Much Ado About Dukes

No doubt, affairs were being arranged. Oh yes, she knew about those, because she was a well-read lady.

Politics were being discussed, and debates were being held over who had the best seat and who would win the majority in government in the upcoming election.

One did not come to the theater just to watch the stage, but to be seen.

Though she knew it was the objective of many of her set, it was not hers. For whilst she adored a good gossip, she truly did love a good play. It was one of the highlights of the Season, and she was very fortunate that her uncle encouraged them to attend, for some did not believe that the theater was truly suitable for a young lady.

For they were exposed to actresses.

What horror! She longed to laugh at the silly, prudish people who feared the great artists who’d lived a life too large for them to understand.

The simple fact was the opera and the theater were sparkling, thrilling things to bring a bit of wonder to their lives.

Beatrice dearly loved the opera, and she knew many people thought it superior. But if she were to be honest, she far preferred the plays of William Shakespeare and Sheridan. She loved a good laugh and a good cry. But these days, she found that a good laugh was exactly what her soul needed, since she felt rather melancholy about the whole idea of Margaret leaving her and going on to greener pastures.

She only hoped those grasses stayed verdant.

“I do hope Beatrice and Benedick are good,” Margaret said, leaning her arm against the gilded edge of their box.

“Oh, I’m sure they shall be,” she assured, waving her painted ivory fan. “They can never be too terrible. The lines are written too well.”

“Too true, cousin,” Margaret enthused.

For they both did love reading Much Ado About Nothing out loud to each other. The witty banter between Benedick and Beatrice always had them in fits of laughter, though the subplot wherein the poor cousin, Hero, was maligned by Don John was simply too much to bear.

Surely even Shakespeare realized that such a thing could never happen in real life.

Margaret stood, closing her fan. “I am going to find Papa and perhaps make a quick venture to the cloak room. Do you wish to accompany me?”

“I shall wait here,” she replied with an easy smile.

Margaret headed out of their box and into the busy hall, as people still had several minutes to find their seats. She found her gaze wandering over the crowd, for Kit and his brother Ben were meant to attend.

Much to their good fortune and surprising convenience, they were next to the Blackheath box. She hated that she found herself shifting in her seat anxiously.

But she knew exactly why she was nervous.

She was wondering if the duke would come tonight.

Of course he would not.

He did not usually attend the theater. She had heard about the legendary private Shakespeare performances put on by himself, his brothers, and their friends at his house. They were apparently quite fun and not for young debutantes. Which didn’t mean they were particularly scandalous, though Shakespeare was very naughty indeed.

But alas, unmarried ladies were forbidden many delightful things.

She’d never seen him in the box next to theirs, which seemed rather odd, for he was reputed to be a patron of the theater. He gave a great deal of money to actors and playwrights, which was another remarkable thing about him.

She could not understand why he proved so difficult so often. Anyone who loved music and the theater couldn’t be wholly bad.

And she couldn’t forget he’d agreed to give her boxing lessons, except he had yet to make good. True, it had only been a week. But she had heard nothing from him in that time.

It seemed to be a line with him. The promise of taking care of something and the failure to make good on said promise. Yes, he was like all men, disappointing in the end.

Yet, much to her consternation, she could not stop watching the door of his box, waiting to see if the curtain would sway and herald his entrance.

She waved her fan slowly before her face, determined not to let her absurd obsession show. It was hot, of course, given the crush of bodies and the number of lit candles illuminating the space.

She reached forward to the small table beside her and took a sip of wine. She allowed the refreshing beverage to coat her tongue. And just when she was about to give up all hope that the duke or even his brothers were coming, for no doubt they all thought they had better things to do, she heard footsteps behind her. Then a voice.