Chapter Thirty-Five
Libba did not realize that Romeo had died. Not right away.
She was seated in her director’s chair, just short of the stage entry, where she could see the show from the side. Rhys, for some reason, was on the floor with his back against her knees.
If he hadn’t started sniffling as loudly as he had, she might have missed the entire end of the show as a whole. That was how distracted she had become by the glint of her new chandelier, swaying gently and glimmering in the low light of the production.
From here, she could see the dark stones dangling between the crystals. The balls and diamonds of jasper in a rainbow of colors. They were embedded in the wheel too, of course, but she couldn’t see that from here.
Not with the thing unlit.
She frowned down at Rhys, who was mopping his eyes with the hem of her dress and kicked him firmly. “What’s the matter with you?”
He turned to look at her, red eyed and indignant, and gestured firmly at the stage. “That’s not right,” he whispered very loudly. “I didn’t know this was the ending.”
“How could you not know?” she hissed. “You have been to every rehearsal!”
“I sleep,” he muttered. “After I die.”
“Well,” she said reasonably as Juliet took up her dagger. “You did curse both their houses.”
“That was before he avenged me. Anyway, he was my best mate!”
“Rhys—”
“Shh!”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again, watching helplessly as he continued to dab at his eyes with her skirt hem as Juliet plunged her dagger into her own heart. He gave another shuddering sob and she reasoned that at least the production was moving.
To Rhys, anyway.
Friar Lawrence padded past to move onto the stage, his bare feet now just as dirty as if they’d been caked with coal dust and rice powder to simulate the filth of a poor holy man.
She made a mental note to hire someone to sweep and mop in here on a regular basis. Perhaps a team.
And then the lights dimmed.
The applause exploded.
And Rhys leaped to his feet to clap as loudly as he could, hands flapping together like a seal as he cried out congratulations to his fellow performers.
She grabbed his coat hem, the gold thread of his Mercutio costume glinting as the lights came back up for the final bows. “Rhys!” she shouted, tugging again. “Rhys!”
“What?!” he snapped, snarling at her.
“Take fairy fire out,” she said, climbing up his coat to stand herself as he tried to bat her off. “Set a few more sparks off as you bow. It’ll be brilliant!”
His eyes widened, a smile forming. “On it, boss.”
She laughed as he produced more of his little curls of combustive paper from his waistcoat and traipsed out onto the stage alongside Tybalt for their secondary bow. He whispered something to Lem, shook his hand, and turned smiling toward the audience.
When they both ignited a series of popping sparks, the audience’s roar rose to deafening, several audience members coming to their feet in approval.
Libba grinned.
She was warm inside.
Very warm.
Maybe opening night wasn’t so bad.
She watched the rest take their bows. Nurse and Benvolio. The parents Capulet and Montague. The ensemble.
And then they gestured for her, her troupe stepping back and beckoning her onto the stage.
She took a breath and straightened her shoulders, walking out into the light with her breath held. She turned, her hands clasped in front of her, and bowed very low, unable to fight the broad smile on her mouth.
She stood and waved, giving another little bow to the Starling box, and a nod of acknowledgement to the Templeton-Raths, on the opposing side.
Her eyes fell to the front of the stage, where her father was being led forward to extend a bouquet of roses up, his arm reaching toward her, with Jasper at his side, guiding him.
And she wondered, as she accepted the flowers, if she would ever feel quite so complete ever again.
*
The crowd dispersed quickly, as they often did once a show was over.
Libba descended into the lobby to shake hands and thank people for attending, to answer questions about what show would come next, and to simply enjoy the kinetic warmth that her people had created here in the chilly autumn night.
Lem and Rhys were receiving a bevy of attention from women near the stairs. Garret would likely have been included happily, if his eyes were not on the gentlemen instead, who were just as happy to attend to him and his Carmelite Juliet closer to the stage.
She only saw the Templeton-Raths once, from a distance, after coming down. They had made haste to depart, she assumed.
That was fair.
“Oh, you were brilliant,” Ruby was gushing to Rhys from his gaggle of admirers. “Absolutely grand. You made Seph cry!”
“Did I?” Rhys replied, looking chuffed about it. “At long last?”
Libba chuckled and moved through the crowd in search of Ulysses, the flowers held tightly to her chest.
She found him with Jasper, who brightened like a beeswax taper when he saw her.
“We’re going to the Cauldron after this,” she said to both men. “Are you coming?”
“Of course,” said Jasper, grinning. “Two-pint rule.”
“Two-pint rule,” she agreed. “Faither?”
Ulysses shook his head, giving her a sedate little smile. “Best not to tempt myself,” he said with a shrug. “And I’d hate to dampen the festivities. But this was wonderful. Truly wonderful. Can I come again?”
“Come for every performance, if you like,” Libba told him, a flicker of pleasant surprise tapping her ribs. “I’ll tell the box office you’re paid for.”
“Every performance,” he repeated softly. “Yes, I might do.”
From behind them, she caught Malcolm’s eye and touched her father’s and Jasper’s shoulders briefly as she passed them, en route to her brother, who watched her approach with a faint mélange of fondness and annoyance in the clashing tilt of his eyes and his mouth.
“Well,” she said, smelling her roses and leaning against the banister. “You were right.”
“I was?” Malcolm asked, clearly shocked by that statement. “Which time?”
Libba rolled her eyes. “About the Shakespeare. And the ticket sales.”
“Ah,” he said, his brow smoothing as a smirk found its way onto his lips. “Of course I was.”
“All right,” she said, clicking her tongue. “Are you coming to the Cauldron?”
“Of course,” he said. “Two-pint rule.”
“Two-pint rule,” she agreed. “I’ll see you there?”
He nodded. “Is … erm …?”
“No,” she answered, patting his arm. “He’s going home. You won’t be forced to speak.”
He grimaced but visibly lost some tension about his shoulders and neck. “Right. I would’ve gone, anyway.”
“I know,” she said. “Maybe tell the barman to prep the pickle brine, though. If you get there first.”
He chuckled, both of them turning to look at Hattie, who was stroking her belly as she entertained a group of admirers. “I think she’s onto sugar now, to be honest,” he said. “I caught her sipping clotted cream the other night.”
“The baby will have refined tastes, I think,” Libba said, blinking. “Or strange ones.”
It took another half hour before the theater had finally cleared, with only the troupe itself and Jasper staying behind inside. The former to change out of costume and the latter … Well, she supposed he just liked staying close.
“You aren’t going to the pub?” she asked playfully as he approached her at the foot of the stage, where she was sitting in exactly the same place she had been some weeks ago, when he’d taken her home for the first time. “That doesn’t change the rule, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he said to her, hands in pockets, smiling up at her. “Look at all these flowers!”
She nodded, grinning as she looked at the series of bouquets and cards that had been arranged down the lip of the stage. It was an opening night tradition amongst her people. They shared in the gifts and accolades for the first night before each gift stayed with its respective recipient.
“Who do you think got tulips this late in the year?” she marveled, gesturing at a yellow bunch farther down the line.
“Someone rich,” he guessed. “Or Dutch.”
“Or both,” she said, nodding. “Help me down?”
He held his arms out to her, catching her about the waist as she pushed off of the stage and holding her tight as she slid down his body to stand, smiling up at him as he gave a little grunt of restraint.
“We can go now if you like,” she said to him, toying with his lapels. “The others can lock up.”
“Oh, if I like, is it?” he said, running his hands down the satin-lined curve of her back. “My priorities might have suddenly changed just now.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said with a mock pout. “You already committed to the first ones.”
They laughed together, grasping hands as they made their way down the aisle and into the lobby, pausing only because a forgotten bouquet was sitting next to the door, with a cream-and-ivory card propped against bright pink dahlia blooms.
“Oh,” he said happily. “You missed one.”
“I suppose I did,” she replied, floating forward and reaching toward the gift. Her hand paused, just short of the stems, her eyes falling on the card.
It was a vellum card, she realized. It was familiar to her.
The sketch on this one was not the Brighton shore, but the rough shape of Ship Street, with her theater boldened in double ink, wedged between the shops on either side of it. Where the card on the mantel back at Starling’s Rest read Brighton, this one, instead, read Odalisque.
“Jasper …” she breathed, her fingers touching the sides.
“Yes, love?” he replied, frowning as he noted the tremble in her fingers.
She lifted it, turning it around, hoping against hope that this one might say something a bit more concrete than simply, Felicitations.
She released a little gust of breath. A little shake of her shoulders.
This one said one word as well.
Brava.
“That’s nice, isn’t it?” her betrothed said to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her waist. “Who’s it from, you reckon?”
She swallowed and set the card back in its place, there next to the door.
“It’s from Willa,” she said. She felt the surprise reach through him, jolting through the wrap of his arm against her body. “I think I will leave it here for tonight. I think it is for considering tomorrow. After we celebrate.”
He did not ask her to explain.
He did not point out that Willa Selwyn was dead.
He only nodded and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“All right, love,” he said, stepping away only to retrieve her coat and wrap it around her shoulders. “Whatever you think best.”
She smiled up at him and released a little laugh of wonder, shaking her head. “I think you’re best, Jasper Townsend. I think you’re best for me.”
“Good,” he replied, moving to open the door. “Because you’re stuck with me now, Lib. And forever.”