Chapter 20

20

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” Chastity proclaimed five days later, holding the book of Shakespeare’s plays in her hand. She glanced up at Lord Wardbury, who was clutching his own copy, his knuckles white with tension. He was undeniably the most fitting choice for Romeo—classically handsome, standing tall with a lean, athletic build, his dark, wavy hair in a windswept, slightly tousled style. His dark eyes, normally piercing with intelligence, now darted nervously around the room before settling back on the text. As always, he was impeccably dressed. His perfectly tailored coat of fine blue wool, crisp white cravat, buff-colored breeches, and polished Hessian boots all spoke of wealth and good taste.

“Deny thy father and refuse thy name,” Chastity continued, infusing her voice with as much emotion as she could muster. “Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

Silence fell on the sitting room. Lord Wardbury cleared his throat loudly, his face flushing a deep crimson. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking utterly lost.

“Your…er…line, Wardbury,” Mr. Audley prompted gently from the side.

“Oh! Yes, quite right,” Lord Wardbury stammered. He raised the book closer to his face, as if hoping to disappear behind it. “Shall I…shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

His delivery was flat and monotonous, each word enunciated with painful precision as if he were reading a particularly dull legal document. The passion of Romeo seemed entirely lost on him. At the back of the room, someone whispered. A cough echoed. A stomach growled loudly.

Lord Wardbury, startled by the noise, jumped slightly and dropped his book. As he bent to retrieve it, he knocked over a nearby vase, sending water and flowers cascading onto the floor.

“Heavens,” he muttered, his face now an alarming shade of puce. “I do beg your pardon. How clumsy of me.”

He attempted to mop up the water with his handkerchief, all the while trying to maintain his place in the script. “Er… ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy… No, wait, that’s your line, isn’t it, Lady Chastity? I’m dreadfully sorry.”

Chastity watched this display with a mixture of sympathy and dismay. Good gracious, she was not a skillful actor whatsoever, but Lord Wardbury was simply abysmal. It was as if he were trying to strangle every ounce of romance from Shakespeare’s words.

Chastity glanced at the collection of spectators. Even though it was merely the first rehearsal, at least half of Pryde’s house party was gathered here. Half of those present were guests who had been given other parts in the play. Others had come to sit and spend time together during the afternoon. Read. Drink tea. Converse.But Mr. Audley, the self-appointed director, didn’t mind the spectators as long as they didn’t mind the artistic process. She looked at Patience, who held The Botanical Magazine , and Dorian, who had been called upon to play Mercutio, Romeo’s best friend. Enveigh played Tybalt, Juliet’s cousin. Lady Virtoux played Lady Capulet.

Then she locked eyes with Lucien, and a grin spread over his lips. It had been almost two weeks since he’d climbed up to her room, completely swept her off her feet, given her a building—the very thought of which made her feel like she was floating—and then suggested…

Suggested he might not be putting “never” with the word “husband” anymore.

Which had made her not feel as opposed to marriage, either.

But then why had he retreated from the library? It was his chance to show her he was serious about being one of her suitors, and yet, he’d chosen to leave?

Despite the doubt, his special grin shot sunlight straight into her heart.

“Lady Chastity…” Mr. Audley’s voice drew her away from her reverie.

“Of course!” she said as she looked at her book. “’Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague…” Chastity read the next part which ended with the line: “And, for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.”

Still looking at the book, Lord Wardbury turned to Chastity and proclaimed in a wooden, loud voice.“I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized…”

Mr. Audley let out a long, loud sigh. “Lord Wardbury, you’re talking about love. Could you at least try to show the emotion? It’s a romantic play, one of the greatest love stories of all time. You cannot talk to Juliet as if you’re reading from a journal on medicine.”

Lord Wardbury cleared his throat very loudly and stared at Chastity. “Er?—”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” said Lucien, who rose to his feet at the back of the room and walked forward, maneuvering between the chairs and sofas.

Chastity’s heart beat strongly in her chest as she watched his tall, heartbreakingly handsome figure approach them, his stride masculine and feline, like a hunter. His tousled golden hair and the yellow-sapphire waistcoat highlighted the depths of his mirthful violet eyes which focused on her with a playful intensity.

The audience stirred, people shifting in their places, looking at each other.

“Of course, Duke, do give it a try,” said Mr. Audley politely. “I suppose, if anyone would be skillful in words of love, it is you,” he added in a mutter.

Lucien took the book out of Lord Wardbury’s hands, who looked struck dumb. He took Lord Wardbury’s spot and stood before Chastity. Wardbury, helplessly looking at Mr. Audley, submitted to his fate and left the stage.

Lucien didn’t even look at the book. His gaze was still locked with hers when he took a step towards her. The room was completely silent. There were no more murmurs, no more chattering, no more gurgling of stomachs, just Chastity’s heartbeat, insistent and loud in her ears.

She had to crane her neck to look at him… Heavens, he towered over her, with the high cheekbones and perfect bone structure of a golden god, his violet eyes so beautiful they could be a goddess’s dream.

Celestial.

Tentatively, she looked at the people in the room, all of whom were staring at them. Dorian leaned forward with a scowl, his elbows on his knees.

“I take thee at thy word,” Lucien said softly. “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized.” Her heart lurched as he said the word “love,” beginning to flutter in her chest like a butterfly. “Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

There was a world of difference between how Lord Wardbury had delivered the lines, and the heat, the softness, the emotion with which Lucien said the words. He spoke with gentleness, and yet, his buttery voice dripped with passion. The meaning in his eyes had her stomach churning with anticipation. The message between them was clear.

It was true what she’d told him. He was who he was. She was who she was.

And yet, had he not been Romeo, could they have a future?

She was not an actor; she could never act, but he had her stomach in knots and her own feelings pouring straight into her chest. Upon her word, had he not climbed the wall to her room? And there she’d been, like Juliet, with Romeo down in the garden, under her balcony.

She glanced briefly at her book, then straight into his eyes. “What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night, So stumblest on my counsel?”

Lucien shook his head once with an ironic exhale.“By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am. My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee.”

Chastity’s heart cracked as he said the word “saint” and then when he said “enemy” with such bitterness. She knew what he was talking about—he could break her heart, could harm her reputation, and never change, step up and do the right thing.

“Had I it written,” he said, “I would tear the word.”

She could hear his regret, his pain. She knew where it came from. His name, indeed. For he was the Duke of Luhst, with all his past trauma, his scandalous reputation, and his limitations. The desperate longing to be someone else, like he had been on that stormy day they shared, under the protection of the howling wind and the walls of an abandoned hut.

The longing for the impossible. Just like Romeo and Juliet.

Mr. Audley clasped his hands together, and the magic between Lucien and Chastity was broken. “Capital, Luhst! That was capital! That is what Romeo should sound like!”

Heat flushed to Chastity’s cheeks as she looked at Mr. Audley who fired instructions at Lord Wardbury. Who, however, didn’t seem to be listening, observing Chastity and Lucien with a deep scowl.

It was Dorian’s face, however, that brought an even deeper worry to her gut. He left his chair and came closer, his arms crossed, watching Lucien and her with suspicion.

“Now, Luhst, could you please skip to the part where Romeo and Juliet are talking of marriage…of vows…here,‘O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?’” Mr. Audley said.

Lucien nodded and looked at her with a smile. “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” he asked.

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” she replied.

“The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”

A shiver ran through her. His eyes glistened. There was no doubt in his voice that he wanted to commit to marriage to Juliet…Heavens, what would it be like, to actually hear those words from him? Could this be their future?

A voice in her head reminded her that he didn’t know himself. He had no idea what he truly wanted. Was she believing too easily the tale he was weaving…like so many other women had before? Was he so starved for affection in his celibate state that he kept reaching out to her when he wouldn’t normally?

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it,” she said, her voice shaky. “And yet I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it?” he said with a softness, but a hint of pain in his voice. “For what purpose, love?”

She inhaled a shaky breath. Would she set her doubts aside and say yes to him if he asked her to marry him?“My bounty is as boundless as the sea,” she said, every word true. “My love as deep. The more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.”

As she said the confession of Juliet, Lucien’s gaze shone. And as applause rang through the room like thunder, she felt the words in her heart.

The love she wanted to give to him.

Love that was impossible.

Just like Romeo and Juliet’s love, it was doomed, and they could live only in their dreams, and in stolen moments.