Christy English - [Shakespeare in Love 02]

by Love on a Midsummer Night

  “You are a vision,” he said. His voice was serious, and when she checked his expression for some form of mockery, she found none. A long silence stretched between them, a silence in which time stopped.

  Arabella rallied, forcing a smile. “I have only the one gown.”

  She was wearing the green silk from the night before, a gown she had loved too much to leave behind when she fled her husband’s house.

  “You would be beautiful in anything, but that shade of green is lovely on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Arabella knew a practiced compliment when she heard one. In Pembroke’s eyes she saw no hint of desire, but neither did she find the warmth that had sprung up between them that afternoon.

  Perhaps that warmth had been Pembroke feeling protective or nostalgic for the days when they had been friends. Arabella straightened and brought another false smile to her face. No matter how much she wanted to know the answer to that question, she would not ask. She needed to face the past once and for all, and then let him go. But she would have dinner first. She took the arm he offered and let him lead her to the open carriage.

  They rode in silence to the village green. Pembroke seemed lost in his thoughts as he looked out over his land as they drove. Though the evening was cooler than the day had been, a delightful warmth still lingered. The scent of wisteria seemed to follow them down the lane from the great house, but as she looked up, she noticed that wisteria still grew wild in the trees above their heads. It had flowed out from the estate, untended and unencumbered, to fill the world with white blossoms and a delicate, sun-warmed scent. Arabella leaned back against the cushions of the carriage and breathed deeply. This country was home, as no other place would ever be.

  She did her best to put Pembroke from her mind. She kept her face turned to the open window, wishing the top was down so that she might feel more of the wind on her face.

  She heard the actors before she saw them. Great bellowing laughter echoed across the village green where long tables had been set up, covered in white cloths. Bouquets of wildflowers filled earthenware jars positioned at intervals on the tabletops. Actors and stage hands mingled with the villagers who had come to meet them and to see what all the fuss was about.

  There was a feeling of excitement in the air that Arabella never remembered in the village before, not even on Midsummer festivals when she was a child. Of course, never before had a troupe of actors come all the way from London to perform a play on Pembroke commons.

  Titania stood like a queen, directing the staff from the pub as they set out meat pies and pastries and distributed vast jugs of mead and cider. The great men of the village had been invited to this impromptu dinner along with their wives. The mayor wore his ribbon of office stretched across his large paunch. Actresses sat with the most handsome of the village’s young men, chatting with them as they shared mugs of cider.

  Arabella wanted to be among them suddenly, to feel part of a group as she never had in her life. When she was a child, her father had not let her interact with the villagers, no matter what the festival. Tonight, she would change that.

  Pembroke took her hand and drew her out into the evening’s fading light. He did not seem to notice when she tried to pull away, but kept her by his side as he spoke.

  “Good people, welcome to our feast.”

  Arabella thought that he sounded like a character from Shakespeare. Though Titania was queen of all she surveyed, Pembroke was king. He had arranged the entire evening and no doubt had paid for it all.

  She turned to smile at him, but he did not look down at her. Pembroke kept her hand firmly on his arm, pressed down by his own, as he greeted first the mayor, then the town aldermen, and all their wives. He introduced her as Arabella Hawthorne, and no one said a word about her husband or his duchy. They treated her with deference, but not because she wore a coronet. They bowed and whispered about her because she stood beside Pembroke. If they remembered her father, the slave trader, they were polite enough not to mention it.

  She noticed then that she had caught the eye of some of the players. The men were smiling at her a little too fondly, and the women stared at her, drinking in every detail of her gown and gloves, even of the dyed slippers on her feet. A few of the women narrowed their eyes in open disdain before turning avaricious eyes on Pembroke.

  Arabella was taken aback as she saw them practically lick their lips at the sight of him. He was handsome, rich, and an earl. What more could a Cyprian of the stage ask for in a protector?

  For his part, Pembroke seemed not to notice any of them. Only Titania was acknowledged as she approached them, offering Pembroke her hand to kiss. He obliged like the gentleman he was, smiling at the queen of the evening from beneath his errant lock of hair. But even as he greeted his mistress, Pembroke did not let go of Arabella’s hand.

  “You have outdone yourself,” Pembroke said to Titania.

  “It has a lovely bucolic flavor, does it not? Perhaps we should have chosen As You Like It.”

  “Then I would not have the chance to play Oberon,” he said.

  “And that would be a great loss to the theater.”

  Arabella wondered if Titania was being sarcastic, but then Pembroke laughed, the warm sound filling the clearing where they stood. People from the village turned to listen to their lord’s laughter and they laughed as well, not knowing the joke but happy to have him home.

  Arabella looked around at the villagers. In spite of the economic trials that had come to England since the war, the people of Pembroke Village seemed well dressed and well fed. She wondered for the first time if he had helped their businesses and farms flourish. His father would never have bothered. But as Pembroke had told her more than once, he was not his father.

  When they sat down, Pembroke kept her hand pressed to the table beneath his own, as if sure she would escape if he let her go. She was beginning to feel stifled by his odd behavior. He would not look at her, but he would not release her either. Surreptitiously, she tried to pull her hand away and failed.

  Most of the diners were sitting on benches, but chairs had been brought out of the inn for Pembroke, Titania, and herself. Titania’s actors sat ranged around them like a royal court. Pembroke seemed perfectly at ease with so many theater folk, but Arabella found her natural shyness rising to silence her. She was not used to dealing with people she did not know, much less people as flamboyant as these.

  “We are happy to have you here among us, Your Grace,” one man said, his dark hair gleaming against the cream linen of his coat. “It is not every day that actors dine with a duchess.”

  Titania tossed back her dark red hair and laughed. “Speak for yourself, Bart.”

  The rest of the company laughed with her. Arabella smiled, taking a sip of her cider.

  “Madame Titania, I am happy to be here. I have never met a group of actors before. It makes me eager to see the play.”

  “Since it will be your first play, we will make it a good one.”

  “Your first play?” A different actor, this one young and blond with a gleam of mischief in his eye, raised his glass to her. “A virgin then. I would not have thought it possible.”

  Other actors laughed aloud, and a few of the actresses exchanged looks of derision before slanting their eyes at her.

  Pembroke tensed, his hand crushing hers against the tablecloth. Arabella felt the color in her face rise. She was not used to being addressed so casually by men she did not know.

  Before Pembroke could speak, Titania reprimanded the man. “Cliff, that’s enough out of you. One more word and I’ll banish you to the painting brigade.”

  “I apologize, Your Worship. Meant no harm.” He hiccupped.

  Arabella forced herself to smile. “No harm done.”

  She took a deep breath and found that she was not offended, merely surprised. Perhaps she could make her own
way in the world after all. Perhaps she need not hide away in a cottage of her own for the rest of her life. Clearly there were many more types of people in the world than she had ever met. The world seemed to lie before her like a vast expanse behind an open door. She might do anything, be anyone. She might do as she pleased, now that she was free.

  It was a heady thought.

  Titania spent the rest of the meal doing her best to put her at ease, and Arabella was grateful for the kindness. She never forgot that Titania was Pembroke’s lover. No doubt he would visit her that very night. But even as she fought down her jealousy, Arabella could not look at the confident, beautiful Titania with her vibrant red hair and theatrical gestures without wishing she was more like her. Molly, the name she had been born with, simply did not suit her. Titania seemed much more appropriate.

  As the evening wore on, Titania’s indulgence seemed to buy Arabella a measure of acceptance among the actors. Arabella knew she was not beautiful enough to attract their interest, with her pale face and her thin frame, but a few of the men among them nodded and smiled to her as if she were indeed a beauty, though each man kept an eye on Pembroke, careful not to offend him. Arabella almost laughed when she noticed that, for though he was treating her like something he owned, Pembroke had no interest in her.

  Though he irritated her by treating her like a piece of his property, she could not help but admire him as Pembroke spoke with ease with all who sat at the table with them. He was as confident and full of life on the village green as he was at his own dining table. This could have been accounted for by the simple fact that he was the Earl of Pembroke, but the respect these people showed seemed to go deeper than that.

  Just as the men seemed to respect him, all the women seemed desperate to catch his eye. They did not seem to care about his open relationship with Titania, or for the fact that he had not left Arabella’s side all evening. One particularly insistent woman came up in the middle of the meal, her low-cut gown more like that of a serving wench in a brothel than an actress from London.

  “My lord,” the woman said, shouldering Arabella aside as if she were not there. “You have not been to the theater in an age.”

  “I was there just last week, Cassie. Perhaps you didn’t notice me.”

  “I would notice if you’d been there. I’ve been pining for you.”

  Pembroke’s skin colored beneath his tan. Arabella released her annoyance with her next breath, choosing instead to lean back in her chair to watch the show, enjoying his discomfort. She had heard rumors of his great prowess with the ladies, both with countesses and ladies of ill repute, but she had not seen evidence of this charm. She caught Titania’s eye over Pembroke’s shoulder, and the red-haired Cypriot winked in commiseration.

  Arabella turned her gaze back to the actress who had captured Pembroke’s attention. Cassie’s gown was a bright yellow, which matched the brassy yellow of her hair. As the flame of a nearby lamp flared, Arabella blinked. Such a color surely did not exist in nature. Perhaps it should not exist anywhere.

  Arabella felt her irritation rise as she watched the woman lean in closer to Pembroke, pressing her ample bosom against his arm. “I’m playing a fairy in this production, my lord. Since you are to be my king, perhaps I might help you learn your lines?” Her hand slipped beneath the table, only to be caught in one of Pembroke’s own and brought back into view.

  Arabella felt her temper rise like a flash fire, and she swallowed it down. She had never known herself to have a temper in her life, but it seemed that Pembroke brought it out in her.

  Fortunately Titania spoke up before Arabella embarrassed herself. “Cassie, you won’t be playing anything in this production if you don’t stop making a cake of yourself. Sit down and mind your place and give his lordship some peace, for the love of God.”

  Cassie glared at her producer before simpering once more in Pembroke’s face. “If you have need of me, you have only to call,” she breathed, pressing her bosom against him.

  “Thank you, Cassie. I will keep that in mind.”

  The woman flounced away, leaving a cloud of cheap perfume behind her. Titania reached for a jug of mead, and Arabella did not protest when she poured a bit of it into her tumbler. “Cassie is a force of nature,” Titania said.

  “A gale force wind,” Pembroke agreed.

  “Good riddance,” Arabella said.

  Titania laughed, and Pembroke looked shocked at her outburst as Arabella hid her face behind her tankard. She drank her mead and felt the sweet heat of it warm her stomach and all her limbs. Though it went down as easily as cider, it seemed to be a bit stronger. Titania watched with a smile as Arabella drank then leaned over to fill her tumbler again.

  “Titania,” Pembroke said, a warning note in his voice.

  Arabella did not heed that warning but drank deep, enjoying the taste of the sweet mead on her tongue.

  “A drop of the elixir of the gods never did anyone any harm,” Titania said mildly.

  Arabella kept drinking, a happy tingling coming into her hands and feet. Warmth suffused her, and as she looked over the company, she smiled over them all, her shyness beginning to slip away.

  “That’s nothing to do with the gods, that’s honey liquor,” Pembroke said.

  Titania only smiled, and Arabella smiled back at her. “Try a bit, Pembroke. It might sweeten your mood,” Arabella said.

  Titania laughed when she heard that, passing the jug to Arabella, who filled his empty tankard. “Now we shall all have the elixir of the gods.”

  Pembroke did not drink but watched her, a dark light coming into his eyes. Maybe it was simply a trick of the shadows cast by the hanging lamps, but the look made her shiver. Arabella knew that she must speak with him seriously about the past, confront him, and clear the air before she left Derbyshire for good, but she could not seem to keep her mind on that worthy goal. Instead, all she could do was wonder if it would be a sin to ask him to kiss her, their past be damned. If so, she thought it was a sin that she could live with.

  She would not be his mistress, of course. She had sworn that, and she meant it. But one more kiss could do little harm.

  It might even do her good.

  Titania raised her voice so that she might be heard across the green. “This has been a charming evening. Thank you for welcoming us so splendidly to Pembroke Village, my lord. We will do you proud and give you a Midsummer’s Eve that you and yours will never forget.”

  A cheer rose from the villagers and the actors raised their voices along with their tankards. Titania nodded, graciously accepting their accolades. Arabella could easily imagine her at the foot of a stage in a great theater, taking bows before her audience, drinking in their applause.

  Titania caught her eye and smiled. The woman seemed to feel no rivalry toward her, only open affection. Arabella did not know whether to be touched or insulted. But a rosy glow had come over her since she had finished her two tankards of mead. She smiled on Titania as if she were a long lost sister.

  Titania stepped toward her and helped her stand, steadying Arabella as she rose to her feet. The ground suddenly seemed very far away, but she caught her balance quickly with Titania’s hand on her arm.

  “My lord, I believe your lady fair will need an escort to see her safe home.”

  Arabella looked up at her. “I am not fair.”

  Titania touched her cheek. “I think his lordship disagrees.”

  “Titania,” Pembroke said, his voice low with warning. His mistress only smiled, letting Arabella go. Pembroke offered his arm and Arabella took it.

  “Good night, Madame Titania. I will see to it that he learns his lines.”

  “I am glad to hear it. I leave our Oberon in your capable hands.”

  Titania bowed, her eyes on Pembroke’s. Some silent communication passed between them that made him frown like thunder as Titania laughed. For onc
e, Arabella did not feel jealous. Wherever he went later that night, whatever he did with Titania in the nights to come, he was with her now. Arabella clung to that thought as tightly as she clung to his arm as he led her toward the carriage.

  She thought of the Forest of Arden, and of the king oak where he had once proposed to her. “Might we walk, my lord? It is only two miles and it is such a lovely night.”

  “Arabella, you are not quite steady on your feet.”

  “I am fine, Pembroke, I assure you.” Arabella drew herself up straight in an effort to convince him, even as the earth seemed to sway beneath her in gentle waves.

  Pembroke still hesitated, clearly reluctant to walk into the night with her. Arabella raised her eyes to his. She did not press herself against him as the actress Cassie had, but as she looked at him, he seemed to waver in some contest against himself. She did not know which side of him won.

  “All right, Arabella. If you would like to walk, we’ll walk.”

  “Thank you, Pembroke.”

  Titania overheard their exchange and turned away, smiling. Though Arabella was surrounded by a warm haze of mead-induced relaxation, she took perverse pleasure in the fact that the actress Cassie was glaring at her.

  Their Forest of Arden lay between the village and his home, an enchanted place. She had been afraid to walk there in the light of day, to embrace the memories that would come to haunt her and the burden of all her regrets. But all that pain seemed very distant that evening. The warm night air beckoned, and the arching branches of the oaks seemed to wave to her in welcome. Perhaps the combination of the forest and the mead would keep away the pain. Perhaps she could walk into the past and revel in it, if only for an hour. It seemed so little to ask.