The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy
Page 56
“As I said, I am very glad that it did not come to a dispute between you and the marquess. What did you say kept you away?” she asked.
Richard gazed at her for a long while, almost ungraciously long. Rose forced herself to return his gaze and quelled her rising agitation. When Richard finally spoke, he turned not to her, but to her mother. “My Lady, will you allow me to escort your daughter to the gardens for a moment? We will stay within your sight.”
“My daughter also wishes to have a few private words with you, I believe. As long as I can see you both, there is nothing to object. After all, you are engaged to one another and soon to be married.”
“My most graceful thanks, Duchess,” Richard said casually. With a brisk bow, he placed Rose’s hand on his arm.
“Well?” Rose asked as they left the terrace and strolled to the left. “Now would you like to reveal to me what has kept you away?” The duchess was not the only one to be out of sorts today, Rose thought with a hint of amazement. Only a week ago, she would not have insisted on an answer when her fiancé clearly did not want to provide one. Instead, she would have been content with the prospect of the imminent wedding.
“Rose,” Richard said and stopped walking. “My sweet, tender Rose. There are some things that are not suitable for the ears of young ladies.”
“Sweet and tender,” he called her. She hated sweet things. And tender… goodness… what had been tender about trying to save his life at the considerable risk for her reputation?
“You have to learn not to question my actions. I know that your parents gave you a lot of freedom, Lady Rose, and far be it for me to criticise the methods of education adopted by the duchess and the duke.”
As he had done just now, albeit indirectly, Rose realised. But it was probably the affection he felt for her, his concern for her, that led him to such a gruff condemnation of her parents. Strange, how differently their love displayed itself. While she stormed forward, admittedly a bit rashly at times, Richard went about things cautiously.
Opposites attract, or so they say.
They would make a good couple once they were married.
They had stopped and were facing one another. Richard was tall (but not as tall as the marquess), although both men had equally broad shoulders. “I take it from your silence that you share my point of view,” he said.
“It is true that my sisters and I were brought up more liberally than dictated by common standards,” she said evasively. Richard failed to notice that she was not completely agreeing with him, for now, he was smiling with great satisfaction.
“I always knew that you were quite reasonable for a lady. Most young ladies are overwhelmed by their feelings, but not you, Lady Rose.”
That did not feel like a compliment in the slightest, even if it was meant as one. Now Richard reached out for her hand and leaned over it. He had left his hat in the house and, as he bent forward, not a single hair moved on his carefully groomed head. He smelled of bloomy scented water – no, she was wrong. It was her own lily-of-the-valley perfume that wafted towards her nostrils. What a good thing that he could not see her face, because the oddest of sensations was washing over Rose.
Had he wiped out her letter and the kiss from his memory? How could Lord de Coucy possibly describe her as “reasonable” when she had initiated something so daring and truly romantic with her request for a rendezvous?
“We should go back to the house,” Rose suggested. What she needed now, was peace. She had to try and bring order to the chaos raging in her heart and mind. He nodded and took half a step forward without reaching for her arm. Rose followed him but tripped on the edge of the stone path and stumbled half a step forward. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed Richard’s shoulder. She felt the soft fabric under her hand, not surprisingly. But she nearly laughed when she realised that Lord de Coucy was wearing shoulder pads. He had the shoulders of his suit padded! She quickly withdrew her hand and looked in another direction to hide her amusement.
“Is everything all right, Lady Rose?” He wanted to know. When Rose said yes and reassured him that she had not hurt herself, he continued, “We should go inside. It is getting chilly, and I think it might rain at any moment.”
“As you wish,” muttered Rose, her lips numb. She would have liked a little more concern for her well-being, just enough for her to feel his affection. But as he moved forward and said nothing else, she followed him.
“Will I see you and your parents at the Lyceum on Saturday?”
“I hope so,” Rose replied, relieved to find herself on sound ground. “I have not had a chance to see the latest play of Romeo and Juliet, and I cannot wait to see the wonderful Miss Taylor taking a lead role on stage.”
“My box is available for you and your parents,” he offered, not commenting on her remark. Besides, it was not his box, it was his father’s, Rose thought and scolded herself the next moment for being petty.
“Thank you, my Lord. We will be very pleased to accept your generous offer.”
Now all she had to do was convince her mother of it.
Chapter 24
Quite unlike his usual self, Gabriel almost forgot that he had invited Dr Hollingsworth to the Lyceum Theatre that Saturday. Had it not been for Catherine who reminded him, he would have found himself in a most uncomfortable situation. As it was, they left in good time and met the doctor in the foyer.
“Lady Henrietta, what a pleasant surprise. You look healthy.” He leaned over Henrietta’s outstretched hand, and when he straightened, his face was slightly reddened. “Please excuse me. The doctor in me is always on duty and scarcely restrained.” First having thought that Hollingsworth was alluding to the pregnancy, Gabriel exhaled. It had been hard enough persuading Henrietta to accompany him to the theatre, but he had succeeded.
“You cannot simply lock yourself in your room. You will lose your zest for life,” had been his words. Secretly, he thought it would be better if she showed herself in public until her condition could no longer be concealed. With a bit of luck, his letter to James had reached the man by then, for him to find the quickest way back to London.
If not … well, then he would insist that Henrietta accepted the kind offer of the Duchess of Evesham and retreated for a few weeks (or months, Gabriel was not sure how long all of it would take) to the Evesham’s estate on the Scottish borders.
“How about a refreshment before the curtain rises?” Dr Hollingsworth disrupted Gabriel’s thoughts. He was looking at Catherine but addressing them all. “A glass of champagne for the ladies?”
His sister declined politely, as did Gabriel, who took no pleasure in the feeble drink, but his cousin accepted. He stifled a smile as he watched the doctor and Catherine make their way through the crowd. Not once had Catherine been unwell in the last few days or apologised for alleged ailments, vapours, or headaches.
“They make a handsome couple, do they not?” Henrietta squeezed his arm. “You have done well, Gabriel.” Despite her sad undertone, it could not be overheard that she was happy for Catherine.
“Thank you,” he replied. “We can only hope that the doctor sees more in her than simply his patient.”
“I have no doubt about it. Have you seen how he looks at her?”
Gabriel tilted his head to hear her better. The chatter of the lords and ladies around them was boisterous. Glasses clinked, laughter erupted, and the many burning candles produced an unpleasant heat. “There is no need to cry,” said Gabriel, who saw her tears welling up. He led her to the edge of the crowd and stood protectively in front of her. Maybe it had not been such a good idea to bring his sister, after all. “Do you want me to call the carriage? We could go home again.”
“No, it will do me good to turn my mind to other things,” she said, declining his offer of assistance. “I am just a little bewildered.”
“Then we shall go up,” he suggested. “Catherine knows where our loge is. She and the doctor will understand that we have gone upstairs.”
She seemed content to watch the crowd downstairs, so Gabriel let his eyes wander as well. Nothing had changed in the two years he had spent in France. The ladies still flaunted their riches, whether they were physical attributes or jewellery, and the gentlemen paid them due attention. Both fortune hunters and bon viveurs alike found what they were looking for at the theatre. He glanced over to the other side where he knew the Evesham’s loge was and found it empty.
It was most likely for the better not to see her the night Romeo and Juliet was playing. It would have been hard for him to rein in the memories that were now associated with the play for the rest of his life. He knew her innocent, yet daring lines from that dratted letter by heart. The one letter, that had become his talisman and homeland memory as he fought in the war. The single sheet had almost fallen apart because he had been carrying it folded in his breast pocket throughout the period in France – and even the French had let him hold on to it when he was captured.
Gabriel forced himself to keep his eyes wide open in order to distract himself from his gloomy memories. Down below, pitifully far from the stage, the de Coucys had their reserved seats. A typical choice, Gabriel thought, mockingly. They set great value upon owning a loge as noble elite, but, at the same time, they signified that they had little interest in the performance on stage. Their main concern was to see and be seen. The magic of poetry was wasted on the de Coucys, as well as the art of the truly great actors.
He heard Catherine and the doctor step into the box and sit down. After another brief exchange of pleasantries, everyone but Gabriel set their eyes to the stage. The audience was still making a noise and would continue to do so when the play started. Booing was as common as standing ovations. Some of the audience were not shy at calling out warnings to the actors, as if they could influence the course of events. As much as Gabriel longed to enjoy a performance in peace, he had to acknowledge that the response of the audience was essentially the highest compliment one could pay to poets and actors. When the audience could no longer distinguish between play and reality, both the author and the performers had reached the zenith of their art.
Or, maybe the London audience is just easily impressed, he thought, relieved when the curtain finally lifted. One more time, his eyes wandered over to the opposite row.
Then he saw her. Lady Rose sat next to de Coucy, who was leaning over to her confidentially and whispered something in her ear that made her smile. What could this prancing peacock have said that was so funny? She tilted her head as if agreeing with him. Or was she trying to put a little distance between herself and de Coucy? After all, her mother was present, he noted with some satisfaction. She was flanked by the Marchioness of Glastonbury, a malicious beauty, and the Earl of Shrevington. The old lech leaned so far over her that it was unseemly and made a comment to the marchioness, until the duchess pushed him back over to his side without further ado. Gabriel wanted to know what she had said to the earl, because Shrevington looked thoroughly deflated, scratching his ridiculous goatee beard.
One last time, he looked for Rose before turning his attention to the tragic love story. She sat upright in her seat and looked straight over at him. The distance between them shrank to nothing as she nodded a greeting and even raised her hand. He returned the greeting without losing sight of her lovely face. Despite the distance, not only could he see the smile in her eyes, but also feel it, like a warming fire burning only for him.
It was good that he already knew the drama, because he did not catch much of the action on stage. Only when Juliet stepped on the balcony and peered down into the garden of the Capulets, the fog disappeared before his eyes. He watched the portly Romeo, who glanced up admiringly at his loved one and began to proclaim:
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she1.
Gabriel spoke the words silently and, upon the last line, looked over to Rose. He knew she could not hear him, yet his words were addressed to her alone, aimed at her and her beauty. He admired her clear profile, straight nose, and gently rounded chin, the way she graciously raised her hand to stroke her forehead. Look at me, he ordered silently. Indeed, as if led by an invisible hand, she turned her head. It was only for a moment, but it was enough.
On stage, the madness of the two lovers unfolded.
Gabriel kept his eyes on the actors and listened to their words. He knew the play but had never before found the sentences to have such a deep and true meaning. When Juliet uttered the words:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
my love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite2.
And his eyes met with Lady Rose’s again, he felt happier than he had dared to hope for.
She was not indifferent to him.
Gabriel knew that she did not love him, not yet, but he had managed to turn her initial dislike into something that held the possibility of love.
He would be damned not to take his chance.
1 Shakespeare, William, 1891, Romeo und Julia, Folger Shakespeare Library. Romeo and Juliet from Folger Digital Texts. Ed. Barbara Mowat, Paul Werstine, Michael Poston, and Rebecca Niles. Folger Shakespeare Library, 16 April, 2019. www.folgerdigitaltexts.org
2 Shakespeare, William, 1891, Romeo and Juliet, Folger Shakespeare Library. Romeo and Juliet from Folger Digital Texts. Ed. Barbara Mowat, Paul Werstine, Michael Poston, and Rebecca Niles. Folk Shakespeare Library, 16 April 2019. www.folgerdigitaltexts.org
Chapter 25
Rose was relieved when, at long last, everyone the poet had assigned to die had indeed suffered their fate. Normally, she would have trembled and cheered until the final second, even though she knew the tragic outcome, but today, everything was different. After the balcony scene, she had not been able to neither enjoy Shakespeare’s poetry nor the thespianism. It was not that she could no longer follow the piece, but rather, as if she had unexpectedly uncovered a secret meaning behind the verses that scared her in its intensity. Romeo and Juliet loved each other with an exclusivity that resulted in their decision to rather die than live without each other. But, she reminded herself, that was literature, not real life.
When the actors left the stage to make way for the obligatory pantomime, she had seen enough and stood. Richard seemed surprised but got up, too. “Let us go down and have a glass of champagne,” he suggested. He did not even wait for her answer but instead asked her mother for her permission and led Rose by the arm to the stairs.
“I am not really thirsty,” she said, looking in the crowd for the marquess. As sure as an arrow, she found him, although she had hoped to avoid a direct encounter. He had his back to her and was chatting animatedly with a plainly dressed woman of her mother’s age and a man with a tremendously dignified air. Next to the marquess, stood unmistakably the slender figure of his sister in a breath-taking red dress, the kind that only dark-haired ladies could wear without appearing vulgar.
“Then, allow me to get a glass for myself. One moment.” Richard waved to a young gentleman who approached them instantaneously. Oh, no, thought Rose, feeling the panic well up in her chest and throat. Of all people, it had to
be Eaglethorpe whom Richard wished to speak to. “Eaglethorpe, old boy, do me a favour, and take a moment to look after my soon-to-be wife, will you? By all means, I desperately need a drink and would not like to leave her alone here amidst the turmoil.”
“With the utmost pleasure,” Eaglethorpe replied, bowing. Swaying. Was there ever a sober side to this man?
Rose took a step back and turned to Richard. “I do not need a guardian who can barely stand up, thank you very much,” she said. With a semi-comical and semi-repugnant gesture, Eaglethorpe placed his right hand where his heart was, no doubt pickled in alcohol. Richard, in contrast, was already greeting the next acquaintance and motioned for the man to wait for him. “Lord de Coucy,” Rose said louder than she intended, “are you even listening to me?”
“Every word,” he replied, half-bowing, and set off to get his champagne.
He just abandoned her!
Romeo would never even have dreamed of entrusting his Juliet to a drunken Benvolio. A little cough prevented Rose from continuing to consider the comparison. Eaglethorpe stared at her, waiting for … an answer?
“Excuse me.” Rose remembered her education. “What did you say?”
“I was wondering – have we not seen each other recently?”
“That is quite possible,” Rose agreed. “Perhaps at the Cavendish’s dinner? Or at Almack’s? I was there with my sister Annabelle last Friday. You know Annabelle? She has so little time right now, because …” Rose ran out of breath. Eaglethorpe’s eyes narrowed. He took a step towards her, still wavering, seeming to want to cling on to her. Rose backed away, bumping into something hard, big, that felt like a velvet-clad rock – and turned out to be the Marquess of Cavanaugh.
“There you are, my Lady,” he said, stepping beside her. Now it was Eaglethorpe who was backing away as far as the crowd would allow. Possibly, in this case, it was even a blessing that he was surrounded by people to cling onto while muttering apologies. “My sister would like to know if you could spare her a moment.”