None of them had truly recovered from the wounds of their father dying far too young and the fact that their mother had bolted.
They had all felt it. And he had sworn, as he protected his brothers and did his best to keep them safe from the cruel gossip of the world, that he would never, ever succumb to love as their mother had done.
For love had driven their mother to ruin all of their lives.
There was silence for a long moment, before Ben stood up suddenly and clapped his hands together.
“A drink! A drink!” he said firmly. “Let us go to the tavern. It is the only thing for our present mood.”
“That is not at all the thing for one who is in a state—”
“Devil take it,” Kit ground out. “You are an old man.”
“I am only thirty,” he reminded them.
“An old man in spirit, then,” Ben lamented, hanging his head.
“All right, then. I shall go to a tavern with you, just to prove that I am not so entirely old and rigid.”
“Wonderful.” Kit winked at Ben. “And you must come to the play.”
“What play?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Ben and I are going to go see Much Ado About Nothing in seven days’ time.” Kit gave him a wily smile. “And you will come with us. For we must pass the long weeks until my wedding!”
“Your wedding is in a month. And I don’t have time to go to the theater,” he said flatly.
Ben and Kit leveled him with a look that only younger brothers could give when determined to get their way.
“Much Ado About Nothing, is it?” he relented on a sigh.
“Yes,” said Kit, smiling, a strange gleam in his eyes. “I think you shall enjoy it very much.”
“I doubt that, but I’ll go anyway,” he said.
“Good,” Ben said. “Now, to the East of London! Let us revel and make merry!”
Will rolled his eyes. The entire day was going to waste. Well, not to total waste. It had already been an adventure, and he needed an escape. Since the boxing hadn’t worked, perhaps gin would.
Chapter Seven
Beatrice loved Shakespeare. In fact, she knew many of his plays by heart, and all the sonnets.
With a name like Beatrice, how could she not? Much to her good fortune, she was named after one of the greatest characters in the canon. And now she sat in her uncle’s glittering, red velvet box, awaiting the beginning of the play she adored.
She and Margaret sat side by side in their beautiful evening gowns. Her cousin’s pink gown was quite nice, but she loved hers. It was not the typical shade of a lady who had yet to marry. The soft green did wonders for her complexion and the fiery notes in her hair.
She absolutely adored green, and, though she was a young lady, she’d managed to convince her modiste to make the beautiful gown embroidered with golden leaves.
She positively loved the way it looked in the light dancing from the chandelier. She could feel the hum of the audience down below, the excitement of the people who had come to witness the Bard’s work come alive.
As anticipation filled the air, everyone in the boxes lining the balcony leaned together, waving their fans, gossiping, anxious for the performance to start. Some looked about with delicate binoculars, elaborate telescopes, and monocles.
Whilst they’d all come to a play, that was not the only thing occurring tonight.
The audience’s performance was just as elaborate as the performance onstage.
The lords and ladies could not stop talking about what everyone was wearing, who was sitting with whom, and what everyone was potentially doing after the performance.