Undercover Duke

wish to be fashionable.”
Flora nodded. “Meanwhile, women are criticized for that very thing. There’s flashy and fancy and fast, fudge and fustian—”
“And ‘fuss,’” Vanessa said. “Women are always accused of making a fuss out of nothing. Except that it’s only ‘nothing’ to the men.”
“Which is why the most obvious word is ‘female,’” Sheridan drawled.
Both women gasped. When they drew themselves up to give him an earful, he held his hands up. “I’m joking, for God’s sake. There are F words meaning inconsequential used specifically for men, too, you know. Fop. Foxed. Um . . .”
Vanessa tipped up her chin. “You can’t think of any more, can you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But there are numerous words meaning ‘fool’ or ‘nonsense’ for every letter in the alphabet. A for arse, B for buffoon and blockhead and balderdash, C for clodpate and clown, D for dolt and dunderhead—all of those are generally reserved for men, by the way—and dunce—”
“Not to mention dimwit,” Flora said helpfully.
“Every letter, hmm? What about Z?” asked Vanessa.
“Zany,” Sheridan said.
“Q?”
“Questionable,” he said.
“I’ll accept that, although it’s a bit questionable.”
Sheridan rolled his eyes. “You are the soul of wit.”
Vanessa laughed. “What about P?”
“Poppycock.” He smirked at her. “I can do this all day, you know.”
A voice came from the door to the box. “Please don’t.” Mr. Juncker flicked some lint from his coat sleeve. “It’s best to leave wordplay to the writers.”
Sheridan eyed him askance. “Let a man pen a few farces and suddenly he’s an expert.”
“They’re not farces,” Vanessa said. Thanks to her bargain with Sheridan, she was forced into the position of defending Mr. Juncker. “They’re comedies, and excellent ones, too.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Sheridan drawled. “What do you think, Miss Younger?”
Belatedly, Vanessa realized she hadn’t yet introduced Mr. Juncker to Flora. But as Vanessa turned to her friend, words left her entirely. Flora’s face was the pallor of paper and her eyes were haunted.
When Vanessa looked back at Mr. Juncker, she saw him staring at Flora as if she’d risen from a grave.
“Miss Younger?” he asked in a clipped tone. “Still?”
“Yes, still.” Flora looked as if she wished to sink into the floor. “And you, sir? Are you still a bachelor?”
“I am,” Mr. Juncker said. “I’m just . . . I did not expect . . . How long have you been in London?”
“Not long.” Flora clearly wished she could be anywhere but London at the moment.
Sheridan looked at Vanessa as if seeking an explanation of this stilted interaction. She had none to give. Flora hadn’t once mentioned Mr. Juncker. Then again Vanessa had never encountered her friend at one of his plays, either.
“The two of you know each other?” Vanessa asked.
Flora merely nodded, but Mr. Juncker said, “We met in Bath. Years ago.”
Lady Whitmarsh rose, having just then noticed the new arrival in her box. “Haven’t you done enough to my dear Flora, Mr. Juncker?” She made a motion as if she were shooing a hen. “Go on now. The next act is about to begin, and you don’t want to miss your chance to glory in it.”
Apparently Lady Whitmarsh knew what had happened “years ago,” too. Now Vanessa was desperate to know it herself, although she would have to put off finding out until she could get Flora to herself.
Mr. Juncker bowed to Lady Whitmarsh and started to leave, but Sheridan called out, “Juncker, hold up! I need to speak to you.”
Vanessa tensed. What was Sheridan up to now? She didn’t trust him to keep quiet about their supposed plan to make Mr. Juncker jealous, so she followed him into the corridor just in time to hear him say, “Thorn told me to remind you that you’re invited to Thorncliff after the play.” Sheridan saw her and added, “You’re invited to Thorn’s supper as well, Miss Pryde. You and your mother.”
Mr. Juncker glanced past them through the doorway into the box, to where Flora had already turned to face the stage and Lady Whitmarsh still stood glaring at him. “Tell your half brother I had already fully meant to attend. But I may be a bit late.”
“As may we,” Sheridan said, tucking Vanessa’s hand into the crook of his elbow in a wonderfully proprietary manner.
Mr. Juncker appeared too distracted to notice. They could hear voices on the stage, signaling the beginning of the third act, but even that didn’t make him stir from contemplating the back of Flora’s head.
Then he shook himself, as if to free his body from a spider’s silken web. “I shall see you both then.” He walked back to his box, obviously deep in contemplation.
“What was that all about?” Sheridan asked.
“I have no idea,” Vanessa said.
Sheridan’s gaze bored into her. “Why not? Surely she’s heard you speak of Mr. Juncker frequently and would have commented on it. God knows you speak of him often enough around me.”
“She never gave any indication that she knew him.” And Vanessa certainly hadn’t, given that she didn’t care two figs for the man.
“Doesn’t it worry you that Flora may prove a rival for his affections?” Sheridan persisted.
The whole thing had so rattled Vanessa that she nearly said, “Whose affections?” But she caught herself in time. “I doubt Flora would wish to be my rival. Clearly, he did something unforgivable to her.”
Sheridan started walking her back to her uncle’s box. “That should tell you all you need to know about his character.”
It did, unfortunately. And now she had to stand up for Mr. Juncker yet again. “They said it was years ago. Surely he has matured in that time. He did look stricken by guilt at the sight of her.”
Sheridan shot her a veiled look. “No matter what I say, you defend the man.”
“And no matter what I say, you attack the man. Perhaps you’re worried he will be your rival for Flora’s affections. Or for mine.” She’d said that last bit offhandedly, hoping it would slide in under his walls.
“That’s absurd. I’m not interested in having anyone’s affections.” The sudden stiffness in his arm said