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“I do mind,” Ella told him.
Lady Regina clapped her hands, and the room went silent. “In the absence of a Juliet,” she said in a clear, carrying voice, “Miss Fulvia St. Trevelyon has kindly offered to play the role opposite Mr. Woodward, lead actor from the Theater Royal at Drury Lane. Please give a warm welcome to our performers.”
There were a few gasps, and hesitant applause. Fulvia stood up and walked gracefully to the platform.
Fulvia accepted Mr. Woodward’s hand and stepped up to the stage. He didn’t join her, remaining on the floor level.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks,” the actor said, his eyes fixed on Fulvia’s face. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
“Bloody hell,” Lord Devin muttered. “Now this is a scandal.”
“Really?” Ella asked.
“I was never any good at Shakespeare, but doesn’t this scene end with a kiss?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE BURDEN OF BEING A GENTLEMAN
Watching his almost-wife play Juliet to an obviously lovestruck Romeo, Fiennes felt a wash of distinct gratitude to the universe for pushing Ella his way before he signed any betrothal papers with Fulvia.
As that thought registered, he turned his head and saw the deeply offended expressions worn by women at a nearby table. Bloody hell. With a sudden jolt of bone-deep horror, he realized that amateur theatricals at secluded country house parties were allowable, if risqué, but this?
Reciting love poetry to a professional actor, in a ballroom filled with London’s most pompous matrons? Was Fulvia so naïve that she had no idea of the scandal she was causing?
His veins filling with ice, he realized that his fiancée was ruined.
Completely ruined.
A large dowry might have surmounted her imprudence, but no rational young gentleman would marry a penniless and scandalous bride, no matter how beautiful she was.
Obviously, Fulvia had no idea of the damage she’d done to her future. She had destroyed her reputation as quickly as a moth blunders into a flame. Though in fairness to her, she was only sixteen, and her parents were nowhere in sight.
It wasn’t her fault.
Which meant that he’d have to go through with the betrothal.
A sick, hot sensation clenched his stomach. Everything in him fought the idea.
Yet people had been gossiping about his purported engagement since the moment Fulvia walked to the front of his box. In the weeks since, she’d been seen repeatedly in his company, which spoke for itself. He was her escort at this ball, her debut.
If he broke it off now, everyone would believe he jilted her due to her performance of Romeo and Juliet.
Other men would be even less likely to woo her.
Out of the corner of one eye, he could see Ella sitting upright like a statue, surprise etched on her face.
Fulvia had obviously not shared her plans, but most likely, Ella wouldn’t have had any idea of how devastating this imprudent action would be for Fulvia’s reputation.
They had spent their lives in the country, after all. Neither of them understood how easy it was for a woman’s reputation to be tarnished forever. Just look at the way that Ella had welcomed him to her bedchamber; if anyone had known, she would be branded a lightskirt at best.
From that moment, her identity as a “lady”—from the point of view of polite society—would have been lost.
Ella would have been banished.
Fulvia would definitely be banished. She hadn’t been in London long enough to make allies, and her mother was nowhere to be seen.
Desperation gripped him. He could not marry Fulvia. Not feeling the way he did about Ella.
