Chapter 12
Dominic did not know if he was coming or going as he headed up the steps of Heron House, returning from a long day out with the Briarwood men. Frankly, he could not ever recall having done so much, and his life had never been an idle one.
But he had been to more teas, more routs, more balls, and more dinner parties than he had ever been to in his entire life in the last two weeks.
The number of speeches that he had heard at those dinner parties were enough to anesthetize anyone’s brain because, frankly, most people did not speak very well.
Now, he had good fortune in that the Briarwoods all were excellent speakers, and he had found that he was a good speaker himself. But every now and then, they had to sit and listen to gentlemen at a very long table, who had imbibed copious amounts of brandy, rattle on and on and on.
Sometimes, the subject matter of their discourse was deeply unpleasant, but he had found that the Briarwoods had methods of getting through idiots’ speeches.
They told each other secret jokes. There were code words, winks, nods, and notes passed under the table, and sometimes there was outright kicking of shins.
That had been a relief because when Dominic had to listen to certain people defend slavery across the British empire and deride abolition, it was all he could do not to stand up, reach across the wide dinner table, across the silver cutlery, porcelain plates, and large flower arrangements, to grab said person and throttle them.
It was occasionally also tempting to stick an apple in their mouth, rather like they were a suckling pig. But every time it was clear that he had the urge to do so, one of the Briarwoods would kick him in the shin under the table.
He’d been furious at first, but they’d made him understand.
One could not outright act in such a fiery way if one wanted to make change. Terse words? Witty banter? The cutting of the other man’s poor logic? Yes.
But he had to be able to pull them to his side, and he’d never do that with outright fisticuffs or blunt force. The best way to do it was through slick speeches and persuasive tactics.
It was difficult to be friends with those who could so easily harm one’s fellow man, but he would do whatever it took to get the votes he needed.
And he did actually believe that the Briarwoods had the right of it. He’d seen the amount of bills they had passed over the years. He’d done his research. He was not going to sacrifice the power he had just because of his own impatience and irritation.
Still, he was tired, and sometimes he felt filthy.
He crossed into the foyer, passed his hat and long coat over to the butler, and was ready to head for the stairs, where he very much hoped to encounter the woman of his desire, who made everything better.
When he was tired, she gave him life, like the famous spring one could drink from and find youth.
When he was sad, she made him laugh. And, well, when he was certain that he couldn’t face another dinner party, she reminded him of just how terrible it was for others and that a dinner party really wasn’t all that bad.
As he passed the long salon that was the favorite room of the dowager duchess, a woman he greatly admired, her voice rumbled from it.
“Ah, Roseford, come in!”
He winced. He had been determined to take a long, hot bath and wash off the feeling of political scum, but it wasn’t to be. There was no way he could ignore that call.
And so he turned to the door and strode in, whereupon he stopped dead in his tracks. The room was extremely crowded. Every single Briarwood seemed to be in the room, from young to old.
Did the Briarwoods always do things in groups?
It seemed so! They even included their menagerie.
Two cats were running about chasing each other and a ball of string.
A crow was cawing overhead, circling and then landing on Lady Perdita’s shoulder, the most eccentric daughter of the dowager duchess, and a hedgehog was rolling about.
Dominic’s lips twitched and, suddenly, he found his exhaustion lifting.
For how could he not be amused? These people were unlike any that he knew, and he did not know how they managed it.
From old to young, each and every one of them was passionate, fully alive, and lived exactly how they wanted with no apologies.
Most people could not do that.
He was close, very close, and yet he still somehow managed to make sure that he did not care about things quite the way they did. The death of his father and mother had taught him that.
He didn’t know how they were so inoculated to pain, or at least seemed to be.
The dowager duchess sat in her chair by the fire, and then she stood slowly. “My boy, we have decided it is time.”
Dominic looked about, spotting the duke, then Lord Ajax, Lord Zephyr, Lord Hector, and Lord Achilles, as well as the other host of young gentlemen of the family.
Lady Perdita stood by her mother, her crow coming to land upon her shoulder. The other young ladies stood, grinning from ear to ear, as if they knew something he did not.
“Time for what?” he queried.
Was he about to be put out into the night, or was he going to have to dance a jig or defend his political opinions?
Really, he had no idea. Anything seemed possible.
“It’s time for you to sing for your supper,” the dowager duchess proclaimed.
“I don’t sing,” he said. “I’m terrible at it. You really don’t want me to.”
The dowager threw back her head and laughed, which caused the jewels at her ears and wrists to dance, as well as her beautiful silver hair, which was coiled atop her head. “Oh, no, we have enough people in this family who sing beautifully.”
Lady Perdita’s husband smiled. “That’s me.”
“And I,” said Laertes’ wife, Lady Seraphine.
“Yes, yes. That’s right, my dears,” the dowager duchess said.
She folded her hands together, hands which showed the passage of time, as she looked at her children and grandchildren before turning back to Dominic.
“No, no. You must entertain us, my dear, in my favorite way. In the way I always did things. And I will choose you a passage if you need me to.”
“A passage?” he queried.
She nodded. “From Shakespeare. At some point, everyone has to do it, you know. Sometimes, we allow people to play music, but really the best thing for it when you come to stay with us is to read us Shakespeare.” She winked. “That way you pay for our magnanimous generosity.”
He laughed. “Well, I am very lucky, and I suppose since I am now accustomed to speaking to large groups of lords, this shall be easy.”
“Oh, good,” the dowager duchess said. “That makes me pleased.”
And then he caught sight of Celia.
She was standing with Emilia, not in the shadows exactly, but to the side, as if she was waiting to see how he would react to all of this. And suddenly he wanted to please her very much indeed.
“Would you like me to choose something for you?” the dowager duchess asked for clarity.
“Not a bit of it,” he said. “I know exactly what I shall do.”
The room grew quiet, eager.
He tugged at his cuffs, the links winking in the glowing candlelight, and he headed towards the center of the room.
He stood on the ornately woven rug and looked about him at the wonderful faces of those who had welcomed him and finally made him feel as if there was a place that he belonged after his long life of never quite belonging anywhere.
He’d always been a fish out of water, a bird without a nest or a tree, an animal without a home, because he had been caught between two worlds. His grandfather’s and his father’s. And he’d always felt terribly ill at ease in both.
Being in this world was the closest he’d ever felt to belonging, and yet he still did not quite fit, for he could never embrace passion the way they did, or feeling, or dedication and devotion. It was too frightening, too much, but this? He could do this.
So he was silent for a moment, and then he thought of the passage that had struck him once as a boy. He had thought of it over and over again when he thought of his father’s despair and sorrow.
It was from Hamlet. It was not his most famous speech in which he questioned whether he should live or die. No, it was quieter, and full of pain and frustration at an unjust world.
Dominic began to speak of how Hamlet did not know why he had lost his mirth, and how men were so disappointing, how they were capable of such brilliance, but also such faulty things, and how men really left Hamlet so terribly bereft.
He spoke the words of the soliloquy from memory, and he said them with utter feeling. For he concurred. He could not take heart in his fellow men, for he had seen what his fellow men could do to others.
The room hung on his every word, and he was shocked when he finished that there was a long, long silence, as if they all had been holding their collective breaths.
He had felt himself quake with emotion, and he had felt the words of the soliloquy thunder about the room, and yet also whisper when it had been appropriate for quiet contemplation.
He could have looked at anyone for approval. He could have looked at the dowager duchess for approval, but he did not. He looked to the only person whose approval mattered. He looked to Celia, and he was shocked to find that there were tears in her eyes.
She lifted her hands and began to applaud slowly, then more loudly, and the room began to join her until, at last, every single Briarwood was standing and applauding.
Celia crossed to him and took his hands in hers. “My goodness,” she said, “you have an understanding of the bard that would equal any one of us.”
“I assume that is a good thing,” he said.
The dowager duchess crowed, “Indeed, my boy. Celia said you were like me, that you were like us, and it is true. I can see it through and through. The way you spoke that, the feeling in it, it has clearly touched you. You love Hamlet, do you?”
Still holding Celia’s hands, he turned to the older woman who meant so much to so many. “The character? No. He has many failings, but I always felt that particular passage captured how I felt about humanity.”
The dowager duchess strode forward and said, “It is not the first time that it has been done in this room. Someone has sung for their supper with it before, but the way you speak it, my boy, my God, you understand, don’t you, the nature of man?”
He nodded slowly.
The dowager gazed into his eyes, and there was a wisdom there that stole his breath away as she said, “But you must not let it poison you, my dear, as it did poor Hamlet. It ruined his life, and he ended up dead because of it, all because he lost himself. You must promise us, dear boy, that you will not lose yourself.”
He swallowed and thought of his father, who had indeed lost himself, who had never, no matter how hard Dominic had searched for him, been found. His mother too, in her way, bouncing from continent to continent, trying to find help but finding death instead.
Dominic gave the dowager duchess a gentle smile, then looked to Celia. “I promise, I shall never be lost. How could I with all of you about? You are always showing me the way and telling me which path to take. It would be very hard for me to be lost.”
The dowager duchess laughed.
The entire room did, and yet he felt an ache in his heart because when he looked at Celia, he could see it. There was something growing deep in her eyes, something that was more than just interest or fascination.
It was an affection. It was…
No, he would not say it because it wasn’t what he wanted from her, from anyone.
He wanted her to be his wife. He had known that the moment he had seen her.
She was the only one who would do, the only person who could be his duchess, but he had to be careful because he could not ask for more from her than she could give him because he might…
love her. It was true, he could, possibly, but he would never lose himself in her.
He would never ever lose himself in anything.
Unlike his parents, he had learned that lesson well.