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outside of sentimental novels, nobody looks at a lady’s companion at all.”
“I’m seven and a third,” he replied. “Which is also seven and two-sixths, or seven and four-twelfths, which is the same as seven years and four months.”
“I am rather taken with the idea of having a butler called Swordfish.”
It was true that Lady Lillimere—now some way past her thirtieth year—was not pretty, and it was hard to imagine she had ever been.
“By the pirate’s code,” young Bartholomew explained, “candles are put out at eight, but men may drink on deck as late as they please.”