“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.”