The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(40)

Jane’s head snapped up to face him. She lowered the book. “Pardon?”

“What book is it?” he repeated.

“What does it matter? Isn’t one as boring as the next?” Mrs. Langford added in a supercilious tone, tittering at her own joke.

Jane rolled her eyes, but she refocused on Upton and his surprising question. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he sounded as if he actually cared. “The Mysteries of Udolpho.”

Upton nodded. “Ah, Ann Radcliffe.”

Jane’s mouth fell open. “You know of Ann Radcliffe?”

“Yes, I’ve read the novel twice.”

“Ann Radcliffe, the female author?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Since Ann is traditionally the name of a female, I had my suspicions.”

Still attempting to absorb that astounding information, Jane glanced over his shoulder to see a pout on Mrs. Langford’s face. “Tell me you’re jesting, Mr. Upton.”

“Not only have I read it twice, I’ve also read The Romance of the Forest and The Italian. Though I must say I prefer The Mysteries of Udolpho.”

“You do?” Jane narrowed her eyes on him. Was he jesting? Teasing her? Had he lost his mind? Or was he lying?

“What is your favorite part of this book?” She held it up.

“Is this the first time you’re reading it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, eyes still narrowed.

“Then I shan’t give away the ending but I’ll simply say that Sister Agnes may not be the sweet nun she appears to be.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed further. Very well. That might be true. But she had already read one of the other books. He could not trick her with that one. “What did you think of The Romance of the Forest?”

“I thought it was a great deal of trouble to get up to instead of paying one’s debt. Not to mention the fate of poor Adeline. I do sympathize with the lady, considering how entirely she was at the mercy of a lot of awful men.”

Jane braced her free hand against the side of the boat. The world was spinning. Upton, handsome, merrymaking Upton, had read the works of Ann Radcliffe? And could speak intelligently on the subject? It was beyond comprehension.

And had he just defended the rights of females?

“I do enjoy some books,” Mrs. Langford hastened to add from her perch in the front of the boat.

“Like what?” Jane couldn’t help herself.

“I read Secrets of a Wedding Night recently.”

“That’s more of a pamphlet really,” Jane pointed out. She refused to tell Mrs. Langford that she’d not only read it, she’d actually enjoyed it too.

Mrs. Langford’s voice dripped with ire. “We cannot all be devotees of Shakespeare and Ann Radliffe, like you are, Miss Lowndes.”

“More’s the pity,” Jane replied. “And it’s Radcliffe.”

Mrs. Langford nearly snarled at her. “Let’s talk about something else, shall we? Such as the parties in London. I, for one, cannot wait for the Season to get under way. Are you going to the Hathaways’ ball, Mr. Upton?”

Upton glanced at Jane before he replied to Mrs. Langford. “I am.”

Jane pressed her lips together. The thought of those two together, in London, being good-looking and drinking champagne and dancing and laughing and— It made her positively …

By God, was she actually getting … jealous?

No. It was not possible. Horrifying thought.

“Will you be in London for the Season, Miss Lowndes?” Mrs. Langford asked.

“Not if I can help it,” Jane replied, her book back in front of her nose.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Mrs. Langford replied, her voice taking on an irritated edge.

“It was supposed to be,” Jane replied. “Though perhaps not to you.”

Mrs. Langford replied with a grunt. “I’ve found that people who think themselves intelligent also tend to think themselves funny.”

“What do unintelligent, unfunny people think of themselves?” Jane asked, lowering the book to face the widow as if extremely interested in the answer. “Do tell.”

“We ought to be getting back,” Upton interjected. “It looks as if a storm might be coming up and the others seem to be heading in.”

Jane turned her attention to the sky. She’d been so involved in her battle of words with Mrs. Langford she’d failed to notice the dark clouds moving in. They were indeed gathering over the lake in an ominous gray mass. The other boats were quickly rowing toward the shore.

“Too bad,” Mrs. Langford said with a pout on her lips.

Yes, too bad the widow wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of the afternoon sniping at her in the boat.

Upton rowed quickly to shore. The small boat skimmed along the water until it hit land. Upton stood, braced one foot against the muddy shore, and then leaned down and dragged the boat a bit closer to the grass before turning to help Jane disembark first.

Jane allowed him to take her hand and help her to stand on the grass. “Be careful,” she said, motioning with her chin back toward the boat and Mrs. Langford. “I’m convinced she bites.”

Upton slipped her a wry grin.

Jane turned back to watch Mrs. Langford. The lady had already stood and was teetering precariously as the boat lurched from side to side. “Be careful,” Upton called. “Let me help you.” He lunged for her but was too late. Mrs. Langford, tiny hat and gown and all, plunged over the side of the rowboat into the shallow mud and water.