Chapter 11
Muriel was a very honest person, and she always would be. And so she told her mother the truth that she was going to the theater during the day to research for her interests, and that the dowager duchess was teaching her about acting.
She did not say that sometimes those two things occurred separately, or that she rode in a coach alone with Perseus Briarwood to the theater, sat by his side, twined their hands, stared into each other’s eyes, and whispered sonnets to each other.
She was lost.
She was fully gone.
And she was most angry with herself for it. Yet it was delicious too!
All her life, she’d never had any suspicion that she might be swept into a grand amour like the author of the sonnets.
She had never thought she might have such wild feelings, but she did.
And she wasn’t entirely certain if they were for Perseus alone or if they were also for the life he was giving her, because at long last, she understood something about herself.
That voice deep inside which had called out to her again and again to read the plays, to study them, to read the accounts of actors who had taken to the boards, and to understand the work that they had done? It had all been calling her to something more.
Not to sit quietly, not to make notes and read and internalize it all. No. She had been called to play dress up, to pretend, to make merry, and to live her life out through the characters that had been poured out upon the page by masters centuries before she had even been born.
It was madness.
Theater was madness.
Acting was madness.
And she loved every bit of it! And she loved the Briarwoods.
How could she not? Because they lived without apology.
She wanted to live without apology too, but there was one inevitable truth.
She was eventually going to have to apologize because she was, if not lying, then she was at least misleading.
Her family would never understand, would they?
And if she took to the stage? Dear God, could they? Her mother was so wonderful, her sisters so lovely. But if she took to the stage, wouldn’t it ruin their lives? What if she waited until they’d wed? If her three sisters were married, then all would be well, wouldn’t it?
Perseus traced his hand over hers as they rode towards the theater.
They had been coming to the theater for days, and he had practiced many scenes with her.
She’d loved seeing his awe that, yes, she did know the entire play of As You Like It.
In fact, she knew all the plays, for that was what she had spent her life studying.
She could recite any monologue at will. She could play any character at will.
And not only could she read and play them, but she also presented them with a sort of honesty that shocked even herself.
It certainly shocked Perseus.
“How do you do it?” he asked, looking down at her now as if wonder had finally driven him to speak.
“Do what?” she queried.
“Be so true.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve always been true my whole life.
I’ve never tried to be anything other than what I am, and I’ve just allowed everyone to see it.
So I’ve never quite fit in, you know? No one really likes to see your true self.
They want to see a modified version of it, a curated version, one that’s palatable, one they can understand and explain. Don’t you see that?”
“I suppose,” he said, keeping close on the coach bench. “I’ve never really thought about it.”
“That’s because you’re a Briarwood,” she said.
He laughed. “Is that the explanation for everything in regard to me? Because I’m a Briarwood?”
“Likely,” she teased, savoring the feel of his strong form next to her as they rattled over the cobbles. “That’s certainly the explanation for just about everyone in your family.”
“Well,” he began softly, “why don’t you consider becoming part of my family?”
“What?” she gasped.
“Marry me, Muriel. Marry me. It would make me the happiest man alive.”
“You’re happy now,” she rushed.
His lips twitched with amusement. “Yes, I am, because I’m with you, watching you become happy. And once you marry me, you can do anything and be anyone you want.”
“I want to be myself,” she said. “And I already am that.”
“I know,” he returned, clearly struggling to explain himself. “And I can help you with that even more. Once you’re a Briarwood, you can bloody well do whatever you want. You can publish books, or you can write plays. You can be an actor like my aunt, Lady Juliet. You can—”
“Cease,” she said, squeezing his hand kindly. “You’re going too fast, and you’re forgetting something very important.”
His brows rose. “Am I?” he queried.
“Yes,” she said. “The whole point of marriage is not for you to allow me to be myself.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked.
“Good God,” she groaned. “And then am I supposed to go after you our entire lives, bowing and scraping and saying, ‘Thank you, my darling, for giving me freedom’?”
He coughed, then teased, “That sounds rather nice, actually.”
She punched his shoulder. “Perseus,” she said, “you don’t mean it.”
“No, I don’t,” he said quickly with a shudder. “The idea of you bowing and scraping after me actually fills me with horror.”
“Good,” she said, leaning her head against his strong shoulder. “I don’t want to marry you for that reason.”
“Why then? What can I say that will convince you?”
She lifted her head from his shoulder, locked gazes with him, and arched a brow. “Well love or even affection should always be a small consideration.”
“Oh,” he said. “That.”
“Yes,” she said. “That. We have known each other so little. So, perhaps you don’t—”
“That doesn’t matter,” he rushed.
“This isn’t Romeo and Juliet or any of the Shakespeare comedies,” she pointed out. “Just because we’ve known each other a short time doesn’t mean that we should marry. I—”
“Yes, it does,” he said firmly. “I think that’s exactly what it means. I had no intention of getting married this Season, but I met you, and I think you’re marvelous, and I know that I shan’t meet anyone else like you.”
“Well, that’s true,” she said, grinning at him, unable to stop herself.
“I’m glad you know your worth.”
“I’ve always known my worth,” she said. “But I’ve never understood that my life could be like this. So full, so grand, so possible, and yet I can’t seem to allow myself to have it.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I can see it is because you don’t want to hurt your family.”
“No, I don’t. And if I dare to be more than what I am now, I could hurt them very badly indeed.”
“That’s exactly why you should marry me,” he said.
She worried her lower lip. “But if I’m not careful, surely it’s a trap of a different kind. Isn’t it? You’re not marrying me for love but as some sort of savior.”
He tilted his head to the side, his face transforming as he clearly made a decision.
“All right then,” he said softly. “Marry me because of the way we kiss. Marry me because of the way we touch. Marry me because of the way our minds meet, the heavens part, the stars shine, and we are one whenever we act or speak or dance together.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. How could she deny him? “You have a way with words, my love. But I am afraid.”
“Why are you afraid?” he asked gently. “You’re one of the boldest people I know.”
“Now I am,” she agreed, “but I’m afraid that you’re getting into something because you want to see me happy, but you don’t actually want me. You love the idea that you’re making this actress who will go forward and—”
“Cease,” he said. “I promise I am not like that. I have no desire to be your puppeteer, to make you into something you’re not, or to force you do what I think is best.”
“All right,” she said. “I agree you’re not as arrogant as so many men before who have taken women and turned them into stars and then tried to own every part of them.”
“I don’t want to own any part of you,” he said firmly. “If I marry you, you’ll own me, for all essential purposes.”
“What?” she whispered.
“You’ll own my heart, my soul. All of it,” he said. “Look, we can make a contract that gives you incredible amounts of freedom. My family won’t mind a bit of it. We love a good marriage contract. It will—”
“Oh, Perseus,” she rushed in, shoving aside her silly doubts. He was too good. “I want to say yes.”
He stroked a lock of hair back from her face, then cupped her cheek. “Then say yes.” He winked at her. “It will solve all your problems.”
A laugh burst from her lips. “Oh, my darling. You do know how to make me laugh.”
“Good. And what I said is also the truth. Marriage to me will work out many difficulties for you,” he said.
She grinned, tilting her face into his touch. “How I adore you.”
“Adore me?” he said softly. “Perhaps more?”
She tsked. “You want me to say it, but you will not.”
He batted his lashes at her like a demure heroine. “Right then,” he said. “I shall whisper it. I love you. I love everything about you. I love the way you read, the way you pore over books, the way you write. I love the way you love costumes, and I love the way you prance about the stage.”
“I do not prance,” she scoffed playfully, even as her heart jumped with love.
“You prance when it’s called for,” he insisted. “And I love to watch you doing it.”
She giggled, something she only seemed to do with him, for he did make her feel light and carefree. “I do prance, I suppose, on occasion. You truly love so much about me?” she said softly.
He nodded, stroking his thumb along her jaw. “I love most of all that you are willing to give yourself a chance and that you see that chance could be me.”
She bit her lower lip. “You, sir, are exceptionally tempting. I never thought that this was going to be what I wanted.”
“Good. I’m glad it’s a surprise,” he said. “You’re a surprise to me too. I never thought that when I came into my library that I was going to find the love of my life.”
“The love of your life?” she breathed.