The Infamous Bride (9 page)

The young lady who had started the conversation joined in again. "Who else might perform well?"

A young man to her right suggested, "Shapleigh has a thespian bent."

Another added enthusiastically, "He made a marvelous Macbeth, didn't he."

"Certainly he did." He could see in her eyes that Juliet wanted to avoid the pressure to name a Romeo.

He wondered if he could force the conversation to such an extreme. No doubt it would greatly curtail her ability to convince Pendrake to take the part if she chose to pursue the matter. To that end he said, "I confess I am intrigued at the thought of watching Shapleigh spouting words of love below Juliet's bower." Though he was not ancient by any means, Shapleigh looked at least ten years older than his actual years. The thought of him as a lovesick boy was ludicrous.

"Then — " began one of the others.

Desperate not to commit herself, Juliet glanced at him, and he felt a chill of warning before she said, "I believe Mr. Hopkins to be an excellent choice, if Pendrake prefers to join Elizabeth at the hunt."

A small, shocked silence followed her words. She glanced around at the astonished faces and laughed. "Do you not think he would be perfect — seeing as, being American, he is the Montague among all of we Capulets."

There was a clear challenge in her eyes when she captured his gaze with her own. "Can you not see the similarities, Mr. Hopkins?"

Surely she knew he would refuse. "I'm afraid I have not one drop of thespian talent, Miss Fenster."

She was not disappointed in his answer; he would swear it. But still, she argued with him. "You would not deny us, would you?" She pouted, pushing her full lower lip out and putting a false note of despair in her words. "We are not professionals, sir. We consider the effort much more important than the actual talent."

"I am desolated to admit it, but I shall have to refuse on the grounds that your reputation would suffer if I were to play even a corpse in your play."

He could see the light of battle in her eye. "But Mr. Hopkins, I think you would make a most excellent Romeo."

Her plan came clear to him at once. She would not let him refuse gracefully. Perhaps later, when it suited her purposes, she would be so very understanding of his lack of talent. But not now.

Of course not; she was much too used to getting her own way, and she had every intention of putting Pendrake in the role of Romeo.

Romeo.

Could she know? There was mischief in her eyes again. No, he could not believe —

Mercifully, at that moment, the duke gestured for the servants to begin clearing. It was time for the gentlemen to retire from the ladies for cigars and brandy.

A custom R.J. found eminently civilized, as he did not want to offend his host by lifting his wife's sister into his arms and shaking her like a rag doll for taunting him. The one person who would most delight in wounding him with her knowledge had merely stumbled close upon it. There would be no danger as long as he made it clear to Susannah that she could tease him as she wish, with the privilege of a younger sister. But she was not to make him an object of ridicule in London society. He had enough difficulty in this foreign land. He did not need to add yet another oddity for the society crows to pick over and caw about.

Mr. Hopkins had not been even slightly flattered at the thought of playing Romeo. Why?

Juliet rose with the ladies, following Miranda's lead into the white drawing room. She could see that her proposal that the American play Romeo had generated whispered conversation. No doubt she would be questioned again once the ladies had settled to their cards or their conversations.

She wished his sister had been close enough to overhear the exchange. Perhaps she might have given away a larger hint as to why he would refuse the idea of playing Romeo so quickly. Perhaps he was as stuffy all the way to the core as he was on the outside. She shook her head at that incomprehensible thought. But no, he had almost seemed insulted ... or threatened. In fact, now that she considered the conversation again, he had turned a trifle pale when she suggested he might make an excellent Romeo.

The play itself was unexceptionable; even Queen Victoria and her Albert did not disapprove of the bard. Did Mr. Hopkins have something against Shakespeare? Surely the playwright worked hard for his living.

She tried to see it from the perspective of a man who was offended by buttons with no useful purpose. Shakespeare could be said to have worked so hard that his work outlived him by centuries. Centuries of making people laugh, cry, and sigh. How could even a man as bloodless as Mr. Hopkins disapprove?

As she had predicted, Juliet found herself the focus of many eyes. She could tell by the quick stares and muted giggles that her idea was quickly being spread around the room to those who had not been close enough to hear her propose Mr. Hopkins as Romeo.

Within ten minutes, she was surrounded by young women who wanted a part in the performance. "Oh, please, let me play Juliet," said one starry-eyed young girl.

Elizabeth Terwilliger, the woman Mrs. Hopkins had apparently handpicked as the future bride of her stepson, interjected, "I just know that Mr. Hopkins would wish for me to play opposite him."

"Do you think so?" For a moment Juliet considered the thought with pleasure. Though neither Miss Terwilliger or Mrs. Hopkins seemed aware of it, she had seen Mr. Hopkins duck into empty rooms simply to avoid crossing paths with that particular young woman. Perhaps, if Pendrake could not be persuaded, she would relinquish the role to Elizabeth.

"We have a, shall I say, special understanding," Elizabeth said with a chuff. It was a most unfortunate habit she had, chuffing to emphasize her sincerity.

"I shall have to think a bit on that suggestion. I had assumed someone else in the part, I confess." Juliet pictured the two of them together in the balcony scene with wicked glee. He would not thank her for the honor, which would, ironically, be thanks enough.

"Who would you wish to play Juliet, or need we ask?" inquired another woman, who was much better acquainted with Juliet. "Or do you not want the part now that the American is taking the role of Romeo?"

"He is handsome, though. Those dark eyes. Why would anyone mind playing opposite him?"

"His accent is rather grating." The young lady who made that comment had a voice like a squeaky door hinge.

Juliet agreed. He would no doubt do an appalling job. She wondered if it was time to confess that Mr. Hopkins would be a most unsuitable Romeo. It amazed her that there were not more objections being tossed about. The man had the passion of a turnip. A desiccated turnip, at that.

"It is not a professional staging," said Matilda Durham, who was most definitely on the shelf, and dusty at that. "After all, he did come to the country looking for a wife. Who knows whose heart he might capture, given the chance to recite those passionate lines." Her eyes almost sparkled at the thought. "I say, give him his opportunity."

"Perhaps it is you who want the chance," Hetty Barker teased Matilda, who apparently also had hopes of snaring the title of Mrs. Hopkins.

Matilda sniffed and gave Juliet a jealous glance. "I would play Juliet — if I didn't think the part was already claimed."

Juliet smiled, hiding her surprise at the number of women interested in playing opposite the American.

"I confess, I thought I would this year. After all" — she smiled, knowing that all would acknowledge that fate had decreed her the role — "my dear father saw to it that I have the name already."

"But not the youth." Matilda said.

The unexpected rake of unsheathed claws hurt, but Juliet kept her temper, just barely. "If we were to go by age, we would have to raid the nursery, I fear."

"True." Matilda no doubt did not realize it, but one of the reasons she was still on the shelf was her ability to find a complaint in every situation. "Nevertheless, it is so unfair. You always keep the best parts for yourself."

"It was my choice of play, after all," Juliet said, defending herself. "I shall play director, and costumer as well. Why should I not choose the part I like?" And the partner fated for her as well. Pendrake. But she would not reveal that. Not here. Not yet.

As if it had only taken her saying it aloud to convince the others that she would play her namesake, the women fell into the discussion of which parts they would take now that the plum role was decided. There were few good parts for women in the play. The nurse. Juliet's mother. Some of the more daring young ladies wanted to play young men and wield swords, at least, if they were not to have a speaking part.

Juliet smiled at that, thinking of how Rosaline would most definitely approve. Accidentally, her gaze fell upon Miss Hopkins, who had been dragged into the corner to play cards with her mother and her mother's set of friends. She smiled absently, wondering once again if Miss Hopkins would know why her brother had reacted so strongly to the suggestion of playing Romeo. She wondered if either of the women had heard the rumor. She suspected they had, because earlier Mrs. Hopkins had sent a thunderously disapproving frown her way as she swept back to her chosen card table, her daughter close behind, like a duckling in dangerous waters.

To her surprise, Miss Hopkins set down her hand, smiled in apology to her mother, and stood. Her voice was clear even from this distance, though it could not be called loud. "I am afraid I shall have to be the silent hand again. I am not as skilled at this game as any of you. I think I shall warm myself by the fire." With that, she left the table and crossed to the fireplace.

Juliet felt that her moment had arrived. Casually, as if she had not noticed the movement, she stood and crossed to the fireplace. She reached out to warm her hands as if that were her sole aim. She took no particular notice of Miss Hopkins in case her mother watched them.

Before she could think of what to say, Miss Hopkins, without turning her head, whispered to her, "I think it will be perfect, you as Juliet and R.J. as Romeo."

Juliet felt a flush of guilt. The girl thought her brother would play the role. There was no graceful way to tell her that he could never play such a passionate, emotional role. At least not without sending the audience to sleep. But all thoughts of who would become Romeo in her play fled when the girl said with a guileless sweetness, "I confess, I am silly. I harbor the unfounded hope you will be my new sister, not that tart-tongued harpy my mother prefers."

"Has your brother suggested — ?" Juliet was appalled at the idea and did not even know how to phrase the question politely. "He could not possibly — "

"Oh, no. I don't suspect even he knows that you could make him a wonderful wife." She said shyly, "He thinks about business so much, I don't think he seriously believes he'll find a woman to marry here. In fact, he has one all picked out back in Boston. But she's desperately wrong for him."

"She is?" Despite herself, Juliet was intrigued to hear the answer.

"Oh, yes," Susannah answered a bit loudly, and hesitated.

Juliet sensed a quick movement beside her and guessed that the girl was checking to make certain her mother had not noticed. Evidently not, because she continued in a whisper, "She is so meek and mild, and everything about her is dull. She would let him have his say about everything and never give him a moment's worry."

"I think that is what a man is looking for in a wife, at times," Juliet said dryly at this bit of naivete.

"Perhaps what a man is looking for is not what he needs. Have you considered that?"

Juliet laughed again. "No, I confess I had not." The girl's comment was perceptive, if irrelevant. Still, she was surprised to see one who was in the market for a husband to be so unaware. "Nor, I suspect, would any man admit to such a thing."

"Of course not. Each man looks for a paragon." Susannah sighed.

Juliet thought of R.J. Hopkin's definition of the perfect wife. "I am definitely not such a paragon, as your brother knows all too well."

"No doubt." The girl sighed, making the leaping flames dance close for a moment. "He needs someone to make him laugh. I believe you could do that."

Juliet considered the frowns, glares, and freezing glances she had suffered. She could not recall one time when he had smiled at her except with utterly frigid civility. "I'm afraid you must look elsewhere if you want someone to make your brother smile. If, however, you wish to give him indigestion — " She broke off, realizing that she would be better off making a friend of Miss Hopkins.

"I don't think so. I think fate has spoken in the title of the play."

The girl's words so surprised Juliet that she forgot herself and turned to stare at her.

Susannah was smiling in delight. There was a mischievous look in her eye as she leaned forward toward Juliet's ear.

Juliet bent her head to catch the whisper from Miss Hopkins. "After all, his first name is Romeo, just as yours is Juliet. What could be more destined?"

She was so stunned, she could say nothing for a moment. From the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Hopkins rise in agitation from her chair. No doubt she would call the girl away. There would be time for none of the questions that suddenly bubbled within her.

With a worried glance at her approaching mother, Miss Hopkins whispered a plea, "Tell no one."

"I will not," Juliet reassured her even as she wondered why anyone else would be interested in the man's name.

Susannah leaned forward to say confidentially, "R.J. does not think the name fitting a proper businessman, and he would be mortified to have it become common knowledge."

Juliet replied softly, smiling at the unhappy Mrs. Hopkins approached them like a mother protecting her child from wolves. "I will say nothing."

Miss Hopkins turned to toss a thank-you back to Juliet as her mother towed her away to join a safer corner of the room.

With a sigh born of chagrin, Juliet realized that she had forgotten to ask about Lord Pendrake and the true state of his heart. Drat. Well, perhaps after the rehearsal for the play began she would no longer be a forbidden companion of Miss Hopkins.