Chapter 6
They were actually watching the play.
All of them in the box were rapt by the antics unfolding before them.
Crispin couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He’d never seen such a thing before in all his life. The times he had come to the theater, which were few, or to the opera, the people that he had witnessed were all watching each other. Members of the ton did not generally come to the theater to watch the plays or go to the opera to hear the singers. No, they came to study each other. To see who was with whom, who was wearing what, and what the general feeling of the day was. But the Briarwoods were flouting such convention and watching without distraction.
He had never seen the most recent work, The Critic, by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. But the play was, if he was quite honest, hilarious. It was full of strange action and lots of antics, following the characters, Mr. Dangle, Mr. Puff, and a host of other impossibly audacious characters.
Crispin sat back and laughed more than he had in some time. And he kept looking out of the corner of his eye, watching Lady Hermia, who laughed merrily and brightly with her siblings. She seemed completely lost in the moment and not interested in him.
What an odd thing that was. When he had gone with young ladies to events before, they had spent the entire evening trying to win him over. He found her lack of interest in him rather refreshing.
Her mama was equally uninterested in his presence. She had, of course, greeted him with good grace, but once the play had begun, she had ignored him entirely.
He was amazed, and he was rather thrilled.
When, at last, the actors came to take their bows and the crowd erupted in applause, feeling rather merry by the atmosphere created by the comedy—which was in fact a parody of a tragedy that had been written many, many years before, and was also a commentary, he’d been told, of a current author living—he wondered at the family. Were they brighter than everyone he knew in the ton?
Most members of the ton had an education, but most weren’t really interested in culture or art. Perhaps some were, but not all, and not like this. This family seemed to live their interests. They were not simply interested in donating coin or regulating the arts by taking up positions at the head of academies.
“Did you like it?” the duchess asked, turning to him.
“Oh, indeed I did, Your Grace. I am greatly pleased that you invited me.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful,” she exclaimed, her lined but beautiful face alight. “I think it is one of Sheridan’s best works. Of course, I have loved him from the beginning. I was never able to be in one of his works, alas. I should have dearly loved it. But I was in The Country Wife, a play that I think inspired him. That was one of my last performances.”
He gave her a genuine smile. “I wish I could have seen it.”
“You know how to flatter, my lord,” she said. “Of course, once I married, I gave up the theater. But I do think my role in The Country Wife helped catch the duke’s eye.”
He did not say that his mother was convinced it was the fact that she used to dress as boys in Shakespeare’s parts so that everyone could see her legs in breeches. Though her eyes danced merrily as if she anticipated such a comment.
“I shall have to see the play if it is mounted again,” he said simply.
Her brows lifted, delighted. “I shall have a word with Sheridan and see if the Theater Royale would be interested. They’re always willing to do such a thing. Would you perhaps be happy to sponsor it?”
His eyes flared. It had never occurred him to sponsor a theater, a playwright, or an actor, but he could. He certainly had the funds for it.
“Please do introduce me. I see Sheridan often, but I can’t stand the fellow.”
She laughed brightly at that. “Neither can Hermia.”
Hermia grinned. “I have known Sheridan since I was a little girl,” she admitted, “and he is impossible.”
“I agree,” he said, surprised by their honesty.
Hermia tsked. “If only he could be a bit more straightforward about things, but perhaps it is being in the theater. He’s always wearing a mask and always trying to get his way.”
He all but gaped at Hermia, astonished at her sharply accurate assessment. “You are so acquainted with the gentleman?”
“I’m acquainted with many members of the Whig Party,” Hermia said with a simple shrug, which emphasized her shoulders and the curve of her bosom. “After all, they’re all in each other’s pockets, and they all can’t stand each other. They each think they are right. They each think they should lead the way. And none of them are willing to compromise. It’s quite difficult.”
He marveled, quite impressed with her understanding of the gentlemen attempting to gain rule of Parliament and the throne. “You have an astounding grasp of politics,” he said, “and you express my sentiments exactly.”
“I do not think that my grasp is particularly astounding,” Hermia said factually. “I simply make observations, and anyone could make them if they paid attention.”
He smiled slowly. “Touché, Lady Hermia. You are right, of course. I should not have sounded so arrogant.”
“That’s all right.” She grinned. “I’m used to men and members of the ton sounding arrogant.”
Their mother stood, a knowing smile tilting her lips. “Pardon me. I am going to go speak to Lady Fitzwilliam.”
The duchess bustled out of the box.
The brothers had already departed, going to seek their mistresses. One had given him a particularly good glare of warning. And Lady Juliet was not sitting with them. She was sitting with the Duke of Hammond. Rumors abounded that she would receive a marriage proposal from him any day.
“Do you have more siblings?” he blurted, uncertain what to say next.
They were left sitting alone. But given the fact they sat so openly in the box, it was not inappropriate. They were being witnessed by a horde of people in their finest silks.
“I think you have handled yourself quite well with my family, but no, this is not all of us. Obviously, the duke is not here this evening, and my youngest brother is in France. We keep waiting for letters from him.” She paused. “We heard a great deal, and then suddenly nothing.”
He could sense her distress, though she attempted to veil it, and he suddenly wished to comfort her. “It does seem that Englishmen are not being targeted at present, but it is very concerning what is happening across the water.”
She nodded, her hands twisting in her lap. “I couldn’t agree more. Whilst the American Revolution happened in a violent way, at least there was not a mass killing of civilians. I fear for my brother.”
He wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and soothe her, for she did seem genuinely perplexed in this moment. He was stunned. He was not accustomed to watching such emotions cross someone’s face, especially in regard to family. His own did not express sentiments, even if they were warranted.
“I wish I could give you more calming words,” he said gently. “But hopefully you shall hear from him soon.”
“Thank you,” she said, a shimmer of tears shining in her eyes before she swiftly blinked them away.
“Are you well yourself? Have you survived? An evening with my family is no small thing.”
A laugh—a deep, impulsive laugh—rumbled past his lips. “I am still sitting here before you, am I not? So your family has not conquered me.”
She laughed in turn, something she seemed to do often. “Careful. Give us time, and we shall accomplish that thing.”
“You wish to conquer me?” he teased, rather liking the idea.
She cleared her throat. “Oh dear. Now we are heading into the playful land of Sheridan’s own plays. Conquer you, sir? I have not even considered a merry battle.”
“Have you not?” he said softly. “I have.”
And he meant it. He had considered what he might be willing to do to convince her to marry him. He already wished to reach out, to stroke the russet-red curls that were perfectly formed about her face and draped over her pale neck. He wished to trace his fingers along her skin and over her clavicle.
And then he leaned forward and said, “Would you like to make a lifelong merry war with me?”
“No wars for me, thank you!” she protested brightly. “I shall choose peace!”
“And if that means you never marry?” he countered.
“All the better,” she said with a purse of her lips before she frowned. “Except married ladies do have a great deal of freedom. I could retire to the country right now. I have a pension, after all. But the truth is, I will always have to have a chaperone if I go out, and I shall never be able to do some of the things that I wish to or go to the events and rooms that I wish if I am unwed, and that? I find that rather trying.”
He hesitated, then leaned forward and said softly, “Well, what if I was able to change that?”
Her eyes flared and her pink lips parted ever so slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“What is it that you want more than anything in the world?” he asked, letting his gaze trail over her face.
She sat a little straighter. “That is an extremely bold question to ask since we have known each other so little.”
He arched a brow. “Do we need to know each other more for me to ask it?”
“I suppose not,” she admitted. “You seem a decent fellow, and I trust Mama’s judgment in this.”
“Your mother has told you that I seem a decent fellow?” he asked.
“She has,” she affirmed, her lips curving. “And I know that my brothers have told you that if you step out of line, they shall make certain that you’re buried deep in the earth.”
“They did not say I’d be buried,” he pointed out, recalling the awkward but understandable conversation in his coach. “They said that my neck would be adjusted.”
She laughed. “And then, no doubt, you would need to be buried,” she said.
“Fair point.” And he gave her a little twirl of his hand and an inclination of his head.
She drew in a long breath, her breasts pressing against the cut of her pink gown. “What I wish more than anything is a country cottage, not far from the city, so that I can still see my family. One where I can go out into the garden and watch the flowers bloom, where I can read and be left alone.”
“You wish to be left alone?” he asked quietly, rather surprised and feeling a touch of hope that he was indeed on the right path.
She nodded with surprising vigor. “Having been raised in such a boisterous family, I think that is why I wish to be left alone. Though I do adore my family, I don’t like large amounts of company,” she said. “I don’t like being on show.”
He cocked his head to the side. She was unique. A different sort of gem. Oh, she was no diamond. But she did not need to be. She shone with her own qualities. “I see. And if I could give you exactly that?”
“How could you give me that?” she challenged lightly. “You need a countess. Someone who will host parties for you and dinners—”
“Could you perhaps do that every now and then? And if I did not require you to speak a great deal, if you simply sat at the opposite end of the table?”
She blinked. “What? Like a wooden dummy?”
He laughed. “You may say anything you please, and I will not care.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You mean I could parade up and down and demand rights for women?”
“Oh, please do,” he said, leaning back and draping his arm over the chair beside him. “I think it would make the evening very interesting.”
“Your mother would be horrified.”
“My mother should be horrified. She needs it, I think.” He gave her a slow smile. “And I would like it very much if someone were able to shake her a bit.”
She bit her lower lip, worrying it in a rather endearing way before she admitted carefully, “I don’t know if I wish to be your mother’s daughter-in-law.”
He couldn’t blame her, but he wasn’t about to give in easily. “If I drew it up in a contract that you would have a cottage of your own and a great deal of pin money… And you would not need to bow to my mother’s preferences. Would you consider it? And in return, all you would need to do is provide me an heir and a spare?”
“An heir and a spare?” she echoed, her eyes widening into twin saucers.
He swallowed. “Well, a spare,” he said, “is very necessary.”
She winced. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your brother… That must have been very hard.”
His eyebrows rose. “You know my history?”
“Oh, I know a great deal about you,” she returned. “My mother told me all about you, you see. That’s how she is.”
“I am glad you are forearmed with information,” he replied. And he meant it. It might make it all easier if she already knew a great deal about him, and so he charged ahead. “Are you amenable to the possibility of my proposal? Would you consider being my countess, and in return, I will give you everything you wish?”
“Everything I wish,” she breathed. “It is quite a temptation. But why me?”
“Well,” he began, knowing that he had to be careful with his phrasing lest he offend her. “I don’t want a love match.” He paused, his stomach tightening. “Do you need a love match? Or would a marriage based on mutual understanding and friendship suit?”
She was silent. So silent he found himself continuing with little thought, “And honestly, I don’t really want a wife.”
She let her jaw drop at that. “You don’t want a wife?”
He cleared his throat, hiding his grimace at his own stupidity. “I need an heir and a spare,” he said. “It’s what’s required of me. But no, I saw what happened with my mother and father, and I have no desire to repeat that. I’ve seen it over and over again in ton marriages. Everyone ends up hating each other or barely tolerating each other. Wouldn’t it be best if we were simply friends with no interest in attachment or love, and you could go to your cottage in the country, and I wouldn’t bother you?”
She seemed to take his words in, to puzzle them out. Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his rambling explanation. “You wouldn’t bother me except for when you needed an heir and a spare?”
“Does that sound so very terrible?” he asked.
“No,” she breathed. “Actually, it doesn’t. It sounds like heaven.”
She leaned forward, her face pensive now. “Let me make certain I understand you. You wish us to live whatever lives we choose, independent of each other, aside from the heir and the spare?”
He nodded, a wave of relief crashing through him at her succinct summary. “Exactly.”
Her face brightened. “Actually, that sounds rather wonderful.”
He let out a breath, not realizing he had been holding it. “Then you will entertain it?”
“I will. But is that why you’re choosing me? Because I’m a wallflower and nobody else would want me?”
He snorted. “I think people are fools for not wanting you, Hermia. You are the most interesting person in this theater. The most practical too. And that’s why I want you. Because I don’t think you’ll be caught up in silly nonsense. I think you understand exactly what I’m trying to say to you. It’s what you want too. I see the way that you stand back, the way you don’t get involved, the way you are surveying society. You understand the pitfalls of everyone.”
“I do,” she agreed with a grim note. “I worry for my sister because she does not.”
“Luckily, she has you to look out for her,” he said, his admiration for her growing.
“There’s one thing,” he said. “I know my mother will wish to have a grand wedding. Will you be able to tolerate that? Will you be able to endure society for a bit, to put on a temporary show for a period of time, and then you will be free?”
“I think… I think…I am amenable.”
He held out his hand, and hidden by the wall of the box, he trailed his fingers over hers. He was shocked by the immediate shimmer of feeling…of desire that slipped through him. “I must confess,” he said, “there is one thing that I should like to know between us. Do you think… Do you think you might want me? Because I would not want to have to foist myself upon an unwilling wife in the pursuit of an heir.”
“Want you?” she whispered, her cheeks coloring to a delightful rosy hue.
He nodded.
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes warming. “I do think I could.”