Nina Coombs Pykare (10 page)

“Yes, yes, of course,” replied Mama. “Whatever you think best, your grace
.
”

And then, most fortunately, the curtain rose. The story of poor Hamlet was not unfamiliar to her, and Licia watched with great interest. Somehow, though, when intermission came, she was aware of a sense of disappointment. “It seems so . . .”

“Unreal?” Ravenworth suggested.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“You’re not the only one to say it. Kemble is a follower of the old school, the school of Art. Every nuance, every gesture, is built on convention. So Art becomes an accretion of many performances.”

“He has great dignity,” Licia replied. “But somehow he does not seem to fit the part.”

The duke smiled. “Critics speak of his tragic cast and stately dignity, but they also point out his affectations. Like that Order of the Elephant that he wears, an order that did not exist in Hamlet’s lifetime.”

“He does have great skill in declamation,” Licia said. “Perhaps he is best in parts that call for Roman greatness and tragic eloquence, rather than the kind of vacillation that marks poor Hamlet’s state of mind.”

“You have a quick intelligence, my dear.”

His fingers closed over hers, and for a second she could think of nothing but their warmth and the sound of his voice saying, “My dear.”

“One day soon I’ll take you to see Kean. Remember? I mentioned him the other day.”

She nodded. “And does he play Hamlet differently?”

“Oh, yes. Kean is a proponent of the school of Nature. He claims every performer may put his own stamp upon the role. And to do so he draws from nature. His Hamlet is altogether different. More melancholy, more—”

Mama half turned in her chair. “I do not see how anyone can be compared to Mr. Kemble. The man is divine. An Olympian. Such a fine figure. And the resonances of his voice . . . why, he sends chills down my spine.”

Dezzie and Lockwood, murmuring to each other in the corner, hadn’t heard a word of this. But when Mama said, “Dezzie, listen carefully to the duke,” her sister replied, “Yes, Mama, of course.”

After Hamlet had been dispatched to the other world with suitable dignity and the afterpiece had made them all laugh, they got to their feet. “Thank you for an enjoyable evening,” Aunt Hortense said to the duke. “I always enjoy the theater.”

“Oh, but we cannot leave yet!” Mama cried. “We must go to the Green Room. I want to see the great man in person.”

“Oh, yes,” said Dezzie, obviously willing to do anything that would prolong the evening and keep Lockwood at her side.

But Licia found the idea distressing. Mama was so often embarrassing. And who knew what she might say to the great man?

But evidently Aunt Hortense thought it wiser to give her sister her way in this. “I suppose we can go. But there will be a crush.”

“That won’t bother me.” Mama beamed. “I just want to see him up close.”

So off they went, Dezzie on Lockwood’s arm and Licia on Ravenworth’s. Fortunately Mama was so caught up in her enthusiasm that she failed to comment on this arrangement.

Still, Licia entered the crowded room with a sinking heart and a huge sigh. Ravenworth smiled down at her. “Such a sigh, my dear.”

“It’s Mama. Bringing her in here .
.
.
”

He nodded. “I quite understand. But do not worry your pretty head about it. I shall keep her out of the suds.”

In spite of her distress Licia had to laugh. She was not sure if it was because of his compliment or because he thought he could control Mama. “Your grace
,
” she replied, “since the day she was born my mama has been in trouble. I doubt that even you can keep her out of it.”

“Perhaps not. But at least you smiled.” His expression turned quizzical. “You seem so often pensive. Has our arrangement been so onerous to you?”

“Oh, no!” What did that look in his eyes mean? “I am just worried. Dezzie is so in love. And she’s afraid of losing your nephew.”

“Never fear.” He patted the hand that rested on his arm. “I’ll speak to Lockwood. Tell him I think Dezzie’s the girl for him. And I do. The young pup respects my opinion, I think.”

“Thank you. I shall rest easier.”

“And shall you smile for me again?”

“I shall try. But—oh, dear!”

“What is it?”

“Mama! She has reached Mr. Kemble. And he does not look happy.”

Mr. Kemble was a man of some stature. In his black doublet and hose he stood like some great tree while Mama fluttered before him like a foraging little bird.

Licia pulled at the duke’s arm. “Please hurry, before she says something dreadful.”

But it was already too late. Just as they reached Mama’s side, Mr. Kemble gave her a discouraging look and said, “Please, Madame. I am an actor. My life is devoted to my art. I have no time to listen to wild tales about magical beds or the charlatans who created them.”

“Well, I never!” Mama drew herself up to her full five feet and glared. “I’ll have you know that Dr. Graham—”

Ravenworth slipped an arm through Mama’s and expertly drew her away.

“The nerve of that man,” she sputtered. “Why, Dr. Graham was a great man. He—”

“Perhaps,” interrupted Ravenworth smoothly. “But, Mrs. Dudley, you have quite misunderstood the situation here.”

That stopped Mama and she asked, “Misunderstood? I?”

“Quite so. Actors do not stand about in the Green Room so that they may hear the stories of people’s lives.”

Mama frowned in puzzlement. “But I thought it would make a good play.”

Licia shuddered and the duke drew her closer.

“A good play?” He shook his head. “No, it would not. But that is beside the point. You have offended Kemble, you see. He expected words of praise about his great performance.”

Mama looked almost shocked. “But I did say I liked it.”

“And I’m sure he appreciated that. But that is all you should have said.” He frowned down on her. “Besides, I thought we had agreed that it was best not to mention the bed.”

Mama tried to look contrite. “Yes, I suppose we did. But it is such a
good
story. And usually people are most attentive when .
.
.
” Suddenly she noticed Licia on his other arm. “Where is Dezzie? She should be here.”

“Miss Desiree and my nephew are over there. With Lady Hortense.”

Mama sniffed. “I don’t know why that boy keeps hanging around. Can’t you send him away?”

Ravenworth stiffened. Licia could feel it in the arm she held. “I am afraid I cannot do that, Madame. I am quite too busy with my own courtship to interfere with my nephew’s.” And he bestowed on Licia such a dazzling smile that the whole room seemed instantly brighter.

“You are wasting your time,” Mama said. “Can’t you see—”

“Excuse me, Madame.” Ravenworth’s face had grown almost fierce. “I do not appreciate your speaking in that denigrating fashion about the woman I care for.”

Mama’s eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean that time spent with Miss Dudley can never be considered wasted. She is a conversationalist par excellence and her company is greatly to be coveted.”

Mama looked utterly amazed. “Are you talking about my Licia?”

“I am indeed.”

“Well, I never!” For once Mama seemed to have no more words.

“Come,” said Ravenworth. “It’s time we went home.”

Oh, it was. Past time, thought Licia. His defense of her had been magnificent. And to say like that, with such conviction, that she was the woman he cared for! It was hard to remember that it was all make-believe, especially when she yearned—body and soul—to have it all be true.

Lockwood took reluctant leave of Dezzie. He lingered so long over her hand that Licia feared an outburst from Mama. But evidently the duke’s words had stunned her.

They rode for some moments in silence, each absorbed in thought. Then Dezzie heaved a great sigh. “Poor Ophelia. To kill herself like that for love.”

Mama shook her head. “I’m sure to kill one’s self is mortal sin.”

“Dear Aunt Dorothea,” said Penelope patiently. “We are discussing a play, not real life.”

Mama sank into aggrieved silence, but Dezzie could not contain herself. “I think Ophelia did the right thing. She knew she’d lost Hamlet. If one loses a loved one, then death might be enviable.”

“Desiree Dudley!” Mama’s shocked expression was visible even by the carriage lights. “What a terrible thing to say!”

“I don’t think it’s terrible.” In her own way Dezzie could be just as recalcitrant as Mama, perhaps even more so. “It’s horrible to lose someone you love. It’s like dying yourself.”

“Perhaps,” said Mama, her face setting into stubborn lines. “But I certainly should not have done such an awful thing, even when I lost Mr. Dudley.”

Dezzie refused to give it up. “But you had many years with Papa. That’s not like losing someone before you even get to marry them. Like Ophelia lost Hamlet. Or .
.
. or—”

“Juliet lost Romeo,” inserted his grace helpfully.

Mama snorted. “I always did think that a silly story. If she loved him like she said, why didn’t that Juliet just run off and marry him? That’s what I did.”

“That’s right!” cried Dezzie, her eyes lighting up. “That’s what you did!”

“Dorothea!” Aunt Hortense exclaimed in obvious agitation.

Mama, evidently seeing the misdirection in which she was heading, tried to set things right. “It was harder in my day. Girls actually were kept under lock and key. But enough, this is all silliness. There’ll be no more talk of dying for love. Or running off.”

“Yes, Mama.” Dezzie sank into silence, and Mama appeared satisfied, but Licia, regarding the expression on her sister’s face, knew the damage had been done, the seed planted. From this day forward Gretna Green would be in the back of Dezzie’s mind. And if Mama could not be prevailed upon to grant permission, Dezzie would know exactly what to do.

The rest of the ride was made in silence. Aunt Hortense looked as though she thoroughly regretted opening her home to such a ragtag bunch. Dezzie and Penelope both sat, pensive, thinking no doubt of the men they loved and the day when they could be with them.

And Licia, with the object of her affections beside her, could think only of the time when their charade would be no more. And the weeks and months and years would stretch before her, empty of Ravenworth’s companionship. She was not a person of morbid character, and she would certainly go on living. Still, she discovered a great deal of sympathy for Ophelia and for Juliet, both of whom, facing a lifetime without the men they loved, had chosen what could only seem like an easier way.

Chapter Nine

The next morning Licia went late to the breakfast table. Her appetite was not at its best. She had spent most of the night lying awake, reliving the evening’s events. Most especially she had repeated to herself every golden word Ravenworth had uttered to Mama in her defense. She meant to keep them blazoned forever in her memory. How impassioned he had been. How sincere. And how good he had made her feel!

But now it was time to pay the piper. And, from the look on Mama’s face, the payment was going to be high. “Licia,” said Mama. Dezzie looked up from her chocolate and sent her sister a commiserating look.

Licia put down her cup and faced her parent. “Yes, Mama?”

Mama frowned. “I have spoken to you before about occupying his grace’s time. You are not behaving as a proper sister should.”

Dezzie began to fidget. “But, Mama—”

“Quiet,” she said with a quelling look. “I am quite displeased with you too.” With a sniffle, Dezzie subsided. Mama turned back to Licia. “Now, I have told you and told you that I mean for the duke to wed Dezzie. And yet you still distract him with this talk of silly things like land reform.”

Licia could not let that pass. “Land reform is not silly, Mama. It was one of Papa’s dearest concerns.”

Mama brushed this aside. “Yes, well, that doesn’t signify now. I want you to stop conversing with his grace. Give Dezzie a chance to captivate him.”

Licia took a deep breath. She seldom opposed Mama outright. It was usually easier to attain her goals in a roundabout fashion. But this time that wouldn’t do. “Mama, I am sorry. But I cannot do as you wish.”

Mama’s face began to redden. “Cannot! Well, I never! And why not, may I ask?”

“Because .
.
.
” It took all her will to say it out loud. “Because I have formed an attachment for the duke.”

Aunt Hortense’s cup shivered against her saucer, and Penelope smothered a gasp.

“You have done what?” Mama demanded.

“I have formed an attachment for the duke,” Licia repeated. “And I wish to marry him.”

Aunt Hortense shook her head. “Upon my word! Licia a duchess!”

Mama turned on her in a fury. “Don’t be such a ninny, Sister. The duke can’t really be interested in Licia. Look at her! She isn’t pretty at all.”

Aunt Hortense bridled. “Nonsense. Just because she’s tall and dark, instead of small and fair like you. Why, Licia’s as pretty in her own way as Dezzie. And I’m glad Ravenworth is smart enough to see it.”

Mama hit the table with her fist in a most unladylike display of temper. The silver jumped, and so did the footmen. “Why must I be surrounded by such idiots?” she cried.

Aunt Hortense’s eyes blazed. “I am not an idiot, Dorothea. Nor is your elder daughter. I think it most unkind of you to say such a thing.”

Mama had the grace to look a little contrite, though not for long. “I am sorry, Hortense. But it is so maddening. I am trying to marry off Dezzie, and everyone is contriving to stop me.”

“Including yourself,” whispered Penelope in an undertone.

But Mama was not to be distracted. “Now, Licia, as I said, you must discourage his grace. You must—”

“No, Mama. I shall not.”

“Delicia Marie Dudley!”

Dezzie got to her feet. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the back of her chair for support. “Mama, please, listen. I do not
want
to marry the duke. I would not marry him if—if I should have to remain unwed forever.”