“Lucky… Yes, Monsieur, you could say that,” he replied, lips quirking into a slight smile. On one hand, they had the aristos to blame for so many problems—and on the other, if it hadn’t been for that one lord’s kindness, Lucien would hardly know Rousseau from Voltaire.
He picked the book up and opened it, dark eyes scanning over the lines. Lucien had learned a play by Shakespeare, once—he hadn’t liked it at all. His tastes ran towards philosophy and politics, and yet… This wouldn’t be difficult work, and it wasn’t like he would have to act the plays. Nodding, Lucien said, “It will not be a problem at all, Monsieur.” He smiled, more authentically this time. “Thank you.”