“It’s not the same,” Otis pointed out.
“What’s this?” the duke asked, turning away from a conversation with his duchess.
“We’re planning a trip to Wilmslow to see Mr. Wooty’s troupe perform Hamlet without Otis in the role of Ophelia,” Joan explained.
“Not in your breeches,” her father ordered.
She stilled, and Thaddeus learned something very important about Lady Joan Wilde: She didn’t like to lie, even by omission.
“Lady Joan will travel to Wilmslow as herself,” he said, cutting in. “I feel certain that Mr. Murgatroyd would rather not don his corset under any circumstances, so I can assure you that he will be in breeches.”
“I would chaperone you, but I can’t leave Viola,” the Duchess of Lindow said.
“I’d be happy to accompany you,” Thaddeus’s mother said. “Although I may stay in the inn that evening rather than see Hamlet yet again. The Gherkin & Cheese has an excellent kitchen, as I remember.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Otis said, beaming at her.
Thaddeus watched as Joan let out a soundless breath of air.
“If Viola’s baby is on the way, you must remain in the castle,” Aunt Knowe said, eyes on Joan. “She will want you nearby.”
Suddenly, Thaddeus was quite certain that Lady Knowe had guessed that Joan and Otis would play their roles before a public audience. Presumably she approved, or didn’t disapprove to the point of disclosing the truth to the duke.
“Of course,” Joan promised. “I would never leave Viola if there is even a sign of the baby coming. We’ll only be gone for a single night.”
“You are lucky,” Thaddeus said, breaching the strict etiquette that governed conversation, which occurred only to the left and right, and never across the table.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“In your friends. Viola and Mr. Murgatroyd.”
“I keep expecting my father to be at my shoulder when you address me so formally,” Otis said. He looked around the table. “Since Lady Knowe saw fit to rope the inestimable Lord Greywick into rehearsing this wretched play with us, Joan and I are addressing him by his first name. To answer your question, Thaddeus, yes, Joan is extremely lucky to have me as a friend. And Viola as a sister.”
“Speaking of which, I should go back upstairs and check on how Viola is doing,” Lady Knowe said.
“Have there been any signs of the baby?” Viola’s mother asked, a flicker of anxiety going through her eyes.
“No,” her sister-in-law said with a reassuring smile. “But your daughter ate four Williams pears this afternoon, which was three too many.”
“Ow,” Otis said, obviously impressed. “My stomach hurts at the thought.”
“Another two weeks,” Lady Knowe advised. “First babies often linger.”
“We’re performing Hamlet in six days,” Joan said, “so that would be perfect timing.”
“That play has too much death and not enough life,” the duke said, giving Joan a wry smile. “It would be enlivened by the arrival of a new family member. Are you both ready for the night?”
“The only part of the performance that worries me is the sword fight,” Joan said. “I’ve been practicing walking about with Alaric’s rapier, but that’s not the same as pulling it out and trying to kill someone with it.”
“All I have to do is practice throwing flowers,” Otis said smugly. He plucked some violets from the blue finger glass before his plate and offered them to Joan with a smirk. “Violets for . . . for . . . don’t tell me! For thoughts?”
“You really need to memorize your lines,” Joan told him. “Ophelia says she can’t give out any violets because they all withered when her father died.”
“She’s mad as a March hare, so what does she know?” Otis muttered, shaking water from his hand.
“When will the theater troupe arrive?” the Duchess of Lindow asked.
“In three days,” Joan said, excitement shining from her eyes.
Lady Knowe rose, so all the men did as well. She skirted the table and stopped at Thaddeus’s shoulder. “I trust you know what you’re doing,” she said in a low voice.
He bowed.
In the old days, he probably would have met her eyes and said, “Always.”
Not true any longer.
Thaddeus had lost his unshakable understanding of the world, rooted in his birth and his title. He’d never understood how much he leaned on his birthright before the prospect of it being torn away was presented to him in no uncertain terms by his own father.
He had no idea why he was supporting Joan’s mad adventure either. He wouldn’t have done it two years ago. He had considered himself a lion in his den, or an eagle in his aerie: solitary due to birth rather than choice.
Condemned to solitude by his title. Virtuous to the bone.
But now?
Chapter Eight
Three days later, they were running through the scene in which Ophelia, in the grip of madness, strews flowers around the throne room. Thaddeus was reading the extra male roles, and Aunt Knowe the queen’s.
“Why does Ophelia have to pass out flowers?” Otis complained, dropping his book. “I feel like an oyster woman at Billingsgate handing out samples. And what’s more, I don’t even believe Ophelia is mad.”
“I do,” Thaddeus said. “The person she loved had no honor, and it broke her spirit. We don’t have words for that betrayal in English, so she’s talking with flowers instead.”
“You really think Hamlet betrayed her?” Joan asked uncertainly. Her vision of Hamlet was more heroic, using his rapier to conquer pirates and avenge his father.
“The man was obsessed by revenge and ruling the kingdom,” Thaddeus said. “He threw Ophelia to the side, because she was secondary to his ambitions. He didn’t care what happened to her.”
Looking at Thaddeus’s hard jaw and flinty eyes, Joan had the distinct feeling that she had misunderstood the man. He wasn’t cold, but rather explosive. Not uncaring, but caring too much.
He wasn’t a stick.
“Nasty,” Otis said, twirling the flower he was holding. “I still think she should have had more backbone and just kicked him in—” He caught himself. “Sorry, Joan. You’re dressed in breeches, and it’s inspiring me to ignore the niceties.”
“I am here, and wearing a gown,” Aunt Knowe observed.
Otis hopped to his feet and bowed, ignoring his skirts. “How could I possibly ignore the sparkling, sinful queen, Hamlet’s mother?”
“You are no Shakespeare,” Aunt Knowe laughed. “Shall we continue?”
“I think I know enough of my lines,” Otis said, plopping down again. “For God’s sake, no one needs me to be letter perfect. Joan, we want your little siblings to understand what’s going on, right?”
“You’re skipping almost everything Ophelia says,” Joan protested.
“You can’t want me to repeat, By cock, they are to blame, in front of your little sister. We can give the nursery a heads-up: When I begin throwing flowers around and bleating about true love, I’m heartbroken. If I go on about it too much, they’ll want to throw me in the brook themselves.”
Thaddeus cleared his throat, but the family butler, Prism, appeared at the door of the sitting room before he could speak.
“The baby!” Aunt Knowe cried, jumping up and throwing her copy of the play to the side.
“No, my lady,” Prism said, bowing. “Not the child, but the theater troupe. Their wagons are drawing up in the usual place behind the stables. I have informed them that the west ballroom is theirs for rehearsal.”
Aunt Knowe dropped back into her seat with a thud. “Thank goodness! You can rehearse with them from now on. I am worn out, having to read through this wretched play so many times.”
Joan gave her a beaming smile. “You are free, oh best of aunts. Otis and I will rehearse with the actors.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Thaddeus’s eyelashes flicker. Never mind the fa
ct that she had haunted the ballroom during the troupe’s visit every year since she turned fourteen. He wouldn’t—
“I shall join you,” he stated, his voice as uncompromising as his expression.
“I don’t need a chaperone,” Joan said, impatience leaking into her voice.
“I do,” Otis said, grinning. “What if one of the actors is overcome by lust for my flowery self and can’t restrain himself? Thaddeus can put a rapier through his gizzard.”
“Do not even think of it,” Aunt Knowe advised Thaddeus. “If you stab an actor, the cast would be short a body, and I, for one, refuse to spend more than another hour or two with this wretched play.”
“Presumably two actors normally play Hamlet and Ophelia,” Thaddeus pointed out.
“They’ll have to remain in the audience, overcome with envy when they see my dashing performance of the mad miss,” Otis said.
Joan got to her feet. “Let’s go meet the troupe. Thaddeus, if you’re certain you want to join us, come along.”
He rose without a word and paced after them. The ballroom was filled with a crowd of familiar faces, since the theater troupe came every year. Stagehands were briskly stringing a green velvet curtain to the rear of the low stage, creating a dressing area.
Mr. Wooty, the head of the troupe, bustled toward Joan, a welcoming smile on his face. He was well over six feet, with a tapering shape, like a bass viol turned upside down. His shoulders were broad, and everything from there dwindled down to his feet. For all the oddity of his physical appearance, he managed to play a majestic king or a loathsome thief, whichever was required.
“My lady!” He stopped and gave her a sweeping bow, the sort that befitted a queen.
She laughed and swept him a curtsy, even though she was in breeches. “How are you, Mr. Wooty? And the rest of the troupe?”
“We’re in the pink, my lady, in the pink.”
“May I introduce our Ophelia, Mr. Murgatroyd?” Joan asked. “Otis, this is Mr. Wooty, who has visited the castle once a year since I was a girl. He taught me everything I know about acting.”
Otis began to bow, caught himself, and managed to sink into a curtsy only to have to catch his hat before it toppled to the ground.
Mr. Wooty’s mouth opened and shut, before he said, “That is a most remarkable headpiece, Mr. Murgatroyd.”
“Very Ophelia,” Otis told him proudly. “The girl liked flowers, after all.”
“When it’s not on your head, it can double for a fairy hill,” Mr. Wooty said. “You’re not beautiful, sir, but you’ll do, especially if the family squints. Lady Joan, you are looking quite royal.”
Joan grinned. “I also brought a friend along to enjoy our rehearsals, Mr. Wooty. Lord Greywick, may I introduce Mr. Wooty, the amazing and talented impresario of the Theatre Royal?”
“So you play the part of Shakespeare, running the company?” Thaddeus asked, nodding to the director.
“I do indeed,” Mr. Wooty said. “Without the playwriting, of course. We’ll start proper rehearsals tomorrow morning, but for the moment I’d like to introduce Hamlet and Ophelia to the cast and just run over a few lines.”
“May I speak to you afterwards?” Joan asked. “I have a favor to ask. Another favor, that is, because I am so grateful that you are allowing Otis and me this opportunity.”
“For you, anything,” Mr. Wooty said.
He turned to Thaddeus. “From the moment Lady Joan walked into one of our rehearsals a decade ago, I realized that she has a rare talent. It’s a shame that she was born to the castle. I know most wouldn’t agree with me, but that’s the truth of it.”
“We don’t always fit the mantles we’re born to,” Thaddeus said quietly.
Joan thought that was an interesting comment, since of all the gentlemen whom she’d met in her life, Thaddeus was the one person most suited to his position in life.
Mr. Wooty clapped, and the cast clustered around.
Joan couldn’t stop smiling as she greeted old friends and was introduced to new faces. Otis kept doing a reasonable job of curtsying.
A young woman with wheat-colored hair and eyes the color of dark jade came to join them. Otis promptly forgot to curtsy and bowed instead.
“My niece, Mademoiselle Madeline Wooty,” Mr. Wooty said. “She grew up in France with my brother, God rest his soul, and joined the troupe a month ago. Madeline inherited a flair for the dramatic from her mother.”
Just as I did, Joan thought.
Although Madeline was presumably not illegitimate.
Madeline curtsied before Joan. “How do you do, Lady Joan?”
Joan bowed. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Wooty. Please call me Joan. After all, we’re going to be rehearsing for long hours, if nothing has changed from previous years.”
Madeline giggled. “That is true. My uncle never seems to think that a scene is perfect, even if we all know our lines.”
“Every single line?” Otis said, looking alarmed. “I shall disappoint him, I’m afraid.”
“I have been playing Ophelia in the last few weeks, sir,” Madeline said to Otis. “Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
“I would be most grateful,” Otis said, giving her a smile so lavish that Joan blinked.
“We might practice your lines while the cast rehearses other scenes,” Madeline suggested. “Ophelia is rarely on the stage, after all.”
“Let’s begin,” Mr. Wooty bawled, turning toward the stage. “We’ll run through the play with properties, no lines, so we begin to master the entrances and exits. Mr. Garnish, you’re playing Claudius and the Ghost, so I’d advise you to be quick in putting on the Ghost’s armored headpiece. Mrs. Wooty, you’re Hamlet’s mother. You’ll need to paste a few more jewels on your crown, or Ophelia’s hat will steal your thunder.”
Mrs. Wooty had once told Joan that it was better to be a lady than an actress, as acting was backbreaking labor. Yet she climbed onto the stage with a cheerful wave, popped a tarnished crown on her head, and transformed into a queen with the flick of an eyelash.
Joan marched toward the stage. For the first time in her life, she was part of the troupe instead of being a bystander, longing to be on stage. She couldn’t stop smiling.
Thaddeus crossed to a chair by the wall and sat down.
Mr. Wooty called the characters to the stage, one by one.
Hamlet was last.
Joan walked forward, hand on her rapier, and put on her “Lord Greywick” expression. She couldn’t think of it as Thaddeus’s any longer. He had become a far more complicated person to her.
“Not bad,” Mr. Wooty said, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll need a codpiece, though. Dunny!”
The stagehand stuck his head from behind the curtain where he was organizing important properties—like the skull Hamlet talked to. Joan couldn’t wait to do that scene.
“Fit Hamlet with a codpiece!”
“No,” Thaddeus said, from the side. He didn’t raise his voice, but the word reached every wall of the ballroom, and they all froze.
“Right!” Mr. Wooty said. “No codpiece.”
“She may wear a codpiece, but it will be fitted by her maid,” Thaddeus clarified.
Wooty nodded. “Moving on.”
The afternoon seemed to pass far too quickly. Joan had never felt so happy. She felt self-conscious launching into her first speech, but it wasn’t about her. The important thing was the play as a whole.
Thaddeus didn’t go to sleep, or even look bored. He sat at the side of the room watching closely. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze, like a warm blanket around her shoulders.
When the stagehand passed her a skull—a real skull!—she felt an incredible thrill, holding it up to the late afternoon light. Afterward, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at Thaddeus.
He gave her a small, secret smile, and warmth poured down her back.
When the ballroom began to grow dark, Prism entered and asked Joan whether she would like the
great chandeliers lowered from the ceiling so the candles could be lit.
“Mr. Wooty?” she asked. Even deferring to her theater director was a thrill. It meant she was part of something other than the Wilde family.
He shook his head. “It’s been a long day.” Mr. Wooty turned to the troupe. “We’ll start at eight in the morning, everyone in costume.” He pointed to Otis. “You, young Ophelia, I’d like you to stay in your women’s garb night and day until the performance. Practice walking like a woman, thinking like a woman. Speaking might be too much to ask.”
Otis nodded.
Mr. Wooty turned to Joan. “The fencing scenes are a problem. Is there someone in the castle who can give you some basic instruction in dueling? As you saw, our Laertes is a hearty lad, and it strains belief to think that you could offer him a match, let alone kill him.”
“I can teach Lady Joan,” Thaddeus said, moving forward.
“Excellent,” Mr. Wooty said. “Put the stage back in order, everyone!”
“Are you comfortably situated?” Joan asked him.
“Entirely,” Mr. Wooty said. “We like to sleep in our wagons, as you know, my lady. Mr. Prism has promised us a fine feast tonight, which we’ve been looking forward to since we left London.”
From the corner of her eye, Joan saw that Thaddeus had turned away to chat with Otis and Madeline.
“May I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Wooty?” she asked.
“Of course, my dear.”
She led him to the other side of the room, and they sat down on two of the chairs lined against the wall.
“Now what can I do for you?” Mr. Wooty asked. “Your command of the text is perfect, as I would have expected. It’s unusual to have a woman playing the role, but I reckon that you’ll manage it in such a way that no one will feel anything missing.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Joan said. “You see, Mr. Wooty, my family will clap no matter what I do, even if I forget all my lines.”
“That’s a good thing,” Mr. Wooty observed. “Young Mr. Murgatroyd has a willing heart, but memorization appears to be a challenge.”
“Otis was a vicar for two weeks, but only after six years of preparation,” Joan confided. “It took him a month to memorize the doxology.”
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