Chapter 14
Every day with his stunning, remarkable, intelligent, talented wife made Perseus’s life better.
How he adored speaking with her by candle and firelight all through the night, holding her in his arms, tracing the lines of her skin, smiling at her, basking in the glow of her conversation, getting up in the morning, dressing, going to breakfast, preparing toast for her, drinking tea, and then deciding what they should do for the day.
And every day, it was almost always the same, and there was no disappointment in the fact that it was. He loved the fact that they had found something to enjoy together.
It was his greatest joy, using his strength to make her life better.
Now, some might have thought that his life was somehow taking a sort of secondary position to hers because her love, her excitement, was what was driving everything.
But that wasn’t the case at all. From the moment he had met her, he had known that his skills and personality were meant to move all objects out of her way, even her own doubts, to shine light upon her, not because of any sort of lack in his own life, but because he had the ability to do it and the generosity of will and spirit to want to.
He was pleased. Nay, he was thrilled. He had everything he could possibly need, and he had not been born with some great talent like hers that would put him at the center of attention. No, his talent was to support, to strengthen, to growl at anyone who looked at her askance.
He was happy to make her the focal point of his life, and he would until they were old and gray, and hopefully she would still be acting upon the London stage.
As it was now, they constantly went over novels, they constantly went over scenes from their favorite plays, they discussed what plays were being put on that Season.
They went to the theater every night, to all of the playhouses, to some of the smaller ones too.
They attended performances of every kind. It was a fulfilling experience.
They discussed what they thought of theater and where it might be going. They discussed the pleasure gardens and those sorts of entertainments and how they might be interwoven into theatrical experiences in Covent Garden.
And of course, she was working every day with his grandmother on the great speeches of all the Shakespeare plays and, of course, the hilarious pieces written in the Restoration era, and also in the last one hundred years.
Every day brought forth a new gift with her. Every day was fuller, and he felt triumph too, because in marrying his darling wife, he had improved the life of many around him.
Her mother was desperately happy.
Cassius was beginning to make changes too, for he had gone to work for the Duke of Westleigh, happily taking up a place in Parliament with him.
Not a seat. He would never likely have a seat, unless some miracle occurred, but there was a great deal of good work he could do with the duke. And of course, Muriel’s sisters had all made incredible matches and received proposals. Yes, all was well with the world.
Since so much had fallen into place, the next most logical thing would be for her to take to the stage.
They hadn’t quite told her family yet that this was going to occur, though they had dropped many hints about the possibility. The family seemed to take it well. His family, of course, knew it was going to happen and often teased her about it.
Celia and Emilia had even asked if, when she was a famous stage actress, she would come and speak to the pupils at their schools.
Muriel had laughed and said, “Of course.” And she had blushed profusely because Muriel didn’t care about being a famous London actress; Muriel cared about performing the work, and that was something to behold indeed.
Every time he watched her act, his breath was stolen, for she brought stories to life in a way that very few could. Almost everyone who longed to act wanted to, but most could not.
So when the note arrived from the theater, it stunned them both, but he knew it was finally her time.
His grandaunt, Estella, was all but begging in the missive, scrawled quickly and passionately.
The young actress who played Rosalind was ill desperately, terribly ill.
And even the young woman who was her apprentice had fallen ill too.
There was no one who could easily step into the part.
But Muriel knew the part through and through and could save the production!
Could she please come so they did not have to cancel the performance? Thus was the request.
It was unheard of to cancel a theater performance. Theaters worked very hard to never shut down. They’d been shut down enough from the plague long ago, and it was as if they had been scarred by this and were determined to go on no matter what.
Muriel held the note in her trembling hands, standing in her night rail as morning light poured in through their bedroom window. “What should I do? I can’t possibly say yes.”
Then her eyes flashed with it. The realization that she did not have to say no. “Can I do this?”
“Well, my darling, I think there’s really only one answer.”
“I should say no,” she said quickly, even as her brow furrowed.
“No, that’s not what I was going to say,” he said, reaching out to her, pulling her into his arms and gazing down into her eyes. “You must do this. It is meant to be.”
She crumpled the note in her hands. “I cannot do this without telling my family.”
“Then tell them,” he said. “Write them a quick note, but do it soon, because Aunt Estella will need to know if you can say yes.”
“It cannot be a note,” she whispered. Then she squared her shoulders and leaned back, her gaze firm with resolution. “I must tell them in person. And if my mother says yes, then we go to the theater at once.”
He beamed down at her, relieved that she was not retreating but boldly going forward. “Whatever my lady commands.”
Both of them dressed quickly, aiding each other with ties and buttons. Kisses were pressed softly to lips, to palms, to wrists, but they were both focused, determined to finally share her truth.
When they were both presentable, he took her hand, swept her into his arms, and raced down the halls, calling for one of the family coaches.
Once the coach arrived before Heron House, they bundled into it.
Her face was pale, but her chin was raised.
It only took a little time to go into the city and to the square where her family’s townhouse waited.
Though she was ready, she sat tense the entire time, unable to speak. She was so nervous. It was as if she was going to confess to a murder, he realized.
How he wished he could soothe that tension out of her.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said, holding her hand in his.
She nodded, but she looked to the window, blowing out a rattled breath. “So you say, but this feels like a great secret that I have been carrying like a stone inside me. And I am finally going to set it down. But I am uncertain what will occur after I set it down, and that is the worst of it.”
“It will feel good to tell them,” he said carefully, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.
She whipped back to him, her brow furrowing. “What if Mama is horrified? What if she says no? What if—?”
He cupped her face with his other hand, willing her to feel his support. “What if a million things, my love?” he said, then pulled her into his arms. “I will be there for you. My family will be there for you.”
She nodded. “I understand,” she said. “But I love my family so very much.”
He wanted to tell her that that love ensured her mother’s approval, but he couldn’t do that. Like her, he had to wait, but he trusted that her family would prove as wonderful as they seemed.
And when they came at last to her family’s house, he prayed harder than he had in his entire life that her family was like his own. They marched up the steps hand in hand.
The butler opened the door, and they were ushered inside.
Lady Mitchell swept through the foyer, embroidery in hand. She paused, spotting them, and immediately smiled. “My dears!”
How he loved his mother-in-law. She was the dearest of creatures, and she seemed extremely happy to see them. But then she looked wary.
“Is anything amiss?” Lady Mitchell rushed. “Is someone ill?”
Muriel nodded gravely, but then added, “Actually, someone is, but not someone you know.”
Her mother cocked her head to the side. “Oh,” she said, gesturing for them to go into the salon.
They all bustled into the modest but elegantly appointed room together.
Perseus remained silent, which was no easy thing. But this was not his fight or his task. She had to do it. But he would be with her every step of the day.
Muriel cleared her throat, smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, and then began, “Mama, I have received a note from Perseus’s grandaunt.”
“The actress?” her mother exclaimed with excitement.
“Yes, Mama.” Muriel flashed a smile, but it was one tight with nerves. “She has asked me to take a young lady’s place on the stage this night.”
Her mother’s eyes bulged. “I beg your pardon.”
Muriel’s hands fidgeted over her skirts before she wound them together. “You see, I know the part. I’ve even been practicing for it. And they’re in a desperate state. Say that I can. That you will approve.”
Her mother gazed at her for a long moment. Her cheeks went red, her mouth pressed into a tight line, and Perseus felt a wave of horror.
This was not going to go well.
He looked to his wife.
Tears shone in her eyes, and he ached to protect her.
Her entire body was tense, and he hated the fact that it looked as if she was going to burst into a thousand pieces.
But if and when she did, he would be there to pick up all those pieces, to help put them back together, to soothe them into place, and to show her that she would be loved no matter what anyone said or did.
But then her mother took a step forward and held out her hands.
“You were my wallflower. You were the one that I thought no one would notice. But actually, you are the one that everyone notices, my love, because you refuse to compromise who you are. How can I stand in your way now when you have given us all so much?”
Muriel gaped at her mother.
Perseus found himself staring too, but he smiled instead, his heart swelling with affection and pride to have married into such a family.
Muriel sucked in a sharp breath, clearly unable to believe her mother’s wholehearted consent. “But, Mama, what if—?”
Her mother sniffed and waved her linen square embroidered with brightly colored flowers as the needle shone in the morning light.
“What if is for gooses. We cannot worry about the future. We must live in the present. There is enough to fear, my dear, without thinking about what society might say. You are married to Perseus Briarwood. You are niece to the Duke of Westleigh. All three of your sisters have been proposed to. What scandal need we fear?”
And then Perseus could not stop himself. He began to applaud. “Brava, Lady Mitchell, brava. I salute you. You are truly worthy of the title of mother and so much more,” he said, “for you love your child, just as she is. That is a beauty to behold.”
Lady Mitchell swung her gaze to him and arched a brow. “How could I not?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You would be surprised how many mothers have tried to make their children into things that they are not, how they have tried hard to shove them down paths they do not wish to go, at great cost and great suffering.”
Lady Mitchell tsked, wiped her eyes, tossed her embroidery to a nearby damask-covered chair, strode forward, and cupped her daughter’s face.
She gazed upon her child with such love that it could have lit the world.
“I could never be like that. I could never clip your wings. You’re meant to fly, my dear.
What kind of mother would I be if I ensured that you could not? ”
A sob shook out of Muriel then.
“Why are you crying?” her mother said.
Muriel laughed through her tears as relief overtook her. “Because I was so afraid that I was going to let you down.”
“You,” Lady Mitchell gasped, “let me down? My darling girl.” And then she pulled her daughter into her arms, and Muriel cried a few more tears. Tears of joy and relief.
“I am sorry that I ever doubted you, Mama.”
“Well, it’s an understandable doubt, my dear,” her mother said kindly.
“Yours is not a typical dream, but that does not mean you should not achieve it.” She squeezed her daughter’s hands.
“Now, you must go to the theater. Do not hesitate if you say that they’re waiting for you.
And we shall all come. It will be a grand event.
And I shall tell everyone what a magnificent actress my daughter is, and we shall all rejoice in it. ”
It was a remarkable thing to watch Lady Mitchell, the country wife of a knight, revel in the idea of having a daughter who was an actress.
Perhaps there was hope in the world. Perhaps his Uncle Leander did not need to feel so much misery at the pursuit of his task of trying to better the world.
The world needed more Lady Mitchells.
“To the theater, my love,” he urged, holding out his hand to her.
Muriel gave her mother one last loving, grateful look and then turned to him, truly ready at last.