The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress (35 page)

“And in the best interests of the bird I will keep him,” she snapped.

“I can’t believe a woman who would rescue an elephant would stand by and allow her brothers to shoot the man who has crossed an ocean to lend her his assistance.” He shook his head in a mournful manner.

“Very well then. I won’t have them shoot you.” She picked up Fernando’s cage and started for the door. “But should they wish to thrash you thoroughly in the victorious spirit of two wars with your country, I will not stop them.” She squared her shoulders and marched out of the parlor, up the stairs, and into her rooms, not pausing until she had slammed the door behind her.

She set the cage on top of her desk. Fernando looked at her and squawked. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, I know.” She waved off the parrot’s comment. “I may well be an idiot myself.” She folded her arms over her chest and paced the room. “It seems to me I was justified in my feelings of anger and betrayal. He did make a fool out of me even if I have come to wonder if being known as a madcap heiress isn’t all that terrible. And it is the tiniest bit delightful to be someone’s inspiration.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But is being sorry enough?” She shook her head. “He did cross an ocean for me . . .” She paused and stared at the bird. “But he certainly didn’t apologize for his behavior. Nor did he take me in his arms, declare his undying love, and beg for my forgiveness.”

“Please forgive me.”

“Exactly like that, but teaching you to say it is not the same thing as saying it himself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” She continued to pace. “The man is up to something, but what? I don’t for a moment believe he came all this way simply to keep his word to help me. No, he has something else in mind.”

“Hello. I love you.”

She paused and stared at the parrot. “You haven’t said that before.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it.” She shrugged. “But you should have mentioned it sooner. If Cameron taught you to say that—and I’m more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on that score—then he’s not simply here to help me with Great-aunt Lucinda’s regrets. No, thank God, there’s much more to his arrival than that. Which is a relief as there are very few regrets left on her list and I would be forced to make some up simply to keep him here.” She thought for a moment. “In the spirit of compromise, I shall not allow my pride to stand in the way of my happiness. And any man who would cross an ocean and present me with a parrot—”

“I’m a fool.”

“—should certainly be allowed to atone for his mistakes.” She nodded firmly. “Therefore I will read the part of Juliet on stage, I will check one more regret off the list, and I will wait to see what Mr. Effington-Fairchild-Aldrich comes up with next.”

Tomorrow was her birthday and she was going to read the part of Juliet on a stage, thanks to the man she loved. That could certainly be called not only an adventure but a daring exploit as well. Which only brought her back to the question she still had no answer for.

Did he love her or the better written version of her?

 

 

“Brandy or Scottish whisky?” Harry appeared in the open doorway.

“Whisky, I should think,” Cameron said. “And it will be much appreciated.”

“I thought so.” Harry and his brothers filed back into the room.

A few minutes later, glasses had been poured and passed around and all the men had taken seats.

“So.” Joe studied him over the rim of his glass. “You want to marry our sister.”

“I do.” Cam nodded.

“She doesn’t seem very amenable to the idea,” Parker murmured. “Or to you.”

“But I think we all agree that she cares for you,” Harry said. “She wouldn’t be acting the way she has been if she didn’t care.”

“She never acted like this over . . .” Cole grimaced.

“Over Jackson Channing?” Cam asked.

Cole nodded.

“Good.” Cam sipped his drink.

“I’m assuming you have some sort of plan,” Joe said casually. “Given the way she left, you’re going to need a plan.”

“And fortunately I have one.” Cam leaned back in his chair, his gaze circled the group. Four pairs of eyes very nearly the same shade as Lucy’s studied him curiously. It was a little unnerving but not especially intimidating. Not anymore. “Gentlemen, I did not follow your sister halfway around the world to give up now.”

He’d been so busy feeling guilty for his deception he’d forgotten who he was for a while. Certainly he had spent entirely too much time trying to determine his path in life, but once he had recognized his true calling, he hadn’t wavered. He would not waver now. He had not failed to write a book. He had not failed to prove his resolve to his father. And he would not fail to win the hand of the love of his life. “At this point, I believe a grand gesture is called for.”

“You did give her a parrot,” Cole pointed out.

“And that was just the beginning. This is what I have in mind.”

Lucy’s brothers listened to his proposal and not one said it was stupid or far-fetched or couldn’t possibly work. They reminded him of his own brothers, although, of course, his brothers wouldn’t be nearly as polite. They would be far more critical of his plan and far more skeptical about his chances of success.

“I would venture to say this has not been an inexpensive proposition.” Joe chose his words with care. “You’re not interested in Lucy for her money then?”

“You can understand why that would be a concern,” Harry said quickly.

“Of course.” Cam nodded. “One can always use an heiress and I did squander my funds freely in my younger days, but I also listened to the investment advice of my brothers. I can assure you my finances are quite sound. I’m certain your father, as a banker, will be able to verify that.”

Harry nodded.

“The offspring in my family have for generations received substantial trusts upon their majority and there hasn’t been an Effington yet who has lost it completely.” Cam grinned. “And hasn’t gotten it back.”

“Good to know,” Joe murmured.

Harry nodded. “You should know as well, we wouldn’t be helping you if we weren’t convinced she likes you.”

“Although you should be warned, she’s not the same as she was before she went to England.” Cole shuddered. “She’s much crankier than she used to be. Possibly mad.”

“Not mad exactly.” Parker shrugged. “No madder than any other woman, that is. Rather more, well, obstinate and decisive, I would say.”

“But we like her better this way.” Joe grinned. “I’m not sure why.”

“Because she’s, I don’t know, blossomed, I think. Grown perhaps.” Harry studied Cam curiously. “Is that your doing?”

“As much as I’d like to say it is”—Cam shook his head—“I had nothing to do with it. She was already quite remarkable when I met her. Perhaps it was because she was no longer paying attention to expectations.”

“Regardless, she’s not the same.” Harry grinned. “And she’s not going to make this easy for you.”

“Bloody hell, gentlemen.” Cameron raised his glass to his future brothers-in-law. “She never has.”

Lucy studied the short flight of open steps that led to a small, rolling scaffold with a platform no more than five or six feet across and prepared herself to ascend it. This was nothing really. At least not when compared to climbing onto the back of an elephant. But backstage at a theater was darker and far busier than she had imagined.

Excitement mixed with apprehension in the pit of her stomach and she started up the steps. The scaffold was behind a scenery flat painted to portray the front of Juliet’s house. When given her cue, Lucy would step from the scaffold, through dark, sheer curtains, and onto Juliet’s balcony, whereupon she would try very hard not to make a complete ass of herself.

Lucy had never been on a real stage in her life. And while this wasn’t a complete play, this performance of Shakespearean readings was undeniably a theatrical production. In a real theater with, God help her, a real audience. People she didn’t know although, given it was a benefit for charity, she suspected there were quite a few people in attendance who were acquaintances of her or her family. One simply couldn’t avoid it and, well, she didn’t really care. Apparently, she was taking this madcap heiress business to heart.

She had been accompanied by her parents and her brothers tonight but had yet to see Cameron, although she was confident he was here. How else would she be able to graciously thank him for his assistance and forgive him as well? Her brothers had said remarkably little about their talk with him, although Harry had casually mentioned it did seem the man was not lacking financially as arranging her appearance tonight had taken a bit of maneuvering and had not come cheap. Plus there was a sizable donation to the charity involved as well. His financial stability was a relief but, while the thought had nagged at her, she had never truly believed he was interested in her money. Just as she had always truly believed he was a good and honorable man.

Lucy stepped onto the platform to await her cue. Behind her, the wardrobe mistress straightened the skirts of her blue brocade Juliet costume. With its trailing sleeves and square cut bodice, it was perhaps lovelier than it was authentic. But this was the theater after all, a world of illusion, and the moment she stepped on that balcony, she would be Juliet. A thrill ran through her at the thought. No wonder Great-aunt Lucinda wanted to be in a theatrical production.

In the spirit of adventure, while she did have the lines written in a large notebook designed to resemble an antique book, she had memorized them as well. It wasn’t difficult as every schoolgirl probably knew the immortal words by heart. The reading was to start with her first line, which she had pointed out to the stage manager was not the beginning of the scene. He had strongly advised her to keep her opinion to herself and read what was in front of her.

From the right wing, the stage manager cued her. This was it then.

She held the book open in front of her, parted the curtains, and stepped onto the balcony. The bright light hit her and she noted how the blinding brilliance kept her from seeing little more than endless rows of indistinct faces, relatively anonymous and therefore far less intimidating.

Lucy sent a silent prayer heavenward and drew a calming breath. “Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

A male voice sounded below her and off to one side, out of the pool of light, and she couldn’t see the speaker.

“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

She continued. “ ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name?”

“Exactly,” Romeo said.

“Exactly?” She frowned and looked down at the lines. That wasn’t right. Perhaps this actor was as much of an amateur as she was. After all, this was a charitable event and if her part could be arranged for, no doubt Romeo’s could be as well. Still, the man surely had the lines in front of him. All he had to do was read them. She cleared her throat and continued. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So—”

“Indeed, what is in a name?”

“I wasn’t finished,” she said in a hushed tone. “And I already said that.” She scanned the lines. She was right. She had said that. Goodness, this erstwhile actor playing Romeo was going to make a mess of the whole thing. She leaned forward to peer over the balcony. All she could see in the pool of light on the stage were his leggings and shoes.

“It bears repeating.” Cameron stepped into the light. She should have known the moment she heard his voice, but apparently stage fright hindered one’s powers of observation.

“What are you doing?” she said in as quiet a voice as she could manage.

“Ah, my sweet Juliet, you shall see.” He flashed her a grin, then turned toward the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen. As this is the last presentation of the evening, I have taken the liberty of rewriting the scene.”

A murmur of surprise waved through the audience.

“It’s Shakespeare,” she said in a low, urgent voice. What was the man thinking? “You don’t rewrite Shakespeare!”

“I believe the bard himself would allow a few liberties to be taken by a fellow countryman.”

“Well, I won’t have it.”

“Let him speak,” a voice called from the audience that sounded suspiciously like one of her brothers.

“Fine.” She waved the book at him. “Do I need this?”

“Probably not, but one never knows what might happen in the theater.” He grinned. “Give me your next line.”

“Not that I have a choice,” she said under her breath. She paused, willed herself to stay calm, and tried again. “So Romeo would, were he not Romeo—”

“Not that one,” Cameron interrupted. “The one after ‘I never will be Romeo.’ ”

The audience laughed.

“Go on,” he urged.

“Very well.” She clenched her teeth. “What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night so stumblest on my counsel?”

“By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am.” He paused.

“Don’t stop.” She huffed. “There’s more.”

“And yet try I did, fair Juliet, but I am no more than a mere mortal man, weak and fearful of loss. And in my feeble attempts to reveal all, alas, I failed in a manner most miserable. For I feared the outcome of my deception.”

“Of course you did.” She sighed, tossed the folder aside, and braced her hands on the balcony railing. No doubt this was not the kind of theatrical production Great-aunt Lucinda had envisioned, but then it was no longer her adventure either.

It was no longer Lucinda’s adventure
.

She had realized some time ago that her great-aunt’s adventures had become hers, but here and now, with the man she loved making the silliest kind of grand gesture, on a stage in front of her entire family and God only knew who else, this had nothing to do with Lucinda. This was now indeed Lucy’s adventure. And Lucy’s life. And there would be no regrets.

She thought for a moment, then addressed the audience. “ ’Tis obvious there will be no performance of star-crossed lovers here tonight.”

Cameron placed his hand by the side of his mouth and leaned toward the audience in a confidential manner. “A shame perhaps, but ’tis hoped the play you see before you now will end far better than with death to all.”

Appreciative chuckles ran through the audience.

“You say you feared the outcome of deception and yet, noble Romeo,” Lucy continued, “the truth might well have served you better than deceit, for did not the playwright himself say in yet another play we shall not perform tonight . . .” She swept her arms in a wide gesture toward the audience. “Truth is truth to the very end of reckoning.”

“ ’Tis not the soundness of the truth I ran from so much as its revelation. And in that, as all else, I was a fool.” He stared up at her. “And I was wrong.”

“And have you now learned a lesson about the virtues of truth and the consequences of deceit?”

“I have indeed, fair Juliet.” He clasped his hand over his heart. “And I swear to you from this day forth, none but the truth shall fall from my lips.”

“’Tis a nice enough vow and yet . . .” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh and turned toward the audience. “Romeo has sworn his regret, an apology that, in truth, might well be seen as lacking. His remorse appears cursory, his regret more flippant than sincere.” She addressed the audience. “Ladies of the theater, what say you? Has he earned forgiveness?”

A polite smattering of applause sounded from the audience.

“Or, like a truly repentant man, should he be made to grovel?”

Enthusiastic applause erupted, accompanied by more than a few cheers.

She leaned forward, rested her elbow on the railing, and propped her head in her hand. “Well, Romeo, as all truly repentant men have done before you, you may proceed to grovel.”

“If groveling is the price to be paid for the forgiveness of the fair Juliet, so be it.” He leapt onto the trellis that ran up the flat to the balcony and started to climb. “I shall grovel for the rest of my days at your feet if you wish.” He reached the balcony, his head now level with hers, and met her gaze directly. “But I would rather worship at them.”

A definite sigh arose from the ladies in the theater.

His tone sobered. “I would move the heavens above and the earth beneath my feet were it possible to undo what cannot be undone. But note, fair Juliet, that knowing my misdeeds have wounded you has shattered my heart, and while I pray for your forgiveness for this wretched cur, I shall never forgive myself.”

“Oh.” Her heart caught and words failed her. For a long moment she could do nothing but stare at him.

“Surely there is more you wish to say?” he prompted.

“Yes, of course. Although I’m not sure . . .” she said quietly, then cleared her throat. “Ah, Romeo, thy words have touched my heart and while words have no more substance than the air we breathe, ’tis in your eyes I see the truth.” She leaned forward to kiss him, the crowd would love that, but he pulled back.

He jumped onto the balcony and took her hands. “Then, fair Juliet, declare your love for me.”

“Here?” she whispered.

“I am giving you the opportunity to stand up publicly for what you believe in,” he said in a quiet voice for her ears alone. “It’s on your great-aunt’s list. You believe in true love and soul mates and destiny. Can you do it, Lucy? Can you stand up for love?”

She glanced at the audience. They were obviously getting restless. “Goodness, Cameron, you’ve made your point. This is silly and—”

“The woman I made up, the character I modeled after you could not have been as wonderful as she was if the woman I based her on was not the most wonderful woman I have ever met. She is my creation, Lucy Merryweather, but you are her soul. As you are mine.”

“You do realize this is incredibly embarrassing?” She glanced again at the audience.

“I thought it might be. But that is one of the risks of standing up for what you believe. Do you really believe in true love, Lucy? Now is your chance to prove it.”

She stared at him. Did she?

He addressed the audience. “ ’Tis an opportunity not to be missed, to stand forth before the world in declaration that thou believest in with your heart and soul. And what better to believest in than love, true and eternal and everlasting.” He turned to her. “Will thee stand forth, Juliet? Will thee stand for love? And for me?” he added under his breath.

She studied him for a long moment. “I . . .” She raised her voice. “While it has been said the course of true love does not run smooth, ’twould be foolish indeed to not seize opportunity once presented. And so, dear Romeo, I do indeed stand up to proclaim to all far and near, that I do believe in love, true and eternal and everlasting, and in spite of your faults, little worse than any other of your gender, I believe, as well, in thee.”

He grinned and turned toward the audience. “’Tis now the end of our play, no longer sorrowful and sad, but joyous and happy and glad. And so we bid you good night and good rest unto you all.”

He swept an overly dramatic bow.

She raised a brow. “And we are then at an end?”

“Well . . .” He paused. “Yes. Thou knowest, all’s well that ends well.”

Laughter washed through the crowd.

“If indeed ’tis the end.” She shrugged. “Methinks the play is not yet resolved.”

A slight look of panic shone in Cameron’s eyes. He stepped close and spoke low into her ear. “This is it, Lucy. I wrote those last lines—I didn’t just now come up with them. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Oh, and I think you do,” she murmured, cast him a wicked smile, then gazed over the audience. “One moment, kind and gentle spectators, whilst I discuss the terms of the ending of our endeavor here this night.” She stepped back from the railing and turned to Cameron. “First, while I am more than willing to be your muse, do you swear to me you will never again use me for literary purposes without my knowledge?”

“I do,” he said slowly.

“And will you promise to be completely honest with me even when it’s not especially easy?”

He nodded. “I will.”

“And will you never again cause me to doubt the trust I place in you?”

“I would die before I would ever allow that to happen again.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Now,” she said with a grin, “we can end the play.”

“And do you have any idea how to do that?”

“You’re the writer. I thought you would come up with something.”

“I did and I already delivered the last lines, well thought out and well written too, I might add.”

She widened her eyes. “Yes, well, rewrite!”

“Easier said than done,” he muttered. He thought for a moment, then cast her a smug smile and stepped away. “ ’ Twould be a shame to end a play with nothing more than words.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “ ’Tis said a story of love and romance should end with no less than a kiss and the promise of a happy ending.”