Shakespeare and the Three Kings

by Victoria Alexander

  The joy had been far overshadowed by the pain at the end, the happiness they’d shared forgotten. But to his surprise, once he allowed himself to remember, those happy memories were remarkably vivid. The more he considered them, the more he wondered if perhaps he hadn’t been wrong to accept Ketterson’s tirade. If it hadn’t been a mistake to believe Diana had simply used him for her own amusement. She hadn't had the flirtatious disposition of a girl of that nature and he’d had no doubts of her love. Not then. It was only later that Ketterson’s charges seemed completely valid.

  “But, damn it all, I wrote to her.” Oliver’s voice echoed in the empty library. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Bloody hell, the woman had him talking to himself now.

  What if she never received my letters?

  The thought hit him with an unexpected jolt and his spine stiffened in his chair. Why had he never thought of that before? Had he been so blinded by her apparent betrayal that his senses had abandoned him entirely? Was he so foolish?

  Or was he simply so young? He’d only been twenty-two. Barely old enough to know his own mind. Not nearly the self-possessed, experienced man he was now. Today, he would never accept the statements of a man as clearly irrational as Ketterson had been. Today he would—what? Insist on hearing the truth from her own lips? Fight for her hand? Follow her to America?

  He groaned and leaned back in his chair, his gaze straying to the coffered library ceiling. Was it even remotely possible that their separation had been a ghastly mistake? Or worse, the vile work of her father?

  Still, she had married that Lawrence fellow. But when? Had she actually been betrothed when she left Oliver? Or did her marriage come much later? He had no idea.

  “But I intend to find out,” he said under his breath. Diana wasn’t the only one who had changed with the years. Oliver, too, had a strength of character he hadn’t known before. He rose to his feet. He wanted answers and, more, he wanted to know this virtual stranger who’d once altered his life forever and now, suddenly, appeared to be influencing it yet again.

  A sharp rap sounded and the door swung open.

  “Sir Oliver?” Diana stood in the doorway.

  “Mrs. Lawrence.” He nodded coolly but his heart thudded in his chest. “Do come in.”

  “Thank you.” She swept into the room with a gleam in her eye and a definite purpose in her step.

  “Is there something you need?” How inane. How inadequate. How insipid. He had a hundred questions to ask her. A thousand burning inquiries. That was not on his list.

  “Your assistance.”

  “Really?” He raised a brow. And I need the truth. Why did you leave me? Why are you back? “In what way?”

  “Well…” She stepped closer to the desk. The rains had finally stopped and pale morning sunlight shone through the library windows, highlighting streaks of gold in her dark hair. “It’s about your aunt’s dogs. Or rather, I should say, your dogs.”

  “Go on.” Her gaze met his with a steady, unblinking stare. Were there flecks of gold in her eyes as well? How could he have forgotten?

  “In order to properly train animals, one must get to know them.” She clasped her hands together primly before her, the simple movement drawing attention to her fashionable gown and the intriguing way the eminently proper attire molded to the lush curves of her body.

  “Get to know them ...” he murmured, his gaze wandering over her, greedy to memorize every aspect of her face and form or, perhaps, to remember.

  “Sir Oliver?”

  “Yes?” His gaze jumped to hers.

  She tilted her head slightly and a frown creased her brow. “I know you are not at all fond of the dogs but I honestly feel if you, or rather, if I, am to make any sort of progress at all it would be—”

  “Of course.” Oliver stepped out from behind the desk.

  “Of course?”

  “You are the expert in these matters, are you not, Mrs. Lawrence?”

  Her eyes widened and a look of confusion flashed across her face.

  “Mrs. Lawrence?”

  “The expert.” Her words were measured as if she were trying them on for size. Was she avoiding his gaze as well?

  “Indeed. You are the one with the knowledge of dog training.” He studied her intently, willing an answer he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear. “Precisely the reason why you’re here, is it not?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “But what?”

  She shrugged in a far too casual manner. “I didn’t expect you to agree so quickly, that’s all. I had the rather distinct impression that you are not altogether fond of the animals.”

  “Nor are they fond of me. But my aunt’s death has left me little choice in the matter. Like it or not, I’m stuck with the annoying little buggers.”

  A smiled curved her lips and amusement lit her eyes. “Not buggers. Kings.”

  He snorted. “They have certainly been treated like royalty.”

  “Lady Eleanor loved them.”

  “Indeed she did. And I suppose I shall get used to them eventually. But aside from the clashes of our respective characters, Yorkshire terriers are not exactly the breed I would choose.”

  “Oh?”

  “No indeed. Dogs are, for the most part, decent hardworking animals who should be employed for useful pursuits. Why, they should hunt or herd or guard. They should live as such creatures were meant to live: out-of-doors or in a stable or a barn. They should not be found indoors. They should not be permitted to settle themselves in the lap of some unsuspecting person. And they should never”—he pulled his brows together in a stern manner—”be allowed anywhere in the vicinity of my bed.”

  “I see.”

  “And furthermore, they are not a man’s breed.”

  “Yorkies are extremely popular these days.”

  “With women such as my aunt, perhaps, but a man needs a different type of dog. Something more substantial. Something large and sturdy.” He nodded firmly. “Something like that Great Dane of yours.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “An excellent name, as well. Noble and renowned. According to Miles, he appears to be quite well trained. A tribute to your methods, no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” she said faintly.

  “Have you had him long?”

  “Long?”

  He eyed her curiously. Why was she hesitating? “Yes. I would think to have achieved such a degree of obedience you would have to raise a dog from a pup.”

  “Well, yes, of course, that is the ideal way to go about it.” She pulled a deep breath. “And in fact, I have learned everything I know from my... um, work with Shakespeare.”

  Her voice was even and cool, yet Oliver suspected there was something amiss. What could it be? He added yet another question to his growing list.

  “Very well, then. How do you suggest we proceed?”

  The faintest touch of relief flushed her face. “I thought perhaps a long walk might be the best place to start.”

  “Capital idea.” He smiled. “I shall get my coat and meet you and your charges, on the front drive.”

  “In, shall we say, five minutes?”

  “Excellent.” He nodded and she turned to leave

  Abruptly she swiveled back to him. She stared at him with a considering gaze if she were looking for an answer to a query not yet voiced. “This is the first time I’ve seen you smile since my arrival.”

  His voice was soft. “This is the first time I’ve wished to smile.”

  “I wondered if you knew how.”

  “Of course I know how. In point of fact, I am considered to have a highly developed sense of humor.” Indignation edged his tone. “I enjoy a good jest as well as the next man. I not only smile, I have been known to grin, chuckle and engage in a hearty laugh on occasion.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.” She bit back a smile. “I was simply starting to believe you had forgotten such things.”

  “I have forgotten... nothing
.” At once the lighthearted nature of the moment shattered and tension hung in the air.

  She caught her breath and seemed about to say something. Would she now bring up their past? Was this the moment he ached for? The moment he dreaded? She shook her head slightly as if to clear it.

  “Five minutes, then.” Diana turned and strode out the door.

  He exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d held. Was it too soon to bring up what had once been between them? Was she as apprehensive about confronting their past as he was? Could she possibly know how devastated he had been?

  Of course! The answer struck him like a slap across the face. Aunt Ellie! This was all her doing. Why hadn’t he realized it before now? Obviously, his aunt must have contacted Diana, or perhaps it was the other way around, and devised a plan to bring the only woman he’d ever loved back into his life. It was just the type of endeavor Aunt Ellie would undertake and not the type of thing even death would dissuade her from.

  If Ellie had had a hand in this that went beyond the ridiculous notion of helping him adjust to her pets, she must have liked Diana a great deal. She would never allow the woman who’d destroyed her nephew’s heart to come anywhere near him, or for that matter, her kings, unless she firmly believed it was best for Oliver.

  A sinking sensation settled in his stomach. Were his newfound suspicions about the events of a decade ago true after all? He’d wager Ellie thought so. In all his years with her, he’d never known her to make a serious error in the judgment of the integrity of any man or any woman.

  Still, he would have to be cautious until he was certain. It was best if he took this possibility with a healthy dose of skepticism. For so long he had believed in Diana’s treachery, had lived with its bitter taste in his mouth. It would be wise to proceed slowly. He wasn’t ready to pull her into his arms and declare the past behind them, although, with each passing moment in her presence, that was exactly what he wanted.

  No, this self-reliant woman who refused to flinch from his steady, assessing gaze was a far cry from the quiet innocent he’d once loved. And for that, if for no other reason, he had to tread with care and keep the hope and desire that grew within him under control. At least for now.

  It would not be easy. Especially with the realization that, regardless of how much time had passed, no woman in her right mind would return to confront the man she’d so cruelly deserted unless she had never truly deserted him at all.

  Chapter Six

  “Now, gentlemen, I should very much appreciate it if you were on your best behavior.” The Yorkies looked up at her with an air of indifference in an obvious debate over the pros and cons of honoring her request. “It would be a great help if I was able to show him at least a tiny improvement in your attitude. Shakespeare, I am counting on you to lead the way.” The Great Dane cocked his head, alert and ready. He really was a wonderful dog, not that she knew a great deal about dogs, but this huge beast had already worked his way into her affections. If nothing else came of this venture, she at least had a loyal friend for life.

  Oliver strode across the broad, winter-browned expanse of the lawn toward the end of the long drive where Diana and her charges waited. Her heart caught. He was so handsome, his step so firm, his bearing so self-assured. He was at once just as she’d remembered yet so very different. The passage of time had taken a reserved young man and molded him into a fine figure of fortitude and strength.

  How on earth could she resist the temptation to throw herself into his arms and tell him everything she’d learned since Ketterson’s death? No. She took a deep breath. It was far too soon.

  “Patience, my dear.” Lady Eleanor’s instructions rang in her ears. “Remember, men are very much like dogs when it comes to how they view the world around them and their relationship to it and other creatures. “

  If there was any chance that he could love her again, he had to accept her first.

  Oliver stepped up beside her with a cordial nod. “Where do you suggest we begin?”

  “Begin?” She wished she knew.

  “Yes.” He stared in a quizzical manner. “You said I needed to better know the animals. I admit I have no knowledge about the training of dogs, but this idea strikes me as a bit unusual.”

  “It’s American,” she said quickly. “And quite the latest method for canine instruction.”

  “It does seem rather unique.”

  “It’s very progressive. I suggest we simply walk with them for a while and see how that goes.”

  He raised a brow. “I attempted to walk with them on the day you arrived and it did not go at all well. The creatures insisted on darting off the road and disappearing into the bushes. I was quite afraid I would lose them entirely. I found myself chasing after them like a lunatic.”

  She stifled a smile at the image. “Did you call them in a firm, yet pleasant tone?”

  “I was exceedingly firm,” he said wryly.

  “And pleasant?”

  Oliver grimaced.

  “Very well, then. I see we shall have to start from the beginning.” Diana started off down the lane, all too aware of Oliver at her side. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine another walk in another time and a single kiss in a moment stolen with the man she loved.

  The dogs trotted before them in a haphazard display of obedience. Not at all impressive but far better than nothing at all. What was it that the pamphlet instructed? Oh yes. “Consistency is the key to training a dog. They will come to understand what it is you require of them if you are consistent in your commands.”

  “And pleasant,” he muttered.

  “Obviously, we shall have to work on that. It appears you and the kings have started off on the wrong foot, or rather”—she cast him a teasing smile—“I should say the wrong paw.”

  “They do not like me.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “They have never liked me.”

  “And do you like them?”

  “I do not precisely dislike them. I simply find them annoying, noisy, snapping little blighters.”

  “Dogs are extremely intelligent animals. I daresay they know full well your opinion of them.” She shook her head. “Perhaps you need to be trained as much as they do.”

  “Hah. My behavior is not in question here. They are the problem.” He nodded at the dogs, who seemed to pay no notice to them at all. “I say, shouldn’t we be issuing commands of some sort?”

  “No, no, not today,” she said with a conviction she didn’t feel. “As I said, you need to get to know one another. You and the Yorkies have to accept each other’s company. You must first learn mutual trust and even respect before any kind of serious training can begin.” Good Lord! What kind of rubbish was she spouting? Although, even to her own ears, it did seem to sound rather knowledgeable.

  “Respect?”

  “Certainly. Why, you would not listen for a moment to anyone you did not respect. Dogs are no different. It shall certainly take a great deal of work but it will be worth the effort in the end.” Another phrase from the pamphlet leapt to mind. “A well trained dog is a delightful companion.”

  He snorted with disdain. “I rather doubt delightful can be achieved in this case. We may have to settle for a simple armed truce.”

  She laughed. “It’s far too early to give up. Patience is nearly as important in training as consistency.”

  In your training as well as theirs.

  “I suppose.” He shrugged. The dogs ambled before them in a surprisingly well-behaved manner. Diana heaved a silent sigh of relief. At least they were not distracting her from her chat with Oliver. And that, after all, was the true purpose of this outing.

  “I have to confess, I am rather surprised by your expertise.” Oliver slanted her an admiring glance.

  “Oh?” Her stomach clenched but she kept he tone even. “Why is that?”

  “You must admit it is rather unusual for a woman to have any sort of profession, let alone be engaged in the education of dogs.”

  “Do you think women
are unfit for such professions?”

  “No, not really, I suppose.” He chuckled. “Frankly, I had never given it any consideration one way or another.”

  “I have heard of numerous women who have pursued various methods of earning a living.”

  “Perhaps not numerous but indeed, I have heard of a few as well. For the most part they were widows who had taken over the business activities of their deceased husbands.” He paused as if choosing his words with care. “Did you learn your skills with animals from your husband?”

  “My husband?” She stopped short and stared.

  “Lawrence.” He studied her carefully.

  “Lawrence,” she echoed.

  “I am sorry. I simply assumed, since you are so obviously independent, that you were a widow.”

  “A widow.” Of course. He’d called her Mrs. Lawrence. He must think she’d married. She knew from his letters that Ketterson had told him she was to be wed. She’d been far too preoccupied with other considerations to note his use of the married title until now. “Yes, well, I am indeed... independent.” She turned and continued down the lane.

  “It must be very difficult.” His voice was quiet. “For a woman alone, that is. Even one with a profession.”

  “It is always difficult to be alone.” She glanced at him. “Don’t you think?”

  “Very difficult, indeed.”

  He stared down at the graveled lane, his brows furrowed as if he were deep in thought. What was he thinking? Was this finally the moment to reveal the truth? They seemed to have developed a quiet companionship today or, possibly, an unspoken agreement as to the bounds of discussion. Could this be the time to bring up the past? She squared her shoulders.

  He drew a deep breath. “Mrs. Lawrence—”

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering ...” He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s of no consequence.”