“You think that ladies will become coachwomen?” Otis asked. “Will want to drive a coach?”
“I think that ladies will become whatever they wish,” Joan said. “My aunt Knowe would be a far better doctor than any who has attended the castle. Half the time she instructs them, and she won’t even allow them in the room any longer during a birth.” She turned to Greywick. “That is why my sister Viola is here for the last month of her confinement, so that Aunt Knowe can act as her midwife.”
“The Wildes are all quite robust,” Otis said. “I doubt my sister could drive a mail coach, let alone deliver a baby.”
Joan patted him on the shoulder. “No need to butter me up. I won’t hold you to our betrothal.”
“If only I was so lucky!” Otis said. But he added briskly, raising his voice, “Just so everyone within earshot knows, I adore Joan, but my betrothal to her was of short duration.”
Joan’s father was walking toward his table after returning from escorting his wife and her aunt upstairs. He paused. “I wasn’t aware that such an arrangement existed, even if briefly.”
“To put it in context,” Otis replied, “a Thoroughbred in the Newmarket Races rounds the track three times, but we didn’t make it out of the gate.”
Joan held up her glass. “My very first betrothal was over before I finished a glass of wine!” she laughed. “Do you suppose that’s a bad sign for the future?” She caught Lord Greywick’s eye.
“No,” he stated.
Chapter Four
Thaddeus enjoyed the meal a great deal more once Lady Bumtrinket had been removed by her niece. He spent most of the time listening to Joan and Otis banter with each other while planning the best way to convince Joan to give up the madness of performing a play in male attire.
Whether she wished to admit it or not, someone in this castle would sell a sketch to a printer, and within a fortnight, all of England would be able to buy an image of her shapely legs, likely sold from the front window of every stationer in London.
When the Duchess of Lindow rose, signaling the conclusion of the meal, he caught Joan’s arm before she could walk away with Otis.
She looked up at him, her eyes concerned. “Have you recovered from Lady Bumtrinket’s objectionable behavior, Lord Greywick? I assure you that we have all found ourselves in the mouth of the lion now and then.”
“The lady is an aggressive interrogator,” Thaddeus said. “The Bow Street Runners would benefit from her skills in that distant future you mentioned, when a lady can choose to work for a magistrate, if she wishes.”
Joan smiled at him faintly. “I would suspect you are ironic, Lord Greywick, but you show no outward sign.”
“That was not ironically spoken. My mother could run an entire branch of the Runners with éclat. However, that time has not yet come, which leads me to the idea of playing Hamlet,” Thaddeus said. “This has nothing to do with Lady Bumtrinket’s absurd allegations—”
“Hasn’t it?” she interrupted.
“No. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Men say that so often.” She sighed. “The result being that ladies spend their lives in padded boudoirs, surrounded by painstakingly embroidered pillows. They change their dresses four times a day because they have nothing else to do.”
“My mother runs the duchy,” Thaddeus said. “When I am absent from Eversley Court, she acts as justice of the peace in our shire. We employ over three hundred people in and around the duchy, and she knows every one of them.”
“Brava,” Joan said. “For her. The only thing I want to do is act. The only thing.”
“The role of Hamlet?” Thaddeus asked incredulously. He had enjoyed school, but he still remembered what a chore it was trudging through that play.
She shrugged. “It’s the most significant role I could come up with that appears in the regular repertoire of the theater company that visits Lindow every year. They were kind enough to allow me and Otis to play two lead roles, but I couldn’t ask them to learn a new play.”
“I was under the impression that theater companies visited large towns, not private estates.” The room had emptied, and out in the entry, Joan could hear the family saying good night to each other.
“The traveling company of the Theatre Royal has been coming to Lindow for years, ever since they gave us a private performance of Wilde in Love, the play written about my brother Alaric. I’ve been attending their rehearsals since I was fourteen. They know.”
“They know the lines, or they know you love to act?”
“They know I can act,” she said sharply.
“So you think that you will perform a better Hamlet than the actor who usually plays the role?”
“No, not at all! Playing the prince is a lark. If I were a proper member of the troupe, I would play roles written for women.”
“You’re a lady, not an actress,” Thaddeus said. “Someone will sell an illustration—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t parrot that line about me being ruined again!” she snapped.
A muscle flexed in his jaw but he held his tongue.
“Besides if I was ruined . . . if I was ruined . . .” Joan’s eyes lit up. “I suppose you’re right. I will be ruined.”
“Quite likely.”
“So I’ll join the theater troupe when they move on!” she exclaimed. “Why wait to be officially thrown out of society? I’ll be much happier on a theater cart than in this castle. I would be able to perform every night in front of real audiences, not just family.”
“You can’t do that,” Thaddeus growled. “The troupe doesn’t need you, for one thing.”
“I’m good,” Joan retorted, stiffening. “You have no faith—why should you?—but I assure you that I could be a lead actress in any theater in London. I’m not being boastful, just saying that my skills—and scandalous hair—would play to my advantage on the public stage. Whereas polite society simply sees me as a pariah.”
“You would be recognized,” Thaddeus insisted.
He had a terrible feeling that he’d made a mistake. Pushed her too far.
Joan’s father had walked a fine line when he approved a private performance. Perhaps the duke understood the risk of thwarting his most obstinate daughter.
“So what?” Joan straightened. “I would be free to perform different parts, travel the country, appear before new audiences every night!”
Thaddeus’s heart dropped into his stomach as he saw the excitement in her eyes.
“What if you flee the castle on a theatrical wagon, and something terrible happens to you on the road?” he demanded. “How will your family feel then?”
He watched her eyelashes flicker and added: “A woman exposing her legs in breeches will be taken to be a trollop, for sale to the highest bidder. She is at risk of rape and worse, to be blunt.”
Her throat bobbled as she swallowed. He was shocked to see a flash of despair in her eyes. The look did something to him.
Everything in his body stilled.
Joan was irritating, obstinate, scandalous—but he didn’t like to see that expression on her face. In fact, his internal response was disconcertingly strong.