Page 20 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

“It will be wonderful, Cousin Kendal. You shall be Romeo, and Miss Penelope—or, rather, Cousin-to-be Penelope—shall be Juliet. I shall play the Nurse, and perhaps Lady Capulet.” She frowned. “Except for the scenes where they are together.”

“Perhaps Twelfth Night would be preferable,” Pippa said. “After all, it is more in the spirit of the season than a tragedy.”

But Beatrice was already shaking her head. “No, no. We must have a romance to celebrate the wedding. It must be Juliet.”

With a little laugh, she added, “Besides, Twelfth Night is so silly. Who could believe that no one would be able to distinguish one twin from the other?”

Pippa looked away, but Oliver could see the flush rising up the back of her neck at his cousin’s words. He coughed to conceal his own simultaneous amusement and unease.

Beatrice took two steps towards the drawing room’s door, already brimming with enthusiasm. “We can begin immediately. Everyone who wishes to participate should meet me in the library so we can begin copying out the parts. There is paper and pen in the library, is there not, Cousin Kendal?”

The younger cousins and a few of the older ones rose to their feet, chattering amongst themselves as they followed Beatrice out the door to begin their preparations.

Oliver leaned close to whisper in Pippa’s ear, the musky floral scent of her rising to tickle his nose. “We don’t have to participate if you are not comfortable. We can plead illness, or some such.”

“No, I… would it not be odd for us to refuse to play such romantic roles?”

The dowager duchess rapped her cane against the floor. “What are you whispering about? Speak up.”

“We are deciding if it would be appropriate for us to participate, Grandmama,” Oliver said.

“Appropriate? Why would it not?” The dowager frowned. “Miss Penelope is right that Twelfth Night would be better, but once Beatrice sets her mind, no one is more stubborn.” The dowager smiled, clearly pleased. “She is much like me in that way. If she says you are to be Romeo and Juliet, that is who you must be.”

“Yes, Grandmama,” Oliver sighed, and helped Pippa to her feet to follow the others.

When they arrived in the library, Pippa saw a small group of cousins already busily engaged in making copies of the play’s dialogue for the actors, each person assigned a different character to copy out. For all the frustrations her single-mindedness caused, Beatrice did know how to organize the group and begin the process.

Even in the short time they had dawdled, it seemed Beatrice had already made her choices. Two male cousins of no more than thirteen or fourteen years old had been chosen as Mercutio and Tybalt and were already bickering under their breaths.

“We must start with the balcony scene, of course,” Cousin Beatrice said, ignoring the giggles of her sisters and younger cousins. “It is the one that shall require the most rehearsal, other than the duel. Besides, it is the one we have already copied out. If you please, Cousin Kendal.”

With a sigh, Oliver took up the pages presented to him and began to read, “He jests at scars that never felt a wound.”

Clearing his throat, he glanced at Pippa, and suddenly his voice was deeper, richer, warmer. “But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

As he read, Pippa could feel her blush grow deeper. She scarcely knew where to look, except to avoid the eyes of the giggling and whispering girls. She had no choice but to look at Oliver, to watch him read his lines then glance up at her as he read as if to gain inspiration.

There was a long pause, and Cousin Beatrice said, “It is your turn, Miss Penelope.”

“Oh!” Pippa quickly scanned the text. “Er… Ay me?”

The corner of Oliver’s mouth turned up. “She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel. For thou art as glorious as this night, being o’er my head.”

Both her feet lay firmly on the ground, but Pippa felt as though she was on Juliet’s balcony as she spoke her lines, swooning as Oliver held her gaze with his, his eyes warm on hers. Making her feel as beautiful as Juliet, as desired, as loved.

“Madam!” Cousin Beatrice’s line as Nurse recalled Pippa to herself, and she concentrated on the rest of her lines without meeting Oliver’s eyes.

It was merely a play. A pretense, no more. Cousin Beatrice could not know how appropriate her choice of the tale of star-crossed lovers trapped by family obligations would be.

As her discomfort grew, so did Oliver’s, until they read their lines mechanically, to Beatrice’s obvious displeasure.

"You are very stiff actors," Cousin Beatrice announced at last, to the titters of the rest of the cousins. "One would almost think you were strangers, not a betrothed couple."

Pippa carefully avoided looking at Oliver, and Beatrice sighed.

"Go rehearse in the breakfast room. Do not come back until you are better prepared to pretend to be in love."

"Perhaps... perhaps you should cast someone else?" Pippa said hopefully.