11
Improper Shakespeare, in the Library
Gina dressed very carefully for the evening. She had decided to put Sebastian to the test. Common knowledge had it that men’s sexual appetites are barely held in check: she meant to find out whether Sebastian’s urges were in perfect working order. Because the more she thought about it, the less she wanted to find herself on a pedestal her entire married life, while her husband gallivanted about with a lively and lascivious mistress. She was starting to worry that she might have overrated constancy as a husbandly trait.
She drove her maid to distraction by changing her gown three times, but finally she was ready to descend the stairs in an inky blue evening frock of heavy silk. It laced behind and was made to display the whole of her neck and shoulders. But the pièce de résistance, from Gina’s point of view, was that the hem was looped up at the sides, showing her satin slippers. Her ankles were among her best features, and it couldn’t hurt to display them. She wore her hair high, with silky ringlets falling over bare shoulders.
In sum, the gown was her most daring, what with the lacing behind and caught-up hem below. If this doesn’t fire Sebastian’s heart, Gina thought as she left the chamber, nothing will.
Since Lady Troubridge did not care for reading, and rarely ventured into the library, the chamber hadn’t changed since the early 1600s. It was dark and tranquil, with its barrel roof arched high above, and brass-fronted bookshelves set between narrow windows. During the day it received southern light, but in the evening the windows were nothing more than smudges of darker gray between the bookshelves. The only lamps burning were at the far end of the room, where a wide pool of light edged toward her and then fell into darkness.
Gina walked toward the light, her slippers making no sound on the thick carpet. The rest of the cast had already assembled. The young actor, Reginald, was holding forth on something; Cam was listening courteously, but she could see a glint of amusement in his black eyes. Sebastian was frowning down at his book, his hair shining in the light of the fire behind him like a new-minted penny.
Esme was seated on a low stool next to Cam, ideally positioned so that the neckline of her evening dress revealed all to anyone who cared to glance.
Gina walked into the circle of light. The men rose, of course, and Esme smiled from the stool. “Do listen to this, dearest. Mr. Gerard has cast me as a poor maiden who faints and almost dies when she is accused of loose behavior!”
Gina couldn’t help smiling back. Whatever one could say about Esme, one could not say that she deluded herself. She was the first to see the pleasure of that incongruity.
“Perhaps we should switch characters,” Esme continued.
“Your claims to an unspotted character are far greater than mine.”
Sebastian answered. “I do not care for that suggestion,” he said, frowning. “Beatrice seems to be a lively but not unladylike young woman. Far more suitable for Her Grace.”
“Ladylike?” Cam murmured as Gina walked over and sat at a chair by his side. Part of her plan involved using her husband to demonstrate to Sebastian just how pedestal-unworthy she was. The more she thought about the way her husband had kissed her, the more she realized that it was likely representative of his daily behavior. The man probably lusted after any woman he had close at hand. She sat down gracefully and watched with satisfaction as her dress fell open over her ankle.
Cam looked down at her slender leg and then quickly up at her face. His eyebrow rose and he surveyed her slowly, from the tip of her head to the tip of her slippers. “I presume this display is not solely for my benefit?” he whispered. His eyes were alight with laughter and something—something Gina wasn’t certain she could identify.
“Be still, you wretch!” she whispered back, turning a little pink. Of course he saw straight through her—he always had, even when they were children. But that made him the perfect man to inspire Sebastian’s jealousy. He would never take a flirtation seriously: not Cam.
Sebastian had sat down again after greeting her, and was turning the pages of his book. “Yes,” he said weightily, “I think the part of Beatrice is quite appropriate for Her Grace. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me. Quite appropriate.”
“What? Do I say that?” Gina opened her book. “Where?”
“I gather you don’t agree with the sentiment?” Cam asked.
“Of course I do,” she replied. “I’m simply trying to find the text.”
“Let me help you,” he said, leaning over and taking her book in his large hands. “Bonnington is reading from Act One.”
He had an indefinable scent, Cam did. Clean and autumny, like wild leaves in the outdoors. Unlike most men, he wore no perfume. Her cheeks were burning by the time he drew away, pointing to an open page.
She looked down at the text rather dubiously. Her character, Beatrice, seemed to be a bit of a shrew.
Cam leaned over her shoulder again, confusing her. A hand came across her book. “We’re a quarrelsome pair,” he said. “Look at this.” He pointed to a line. “You’re threatening to scratch my face.”
“You seem to be a boastful sort.” She recited, mockingly: “But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted. What a braggart! All ladies indeed!”
His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “You may have a point,” he said, so softly that she could hardly hear him. “We shall have to read on to see whether you bring me to my knees or not.”
Gina caught her breath. For a moment her eyes met his, dark with promise and wicked with intent. A restless cough jerked her back into the room. She turned her head, suppressing a satisfied grin. He did notice. “How is your part, Sebastian?” She refused to address him formally. They were among friends, after all.
Sebastian’s mouth tightened, indicating that he noticed her disobedience.
For that’s how it felt, Gina noticed with surprise. As if she were disobeying him.
“My role seems to be unexceptionable. Apparently I believe that I see my betrothed at her bedroom window, embracing another man, and so naturally I repudiate her. It’s in Act Four:
Would you not swear
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows? But she is none:
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed.
Of course I don’t marry her, under those circumstances,” he said with some satisfaction.
But Gina was confused. “I never read this play. Is Esme playing the woman whom you refuse to marry?”
“Yes,” Sebastian agreed.
“So I’m the one who looks like a virgin but isn’t, and knows the—what did you call it?” Esme asked.
“The heat of a luxurious bed,” Sebastian repeated with emphasis.
“How typical of a man to jump to such an absurd conclusion,” she said.
“What’s absurd?” Sebastian said with a shrug. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Wouldn’t you concur, Lady Rawlings?”
Gina glanced between them. For some reason Sebastian and Esme’s customary level of tension seemed particularly high tonight. “But your fiancée is not truly betraying you?”
Reginald Gerard took over. “She is not. A villain has convinced another woman to act the part, standing in her bedchamber window.”
“I make some excellent points,” Sebastian said, looking back down at his book. “But, as a brother to his sister, show’d bashful sincerity and comely love.”
“What are you talking about?” Gina asked.
“My attitude toward my future bride, played by Lady Rawlings,” he explained. “Naturally, I never stepped outside the bounds of virtuous behavior, but behaved as a brother to a sister.”
Was there a hint of meaning in his voice? Gina cast him a look through narrowed eyes. Sebastian seemed to have a rather smug look about him. How dare he lecture her. She closed her book with a snap.
“I would appreciate the opportu
nity to call my wife a parrot,” Cam said. “Why don’t Gina and I perform this bit from Act One?”
“Fine!” Reginald said. Obviously he had caught on to some worrisome undercurrents among his cast. “And shall we have the scene that you so admire, Lord Bonnington? And then perhaps one other scene—”
“I suggest we do the entire fourth act,” Cam interrupted.
“Of course,” Reginald agreed.
Gina narrowed her eyes. For some reason Cam looked mighty pleased with himself. “What is it?” she demanded.
He met her eyes with such a flare of amusement that she felt a jolt in her stomach. “It’s a good piece, Gina. You’ll enjoy it.”
“I doubt it,” she said, swinging her foot a little. Sure enough, his eyes turned for a second to her slender leg. She giggled, feeling dizzily triumphant. She might not be able to entice her fiancé, but she certainly had an effect on her husband.
“You have some interesting lines,” that husband said.
“Oh?”
“Indeed. For example, you swear to love me forever.”
Gina put her hand to her heart. “Oh, how will I say such an untruth!” she said dramatically.
He leaned closer. “I’m sure it will come easily.”
“I doubt that!” she said tartly. “Not to a swinish boaster like you!”
“That’s Shakespeare’s character, Benedick, not me,” Cam corrected her. He lowered his voice. “But after all, you are accomplished at this sort of thing, aren’t you?”
She blinked and looked at his eyes. They were lined with such a thick row of eyelashes that she almost lost track of her point. “In fact, this is my first theatrical performance.”
“Ah, but you presumably told that poor sod over there that you loved and adored him,” Cam said gently.
Gina took a deep breath as outrage poured through her. “Am I to understand, my lord, that you have experienced a change of heart?”
It was his turn to blink.
“I can only think,” she continued, “that you are afraid to find yourself unmarried, given that you are decrying my future husband.” She patted his hand. “Please don’t worry so much. I’m sure we can find someone who will marry you.” There was just a touch of doubt in her tone.
“Vixen,” he growled.
Gerard was speaking. Gina’s heart was beating so fast that she could hardly hear what he was saying.
Given that her plan involved driving her betrothed into a display of jealousy, it was unfortunate that Sebastian seemed oblivious. She could hardly inspire jealousy if he didn’t notice that she was flirting with another man. Instead he was quarrelling with Esme again. In his anger, he had scooted his chair closer to her stool, and their heads were bent over their books as they argued over their lines.
Reginald clapped his hands again, pleading for attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I suggest that you take your books back to your chambers and spend the remainder of the week memorizing your lines. Lady Troubridge has suggested that we perform on the weekend.”
“Memorize our lines?” Cam sounded shocked.
“Too much of a strain for an elderly brain?” Gina cooed.
“At least I managed to read the play before this evening,” he retorted.
“Very good, Your Grace!” Reginald said. “We shall meet in three days, and I would be most grateful if you knew your lines from Act One and Act Four.”
Gina stood up and shook out her skirts. Then she deliberately drew off the cashmere scarf she had been wearing around her shoulders. With a quick glance under her lashes, she saw Cam glance at the swell of her breasts. He looked away immediately but took a deep breath that gave her untold satisfaction. Her fiancé, however, was helping Esme to her feet as he hurled a last comment, and paid no attention.
Esme moved away without a word, leaving Sebastian in mid-sentence. Her eyes met Gina’s with a hint of desperation. “Shall we join the rest of the party?”
“Of course,” she said. They walked out before the men.
“I’m so sorry that you and Sebastian are not more at ease together,” Gina said.
“Yes,” Esme said. But she shut her lips tight.
“Do you think it would help if I spoke to him?”
Esme turned and clasped her arm. “Please don’t mention it. I believe he can’t help being so censorious. Lord Bonnington is quite honorable and distressed by lesser behavior in others.”
“Of course,” Gina murmured. “I just wish he didn’t behave like such a prig around you.”
“He’s not a prig. He simply has the…the courage of his convictions.”
“Yes,” she replied, her mood turning to depression. “Of course.”
They walked through the doors of the Long Salon. Lady Troubridge had arranged for card games that evening. In front of them was a small table graced by Esme’s husband, Miles. As they watched, he brushed his hand gently over Lady Childe’s cheek.
“Better a prig than a reprobate,” Esme said bitterly. “Bonnington will never humiliate you in public. That sounds like paradise to me.”
Miles Rawlings looked up and waved, beckoning them over to his table.
“He’s very friendly,” Gina pointed out. “At least you and your husband don’t live in a state of armed warfare.”
“No, not at all. We are the very epitome of a civilized couple. Well, shall we greet him? I managed to avoid him last night.”
Esme’s husband was a blocky, solidly built man. When one glanced at him across the room, he gave an impression of bullish masculinity, but at close range he had an oddly feminizing dimple in the middle of his chin.
To Gina, it seemed that his eyes were shining with genuine delight to see his wife. He kissed her on each hand with a good deal of flair. Lady Childe too had risen and was murmuring a welcome that held the note of apology missing from Rawlings’s tone.
“How have you been, my dear?” Rawlings asked, beaming at his wife.
“Quite well, thank you,” Esme replied, disengaging her hands and curtsying. “How pleasant to see you again, Lady Childe. Are you enjoying the country?”
Lady Childe was about fifteen years older than Esme, and looked it. She was a horse-loving matron who had given her husband two boys and after her second lying-in never, it was widely rumored, shared his bed again. Or any man’s bed, until she met Esme’s husband.
They chatted pleasantly for a moment until Esme’s fingers tightened on Gina’s arm. “Please forgive me,” Gina said, smiling at the couple. “But I must return to my husband. Esme, will you accompany me into the supper room?”
“I think it could be much worse—” Gina began, as they walked away.
But Esme interrupted. “May we drop the subject? Please?”
“Of course,” she agreed. “Are you all right?”
“Certainly. Marriage is—difficult, that’s all.”
Gina nodded. “You’re four times as beautiful as she is,” she said reassuringly.
“That should matter, shouldn’t it?” Esme was walking faster and faster, her stride lengthening. “But it doesn’t. And I don’t mean that I want him. I don’t. I certainly don’t want him in my bed, so I should be grateful to Lady Childe.”
Gina kept silent.
“The only reason I’m not grateful is that I’m a jealous, horrible person,” Esme said vehemently.
“No, you’re not!”
“I am. He’s in love, you know.”
“Not for the first time,” Gina pointed out.
“Ah, but for the last time, I think. I truly think it. He’s been lucky enough to find someone whom he loves. And if society were any different, they would live together for the rest of their lives. In fact, I’m not sure but that they will anyway.”
“I doubt that,” Gina said after thinking about it. “Lady Childe’s sons would suffer from her lack of reputation.”
“I suppose so,” Esme agreed in a dreary sort of way.
“Darling, what is the matter?”
“She has sons.”
Gina could think of nothing to say to that, so she twined her arm around her friend’s waist and they walked into the supper room together. Carola was ensconced at a table and surrounded by her usual lively circle of young men.
“Carola needs your advice.”
“My advice?” But Esme let herself be drawn over to the table.
As soon as Carola saw them, she stood up and shooed off her admirers. “Go along, do! I must speak to these ladies.” Grumbling, three of them left. Only Neville remained. “Neville!” Carola said. “I’ll dance with you later.”
“I shan’t go,” he said, bowing to Esme and Gina. “Your Grace, Lady Rawlings.” He deftly handed them into chairs and then sat down again. “I know the look of a witch’s coven as well as the next man. And you know, darlings, I always fancied myself in a coven.”
Carola rolled her eyes. But Neville smiled so beguilingly that she gave in. “All right, you may stay. But this is a secret conference, do you understand?” She fixed him with a fierce gaze.
He bowed his head. “May all the starch in England be turned to butter before I breathe a word,” he said devoutly.
Gina eyed his elaborate, starched neck cloth with some interest. “Would that be so terrible?”
“There is no reason to live without a perfectly starched neck cloth in the morning,” Neville replied.
Carola tapped him sharply on the hand with her fan. “This is a council of war, and if you can’t be serious, you must take yourself off.”
Neville straightened up immediately. “War! I always wanted a pair of colors!” he cried. “I would look so dashing in uniform.”
“No starch on the battlefield,” Gina pointed out.
“Please, let’s be serious,” Carola said. “Esme, I need to ask your help. Your aid in—in—” She didn’t seem to be able to formulate her request.
“May I?” Gina interjected.
Carola nodded.
But Neville’s eyes were bright with affection as he looked at Carola. “Let me guess. My own Lady Perwinkle wants to win back the hand of her lamentably dressed husband, and so she is employing the help of the ravishingly seductive Lady Rawlings.”