Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,36

pride. “I’m fine. Besides, the tea is probably cold by now, and we ate all the lemon cakes.”

That seemed to startle her. She glanced over to where the footman had earlier set up a small table, two chairs, and a tray of refreshments. “Oh. So we did.” She flashed him a rueful smile. “I get quite caught up when I’m working on a project, and I don’t realize how late it’s getting to be.”

“I noticed.” He drew out his pocket watch. “Grey and Beatrice generally keep country hours, but not on days they’re traveling, so we still have a while before dinner.”

For the next hour, he got to unpack boxes and leave her to examine each item to decide where it went. She wore a look of pure bliss as she moved from table to shelf, arranging and organizing and setting up equipment that had been broken down for the journey.

There were names of ingredients he’d never heard of—aqua regia, nitrate of potash, muriatic acid, green vitriol, salt of wormwood, spirit of ether, and a dozen other mysterious compounds.

“What? No eye of newt?” he quipped.

“It’s right there,” she said, gesturing to a jar.

“That says ‘Mustard Seed’ on the label.”

“I know. The mustard seed shouldn’t have been included. I won’t need it.” When he gaped at her, she added, “Oh, that’s why you joked all those years ago about paying me with ‘eye of newt.’ You thought it really was the eyes of lizards. Sorry to disappoint, but ‘eye of newt’ is mustard seed.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not a bit.”

“What about the other ingredients for the witches’ brew in Macbeth?” he asked. “‘Toe of frog, wool of bat, and tongue of dog’?”

“‘Toe of frog’ is buttercup. ‘Wool of bat’ is holly leaves.”

“Ah, but surely the ‘tongue of dog’ is exactly what it says.”

She laughed gaily. “‘Tongue of dog’ is hound’s-tongue, sometimes also called wild comfrey. The witches’ brew comprises a variety of natural ingredients, most of which you can find in any good herb garden.”

“That’s vastly disappointing.”

“Why?”

He hadn’t expected that question. “They’re witches. They’re supposed to be . . . well . . . wicked and frightening.”

“I think their wickedness comes from how they use their predictions to tempt Macbeth into murdering the people who stand in his way. But yes, Shakespeare took advantage of the multiple names of herbs to choose ones that sounded particularly gruesome.”

Olivia gestured to another jar. “Chemicals also have a variety of names. That nitrate of potash is sometimes called saltpeter, for example. Names of ingredients evolve as we learn more about them.”

“You have ruined Macbeth for me,” he said crossly. “The witches might as well be my French chef mixing up a salad in the kitchen.”

“To be honest, I never liked Macbeth. Too many people being killed. I prefer the comedies.”

“So you said.” He found her love of humor endearing. The fact that she enjoyed his plays, too, was gratifying, but rather surprising for a woman of her unique ambition. Then a thought occurred to him. “Why choose chemistry?”

“What?” she said distractedly.

“You could have been a naturalist or an astronomer. There are a few women already who discover comets and the like, so astronomy wouldn’t be as difficult an area to explore. Why chemistry?”

“For one thing, I grew up watching my uncle do fascinating experiments, and discovering elements no one had isolated before, like chlorine. For another, I like the purpose of chemistry—to discover the chemical components of our world. That enables us to manipulate those chemicals to the good of mankind. Astronomy can’t do that.”

Thorn gestured to where a large jar held pride of place on one worktable. “That arsenic isn’t good for mankind. And I may not know much about chemistry, but I do know that saltpeter is a key ingredient in gunpowder.”

“Saltpeter is also used to salt meat. Even arsenic is useful in producing glass. Chemicals are just bricks. They can be used to create buildings or they can be used as weapons. So don’t blame the chemicals. Blame the people who use them.”

He watched as she checked items off a list packed in the trunk she’d brought from home. Now she walked over to that same trunk and pulled out some notebooks.

“Are those the journals you were speaking of?” he asked.

“Clippings from them, yes. I’ll need to refer to them as I work.” She set them out on a table with a couple of jars on it. Then she turned to open the box on the far end that purported to contain several pieces