Chapter 13

The rain let up, but only in the sense that it went from a deluge to a steady shower. Lady Milthorpe set up an impromptu card party in the green parlor. The Weatherby sisters didn’t have even pennies to lose at whist, and so Eleanor and her sisters passed the afternoon with books borrowed from the house’s library.

The rain continued unabated the following morning, so Lady Milthorpe announced that they would amuse themselves by enacting scenes from Shakespeare. While the servants began constructing a makeshift stage in the ballroom, the guests gathered to select their scenes.

Eleanor happened to know that the Duke of Norwood was attending this house party with the purpose of finding a bride. The other guests had been speculating about which young lady would be his choice since the day they had arrived at Milthorpe Manor. She also knew that the young lady who had emerged as the leading contender, Lady Francesca FitzSimon, was very fond of Shakespeare. She assumed that the duke was as well, considering he had named his dogs after a pair of famous Shakespearean lovers. She therefore expected Lady Francesca to seize the opportunity to perform a romantic scene with her suitor.

But Lady Francesca surprised her. Clarissa was leafing through a copy of Twelfth Night. “Here’s a funny scene between Viola and Olivia. Would you stage it with me, Eleanor?”

Eleanor sighed. “Much as I love Twelfth Night, I’d probably better keep an eye on Pippa.”

“How about you, Kate?” Clarissa asked.

A look of alarm crossed Kate’s face. “I’m not one for the stage. But I would love to paint some backdrops,” she added, casting a nervous glance at Lady Milthorpe.

Their hostess took no offense. “That would be lovely, dear. Come, let’s see what paints we can find.”

“I’d like to do it with you,” Lady Francesca said shyly. “I assume you’re referring to the scene where Viola is sent to woo Olivia on Orsino’s behalf?”

“The very one,” Clarissa confirmed.

“That’s one of my favorite scenes,” Lady Francesca confessed. “Would you rather play Viola or Olivia?”

“I feel like you would make a more convincing Olivia than I would…” Clarissa noted as the two of them retreated to a far corner of the ballroom, heads bent together.

Pippa and Felix were likewise considering the suggested manuscripts. “How about this one?” Pippa asked, showing him a passage from The Taming of the Shrew.

Felix smiled fondly at Pippa. “I’ll do whatever scene you prefer, but I must warn you, Miss Philippa—no one could ever find you convincing in the role of a shrew.”

Pippa’s cheeks were flushed. “It’s kind of you to say so. But I think this scene would be, er, diverting.”

Suspicious, Eleanor peered over her sister’s shoulder. Surely enough, Pippa had selected Act 2, Scene 1. Although the characters they would portray, Petruchio and Katharina, were ostensibly arguing, it was one of the most flirtatious scenes in all of Shakespeare.

Not that she objected to her sister taking part. Eleanor had a suspicion that the sweet-tempered pair would render the scene about as spicy as blancmange.

A shadow fell over the table, followed by a familiar scent of birch and leather. It appeared that the Duke of Norwood shared in Eleanor’s suspicions.

Narrowing his eyes, the duke inserted himself between Felix and Pippa. “This happens to be one of my favorite scenes. Why don’t I enact it with Miss Philippa?”

“Because I have already said I wanted to do it,” Felix said tightly.

“You don’t even like Shakespeare,” the duke countered. “Have you already forgotten how bitterly you complained when I secured a box at the Surrey to see Timon of Athens last month? You wanted to see Tom and Jerry,” he added with a derisive sneer.

Felix’s cheeks turned ruddy. “And I would still rather see Tom and Jerry! The play you picked was awful. We wasted three hours watching the story of a man so stupid that he squandered his entire fortune on extravagant banquets, then attempted to murder all his former friends before dying in the wilderness with a bitter epitaph on his lips. What, precisely, was there to enjoy?”

“Timon of Athens is rarely staged,” the duke snapped. “It was a tremendous opportunity to see a work that is intellectually challenging, not some mindless entertainment.”

Poor Felix was shaking with humiliation.

Eleanor had had enough. She rounded on the duke. “I agree with Lord Felix. There is a reason Timon of Athens is so rarely staged.”

“Is that so?” The duke regarded her with open contempt. “I suppose you are going to enlighten us?”

Eleanor stepped forward, meeting him glare for glare. “I should be glad to. It is arguably Shakespeare’s worst work. It reads like a first draft. He did not take the time to correct obvious discrepancies throughout the text, and there are large sections of prose that are only half-versified. I believe that the bard himself agreed that it was not up to his usual standard and abandoned the work.”

The duke gave a disbelieving laugh. “A rather astonishing assertion.”

Eleanor leaned in, refusing to back down. “Go back and look at the text. I daresay you will see what I mean. And I also challenge you to show me any evidence that the play was staged during Shakespeare’s lifetime. I believe that he set the play aside, never intending for it to see the light of day, for all the reasons your brother cited. It is miserable to read, a three-hour analysis of misanthropy—”

“It echoes many of the same themes as King Lear!” the duke snapped, looming over her. “Timon is an idealist whose downfall holds a mirror up to the world’s avarice!”

“Timon’s character is disjointed to the point of straining credulity,” Eleanor countered. “He goes from being guileless and altruistic to being misanthropic and vituperative in the course of one scene. It is unrealistic!”

“It is an unflinching critique of human frailty!” the duke roared.

“It is so unfacile in its execution as to border on satire!” she shot back.

The duke leaned in. “You would dare to criticize Shakespeare?” he asked, voice low and full of venom.

She didn’t waver an inch. “Be honest, Your Grace. Are you really upset that I am criticizing Shakespeare? Or that I am criticizing you?”

He gave a harsh exhale, and she felt his breath upon her lips. Eleanor suddenly became aware that they were breathing down each other’s necks to the point that mere inches separated their lips, and that everyone in the room was staring at them with rapt fascination.

Shuddering, she took a step back. “And moreover, there is nothing wrong with wanting to see a comedy. Shakespeare himself wrote a number of them.”

Felix shot her a grateful look. “That’s right. Comedies such as The Taming of the Shrew, which I am looking forward to performing with Miss Philippa.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” the duke said, snatching the manuscript from his brother’s fingers. “I will be playing the role of Petruchio with Miss Philippa. You will just have to choose something else.”

“I won’t,” Felix snapped. “You find something else!”

“This is a very long scene and Petruchio has more than half of the lines,” the duke noted. “Do you really think you’ll be able to memorize all of this?”

Felix flinched.

Pippa gasped.

Eleanor glared daggers at the duke. Really, that was below the belt. To be sure, memorizing so many lines in one day would be a challenge, but these were amateur productions. There would probably be flubbed lines in every single scene that was put on, and no one would mind in the slightest.

Felix’s gaze was fixed upon the floor. “Forgive me, Miss Weatherby,” he said, voice shaking with some combination of humiliation and rage. “I find I am not in the mood for Shakespeare after all.” He bowed stiffly over Pippa’s hand. “Do excuse me.”

Pippa squeezed his hand. “I understand, and I hope I will see you at luncheon.”

His expression softened a trifle. He nodded, then spun on his heel and started to cross the ballroom, shoulders stiff.

The duke looked more annoyed than regretful. “Felix. Felix, wait.”

But Felix did not so much as pause. He swept out of the ballroom with an almost palpable sense of wounded dignity.

Eleanor, Pippa, and the duke stood together in awkward silence. After a moment, Pippa offered the duke a tiny smile. “Well, let’s begin, shall we?”