She glanced at him. It was not that he was not handsome, he was very handsome as it happened. He was very tall and lean, he might even be a smidge taller than Conbatten. And then, he did have a lovely smile, on the few occasions he chose to show it—his eyes crinkled in a rather delightful manner.
But his arms were quite usually proportioned, his tailor would not despair to encase them. As well, nobody talked about Lord Harveston’s prowess in a boxing ring, or atop a horse in a race. He was not a Corinthian. In truth, he was not at all a sporting man, as far as she could see.
And his manner! That was another thing entirely. He was rude and condescending and full of himself. He looked down upon other people he did not deem as sophisticated as he was. It was very bad, indeed.
Of course, he had not seemed quite so bad the evening before. He had worked to make himself pleasant. And then, he had made some sort of apology just now.
A small light, like a far-off flame, lit itself in Cordelia’s mind. It occurred to her that what really bothered her about Lord Harveston was that he did not admire her or her accomplishments. Even if she did not admire him, it irked her that he did not admire her.
She felt herself pink as she thought it, as she knew it was not a quality of temperament to brag of.
Now he wished to know the plot toOthello Redux. If felt like another opportunity for him to display a looking down the nose.
“Well,” she said, “Lady Rawley is against having Desdemona die, and I really can see her point.”
Lord Harveston nodded. “It was deeply unfair, as she was entirely innocent.”
“Exactly,” Cordelia said, feeling a little encouraged. “So when Othello very stupidly believes Iago and wishes to kill his wife for her supposed adultery, she pretends to take poison. Then Iago’s wife reveals all and Othello and Iago kill each other.”
“It’s not the worst idea my aunt has had in rewriting Shakespeare. I suppose they both deserve it,” Lord Harveston said. “Iago for his villainous deeds and Othello for not realizing he was being tricked.”
“Othello could have realized it though,” Cordelia said. “That has always bothered me.”
“You say he should have believed his wife’s denials? I am inclined to agree. Especially over a man who was a malcontent.”
“It should never have come to Othello choosing who to believe,” Cordelia said. “If he had understood his wife’s heart to begin, there would never have been a question of believing or disbelieving Iago. He would have known the truth.”
Cordelia stopped talking. How had they begun to talk of hearts? It seemed somehow intimate.
And the way Lord Harveston was looking at her! It was very discomposing.
“So this particular Desdemona lives,” he said. “Though if she did indeed love Othello, she must be unhappy at this turn of events.”
“Well, no, not in this version. I mean, in the original she loves Othello and he should have seen that. In this interpretation, she has always secretly loved Cassio.”
Lord Harveston’s look of surprise was unmistakable.
“She would not have acted on it, of course,” Cordelia hurried on. “But Iago, having planted the handkerchief, has pushed them together. And then, with Othello dead…”
Cordelia trailed off. It had sounded so much more logical when Lady Rawley had explained it.
“I see,” Lord Harveston said. “I wonder if that is a common condition—a lady regretting her marriage.”
“No, I cannot think it would be,” Cordelia said. “As long as the lady married for love. I speak oftruelove, obviously.”
“And how does one distinguish between true and not true?”
Cordelia really did not know how they came to be talking this way. It sounded almost…inappropriate. Though, she could not explain why.
“I ask because I do not know,” Lord Harveston said. “It is not a thing I’ve learned from books.”
Cordelia felt very vindicated by that statement. What he said was perfectly correct—there might be all sorts of information found in books, but the truth of the human heart would not be there no matter how long he looked.
“I think one can rely on what is being experienced,” she said. “Does one feel as if one is drowning and yet has more air, and that their hair has been struck by lightning, and their heart has sped up and yet they feel well.”
“I have never heard anything like that described,” Lord Harveston said, looking at her quizzically.
Cordelia nodded. “It is a very difficult matter to describe, but my aunt is exceedingly gifted in putting it all into words. Oh, as well, my sisters have reported feeling a bit sick.”
