Anne Barbour (21 page)

“Oh, yes,” said Jared dryly in answer to Winifred’s untimely comment. “His, er, exploits in that area have become quite a legend in our family.”

“I remember the play well,” said Diana, sending a quelling glance to her husband. “In fact, I produced an abbreviated version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Madame Du Vrai’s seminary.”

This statement, of course, necessitated a brief history of Diana’s life in Paris as the adopted daughter of a French merchant, at the end of which she concluded, “And I think it would be tres amusant to take part in your production, Winifred. What do you say, Jared?”

Jared bent a harassed glance on his brother before turning back to his wife.

“Diana, what in God’s green world makes you think I can act, or would want to do so?”

“Oh, but, Lord Chamford,” interposed Winifred eagerly, “The Duke of Athens has a fairly small part. I’m sure you would be able to memorize the lines. Lord Simon is in the play, too, you know.”

“Mmm—yes,” said Jared, his dark eyes gazing enigmatically on his brother. “I am wondering how that came about, Simon.”

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” said Simon hastily. “At any rate, if Diana would find pleasure in—

“Miss Timburton! Lord Simon!” It was Lady Hermione, who had spoken very little during the course of the meal. “Lady Chamford is being most gracious, but you surely cannot expect her, or his lordship, to participate in what is really nothing more than a low romp.” Her nose pinched unbecomingly until it resembled a misformed pebble stuck just below her eyes.

After surveying her in silence for a long moment, Jared turned back to Diana. “If it would give you pleasure, my love, to take part in this little romp, I shall be happy to oblige,” he said, and the intimacy of the smile he turned on his wife made Jane look away.

Lady Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair and sniffed in outraged affront.

At that, Winifred insisted that luncheon was over, even though most of the raspberry tarts prepared that morning by Cook lay on a plate uneaten. Winifred dragged the company almost bodily into the Crimson Saloon, where she shepherded Jared and Diana onto the makeshift stage, and handed them playbooks, ready to begin the task of showing them their positions.

By the end of the day, Jane decided that she liked Diana very much, and when the tea table was brought into the Gold Saloon that night, it seemed as though she had known the affable marchioness for years instead of a few, short hours,

“Oh, dear,” said Diana, yawning for the five or sixth time that evening behind her fingertips. “Perhaps the journey tired me out more than I thought. I do believe I shall retire, my love. No, no,” she said hastily, as Jared rose to his feet. “I know you will want a comfortable coze with Simon. I shall get Goodbody to tuck me away and I’ll see you when you come up.”

The other ladies declared their intentions to seek their beds as well, and when Jane offered her arm to Diana, that lady accepted it with her usual gracious charm. Aunt Amabelle toiled behind them, chattering all the way, and when they reached Diana’s bedchamber, Jane and the older woman entered with her.

“I trust everything is satisfactory, Diana,” said Jane, a question in her voice.

“Very much so. You have seen to our every need and then some. This is such a lovely house, Jane,” she continued, seating herself in a dainty wing chair and gesturing Jane and Lady Teague to seats nearby. “I should imagine Simon will hate to leave here when he has Winifred’s affairs straightened out.”

“He seems quite anxious to return to his home—Ashwood, is it?” asked Jane hesitantly.

“Yes, but I hope he will spend some time at Stonefield first. He was in such a tearing hurry when he came home, that we feel very much put upon.”

“I don’t understand why he found it necessary to hurry to Selworth so soon after his arrival home.” Jane was guiltily aware of the gaucherie of her statement, but her curiosity had been unsatisfied for far too long, and she felt surprisingly comfortable with Diana Chamford.

The marchioness was staring at her in blank surprise. “Why, so that he could get Winifred fired off, of course. He was almost quivering in fear the whole time he was home that he would be forced to marry the chit himself. Not,” Diana added quickly, “that she is the horror we were led to expect. At least, not quite, but.. . Oh, dear.” Diana’s hands went to her generously curved mouth. “I forgot, she is your relative, is she not? I am so sorry; I only meant that...”

She trailed off helplessly, but Jane, still absorbing the first part of her statement, did not hear. “Marry her himself?” she echoed, a cold feeling settling into the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, my dear,” chimed Aunt Amabelle. “You did not know?”

“Know?” Jane wanted to scream the word. “Know what?”

“Oh, my,” sighed Diana, exchanging a glance with Lady Teague. “It appears Simon did not want anyone outside the family to be aware of his dilemma.”

There was a moment’s silence before Lady Teague and Diana spoke to each other in unison.

“Oh, but don’t you think ...?” asked Lady Teague.

“On the other hand ...” said Diana.

By now, Jane was ready to explode. “I do not wish to pry into a family matter, of course,” she said through gritted teeth. She rose and turned toward the door. “If you will excuse me.”

“No!” The two voices again spoke as one, and Diana continued. “It was foolish of Simon to be so closemouthed about the whole thing, and since you—that is...” She exchanged another sidelong glance with Lady Teague. “That is, since it is your cousin who is involved in this whole ridiculous mess ...” She drew a deep breath. “The fact is that if Simon does not find a husband for Winifred within the next two weeks, he will have to marry her himself.”

At this, Jane felt as though she had already exploded. “What?” she asked faintly.

“It was part of that wretched agreement between Simon and Wilfred Timburton,” said Aunt Amabelle, almost in tears. “Why Simon let himself be so imposed upon, I cannot imagine, but once he considers a thing to be his duty, no amount of reason will sway him.” Lady Teague’s jewelry provided a cacophonic background to her words.

Haltingly, Diana recounted the terms of the agreement signed by Simon after Wilfred’s death.

Jane sat down suddenly. “But that is just—just wicked,” she gasped. Then, as a thought struck her, she asked, “Does Simon actually have to marry Winifred, or merely ask her?”

“I don’t know,” replied Diana, “but doesn’t it amount to the same thing? I mean, what woman in her right mind would refuse a proposal from Simon?” She uttered a strained laugh. “Admittedly, I am biased in my opinion of him, but he is eminently eligible, and a wonderful man, besides.”

On the brink of tears, Jane silently acknowledged the truth of this statement.

There was a long silence in the charming little sitting room, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the sighs and recriminations voiced by the participants in the discussion.

“It is too bad that Charles is betrothed to Lady Hermione,” said Diana thoughtfully.

“Yes,” replied Jane glumly.

“Odd, I have not seen an announcement in any of the papers.” Lady Teague shot her niece a speculative glance.

“Well,” Jane mused aloud. “I don’t think it’s been officially announced yet.”

“The earl does not seem altogether pleased at the idea of marrying Lady Hermione,” said Diana, tapping her fingers abstractedly on the arm of her chair.

“Well, who would be?” blurted Jane. “That is—I should not speak ill of a guest in the house, but—

Lady Teague uttered a sound remarkably like a snort. “To dish it up unsalted, the woman is absolutely insufferable.” She swung about to face the marchioness.

“Diana, what have you got in mind? You are looking particularly angelic at the moment, and you have me quaking in my shoes.”

“Why, nothing, Aunt. It just occurs to me that there may be a way out of this situation . . .” She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with her aunt and her hostess. “If we put our heads together.”

“Every one look o’er his part.”
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream,
V, i.

Over the next week, rehearsals for A Midsummer Night’s Dream finally came together to Winifred’s satisfaction. She declared that if she had been given the opportunity to handpick a lady and gentleman from throughout the realm to play Theseus and Hippolyta, she could have done no better than Jared and Diana. Jared, she said, to a chorus of wholehearted agreement from the other players, eminently fulfilled the commanding presence of the Duke of Athens, and Diana’s queenly bearing as the duke’s intended bride brought sighs of admiration from the other ladies.

Lissa and Marcus, while their performances lacked anything resembling sparkle, managed their roles with competence. Marc’s agility lent verisimilitude to his role as Oberon, and Lissa, while by no means a skilled actress, infused her part with an unaffected sweetness. Winifred, more secure in the growing capability of her cast, began to polish her own delivery, and Charles convulsed the group regularly with his antics as the bucolic Bottom. He even went so far as to declare he no longer minded the cumbersome ass’s head, constructed by the local carpenter of balsa wood and covered with rabbit skin.

Winifred knew a moment’s unease when Sir James announced that it was necessary to travel to London for a few days, but he earnestly assured her, shaking his head ponderously, that he would return in plenty of time to perform his role of Egeus and that of the clown, Snout.

Even Simon, despite the rapid approach of what he termed his rendezvous with doom, was beginning to enjoy himself. His role was not a demanding one, and he found it somewhat of a relief to submerge his concerns in Shakespeare’s pleasant diversion. He found particular delight in the scene in which he crouched at Jane’s feet in the shrubbery, shouting maledictions supposedly mouthed by Puck in Lysander’s voice and directed at Demetrius.

He rather relished Jane’s obvious discomfiture as he pressed himself against her shapely leg.

Only one person refused to participate in the gentle hilarity that grew as the performance date approached. Lady Hermione, steadfast in her decision to maintain a watchful presence at every rehearsal, sat with her mother by the window in the Crimson Saloon, assiduously plying her needle and sending poisonous glances at the proceedings onstage. During Titania’s scenes with Bottom, wherein the fairy queen caressed and kissed her hairy, long-eared lover, Lady Hermione became quite rigid with fury, and those observing marveled that Winifred did not bear marks at the end of the day as a result of her ladyship’s venomous stares. Even on the morning when several of the village children gathered to rehearse their parts as attendant fairies, Lady Hermione did not relax either her vigil or her expression. While the others laughed and played games with the youthful performers, Lady Hermione pulled her skirts aside with frequent, acid requests that “someone please remove this dirty child.”

Poor Charles could not so much as set out for the village tobacconist to replenish his snuff supply without his fiancée’s company. On the rare occasions when he slipped his leash, he would find Lady Hermione awaiting him on his return, her chiseled nose twitching suspiciously.

There were those, of course, who felt that lady Hermione’s fears were far from groundless. Charles, in the rare moments when Lady Hermione relaxed her surveillance, continued his attentions to Winifred. The two could be seen scurrying off at odd moments together, to reappear some time later, flushed and laughing. Jane remonstrated with Winifred to no avail, for the flighty maiden would simply toss her head and say, “Oh, don’t be so missish, Jane. You know I love to flirt, but it’s all perfectly harmless. I do the same with Gerard and Harry and Sir James, after all.” Which was perfectly true, but did nothing to reassure her dwindling number of well-wishers.

Lissa, for example, made her rising fury apparent as she watched the pats bestowed by the beauty on Marcus’s cheek and the delicious laughter that rippled from her at his every sally.

Fortunately a diversion occurred before battle lines could be firmly drawn. Aunt Amabelle completed the costumes and, while they were not yet worn at rehearsals, the cast tried them on at every opportunity, preening and pluming themselves in their make-believe finery. The gentlemen—Simon, Jared, and Marcus demurred strongly against the Grecian tunics provided for them. Nothing, declared Simon, echoed by the other two, would prevail upon him to appear in front of the world dressed in short skirts. This contretemps was fortunately smoothed over when Aunt Amabelle lengthened the tunics and found sturdy, knee-high buskins for them, thus insuring against an unseemly display of bare shins or knees or even worse. All the principal male players except Charles were provided with floor-length cloaks of a light wool in various attractive shades. These, it was declared, lent a richness to the rather plain muslin tunics worn by those gentlemen cast in the more aristocratic roles.

The others declared themselves highly pleased with their costumes. Winifred, in particular, fancied herself in Titania’s splendor. From one of her old gowns of celestial blue silk, Lady Teague had fashioned a piece of glittering magic, sprinkled with spangles and trimmed with silver stars. A pair of spider-gauze wings fluttered from her shoulders, and on her brow rested a sparkling tiara, embellished with a crescent moon. Winifred whirled and pirouetted before the others, reveling in their expressions of admiration. Gerard, in a burst of inspiration, compared her to a cloudless evening sky bedecked with heaven’s own glory. As for Charles, compliments fell from his lips like water dripping from a spout.

Jane’s ensemble consisted of a brief tunic of pure white muslin, belted with a silver cord about her slim hips and cut in a jagged Vandyked hemline that revealed enticing views of her shapely legs. Her wings were of gossamer, tiny and fragile, and she was sprinkled with brilliants from head to foot. Candlelight made haloes on her silvery curls, and she was, thought Simon, so ethereally beautiful that it hurt to look at her.