“The knaves in question are Percy Russell—that’s Lord Ventnor’s youngest son; I suppose you know him as you married his sister—and Francis Upton, heir to the Baron Bairstow.”
“Those are the two whom, ah, Thea reportedly tried to trap into marriage,” he said.
She waved an admonishing finger at him. “Just listen.”
The man named Joe put his chair to one side and then helped Thea climb onto it. She looked out over the faces turned to her in eager anticipation.
Waiting to hear her story.
The last time a roomful of people had stared at Thea, it was in Lord Ventnor’s ballroom. Now, after three years of her being silenced, spoken over, sent away, people wanted to hear her story.
She cleared her throat and smiled. “Now listen, all, to the tale of Rosamund, a winsome lass—”
“What’s that mean, anyway?” interrupted the woman playing Rosamund. “Winsome.”
“Why,” Thea said, “it means you win some, lose some.”
The eager, tipsy crowd cheered again. Thea flashed a smile at Luxborough and began her tale.
Chapter 5
Rafe let his head fall back against the wall with a thump. This was meant to be a quiet evening.
But not with Thea Knight, who couldn’t sit in a simple blasted chair and tell a simple blasted story without involving every blasted person in the entire blasted room.
And were they involved! Awaiting their entertainment as eagerly as in a real theatre.
He used to enjoy the theatre, Rafe remembered suddenly. How had he forgotten that? Even as a boy and a youth, he loved watching the frequent amateur performances by his parents and their friends. The magic of it thrilled him, the way his imagination would take over, making it real, so when it ended, he would blink with surprise to find himself seated in the middle of a crowd.
And then—what happened? In America, even when he and Katharine had no money, he had stopped for performances in markets and fairs by traveling theatre troupes. But since Katharine’s death, he had not watched a single play. It was a simple pleasure, yet he had let it be taken from him.
“Rosamund,” Thea explained to her tipsy audience, “is the brave, honorable daughter of a rich merchant. One day, at a picnic, she overhears the two knaves making secret plans. She hides in the shrubbery to listen.”
“Rosamund” curled her hand around her ear in a dramatic portrayal of eavesdropping.
The audience was enthralled.
“These two knaves are noblemen,” Thea said, as the knaves strutted about. “They are scoundrels, utter villainous blackguards who deserve to have their—”
The crowd cheered and booed, drowning out Thea’s words. Rafe didn’t need to hear the words to understand the rage simmering under her good cheer. He found himself sitting forward on his seat.
She calmed the crowd and continued.
“Rosamund overheard these knaves placing bets on who could first ruin fair Lady Letitia, by seducing her and telling the world.”
Bored gentlemen were known to make dubious bets, although this sounded worse than most. He remembered little of Percy Russell—Percy had still been a schoolboy when Rafe eloped with Katharine—but he recalled her saying that her brother had been almost sent down from Eton over a betting scandal.
“One hundred pounds says I can ruin the lady first,” said “Percy.”
“One hundred pounds says I can ruin the lady first,” said “Francis.”
Boos from the crowd egged them on into a torrent of coarse euphemisms.
“I’ll feed her pussycat!” one yelled.
“I’ll visit her at Bushy Park!” cried the other.
“We’ll honeyfugle!”
“We’ll fuddle!”
“We’ll splice!”
Thea banged a knife against a metal tankard to bring them to order. They muttered apologies, the crowd quietened, and Thea continued. “Brave Rosamund knew she must warn Lady Letitia.”
“What dastardly knaves they are!” cried “Rosamund”. “I must warn Lady Letitia!”
“Oh!” cried the other serving woman, running onto the makeshift stage. “I’ll be Lady Letitia!”
“Then who’s going to fetch our ale?” someone yelled.
“Fetch your own bleeding ale,” she yelled back. “I’m an actress and a lady now.”
To demonstrate this, she stuck her nose in the air and pointed one boot-clad toe in a dainty manner.
“I must talk to you, Lady Letitia,” said the woman playing Rosamund.
“Do not talk to me, merchant’s daughter. I’m too good for you.”
The crowd booed and hissed. Thea, looking worried, waved her hands and said, “No, no.”