Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind

by Heidi Ashworth

  “I believe you are next, my lord,” she said with a sincere smile.

  Lord Avery rose to his feet with obvious reluctance. It was difficult to fathom that such as he could ever regret the opportunity to wax eloquent. Perhaps he had something against Shakespeare. No doubt if Avery were expected to read his own words, he would show greater enthusiasm. For one terrifying moment Sir Anthony felt sure Avery would do just that, for he slipped a slim volume from his inner coat pocket.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Avery said with a slight bow. “I bring to you tonight a pair of sonnets from the revered William Shakespeare” He made a great show of clearing his throat, fixed his ardent gaze upon Ginny, and began. “Being your slave, what should I do but tend, Upon the hours and times of your desire?”

  Sir Anthony, very interested in Ginny’s reaction to Avery’s words, saw her stiffen. True, Avery glanced at her whenever he could manage between lines, but the words were simply the lines of a sonnet. There could not be any significant meaning, could there?

  “I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the worldwithout-end hour, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.”

  Sir Anthony began to feel a trifle uncomfortable. Avery’s words and manner were so intense. It was clear they held some deeper meaning for him. He darted a swift glance at Ginny who sat very still, her eyes fixed on her hands held rigid in her lap. At least she was not blushing. That he could not have abided. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he did not hear the remainder of the sonnet until the closing couplet.

  “So true a fool is love that in your will, Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.”

  Sir Anthony felt the blood run from his face. Those were certainly the words of a lover. Now that Lucinda was betrothed to another, Avery was free to pursue anyone he chose. It seemed his intentions were now all for Ginny-his Ginny!

  The next sonnet was very much the same, though with a more impatient, fervent quality. Again, the closing couplet claimed Sir Anthony’s unwilling attention.

  “I am to wait, though waiting be hell, Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well”

  What was it Avery was waiting for? Some word or sign from Ginny? He tried to keep his head from jerking in her direction, to no avail. She looked to be in an agony of indecision, her fingers twisting together, her thick lashes veiling her eyes. What could prove to be so difficult for her? Unless, of course, she had some feelings for him.

  Sir Anthony forgot to applaud this time. It hardly mattered. Everyone else was clapping wildly, even Ginny. His applause would not be missed.

  “Miss Delacourt,” he shouted above the din. “Pray, do not keep us waiting.”

  “I hope that you will all find my selection pleasing,” she replied without looking up.

  With a calm Sir Anthony was sure she did not feel, Ginny took her place at the front of the room. She opened her mouth but snapped it shut again when her eyes met his.

  Drawing a deep breath as if to brace herself for a great ordeal, she said, “I have taken my selection from The Taming of the Shrew.”

  There was an audible gasp from Lucinda and Avery, and from someone else Sir Anthony suspected might have been himself. Ginny colored to the roots of her delicate brown curls. No wonder the girl found her lot so difficult. Her audience’s reaction was to be expected, but surely, she was not to play the shrew after those times he had accused her of being one?

  “Ah, The Taming of the Shrew, the Shrew,” the squire said with delight. “One of my favorites.” He settled back into his chair, dodging a glare of admonition from his dearest wife.

  Ginny smiled. “I am glad to hear you say so, squire.” The knowledge seemed to give her courage for the smile remained, and she proceeded without any sign of a doubt or qualm.

  “Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labor both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure, and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks and true obedience, Too little payment for so great a debt..

  Ginny bowed her head and curtsied, illustrating her words, then flashed Sir Anthony a look so arch, so coy, that he was cast into confusion. Surely she could not be employing sarcasm; it was not like Ginny to veil her words. Then again, he could not believe for one second that she meant a word of what she was saying. Fascinated, he gave her his full attention.

  “Such duty as the subject owes the price Even such a woman oweth to her husband, And when she is forward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord?”

  This was new. Could she be apologizing for past offenses? He reached up to touch the still-purple bruise from the binding of that book.

  “I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace, Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the work, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?”

  Sir Anthony restrained himself from leaping to his feet. This was not the Ginny he knew at all. She might be a dab hand at battering gentlemen with books and reticules, but there was little more about her he would wish to change. The thought of a weak and vaporish Ginny, who mindlessly obeyed and always said what was acceptable in spite of her own thoughts made Sir Anthony’s stomach turn. Worse, the thought that he had somehow been responsible for the creation of this submissive attitude reduced him to a state of intense sorrow.

  “But now I see our lances are but straws,” she continued, “Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is not boot, And place your hands below your husband’s foot In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready, may it do him ease.”

  She finished with a flourish of her arms, extending the said hand to… Avery? He seemed to think so, for he leaped to his feet and, taking the hand in his, kissed it.

  As Avery led Ginny to her seat, she gave Sir Anthony the most heartfelt look of mingled hope and sorrow to which he had ever been subjected. Sir Anthony stared after her, puzzled, unsure what to make of it. Did she think she must somehow change in order to win his love? If that were the case, he knew the words he had chosen to speak tonight were all the right ones. Unlike Ginny’s presentation, however, his would leave her in little doubt of the exact state of his heart.

  Ginny took her seat and attempted to persuade her heart from pounding out of her chest. She had never done anything so daring in all her life. She rarely had trouble expressing her thoughts and emotions, but she had never before worn her heart on her sleeve in such a daring fashion. She had not been sure she could go through with it. She had not been sure Sir Anthony would understand either. All she could do was hope.

  As she prepared herself for his recitation she attempted to feel as poised and calm as she hoped she appeared. Surely whatever Sir Anthony had chosen for his presentation, it would be dull and unremarkable like the Hamlet soliloquy or some prosy sonnet. Nevertheless, if he turned to Lucinda and asked if he should compare her to a summer’s day, she would scream!

  Ginny stole a glance at Lucinda and thought she looked as if she expected some great words of love and romance from her Sir Anthony. She would do well to remember the words, “rough winds do shake the darling buds of May”

  Sir Anthony stepped to the front of the room. Lucinda preened and tossed her curls, gazing at him in great expectation. Sir Anthony smiled at her and said, “I have chosen a few words from The Tempest. Mine is not a soliloquy but a stringing together of some choice words out of the mouth of Caliban. I hope that is acceptable to you all?” He glanced from one face to another for their approval before he began.

 
; To Ginny’s amazement he used no text or notes and was able to give his full attention to his audience. No doubt he would quote some words of admiration Caliban said of the beautiful Miranda but to whom would he look? Ginny was gratified when he turned his dark blue eyes on her. She looked down into her lap, unable to meet that unwavering gaze, and was unprepared for the intensity of his voice, the meaning behind his words.

  “This island’s mine,” he said, thumping his chest. “By Sycorax my mother, Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first, Thou strokedst me, and madest much of me, wouldst give me Water with berries in’t. And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night..

  Enthralled by the pleading in his voice, Ginny could not help but look up, only to encounter such tenderness in his expression that she thought she could not bear it. Even so, she was not prepared for his next words. Or were they only those of Caliban?

  “And then I loved thee ..: ‘

  Ginny’s heart leapt into her throat.

  “And showed thee all the qualities o’th’isle, The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile. Cursed be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!”

  Startled by his change in tone, Ginny glanced again at his face. She expected to see his mouth twisted in a sneer appropriate to his words, but he was looking at the ground, and his expression was one of great sadness.

  “For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king. And here you sty me In this hard rock whiles you do keep from me The rest o’th’island. Oh ho, oh ho! Would’t had been done! Thou didst prevent me. I had peopled else This isle with Calibans.”

  Ginny was shocked. This blatant reference to progeny was embarrassing to say the least. A tide of scarlet washed over her at the thought of her producing little Sir Anthonys as well as his implication, in front of the entire household, that there had been opportunity for her to do so. At least he admitted she had prevented him.

  Then again, perhaps it was her prevention of his “seducing” of Lucinda to which he alluded. Could he, pehaps, be begging her parents pardon? How did it help to get him out of his engagement to Lucinda?

  Ginny tried to catch his eye, but he continued to look away until the end of his recitation. “You taught me language, and my profit on’t Is I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language …”

  Her language. Had her self-serving plan to teach him true speaking succeeded so well? Surely it had not caused him as much pain as it had the imprisoned Caliban?

  “Bravo, bravo, Sir Anthony.” The squire rose from his seat and pounded Sir Anthony on the back. “I deem myself proud, proud indeed to have such a talent about to make himself a member of the family.”

  Ginny wanted to cut the squire’s tongue out. She had heard all she wished with regard to his daughter’s impending marriage to Sir Anthony. He had said he loved her, looked right at her when he said it; she would hold onto that for as long as it took. But how long would it take the perfectly proper Sir Anthony to jilt his intended?

  Lucinda appeared to have as many questions. “Why, Sir Anthony,” she said, “that was most romantic.” She wrinkled her brow. “That is, some of it was. The rest of it seemed rather nasty and I didn’t understand much of it, by half, but I am sure it was meant to be most complimentary.”

  Sir Anthony took the hand Lucinda extended to him. “I pray that you not reflect too much upon it, Miss Barrington. I meant you no slight.”

  Lucinda gave him a perfunctory smile, her eyes glazing over. Clearly the poor thing was just as confused as ever.

  “Well, that certainly was enlightening, Sir Anthony.” Lord Avery had risen to his feet. “Need I remind you of that appointment I spoke of earlier? I hope to meet with you soon.”

  “I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure,” Sir Anthony replied.

  “I knew it!” Lucinda cried, clapping. “You are to duel. How very romantic! And to think, it is all over me!”

  Lord Avery and Sir Anthony both turned to Ginny in alarm. Through a haze of shock she saw Sir Anthony’s mouth open, saw him say something to her, but the blood was drumming so in her ears that she could not hear what is was he said. Sir Anthony to duel with Lord Avery over Lucinda! The thought made her sick to her stomach. What if Sir Anthony were to be hurt or even killed? As if in a dream Ginny held her hand out to him, saw him turn his head to her and ever so slowly walk in her direction. She must say something to dissuade him. He would listen to her. He had said he loved her, once.

  The room began to spin with Sir Anthony always in the middle, moving ever closer.

  Off to one side was Lucinda dancing about the room, crying, “A duel, a duel!” She was ecstatic. “There’s to be a duel!”

  To the other side was the squire standing on a table, his hand waving in the air. “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!”

  In between, Lord Avery was consoling a wailing Mrs. Barrington. Had they all gone mad?

  All except Sir Anthony. He was taking a long time in doing so, but he was still moving toward her, frowning, his hand held out to her. Why didn’t he hurry? Her knees felt weak and she was trembling. And why was he frowning so? She had said nothing, done nothing. He was the one who had been so cruel by saying that he loved her then cursed her for it.

  The man was an enigma. If she could only sit down. Surely there was a chair there nearby. With relief, Ginny bent her trembling knees and descended into darkness.

  Ginny opened her eyes to find Sir Anthony on his knees by her side. He was still frowning. She lifted her hand and touched the corner of his mouth. “What has happened?”

  “She’s awake!” a voice cried. It was Lord Avery. His face appeared next to Sir Anthony’s, jostling for position. Sir Anthony’s faded from view but not before Ginny saw his expression change to one of intense relief.

  Ginny’s heart twisting in her breast felt as if it were made of knives.

  “Ginny, my darling, shall I lift you?”

  “No!” Ginny struggled to control her sense of outrage at the thought of Lord Avery holding her in his arms. “If you would only lend me assistance in standing.” She glanced up and saw that the three Barringtons had clustered about her like so many grapes on a vine. Sir Anthony was standing beyond them, his back to her, contemplating his fingernails.

  Ginny stood with Lord Avery’s assistance. Sir Anthony moved over to the mantel, seemingly very intent on the porcelain shepherdess thereon.

  Ginny took her courage in her hands. She had not forgotten about the duel-she must find some way to stop it! “Perhaps someone could take my elbow to assist me up the stairs?” she suggested with a hopeful look in Sir Anthony’s direction.

  “Of course, of course, my dear Miss Delacourt,” the squire gushed.

  “It would be my privilege to see to your comfort,” Lord Avery pronounced.

  There was a loud snap as the porcelain shepherdess broke in two under the pressure of Sir Anthony’s clenched fingers.

  Mrs. Barrington jumped, stole a glance over her shoulder, and bit her lip. “Why don’t you do that, Lord Avery? She doesn’t look at all well. I daresay she is sickening with the pox.”

  “Thank you,” Ginny gasped, unable to find a way out of her dilemma. She laid her arm on Lord Avery’s and allowed herself to be led from the room. The drumming of Sir Anthony’s fingers grinding the pieces of the poor shepherdess into the mantelpiece followed her out the door.

  “I am very sorry to have caused so much trouble,” Ginny said to Mrs. Barrington, who hovered close by. The squire and Lucinda trailed behind.

  “No trouble at all, my dear. You must know by now that we are quite accustomed to nursing pox victims here at Rose Arbor.”

  “I have had the chicken pox,” Ginny said in her firmest tones.

  “Yes, of course you have, my dear.” Mrs. Barrington took her other arm and gave Ginny a smug smile. “We shall have you up and about in
no time.”

  Having arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Lord Avery reasserted his position. “Excuse me, madam, but I believe there is only room for two abreast on this staircase. If you would kindly step aside.”

  “Naturally, naturally,” the squire said, pulling his reluctant wife from Ginny’s arm. “We must give the two of them a moment, dearest,” he murmured in his wife’s ear with a glance at Lucinda.

  Mrs. Barrington’s reply was obliterated by the sound of the hall door being thrust open to reveal a whitelipped Sir Anthony filling the frame.

  “I shall escort Miss Delacourt,” he announced. “As the grandson of her legal guardian, I would be remiss to do otherwise.” Bringing his second-best quizzing glass to his eye, he regarded the assemblage through it as if daring them to argue.

  “But of course, of course,” the squire sputtered. Mrs. Barrington snapped her mouth shut and allowed her husband to drag her well away from the coming fray. Sir Anthony advanced, but Lord Avery and Lucinda stood their ground.

  “I don’t think I should allow you to go to her room,” Lucinda said in a shrill voice.

  “Nor I,” Lord Avery expostulated.

  “On what grounds?” Sir Anthony’s voice was now calm and poised to perfection.

  “Why, on the … on the grounds of . . ” Lord Avery gave Ginny a pleading look. She dropped her gaze and stared at a fiber slub in the rose-red carpet. She dared not let their eyes meet, else he might misinterpret it as cooperation. She had not forgotten his proposal of marriage earlier that afternoon. How could she?

  Lord Avery made a noise of exasperation. “Very well,” he said, thrusting Ginny’s arm from him. It was enough to make Ginny once again unsteady, and she swayed.

  “Stand back,” Sir Anthony barked, giving Lord Avery a rough push to the side. With a tenderness Ginny did not expect from a man so discomposed, Sir Anthony took her arm and led her, shaking, up the first step, then with a growl deep in his throat, swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs with breathless speed.