A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,19

you need not worry. Quinn isn’t that sort. Brandy?”

“Please.”

With Rothhaven inspecting the appointments, Althea wished she’d thought to bring a shawl with her to the parlor. She wanted to cover herself against a slight chill, for the sake of both modesty and comfort. He examined each frame on the wall, drew the curtains over every window, and peered closely at her bookshelves.

She poured two brandies and handed him one. “Will you open the drawers of my writing desk next, Your Grace?”

He passed the brandy under his nose. “When you are shown into a guest parlor, how do you comport yourself?”

“Civilly. One sits and either accepts or declines a cup of tea, and hopes the tea cakes aren’t stale.” Which they all too often were.

“How does an obedient child behave upon entering the schoolroom?”

Althea had never been a child in a schoolroom, but she took his point: Walk in quietly, sit at the indicated desk, remain in the appointed chair until given leave to stand. Expect a rebuke for wandering about the room or showing undue interest in anything but the day’s lesson.

“Isn’t it rude to peer at my every sketch and sniff my brandy?”

“Why do people display art on the walls if it’s not to be admired? Why is the nose considered the most delicate aspect of any high-quality spirit? You never did answer my question: Will we be disturbed by a chambermaid bringing up a last bucket of coal?”

“We will not.” Althea took a sip of her brandy. “Shall we to the cards?”

“Not yet, my lady. If you’re determined to ignore propriety to the point that you drink spirits, then at least drink them properly. This is excellent brandy and it deserves proper respect.”

So do I. Though to be fair, Rothhaven had already passed along a useful insight: Don’t sit if, where, and when you’re bid to sit, like a child in the schoolroom, always in fear of a birching. Wander and investigate like a predator beginning the evening’s hunt.

“How does one respectfully drink brandy, Your Grace?”

He lifted his glass with a slight, circular flourish of his wrist that caused the liquid to slosh gently. “I shall demonstrate and then we will settle to the cribbage. Consumption of high-quality spirits involves three phases. Attend me, for I shall not repeat myself for the laggards in the class.”

Rothhaven explained that one first evaluated the appearance of the drink. How quick or sluggish was the liquid to run down the sides of the glass? How deep was the color, how clear? Then the aroma was to be savored by holding the glass at chin level and nosing the scent. First impressions mattered, but some brandies evolved thereafter into a more complex fragrance—or a worse stink.

The second phase was the experience on the tongue—his words—and that involved sampling a small taste, rolling it about in the mouth, and pausing before actually swallowing. He delivered his lecture seated at the card table, demonstrating as he expounded, and Althea was reluctantly enthralled.

His hand cradled the glass just so—casually cherishing fine crystal without a hint of affectation.

He spoke with the confidence of an expert and yet his explanations were simple and clear. He focused on his topic with a controlled relish that brought Althea’s attention not to the brandy, but to the man holding forth.

And to his mouth as he sipped, considered, and expounded.

“The finish is not to be overlooked,” he said. “The entire experience, no matter how lovely, can be sabotaged by ignoring the finish or rushing it. Rather like”—he took another slow, considering sip, eyeing Althea over the rim of his glass—“a kiss.”

Althea’s imagination had gone to an analogy even naughtier than kissing. This whole digression had taken on untoward overtones, and she suspected Rothhaven had done that on purpose. More behaving as he pleased rather than as he ought.

“I find a rousing argument also needs a good finish,” she said. “A quip, a cut, a double entendre, but either I think of those clever words as I’m retiring for the night hours later or what comes to mind is more vulgar than even I am willing to say in decent company.”

“The French call that the wisdom of the staircase. We are very clever and well spoken in our heads as we either go down the steps to climb into our coaches or up the steps to seek our beds. Shall we to the cards, my lady?”

“I would rather you delivered another lecture.” Althea swirled her drink experimentally, then brought it to her