Much Ado about the Shrew (3 page)

           
"Well
now I feel just terrible," Milford said with feigned astonishment.
"You mean to tell me that I was only invited for my brother's title?"

           
"Shove
off," Ben laughed. "Besides, we're here. Breakfast awaits,
gentlemen."

           
He
dismounted and handed his horse off to his groom, but noticed that Welles and
Milford were still mounted and were still bickering. With a shrug and a shake
of his head, he turned to his house where breakfast was hopefully waiting; they
would find their way inside eventually.

           
"Oh,
good, I am so happy you're here!" Ben recognized the shrieking voice of
his hostess, Lady Stafford, behind him.
           
"Lady Stafford," he
said in his most amiable voice. "It was kind of you to invite us."

           
"Of
course, of course," she said. "And who are these young men with
you?" she asked.

           
Ben
quirked an eyebrow. "Let me make known to you Major James Milford and
Major William Welles."
 
Lady
Stafford frowned as the two men sketched a bow.

           
"Oh,
yes, it is lovely to have such dedicated officers back home from the war,"
she said diplomatically, giving both Welles and Milford a blank stare.
 

           
"Major
Milford is the son of the Earl of Pembroke and Major Welles is the son of
Viscount Welles," Ben reminded her.

           
Lady
Stafford's countenance improved at the titles. "Oh, and now you are all
back in London, safe and sound. Isn't it wonderful?" she said cheerfully.

           
Ben
gave a pained smile, and Welles cleared his throat and looked up.
 
"Certainly better than the alternative,"
Milford frowned, staring at his champagne glass.

           
"Better
than being elsewhere?" Lady Stafford asked, confused.

           
"No,
no. The London part is perfectly amenable," Milford replied.

           
"Oh,
of... course," Lady Stafford stammered.

           
"What
I believe Lord Milord means to say is that we are very thankful to have such a
wonderful hostess for our return home," Ben said, narrowing his eyes
pointedly at Milford.

           
Lady
Stafford beamed. "Oh, yes," she said. "You boys deserve a
homecoming ball, you know."

           
"And
we do appreciate it, greatly," Ben said, giving her a deferential nod and
smile.

           
"We
had a homecoming in 1814 if I recall," Welles noted.

           
"So
this is our second one?" Milford asked.

           
"I
suppose so," Welles mused.

           
"Does
that mean this is the second coming?"

           
"Lady
Stafford," Ben said quickly, turning himself so Milford and Welles were
slightly cut off from her. "Is that Rutland I see?"

           
Lady
Stafford looked up suddenly. "Rutland is here? Oh, dear... he must have
arrived late. Oh, I must go greet him before he believes there is no
hostess!" she said, flustered, and skittered off in the Duke of Rutland's
direction.

           
"Hostess
is laying it on rather thick," Milford said dryly.

           
"I
daresay she had no real idea who we are," Welles agreed. "Kendal, you
should have said my father was a duke, instead of a viscount."

           
"But
your father is a viscount," Milford pointed out.

           
"She
wouldn't know otherwise," Welles noted.

           
Milford
nodded. "Excellent plan. Barrett… I mean, Kendal- oh, blast it! Why did
your brother have to die, anyway? It’s much too difficult to remember to call
you by your title.”

           
“Milford!”
Welles said, astonished.
 
Ben just stared
at Milford, torn between laughing at Milford’s ridiculousness and hitting him.

           
“Oh,
bother,” Milford growled, as if he were the injured party. “
Kendal
, make both of us sons of dukes
when next you introduce us."

           
Ben
seethed. "Did you forget how to act in polite society?" he admonished
his friends in hushed tones.

           
"Polite?
When you find someone who is polite, I will act accordingly," Milford
said.

           
"Enough,"
Ben said. "You're embarrassing me."

           
"Yes,
Papa," Milford said sarcastically.

           
"If
he's
your
Papa, does that make him
my
uncle?" Welles asked.

           
"That
is
a question," Milford said,
taking another sip of champagne. "Dear Lord, this is awful. How is it that
the French are able to make the best brandy, but at the same time they can take
bad wine and make it even worse?"

           
"I
believe it's really more for the ladies," Welles supplied.

           
"Then
women everywhere should be ashamed for having such awful taste," Milford
said, disgusted.

           
Ben
rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Milford, how do you expect to fit back into
society with that attitude?"
  

           
"It
is my first appearance back in society," Milford said. "If I act
perfectly, then there will be no room for improvement."

           
"Enough.
Look, there's Lady Beatrice, and she's coming our way. Remember what I told
you-
neither of you
are to do
anything or say anything untoward, uncouth, or otherwise act in any way
differently than you would your own sister," Ben lectured.

           
"I
don't have a sister," Welles said. "How am I to know how I should
act?"

           
"I
believe he means we are not to ravish the young dear," Milford said,
pretending not to notice when Welles gave him a pointed look. "Although
you say
our
sister. If you're my
papa, does that make her your daughter as well?"

           
"I
promised her brother," Ben said in clipped tones.

           
Both
Milford and Welles' countenance immediately sobered. "Of course,
Kendal," Welles said, and Milford mumbled, "Like a sister."

           
"Be
good," Ben warned.

           
"Oh,
dear Lord," Milford sighed loudly. "Don't insult the hostess, don't
ravish the virgins...
be good
.
 
If I knew I were to act like a monk I would
have stayed home."

           
Ben
frowned and turned back to Beatrice and the man who was with her. She was
dressed in a dark emerald green ball gown, with pearls decorating her throat
and hair.
  
The dark green of her dress
highlighted her red hair, making it appear to Ben that she was a Celtic goddess
come down to grace the mortals with her presence. She smiled happily as she
stopped and was greeted by another guest, and Ben sighed audibly.

           
"Problem?"
Milford asked, taking his eyes off of Beatrice and looking over at Ben.

           
Ben
shook his head. "No, not particularly. I was just thinking that Bee should
have been married by now. She's almost on the shelf."

           
Welles
looked quizzically over at Ben. "She looks quite lovely to me. Lovely,
kind...
er
... pleasant. I, uh... if she weren't my
apparent sister I might offer other adjectives."

           
Ben
scoffed. "Pleasant?
 
No, that would
not be a word to describe Bee."

           
"Oh?"
Milford said, looking over at Welles, who just shrugged.

           
"I've
known Bee since we were young children. She would put frogs in my bed."

           
Milford
laughed and took another sip of champagne, then made a face. "Oh, Lord,
that is... just terrible."

           
"Waking
up to slimy beasts? Without a doubt."

           
"I
meant what passes as alcohol here," Milford smiled. "But frogs?
Certainly that was just a childhood prank."

           
"Definitely,"
Welles interjected. "Some of the pranks my cousins and I would play on
each other were quite... inventive."

           
"It's...
different with Bee. It's as if she has it out for me or something. If it
weren't for that stupid promise to her brother, I would avoid her like the
plague."

           
Milford
looked over at Lady Beatrice, then back at Ben, who had not taken his eyes off
of the object of the conversation since she came into sight. "Truly?"
he said.

           
Ben
nodded, still staring at Beatrice.

           
"Why
is she named after an
apis
?" Milford asked.

           
Ben
furrowed his eyes. "What?"

           
"Latin
for bee," Welles supplied.

           
Ben
rolled his eyes. "It's short for Beatrice," he said, and muttered,
"Idiot."

           
A
few moments passed, until Milford roared with laughter, drawing attention from
those couples around him. They began twittering amongst themselves and Ben
frowned, realizing they were quickly becoming the center of attention.

           
"Will
you cease?" he asked. "What is wrong with you, anyway?"

           
"Oh,
I just put it together, Kendal.
 
It makes
so much sense, though!" he wiped a tear from his eye and placed his elbow
on Welles' shoulder.
 
"Isn't it
obvious?" he asked.

           
"I
have no idea what you're on about," Welles said, confused.

           
"Neither
do I," Ben growled. "Now hush!"

           
"Beatrice
and
Benedick
,"
Milford explained as if to a child.

           
Ben
frowned and rolled his eyes.
 
Welles just
stared. "I don't understand," he said.

           
"
Much Ado about Nothing
," Milford
said slowly.

           
Welles'
head cocked to the side. "Shakespeare?" he asked.

           
"Indeed,"
Milford said.

           
"Our
parents thought the names would be appropriate. That's all," Ben scowled.

           
"Oh!"
Welles said. "I remember now. Oh! This is such fun! I want to play. Can I
be Claudio? He gets Hero in the end."

           
"How
does Claudio get to be the hero?" Milford asked.

           
"Not
a hero, Hero. That was her name," Welles reminded him.

           
"Ah,
yes, now I remember," Milford nodded.

           
"You
cannot be Claudio," Ben growled. "This," he made a sweeping
motion with his hands, "is not a play. I just happen to be named
Benedick
."

           
"If
you're Claudio, then I'll be Don John," Milford said.

           
Welles
pursed his lips. "Wasn't he the antagonist?"

           
"And
what's wrong with that?" asked Milford, pulling his arm back down and
taking a sip of champagne before making a gagging motion.

           
"Stop
drinking the stuff if you hate it so much," Ben told him sharply.

           
"If
memory serves, I believe
Benedick
was considering
torturing him at the end of the play," Welles added.

           
"Excellent
idea," Ben interjected, wishing he had come to the ball alone.

           
"Can't
have that. Then... I'll be the prince," Milford said, ignoring Ben.

           
"You
can't be the prince," Welles reminded him. "Kendal outranks
you."

           
"Bullocks!
 
Who's left?"

           
"Um..."
Welles thought. "What about the man who
tups
the
maid?
Er
...
Borachio
."

           
"A
drunkard? And he
tups
the maid? Excellent! It's
almost as if the part was written for me!" Milford smiled.

           
"Enough!"
Benedick
hushed them both. "Bee is headed this
way. No mention of plays, or of being drunk, or
tupping
of maids."