Page 18 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)
Taking the stairs two at a time, Prestwick was halfway down the hallway leading to the breakfast room when a loud crash, followed by several lesser thumps, sounded from behind the door of the library.
What new squall was brewing? he wondered. Biting back an irritated oath, he decided he had best check that no real disaster was imminent before sitting down to his cup of Jamaican coffee. His steps skidded to a halt and his hand grasped the brass latch.
Whatever he had expected to find behind the paneled oak, it was not the figure of Perry perched precariously at the very top of the shelves, one hand clinging to the rung of the varnished ladder, while the other clutched the remains of a tooled leather binding.
“I—I didn’t mean to ruin it,” stammered the lad, his face ashen with remorse.
“It was heavier than I thought.” His gaze dropped to survey the jumble of torn paper that had fallen onto the parquet floor, along with a handful of smaller volumes that had managed to remain in one piece.
“You may put me to work to repay the cost of it.”
Prestwick quietly closed the door behind him and went to retrieve the split signatures of foolscap that had ripped free of the covers. “The Frogs, by Aristophanes,” he read from the title page.
“The maid left the door open after dusting,” croaked Perry. “I had never seen so many beautiful books in one place before, so I thought there was no harm in having a closer look.“ His voice became very small. “Then I spotted that one on the top shelf. I have always wanted to read it, and …”
His words trailed off in a ragged hiccup of remorse. “You may go ahead and birch me, sir. I know I richly deserve it for wrecking such an expensive book.”
“Hmmm.” The duke flipped through the pages, then let them fall shut. “Actually it is not worth the leather it was bound in. It is a remarkably shoddy piece of scholarship, with all sorts of grammatical errors. I daresay the collection is much improved without it.”
With a casual shrug, he tossed it over his shoulder.
Perry’s mouth formed a silent ‘O’ as his eyes grew as large as gold buttons on Harold’s swallowtail coat.
“Now, Aueltman’s edition—the one there, to the right of your hand—is the definitive text of the playwright’s works.
That is the one you should be looking at.
” Stepping onto the lower rungs of the ladder, he plucked both the book and the boy from their places and carried them over to the immense desk by the mullioned windows.
Turning the pages to the first act, he ran a finger under the opening lines. “Did you know that Aristophanes is considered the father of comedy?”
Perry, still mute with surprise, could only nod.
“He was a master of comic satire and biting humor, not only in The Frogs but in such other works as The Birds , The Clouds and Lysistrada .” Satisfied that he had appeared suitably knowledgeable, Prestwick leaned back with a small smile.
“He was also a sharp critic of Athenian politics and culture after the start of the Peloponnesian War in 431 B.C., and the death of Pericles in 429 B.C.” The lad had recovered enough of his voice to add a footnote to the duke’s explanation.
Prestwick’s expression turned to one of wry bemusement. “Er, yes. That’s exactly right.”
Perry’s eyes were now glued to the printed page, saying each word under his breath as he labored over the lines the duke had indicated.
“It is pronounced more like this,” corrected Prestwick, taking care to go over the syllable in question several times.
“Ah.” Perry repeated it perfectly, a boyish grin sneaking across his countenance. “Thank you, sir. One can never tell when knowing how to say “frog” in Greek will come in handy.”
The duke chuckled in answer, then pulled a face. “Speaking of frogs, I am afraid I must hurry to breakfast. My French chef may threaten to burn the kitchen along with the toast and Yorkshire gammon if I allow his oeufs aux champignon to get cold.”
Shooting one last, wistful look at the page, Perry reluctantly closed the book and made to slide off the chair.
“That does not mean you cannot stay and look over the book for as long as you like.”
The lad stared at him in disbelief. “I may?”
“Of course you may. Indeed, you may make use of any volume in the library. If there is one you cannot reach, ring for one of the footmen and he shall give you a hand.”
After voicing his profuse thanks, Perry slanted a shy glance upward.
“I—I don’t suppose you might want to read it together, so that you might help me …
” Suddenly aware of the temerity of the request, his cheeks colored and he rushed on.
“Of course, a duke must be awfully busy, and besides, you have read it before, and?—”
“A classic is like an old friend, lad. It is always a pleasure to renew acquaintances. I should be very pleased to help you work out the nuances of Aristophanes.”
In truth, the duke was more than pleased.
By virtue of his lofty title, he had been cozened, flattered, and complimented by all manner of people, most looking for some advantage in aligning themselves with the powerful Prestwick name.
But to have a lad ask in such honest appeal for his help and guidance touched him to the very core.
Covering his emotion with a gruff cough, Prestwick took a peek at his pocketwatch. “After breakfast, I have several things to attend to with my secretary, but we could meet here at, say, eleven.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Unless you are otherwise engaged?”
“No, sir,” came the solemn answer. “I have no other plans for the day.”
“Good. Then we shall see if we can catch up with The Frogs .”
The duke found himself whistling a rousing aria from Handel’s Water Musik as he made for the door, even though he had a sneaking suspicion that the eldest Greeley was going to prove a good deal more slippery to handle.