Who Wants to Marry a Duke - Sabrina Jeffries Page 0,25

to the extent that it improves the liquor and wine I drink. But that leads me to my next question. Why are you even sure that the poison used would be arsenic?”

“I’m going by the duke’s description of his father’s symptoms,” Olivia said. “They are that of an ague or cholera, which are also the symptoms of arsenic poisoning, and arsenic is one of the most common poisons. There’s a reason, after all, that the chemical is called ‘poudre de succession.’”

Beatrice glanced at her husband, who said, “Inheritance powder. That’s the French nickname for arsenic.”

“But to be precise,” Olivia said, “when we speak of the white arsenic used as a poison, we really mean arsenic trioxide.”

“Oh, by all means, let’s be precise,” Thorn said. “And speaking of precision, how will you do all these tests without a laboratory?”

“Your brother has been generous enough to create one for me,” Olivia said.

Beatrice patted Olivia’s hand. “We asked her for a list of what she would need to do her work. Then Grey bought all the necessary items and had them brought to the estate.”

“I’ll still have to formulate some items from their components,” Olivia added. “And I did bring a few items that would be hard to find anywhere.”

“Of course,” Greycourt said, “we had no idea how to set all the chemicals up to Miss Norley’s satisfaction, so at the moment they’re sitting in boxes in our old dairy. But the building should serve well enough for a laboratory.”

“Why not put it in the house?” Thorn said, his expression veiled. “God knows you have the room for it.”

“Miss Norley was concerned about having dangerous chemicals in our residence, where they might harm us or the furnishings.”

Olivia could tell Thorn found that suspicious, although she couldn’t imagine why. “Some of my chemicals are combustible. If they somehow ignited and spewed toxic fumes that hurt Beatrice’s baby, I would be quite upset.”

“You and I both,” Greycourt said. “I would hope that wouldn’t happen anyway, but you’re wise not to take any chances. It’s much appreciated. And I do think the dairy will suit your purposes.”

“You were able to fit enough shelves on the walls, weren’t you?” Olivia asked. “And a few tables?”

Greycourt smiled. “I made sure everything was done to your specifications. The rest is up to you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

It took all of Olivia’s strength not to show how excited she was at the thought of having her very own laboratory, with the latest equipment and plenty of chemicals. She couldn’t wait to get there and set everything up.

“So,” Thorn said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “I’m unfamiliar with the chemists you mentioned, but I assume they are well-known in scientific circles.”

“They are, indeed,” she said. “I brought their journal articles along so I could review them in the evenings. You’re welcome to do so yourself if you wish.”

Greycourt chuckled. “Doesn’t that sound like riveting reading, Thorn? It should keep you far more entertained than your usual diet of Shakespeare, Fletcher, and the oldest playwrights you can find.”

Thorn’s only answer was to shoot his brother a foul glance.

“Thorn’s favorite pastime,” Greycourt explained, “is either attending the theater or reading plays. You should see his collection of dramatic literature. It’s quite extensive.”

“I do read journal articles sometimes,” Thorn said sullenly.

“About chemistry?” Beatrice asked.

Now Beatrice was the recipient of a foul glance, which only made the duchess grin.

“Actually, I quite like the theater myself,” Olivia said, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend Thorn, of all people. “I attend with Papa and Mama as often as I can. I don’t read many plays—they only come alive for me when I see them acted. But once I do, I can then go back and read the play with enjoyment.”

Thorn sat up. “Most people don’t understand that you have to see a play to get the full effect.”

“Exactly!” Olivia said, pleased to find someone else who understood that. “The first Shakespeare play I read was Much Ado about Nothing, and I missed at least half of the funny bits. I didn’t understand why Shakespeare was considered such a great writer. Then I saw it performed—”

“The one at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden with Charles Kemble as Benedick?” Thorn asked, his eyes alight.

“Yes!” Olivia said. “It was spectacular. He’s every bit as good as his more famous brothers.”

“His wife was great in the role of Beatrice, too,” Greycourt put in. When Olivia and Thorn gaped at him, he added,