Olivia paled and kept shaking her head, obviously begging Sheridan to keep silent.
Mischief seized Sheridan. “Don’t tell your friend Juncker, but I thought it a bit silly.”
Beside him, Vanessa let out a huff. “Isn’t that exactly what I said you thought of it when you came to Uncle Noah’s box? You don’t like such ‘frivolity.’ You said you had no opinion, but clearly you lied.”
He looked at his brother, whose brow was darkening. “You’re right,” Sheridan said. “I actually thought it an inane tale of events that made no sense.”
Olivia cast her gaze heavenward as Thorn glowered at Sheridan. “What didn’t make sense about it? And what right do you even have to judge?” Thorn sat back, having apparently given up on eating. “You’re hardly a connoisseur of dramatic literature.”
“Perhaps not, but I recognize good writing when I see it.”
Thorn looked as if he’d swallowed a chunk of ice, shocked and annoyed all at the same time. “There’s nothing wrong with Juncker’s writing.”
“He’s your friend, so of course you would say that. But I’m not blinded by friendship.”
Now Olivia, too, was shooting daggers at him. It roused his guilt. But only a bit. Thorn would have tormented him just as mercilessly if their situations had been reversed. That was what brothers did, after all.
“Surely you will at least admit the play was amusing,” Thorn remarked.
“I suppose my sense of humor differs from yours,” Sheridan said, now truly enjoying himself. “Clearly you like farcical situations. Whereas I prefer more subtle humor.”
“That is an untruth, and you know it, Sheridan,” Vanessa said. “I heard you laughing at certain scenes during the play. Do you deny it?”
Leave it to Vanessa to make a liar out of him. “I suppose there were a few droll moments.” He shot Thorn a furtive glance. “A very few.”
Thorn’s gaze narrowed on him. Then he called out to the other table. “Juncker! Sheridan claims there were only a few droll moments in the play. What do you say to that?”
Juncker chuckled. “Your brother is simply jealous of my success—with writing as well as women.”
Sheridan twisted around in his chair to face his nemesis. “The hell you say.”
“How many plays have you written and had performed, Duke?” Juncker asked. “I daresay not a one.”
“True,” Sheridan shot back, “but then I’ve never considered playwriting my particular talent.”
“Exactly.” Juncker smirked at him. “It’s easy to criticize something you’ve never attempted yourself.”
“I have never attempted to play the violin, either, but surely you will grant me and everyone else here the ability to tell when it’s being played off-key.”
A gasp sounded from everyone overhearing the conversation, followed by tittering here and there.
Juncker did not look pleased. Good. Perhaps it would keep him from being so full of himself.
“For a man who was trained as a diplomat,” Vanessa said under her breath, “you are being awfully undiplomatic to Mr. Juncker, not to mention downright rude.”
“He’ll survive,” Sheridan murmured. “He has the skin of an elephant. Besides, Thorn is the one who involved him in our private conversation in the first place, not me.”
“And what do you think, Miss Pryde?” Juncker called out to her. “Was my play amusing? Or, as His Grace puts it, ‘played off-key.’ No pun intended.”
Vanessa shifted in her seat to look at Juncker. “I thought the play was witty and entertaining and not the least bit farcical. As usual.”
“Traitor,” Sheridan said under his breath.
“Thank you, Miss Pryde,” Juncker said, clearly gloating. “I’m glad to see that someone here appreciates good theater.”
Voices were raised around him, reassuring the man that his plays were very appreciated, at least by the crowd.
“I, too, appreciate good theater,” Sheridan put in. “When I see it, that is.”
At the mix of protests and laughter from the other guests, Juncker stared hard at Sheridan. “I wouldn’t expect a duke to know much about that. Especially one who spends all his time trying to keep his ailing dukedom afloat.”
The room went utterly silent. It was one thing to attack a man’s talent or taste. It was quite another to bring finances into it.
“Now see here, Juncker,” Thorn cried behind Sheridan. “That’s my brother you’re insulting.”
“I can fight my own battles,” Sheridan told Thorn, loudly enough to be heard by Juncker. Then he pasted a dismissive smile to his lips. “Especially when the man I’d be fighting gets his only exercise from wielding a comb.”
“And a pen,” Juncker said, practically daring Sheridan to announce the truth. And if not for the fact that Thorn and Olivia would never forgive him for it, Sheridan would have obliged. Even after Juncker added, “At least I don’t get it from chasing heiresses.”
“Not that the heiresses are complaining.” Sheridan turned to Vanessa, who looked as if she found the entire exchange entertaining. But she would, wouldn’t she, since she was trying to make Juncker jealous. “Are you, my dear?”
“I haven’t uttered a word of complaint, but only because this discussion is ridiculous.” That brought a general rumble of laughter from the others. “I refuse to get in the way of two gentlemen engaging in verbal fisticuffs.”
Juncker gazed at her. “Would you prefer physical fisticuffs?”
Alarm crossed her face. “No, indeed. It would be vulgar for a woman to encourage such a thing.” The crowd murmured their approval. “Besides,” she went on, “I suspect neither of you knows how to engage in physical fisticuffs.”
At the shout of laughter from the onlookers, Juncker clutched his chest. “You wound me deeply, dear lady.”
“I doubt that,” Vanessa said with a smile. “His Grace claims you have the skin of an elephant.”
More laughter ensued.
“And
