SHAKESPEARE AND THE THREE KINGS
Victoria Alexander
Copyright
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Shakespeare and the Three Kings
Copyright © 1998 by Victoria Alexander
Ebook ISBN: 9781943772339
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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Dedicaiton
This story is for Tory and Alex who loan me their names,
and on Christmas and every day of the year,
show me what love is really all about.
Chapter One
October 23, 1893
My Dearest Oliver,
If indeed you are reading this it means my idiot doctors were correct and I shall not be here when you return from your travels. They insist I am about to breathe my last breath upon this earth and will not see another Christmas. Pity. I do so love Christmas. Of course, I have no intention of proving them right. Still, it is wise to be prepared.
First, I do not wish you to be unduly upset by my passing. I have lived an excellent life full of all the affection and adventure any woman could ask for in this day and age. If I am to leave this world behind I am eager to get on with it and be reunited with my beloved Charles. It has been nearly twenty-two years since he had the temerity to die without me. I shall have a few firm words for him on that score before we spend eternity together. All in all, I am quite looking forward to it.
In spite of himself, Sir Oliver Thornton Stanhope could not suppress a slight smile. He could well imagine Great Aunt Eleanor berating Uncle Charles for having the audacity to die without her permission. Oliver knew Charles only from the portrait that hung next to Aunt Elbe’s in the front hall of Thornton Manor but he’d always thought there was a twinkle in the old man’s eye. Ridiculous notion, of course.
I have never particularly believed in regrets. Yet I find I do have a few and they concern you, my dear boy.
As you well know, it has always been a source of irritation to me that your parents did not provide the proper affection that was your due as their son. I would not have wished their untimely deaths yet it does seem to me perhaps fate had a hand in it as it brought you into my keeping. If you recall, you were not at all pleasant at age eleven. And since Charles had only recently passed on it was a trying time for us both.
An image of soap shavings tossed discreetly into a kettle of tea and the resulting foamy chaos flashed through his mind. His smile widened to a grin.
How did we manage to muddle through those days? Quite well, I think, in looking back upon it. You have been as a son to me, Oliver. I have loved you without reservation for these long years and, while you have always been reticent to display your emotions, I have no doubt you returned my affection. Still, I fear the legacy of your parents’ lack of regard lingers within you.
His smile faded.
I did so wish before I left this earth to see you with a wife and children of your own. I had hoped you would find the same kind of love Charles and I shared. I am well aware that you sampled it once with disastrous results. Still, life goes on and I did try my best.
A seemingly endless parade of eligible young women marched through his mind. Every time he had visited Aunt Ellie in recent years she’d had a houseguest or a house full of guests—most of them young, charming and eminently suitable to be the wife of Sir Oliver Thornton Stanhope.
It is the greatest failure of my life that I was not able to help you find a lasting love. There is little I can do about it now. However, in addition to the manor and my fortune, which you really do not need—but one can never be too wealthy or too intelligent in this world—I leave in your keeping the last loves of my life.
Oliver glanced over the top of the lilac-scented stationery to meet three pairs of black, beady, unflinching eyes. He grit his teeth and dropped his gaze back to the flowery writing on the page before him.
My little darlings have brought great joy to me. I consider them my children just as I consider you my son.
Oliver rolled his eyes at the ceiling and sighed.
I can see you now in my mind’s eye, gazing heavenward and heaving a great sigh.
She always knew exactly what he was thinking. Even now, from the grave.
I well know your opinion of my three tiny kings yet I also know you will provide them with a good home. It may not be easy. I have spoiled them shamelessly. In order to ease your adjustment to them, and theirs to you, I have procured the services of an American...
His eyes narrowed.
... a recent acquaintance, who is skilled in the training of dogs. D. K. Lawrence should arrive at the manor by December eighteenth and has agreed to stay for as long as is necessary.
Bloody hell. This was already the seventeenth. There was no time to head the damnable man off.
The last thing Oliver wanted was some blasted American dog lover in his home for an undetermined period of time.
I am well aware of your feelings about Americans. Still, it is the season of goodwill toward all and I do expect you to honor that spirit as well as my wishes.
As if she had left him a choice.
If you will permit them, my little ones will provide you with a great deal of affection. It is my hope, if you open your heart to them it will help you learn to open your heart to others.
Never forget, my dearest Oliver, how very much I have loved you and how very much I pray you will find love in the future. It is my final Christmas gift to you. The gift of love. The greatest gift of all.
Yours always, Aunt Ellie
An unaccustomed ache stung the back of his throat. Damn, he would miss her. Why had he never told her how much she meant to him? Although, if he had read the tone of her letter correctly, she knew of his feelings. He should have been here with her. If he’d returned but two weeks earlier...
Regret surged through him and he shook his head. He couldn’t help that business for the crown had taken him out of England for the last six months. Even though he’d moved to London a decade ago, he did manage to make the three-hour train trip to Thornton an average of every other fortnight and he’d never missed a holiday. Yet at this moment, it did not seem enough for the woman who had taken him in and given him a life and a future.
He dropped the letter on his desk. He’d learned of her death when he returned to England last week and came immediately to Thornton Manor. He’d met with her solicitor and discovered she had arranged all the loose ends of her life in a tidy manner. This letter tied up the rest. Dear Aunt Ellie. His life would not be the same without her.
He raised his gaze and all sentiment vanished in the face of three pairs of intently staring eyes. Yorkshire Terriers. Rats with fur was more like it. They were far too tiny to do much of anything but yap and get underfoot. How could she have done this to him? He detested the minuscule beasts and had a strong suspicion they were not fond of him either. Perhaps this Lawrence person would be willing to take them off his hands.
He glared at
the toy-like animals and they glared right back. No, of course he couldn’t get rid of them. It was Aunt Ellie’s last request of him and he could never deny her anything.
“Blast it.” He got to his feet and strode to the door of Aunt Ellie’s library, or rather, his library now, and flung it open. “Miles!”
Aunt Ellie’s butler appeared from nowhere as was his custom.
“Yes, Sir Oliver?”
“It seems we are to have a visitor my aunt invited before her death. Please make the appropriate arrangements.”
Miles didn’t so much as raise a brow. He’d been Aunt Elbe’s family retainer for as long as Oliver could remember and news of an unexpected houseguest, even one invited posthumously, did not daunt him in the least. “As you wish. When will Lady Eleanor’s guest arrive?”
“Tomorrow.” Oliver shook his head. “I am not pleased at all about this, Miles, but it was my aunt’s doing so we shall have to acquiesce to her wishes. Besides, it is too late to head the bloody man off.”
“I shall see to it that suitable accommodations are found.”
“Thank you, Miles.”
The butler nodded and vanished into the shadowy hall. Miles, and most of the other servants at Thornton, were as much a part of his family as Aunt Ellie. In his youth he recalled having long conversations with Miles on the deeply philosophical matters that plague a young man’s mind. As an adult, Miles treated him with the deference his position demanded but Oliver always suspected, or perhaps hoped, should he need to have a discussion of a more personal nature, Miles would serve as his confidant. Not that he needed anyone to talk to. Oliver prided himself on keeping such matters private. He had learned, in an exceedingly painful manner, to keep his thoughts, and more, his emotions, to himself. That may well be the very reason why none of the young women Aunt Ellie had herded in his direction had appealed to him. He had allowed himself to fall under the charms of a woman once. And once was quite enough.
Oliver started toward the stairs. Tiny footsteps sounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The Yorkies lined up at his heels. “Where do you think you’re going?”
They stared as if to say he was their master now and he was stuck with them. They appeared no happier about it than he was.
“What are your names anyway?” Oliver frowned. “Ah yes. How could I have forgotten? Aunt Ellie’s three kings: Melchoir—”
The ears of the middle dog perked upward.
“—Balthazar—”
The creature last in line took a step forward.
“—and Gaspar.” The animal closest to him wagged its stubby tail. “Ridiculous names for such tiny beasts.”
They gazed at him with a steady stare. A bit unnerving, that. Why, they seemed quite intelligent. Almost human. Nonsense. They were the living playthings of an elderly woman and nothing more. Still, now they were his.
He heaved a sigh of surrender. “Very well, come along but stay out of my way.”
Oliver headed up the steps, the scrambling of twelve tiny paws on the polished wood of the stairs echoing after him. They were so small, did they need help negotiating the climb? He resisted the urge to turn. No, if indeed they were all to coexist together they’d best learn to be independent. There would be no coddling from him.
Perhaps there was something beneficial to the arrival of the American after all. If nothing else, he could teach the miserable excuses for canines to be dogs and not pampered children.
At least the Yorkies and the American would provide a needed distraction. He’d spent the last twenty-two Christmases in the wonder of the holiday atmosphere his aunt created at the manor—the only place in the world where he knew without question he was welcomed and loved. It was going to be lonely without her. He was used to being alone, of course, but he was also used to Aunt Ellie’s unconditional affection. Christmas was her favorite time of year and this Christmas would be difficult at best.
An impatient yap sounded behind him. Oliver groaned to himself and continued up the steps.
On the other hand, there was something to be said for solitude.
Chapter Two
“If you require nothing else then, miss, I shall take my leave.”
“Thank you, Miles.” Diana Lawrence stood in the middle of the elegantly appointed bedroom suite. Her hand rested lightly on the head of the Great Dane she’d recently acquired, hoping to draw her own strength from that of the gentle beast. “I'm sure I’ll be fine here. It’s a lovely room.”
“Lady Eleanor would be pleased by your compliment. She prided herself on her home.”
“Could you tell me, where is—”
“Sir Oliver has gone for a walk, miss. He is expected back within the hour.”
“Oh, I see.” Disappointment battled with relief within her.
“I shall have your things sent up at once.” Miles nodded and stepped toward the door, then turned back. “Might I say, miss, it is good to see you here again and I wish you every success on your endeavor.”
“My endeavor?” Diana’s eyes widened. “You know?”
A slight smile pulled at the comers of the older man’s mouth. “Indeed, I do. If I may speak frankly?”
“Please.”
“I have served in Lady Eleanor’s employ for more than thirty years and I am proud to say she considered me her friend as well as her servant. I am well aware of the real reason for your presence. Should you need any assistance whatsoever, please consider me at your service.”
“Thank you, Miles.” Diana smiled with relief. “It’s good to know I have at least one friend in the castle.”
Miles raised a brow. “I beg your pardon, miss, it is not a castle, merely a manor house.”
“Sorry. We don’t have either in America.”
“Pity.” Miles nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Apparently it’s just the two of us for the moment, Shakespeare.”
The Great Dane looked up at her, wagged his tail and padded toward the huge, four-poster bed. With an awkward leap, he jumped into the center of the coverlet and settled down, his large paws dangling over the side of the bed. “Well, at least you’re making yourself at home.”
Diana laughed and stepped to a full-length mirror. She pulled the pins from her fashionable hat and tossed it on a chair. Her dark hair gleamed in the weak winter sunlight filtering in through the tall windows.
What would he see when he looked at her? She had not changed much in the last decade. Oh, her face was leaner, her figure more mature. She was once a pretty girl and was now an attractive woman. Men seemed to think so at any rate. She’d discovered that fact, quite to her surprise, after her father died and, for the first time in years, she’d attended civic events and social gatherings. The vast wealth he’d left her and her own liquidation of his assets, as well as his respected name, gained her entrance to circles she never knew existed. At first, she’d been something of a curiosity; attractive, unmarried, respectable women of her age were rare. But money and her father’s position had triumphed. Diana had quite enjoyed the attention she’d received.
She pulled off her jacket and it joined the hat, her gaze returning to the mirror. The real differences in Diana were not reflected here. She quite liked the woman she’d become as much as she detested the girl she’d been. There was a strength of purpose, and therefore pride, in her nature now and a sense of self-confidence she never would have imagined in her younger years. It was her father’s last, and if truth were told, only real, gift to her.
Her father. Ketterson. A hard glint shown in her eye. If she had only known. But ten years ago she was a scared, shy eighteen-year-old too afraid of her father’s wrath to fight for the man she loved. The man she still loved.
That girl, Diana Ketterson, no longer existed. It was a scant nine months since she’d learned the horrible, yet liberating, truth. After that, she took her mother’s maiden name and set in motion the actions that would lead her to England and to him. And thanks to Lady Eleanor’
s scheme, she would have a second chance.
“Come along, Shakespeare.” The dog slid leisurely off the bed and in one step was by her side. “Let’s go greet the kings and their master.”
She lifted her chin, straightened her spine and firmly pushed away the heavy, uneasy weight that settled in her stomach.
She was Diana Lawrence now, and more than ready to fight for love.
Diana paced the wide width of the parlor, her arms folded tightly across her chest in the manner of someone cold or terrified. Lord, she was nervous. What would he say when he saw her? What would he think? He could, in all likelihood, throw her out, although Lady Eleanor had foreseen that possibility and had taken precautions against it. If only the dear woman was still alive to give Diana courage.
Shakespeare matched her step for step for a good five minutes before plopping down in the middle of the room. Now only his dun-colored head followed her progress. The animal looked for all the world as if he were watching a tennis match. In spite of her agitation she could well see the humor in his stance.
A door slammed in the hall and she heard a muttered oath and the distinct sounds of tiny nails clicking on the floor. Her breath caught. Shakespeare’s ears perked up. He leapt to his feet and sprinted through the open parlor doors.
Yapping, barking and a man’s irate yell filled the air. A crash sounded and a yelp. Noise reverberated through the house. Diana winced. Wasn’t there a lovely antique vase on a table in the hall?
A moment later, the Yorkies raced into the room, Shakespeare right behind, all four animals in a state of canine chaos. The dogs circled the parlor at a breakneck pace, the smaller animals ducking under sofas, the big dog leaping over tables in a breathtaking blur of fur and frenzy. A chair fell to its side. A fern tottered on a stand. A lamp shattered on the floor.
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