Page 46 of Never a Duke
“Uncle Dee-Dee can read me a story!” Lady Mary Jane Wentworth charged ahead of her sister and wedged herself between Ned and Lady Rosalind. “Nurse said.”
Lady Elizabeth Wentworth, who no longer tolerated the nickname Bitty from any save her papa, sighed dramatically.
“Mary saw you from the nursery window, and what she sees she must have on the very instant lest we all lose our hearing. Nurse said the day was quite fine so the infant could take the air, and because I am exceedingly bored with my intolerably dull French verbs, I have made this enormous sacrifice. Am I not noble of heart? You should introduce me to Lady Rosalind, Ned. That would be polite.”
Jane claimed that Elizabeth had reached theexcessive modifiersstage of girlhood, when speech was peppered withquite, exceedingly, very, vexatiously, and other extraneous flourishes. According to Jane, the next phases would be wheedling for two straight years to adopt adult hairstyles, followed by the apotheosis of botheration, a fixation on boys.
“Read me the ass,” Mary Jane said, opening her book. “The ass says hee-uhh-hee-uhh!”
Ned put Mary Jane on his lap. “Lady Rosalind Kinwood, may I make known to you Lady Elizabeth Wentworth, long-suffering saint without portfolio and aspiring literary genius. Byron hasn’t a patch on Lady Elizabeth’s rhymes. This embodiment of all that is wonderful on my lap is Lady Mary Jane Wentworth, Mary the Magnificent to her mob of adoring friends. I suspect I will not be permitted to leave this bench without reading the indicated tale.”
Mary Jane was growing like the proverbial weed, as was Elizabeth. Whereas Elizabeth had always been nimble and lithe, little Mary Jane was chubby. Elizabeth’s coltish grace was lately accompanied by pronouncements alternately insightful and pompous, and by pensive silences.
She was at an age where her feelings were easily hurt, an age Ned found hard to even look upon.
“Make the ass, Uncle Dee-Dee!” Mary Jane demanded. “The ass goes heeee-uhhhh-heeee-uhhhh!”
The dog looked worried, while Lady Rosalind looked ready to burst out laughing.
“Ned does the best ass,” Elizabeth said earnestly. “Papa is our best bear, Cousin Duncan is a creditable owl, and Uncle Stephen is a fearsome wolf. For a proper braying ass, we much prefer Ned.”
“Then I must hear this story,” Lady Rosalind said, in all apparent seriousness. “My own dramatic talents are limited, and I enjoy a well-told story as much as anybody.”
“Elizabeth would be in your debt if you accompanied her back to Her Grace’s parlor.” More than that, Ned could not say without embarrassing Elizabeth. The girl longed to be included in her mother’s weekly at-homes, while Jane insisted that there was time enough forthat nonsensein a year or two.
Elizabeth had doubtless volunteered to bring Mary Jane to the garden simply for the opportunity to walk past the open parlor doors.
“Thank you, no,” Lady Rosalind said. “I much prefer the company to be had here in the garden, and I’m sure Lady Elizabeth does too.”
Elizabeth subsided onto the opposite bench, apparently concluding that having the notice of one earl’s daughter was preferable to peeking through the parlor doors and risking Mama’s wrath.
“You really must not let us keep you from socializing, Lady Rosalind,” Ned said. “Perhaps I’ll see you hacking out in the park some fine morning later this week.” Tomorrow would serve nicely.
“Do the ass,” Mary Jane said. “The ass goes heee-uhhhh—”
Ned put a gentle hand over her mouth. “You are scaring Hercules. Attend me.” He could nearly recite the tale by heart, but for the child’s sake trailed his finger along the written words as he spoke. “A donkey—that’sasinusin Latin—out wandering one day came upon the skin of a lion left in the forest by a hunter. Desiring to graze in peace undisturbed by wolves, jackals, and other hungry beasts, the ass donned the lion’s skin…”
The donkey of course fooled everybody until he opened his mouth to speak—Ned dreaded to read those lines before Lady Rosalind, but brayed his way through them anyway—in which case the fox laughed himself silly at the donkey’s expense.
“And the moral of the story…” Mary Jane said. “You have to read the moral, Uncle Dee-Dee.”
“And the moral of the story,” Ned recited, “Quod non es, nec te esse simules. Do not pretend to be what you are not.”
“Or the fox will laugh at you, and you will feel ashamed.” Mary Jane closed the book and hugged it. “I try to be good so I won’t be ashamed.”
“You are good,” Ned said, cuddling her gently. “Never doubt it, child. You are the best little girl in the whole wide world, excepting possibly your older sisters, and they have had longer to practice than you have.”
Elizabeth smiled a knowing-older-sister smile at that nonsense.
“Uncle Dee-Dee says I’m good.” Mary Jane stuck her tongue out at her sister. “Read me another.”
“I must not,” Ned said solemnly. “Nurse allowed us one story, and we should obey her if we’re to catch up to your sisters in goodness.”
“I want another story.”
“Then scamper back to the nursery with Elizabeth now, and when I come for supper on Sunday, I will read you another. If you wished to be doubly extra-good, you could bring Nurse a daffodil or two to brighten the playroom.”
“I’ll bring her three!” Mary Jane was off the bench, her book forgotten, her sister’s hand clutched in hers.
