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Fulvia had turned back to the stage by the time he’d formulated that resolution.

“I do wish they would start.” She caught his sleeve. “Oh, is that large man the Prince Regent? Over there across from us?”

“Yes, that is the Royal Box. I see your father behind him.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t insist that the viscount escort my mother and myself,” Fulvia said, looking up at him. “My father’s personality is august, and I wanted to meet you in quieter circumstances.”

“August” was one word for the viscount. Fiennes understood exactly what she meant, which boded well for their future together.

A blast of trumpets indicated the opening of the play. Fulvia drew in a breath and watched with shining eyes as the red velvet curtain swept apart. An elderly man strode onto the stage, followed by a fellow wearing a hat like a coal scuttle adorned with a feather.

When the first half was over, Fulvia turned to him and exclaimed, “It’s a wonderful adaptation of The Taming of the Shrew, don’t you think?”

Fiennes had no idea, never having read the original play. “The lady is somewhat aggressive,” he said cautiously.

“I agree that Kate should not have broken her lute over the music-master’s head,” Fulvia said. “I don’t care for Petruchio’s hat. Do you think that the actor knows that his face cannot be seen from the boxes?”

“Probably not, since it’s the first night,” Fiennes said.

“We must tell him,” Fulvia said decisively. “It could make a difference as to whether the production is judged a success. How can the Regent judge his acting without seeing his face?”

Fiennes had the distinct impression that His Majesty was far too busy entertaining the Birds of Paradise clustered in the Royal Box to bother with the play. “I suppose I could send a note to the director later.”

“No, I would prefer that you send a note immediately,” Fulvia stated. “Mr. Woodward must remove that absurd hat.”

His future wife had a remarkably determined chin. But after all, he didn’t want a weak, simpering lady, did he? His mother had been equally decisive, in her own way.

Fiennes dispatched his attendant backstage with an urgent message for the director, and then dedicated himself in the man’s absence to making certain that the viscountess was offered delicate sandwiches and champagne. When he returned to Fulvia, she was frowning thoughtfully at the curtain, ignoring all the chattering nobility who would have absorbed Regina’s attention. Fulvia didn’t even seem to know that she was garnering admiring glances from all sides.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“The play is somewhat uncouth,” Fulvia said. “If I heard correctly, Petruchio called Catherine ‘a lusty Wench,’ and then expressed the wish to ‘have a grapple with her.’ I don’t remember Shakespeare’s play including that line.”

Fiennes cleared his throat. “You have an excellent memory, if you’re able to compare this production to the original script.”

“I am able to repeat a sermon word for word,” Fulvia said, shrugging. “It’s not a very useful skill, is it? I did like the way Petruchio called her ‘plain Kate, and bonny Kate, and the prettiest Kate in Christendom.’ ”

“Miss Foote is not as pretty as you are,” Fiennes said.

He was used to young ladies blushing in confusion when he offered a compliment, but Fulvia didn’t seem interested. She certainly wasn’t vain.

“He also mentioned her ‘bashful modesty,’ yet I don’t think Miss Foote acted modestly at all,” Fulvia said. “The way she waggled her hips suggested the opposite. She ought to be uninterested in Petruchio at this point in the play. She thinks him a ‘mad-cap ruffian.’ ”

Fiennes nodded. “I take your point.”

“I gather that the Theater Royal’s next performance is King Lear, and one has to assume that Miss Foote will play Cordelia. I shudder to think of Lear’s beloved daughter in the hands of someone who looks and acts like a commoner!”

Having slept through King Lear in school, Fiennes tried to change the subject. “I wonder if you will spend much of your time in London once married?” he inquired.

“If Catherine planned to ‘tame’ Petruchio, she wouldn’t be quite so inviting, would she?” Fulvia asked, ignoring his question.

“I expect not.”

“I would never wish to tame a man,” she announced.

“I’m grateful to hear it,” Fiennes said.

“I fully expect my husband to behave himself without any direction from me.”