Love on a Midsummer Night (Shakespeare in Love #2) (22 page)

Freddie, like his father, seemed not at all intimidated by the foreboding duke. He took one look at the man before dismissing him, turning to lay his head on his mother’s shoulder where he promptly fell asleep.

Anthony Carrington did not smile, nor did he speak, but stepped between her and the Duke of Hawthorne, staring the man down as if he were a member of the French cavalry, as if Hawthorne were a man he meant to kill. Caroline stood at her husband’s back, cradling Freddie, flanking Arabella. Arabella saw an equally cold assessment going on behind her eyes, as if the Countess Ravensbrook might draw a dagger from her reticule and make short work of the duke herself.

“As charming as it is to see you, Hawthorne, I know that you will not be at liberty to attend the performance tomorrow night,” Ravensbrook said. “I do hope you managed to bring the paperwork we spoke of when I was last in London. The papers that the duchess needs to sign in order to accept a lump sum in lieu of her widow’s portion before she marries.”

Dark spots swam before her eyes. Angelique’s grip stayed firm on her arm, holding her up. Pembroke flanked her other side, drawing close as if to shield her from the piercing dagger of Hawthorne’s gaze.

“Indeed, Ravensbrook. It is kind of you to mention our last meeting. I have the papers with me. I will send them up to Pembroke House with my man as soon as it is convenient.”

Arabella almost laughed out loud. She did not play chess, nor did she play at cards, but she knew a bluff when she heard one. She knew better than to think that Hawthorne would give her up so easily.

Lord Ravensbrook did not seem concerned. “Later this afternoon would do,” Anthony said. “I will be happy to escort your man to the house myself.”

Hawthorne’s gray eyes hardened. “That will not be necessary.”

He turned his gaze on Arabella as if the rest of the company did not exist, as if the Carringtons, Angelique, and Pembroke had vanished from the earth. She felt his eyes move over her body, leaving slime in their wake. His voice was cool, but his eyes glowed with fire. She wondered that no one else could see it. “It was lovely to see you again, Your Grace. I hope we meet again soon.”

Angelique’s hand tightened on her arm. At least one person had.

Arabella did not speak but watched him as warily as she would have watched a mad dog. She felt herself begin to shake. The duke showed no sign of anger or displeasure but bowed once to the whole company before striding in the direction of the public house.

Angelique’s palm cupped her elbow, offering support. Only then did Arabella realize that her knees had given way. Pembroke wrapped one arm about her waist to hold her up. “We will take luncheon at the house,” he said. “I have had quite enough of playacting for one day.”

He nodded to Titania, and she waved him on. The actress had been watching the exchange as the rest of the acting company and the village had. There was speculation in her eyes as Pembroke led Arabella to his carriage. Titania’s outspokenness was refreshing, but Arabella knew that for once she would not be able to bear the actress’s pointed questions.

The party returned to Pembroke House, Angelique riding with Pembroke and Arabella in stony silence while Freddie returned to the house with his parents in his father’s barouche. The baby continued to nap on his mother’s shoulder, completely disinterested in the drama played out before him on the village green. They ate their luncheon in the rose garden, and in spite of the beauty of the day, Arabella could not shake the sense of foreboding that her meeting with Hawthorne had brought.

Early in the afternoon, a courier arrived with the legal documents from the Duke of Hawthorne, just as Ravensbrook had said it would. Arabella could not believe that it would be so simple. She looked past the courier, waiting to see Hawthorne step out from behind him.

Adjourning to the library, Lord Ravensbrook and Pembroke studied the papers for the rest of the afternoon, and neither could find a flaw. She sat at Pembroke’s desk and signed them with the courier as witness. He was a clerk and a notary public from Oxford, come to Derbyshire for this sole purpose. The papers stated that she was entitled to fifty thousand pounds as well as a dower property in Shropshire and her father’s estate, Swanson House, all the property that Pembroke had already agreed she could keep.

She stared at the thick document that held her signature as Pembroke sanded and sealed it for the courier to return to the duke. She could not quite believe that with the stroke of a pen she was free from Hawthorne. There still seemed to be a shadow over the day.

With her signature on that document, she was transformed from a woman with only a sack of gold to her name to an heiress.

Angelique wished her joy on her upcoming wedding but only after she perused the property agreement that Arabella and Pembroke had signed, which left her money and land in her own hands. Angelique smiled at Pembroke as she finished reading the document, a look of respect coming into her eyes. She did not stay for supper but left for the cottage she had rented in the village, the little house that Arabella had fallen in love with.

There was no formal dinner that evening, as Anthony and Caroline retired early, electing to take their dinner in their rooms. Arabella watched them as they climbed the staircase, hand in hand. Married for almost three years, they still seemed like newlyweds.

Pembroke sat with Arabella on a bench in his mother’s rose garden as the quarter moon began to rise above the trees. He drew her close, his arm around her shoulders, his lips on her hair.

“This has been a bigger day than you bargained for when you woke this morning, Lady Pembroke.”

Arabella laughed, relaxing against him, leaning on his shoulder. He shifted on the rosewood bench, lifting her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I am not your lady yet,” she said.

“Indeed you are. I have your oath on it. Don’t try to wriggle out of it now just because the curate hasn’t blessed us.”

Arabella laughed, but she felt almost as if Hawthorne watched them even then, the gray chill of his eyes touching her spine, making her shiver. She huddled closer to Pembroke, trying to shake the feeling off. Though they had signed legal documents setting her free, she knew that she had not seen the last of that hateful man.

She lay her head back against Pembroke’s shoulder and looked up into the night sky filled with stars. She saw Cassiopeia and Andromeda wheel above their heads, and she thought of the day when she might show those stars to their children and teach them their names.

Raymond kissed her but did not devour her lips with his own, drawing back to look into her eyes. “You do not deserve a rogue like me, Arabella. But you have me. I am yours, for the rest of my life.”

“And I am yours,” she said.

“God help me,” he quipped.

Arabella laughed, shoving her elbow in his side. He laughed with her, his lips playing over hers until all else was forgotten.

Midsummer’s Eve came at last, the sun riding high for the longest day of the year. Dressed in a gown of robin’s egg blue with a dark blue pelisse, Arabella rode to the village in the Carrington’s barouche with Caroline and baby Freddie. The child had taken a long nap and was ready to greet the village ladies, all of whom loved to fawn over him.

Angelique met the carriage in front of the public house, taking Arabella’s arm. Lord Ravensbrook had made inquiries and had been told by everyone he asked that the Duke of Hawthorne had left for London at first light. All the same, Angelique was not likely to leave Arabella’s side that evening, and Arabella was grateful. She still felt a chill of fear, though she had faced the madman down. Caroline flanked her as well, baby Freddie on her hip.

“I have never known a woman of the
ton
to be so attentive to her child,” Angelique said.

Arabella flinched, racking her brain for some innocuous comment to deflect the brusqueness of her friend’s impolite observation. But Caroline did not take offense. She met Angelique’s gaze, a sardonic smile lifting one corner of her beautiful mouth. “And you aren’t likely ever to see such a thing. I am not a member of the
ton
. I simply married into it. I’m a Yorkshire woman. The London
ton
and I have little to do with one another.”

Arabella closed her mouth and held her silence. Though she had been a duchess and had worn a coronet for ten years, she had never felt like a true member of the London elite either. She had spent all the years of her marriage separate and apart from London’s balls and soirees, and now that she was marrying Pembroke, she intended to keep him far from the likes of those people. He would do better, and be happier, safe at home with her in Derbyshire.

But tonight, hearing of Pembroke’s performance as Oberon in Titania’s rustic production, the London
ton
had come to them.

Clusters of fashionable people stood here and there on the village green while their servants set up chairs and pavilions for them under the trees. Dressed in silks and satins as if they stood in a ballroom at Carlton House, these brightly colored birds had come to roost for the evening in Pembroke. The villagers eyed them warily, giving them a wide berth. No one wanted anything to do with the quality from London. Their own earl was enough for them.

The lords and ladies who had come all the way from the capital surveyed the village around them as if it was lower than the dirt beneath their feet. Arabella felt her anger rise at their arrogance. She wanted to send them away from the village that had been her home during the dark years of her childhood. The village had become her haven and now was her home again.

The ladies all stared at her, taking in her bright blue gown. A murmur went up through the crowd as the women discussed the fact that she was out of mourning a bare month after her husband’s death. Arabella felt the sharp eyes of the
ton
on her, weighing her and finding her lacking. She felt another wave of anger rise in her breast. Where had all these people been during the bleak and friendless years of her loveless marriage? And who were they now to sit in judgment on her?

Angelique sensed her tension, pressing her arm in a show of support. She shook her head once, and Arabella reined her temper in. Her friend was right. To show her anger to these people was weakness. They may have come to watch the performance, they might sneer down their aristocratic noses at the people of Derbyshire and at her, but she did not need to stoop to their level. She would never be received in London now, and she did not care. Those people would be gone in a few days, and she would still be there, happy with Pembroke.

Arabella let Angelique lead her to their seats at the front of the makeshift theater. The play was to begin in half an hour, and Pembroke was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was dressing in the public house with the rest of the players, donning the robes he would wear as Oberon, the Fairy King.

Caroline stiffened as a storm of whispering began to rise all around them. The members of the
ton
, who before had been busy looking down their noses at everything they saw, went from contemplating her gown to drinking in the sight of Angelique and Caroline walking with Arabella. The two women flanked her protectively, showing obvious solidarity.

The Carlton House set considered those two women to be mortal enemies, who had fought each other for the love of Lord Ravensbrook. Caroline had won that war, and the fact that she now walked casually and calmly so close to her old rival caused a great stir of gossip as the three women took their seats before the stage.

Angelique, never one to shrink in the face of gossip, reached across Arabella and took baby Freddie onto her lap. The baby cooed and cried out with joy, wrapping his fat fists in the necklace at her throat. She pried her diamonds out of his grasp, turning to smile over the assembled company as if holding her lover’s child was the most natural thing in the world. The tide of whispers rose in a great wave, and Caroline laughed under her breath.

Anthony appeared in that moment, stepping out of the public house where he had been speaking with Pembroke. Like his wife, Lord Ravensbrook did not shrink from gossip, but neither did he acknowledge it. Anthony strode like Mars across the village green as if it were a field of war. He looked neither right nor left but sat down beside his wife, kissing her on the lips for all to see.

An audible gasp rose from the assembled ladies, and the local villagers applauded to see the earl greet his wife with such open affection. Anthony did not acknowledge the approbation of the locals, but Caroline smiled and waved to them.

Arabella glanced furtively at Angelique, expecting her to be mortified by the attention Anthony paid his wife. But Angelique had eyes only for the baby on her lap, who had started babbling at her in earnest. Angelique listened to Freddie very seriously, nodding her head all the while, occasionally murmuring, “Indeed!” as if the wisdom he imparted were pearls of great price.

A hulking naval man came to sit at Angelique’s side, his long auburn hair tied in a queue at the nape of his neck. His Royal Navy uniform gleamed dark blue and gold in the slanting sunlight. Arabella gasped to see a perfect stranger appear beside her friend without so much as asking for permission to sit, but it seemed that the gentleman was no stranger. Angelique nodded in acknowledgement of his presence, raising one eyebrow.

“Good evening, James. I thought the tide was turning, and you needed to be gone.”

“The tide is always turning, my lady. Wait twelve hours, and it will turn again.”

The man’s voice was deep and sweet, like mulled cider with honey mixed in it. Arabella gave her friend a questioning look, but Angelique ignored both James and herself in favor of the baby on her lap. Caroline peered down the row of seats to smile warmly at their new acquaintance, but Anthony ignored him completely.

“Forgive Countess Devonshire,” the navy man said. “She is a noble savage with no manners but those used to seduce a man. Allow me to present myself. I am Captain James Montgomery, formerly of His Majesty’s Navy, at your service.”

“Good evening, Captain Montgomery. Any friend of Angelique’s is welcome in our circle. I am Lady Arabella Hawthorne, and there you see the Earl and Countess of Ravensbrook.”

Anthony had the civility to nod, though he did not spare a glance for James Montgomery. Caroline seemed of the same opinion as Arabella, that any fine-looking gentleman was worth welcoming. Caroline cut her eyes at Angelique while she greeted Captain Montgomery with a warm smile. “Good evening, Captain. What brings you to Derbyshire?”

Angelique turned her head to face him as baby Freddie made another grab for her necklace. She drew the diamonds from the baby’s fat fingers once again, speaking all the while to the gentleman at her side. “Indeed, James. What brings you here?”

James Montgomery smiled at the woman beside him as if he knew her very well, far better than he would openly admit. Arabella was shocked to see a bit of color rise in Angelique’s cheeks. Had Arabella not known it to be impossible, she would have thought that her best friend was blushing.

“Why, Countess Devonshire, like the rest of London, I am here to see the play.”

In that moment, the music rose, the pounding of a snare drum mixed with the high notes of a fife. Anthony and James both reached for weapons at the sound of it, and Arabella remembered that drums and fifes were used in war. The play began then, and Arabella forgot the drama going on around her. She had eyes only for the makeshift stage as she waited for Pembroke to come into view.

He strode onto the boards as if he owned them, and indeed, very likely he had contributed to paying for them. His presence was as grand as any of the professional actors, his voice as strong, his deep tones carrying over the audience, villagers and nobility alike. He was dressed in blue and gold, his robes like something a Turk might wear, complete with pantaloons and a scimitar at his hip. But instead of making him look ridiculous, these clothes transformed him into a king, or perhaps it was he who transformed them.

Though she had sat through countless rehearsals and knew every line that he would speak, something about the lamps lit along the foot of the stage, the greasepaint, and the costumes transported her to another world. Arabella was drawn into Shakespeare’s dream until it became her own. She watched the foolish young lovers fall under an enchantment. She watched the rustics perform their own play, tears of laughter streaming down her face. When the show ended, she rose to her feet, applauding with the rest of the audience as Pembroke and Titania took their bows at the head of the company. Pembroke looked past the footlights to find Arabella and smiled.

The sweetness of that smile in the midst of the chaos of the curtain call squeezed her heart. He was at her side in the next moment, drawing her close, pressing a kiss to her lips. His greasepaint came off on her cheek, but she found she did not care. The rest of the world faded away until there was only Pembroke.

“I love you, Arabella.”

He kissed her again, and this time she heard the applause of the people around her, their voices no longer calling out to the actors onstage but to her and Pembroke. Arabella blushed but waved to the villagers, who cheered for her happiness.

The fashionable members of the
ton
did not join in, but a few scattered gentlemen clapped halfheartedly. The ladies drew their fans close to cover their mouths as they whispered together, pouring poison into each other’s ears. Arabella found that she did not care what any of them thought. She would make her life here in Derbyshire among her own people, and let the
ton
of London hang.

Pembroke left her as the actors dispersed to change their clothes. She sat on her theater seat and watched as Titania’s underlings from London began to tear the stage apart. Most of the troupe would leave on the morrow after her wedding. Titania said the company was heading to Leeds next and then on to Manchester in their tour of the North. Titania would not travel with them. Like Pembroke, she had performed only for this one night.

The villagers had lit the Midsummer bonfire, and Arabella walked with Caroline and Angelique to see it. Their party had grown now, with Anthony flanking the women on one side and James Montgomery on the other. Baby Freddie, still awake though the sun had almost set, was cooing at his father and at James as the mood struck him. Anthony lifted his son in his arms, gathering him up from Angelique.

James took the opportunity to draw closer to Angelique, taking her into the shadows with him. Arabella watched them go, wondering if this captain was Angelique’s latest amour.

The miller drew his wife toward the bonfire to dance with him, as did the baker and the smith. Arabella turned her eyes from the darkness into which Angelique had vanished and watched as her neighbors joined in the circle around the fire. Following the tradition as old as the druids, one by one each couple leaped over the small blaze, the women gathering their skirts high in one hand and taking their husbands’ hand with the other. The young courting couples began to do the same. Caroline left baby Freddie in Arabella’s arms before she took Anthony’s hand and jumped over the Midsummer bonfire with him.

Arabella laughed at her friends’ antics, and baby Freddie shrieked with delight. Members of the
ton
stared and whispered, standing far back from the blaze while the people of Pembroke village in turn ignored the lords and ladies. Pembroke was at her side then, taking Freddie from her arms and handing him to his mother. She smiled up at the man she had loved for most of her life, the man she would marry tomorrow.

“Will you leap the fire with me, Arabella?”

“I would, even if it were high enough to burn us both.”

“Well, until they put the greenwood on, it will not burn as high as that.”

The heat of the blaze made the blood rise in her face, and her skin became damp as they stepped closer to it. She raised her skirts in one hand and squeezed Pembroke’s hand in the other. Together, they made a running start then leaped over the flames just as the wind caught them, making the blaze rise. Arabella felt the heat of the fire on her legs, and a surge of fear threatened to overwhelm her, but then she and Pembroke came to rest on the other side, without a thread of their clothes or a hair on their heads singed.

Pembroke laughed, lifting her into his arms. The village cheered them once more as he led her into the circle where the other villagers were dancing. Anthony and Caroline stood outside the group of locals, forming their own tiny circle with their little son. But Arabella and Pembroke took their place among the people of Pembroke, as all thoughts of the Londoners, of Hawthorne, of the world beyond that village vanished with the rising smoke.