Page 16 of The Duke’s Absolutely Fantastic Fling (The Notorious Briarwoods #15)

T he weeks passed with unmitigated glee, except for a few occasions when it was clear that Josephine was struggling.

Teague wished that he could stop those moments, stop them in their tracks, but they seemed to be embedded in her now.

He could see it. Whenever it was about to happen, her face would tense, her eyes would widen, her lips would tighten, and there would be a tension to her whole body that suggested she felt as if something was about to attack her.

How he wished he could take that from her and protect her, not only from ills without, but also within. But he couldn’t.

All he could do when those moments arose was to take her outside, or through the halls of his estate or Heron House, hold her in his arms, urge her to breathe, and remind her she was here with him.

But on the good days, which most of them were, they reveled in the world together.

With Phoebe in eager tow, they went to museums. They went to art galleries. They saw more new art than he had ever seen in his life, and he began to understand why Phoebe and Samuel Johnson loved London so well.

He loved Scotland, of course, and Edinburgh was a wonderful city, but there was something about the art and culture that was taking place in London that was unlike anywhere in the world at present.

He loved going and seeing the paintings of various artists who were experimenting with new forms and ideas. He loved going and looking at the cartoonist’s drawings hung up in the windows of the various shops along Fleet Street.

He adored going to concerts whenever he chose, sitting and listening to the beautiful music soaring through the air that was played by masters who were now taking advantage of the full strength of the pianoforte that was nothing like the harpsichord of the previous century.

He loved going with Phoebe and Josephine to explore bookshops instead of just having books in boxes delivered to his home in Scotland. He had spent hours side by side with Josephine, while she picked up books, opened them, and they read lines to each other, reveling in poetry.

He’d bought hundreds for himself and insisted upon purchasing whatever Josephine and Phoebe enjoyed. It was a privilege to give them happiness and support the writers that had penned the works.

Often Phoebe found a spot in the corner of each bookstore and devoured the newest salacious romances, and he marveled at the newer novels.

There was a style of book out that was taking over the literary scene, one that seemed to be a skewering of society, which he found quite refreshing compared to the old books that were so popular.

Those tomes, most popular in the previous century, were full of pirates and kidnapping and absolutely mad behavior.

These, instead, seemed to focus on balls, marriage, and communities, and the satirizing of them. He liked them very well. He liked discussing them with Josephine most of all.

And then, of course, there were the balls. He loved dancing with Josephine. Any chance he could have to hold her in his arms was a welcome one. And he did love to hold her in his arms.

The waltz was a boon to love. There was no question about that.

He made the trek over to Heron House every night. Now, it might seem a bit much to have to make the walk, and more specifically the climb, every night so that he could spend the night entwined with the woman of his dreams.

Especially since the family approved.

Surely, someone could have just let him in. A servant’s entrance would’ve been very practical. But right then, he was not interested in practicality. No, he was interested in grand gestures, full romance, and doing things as if there would be no tomorrow.

And yet everything he did was for tomorrow. Not the literal tomorrow, but the one in the future where she would look him in the eyes, tell him yes, and marry him without question.

Teague didn’t particularly wish to marry at St. Paul’s or Westminster, but he would marry wherever Josephine wanted.

Part of him wished for a small kirk in Scotland. Another part of him would be perfectly pleased by the Westleigh Church. He did not care so long as she was bound to him for all time.

And he could tell that she longed for it too.

He hated the arbitrariness of waiting for the end of the Season, but he would endure it for her. And she seemed to be enduring it too, which was strange to him since she was the one who had suggested the affair.

Every now and then, he would catch her looking at him as if she expected him to slip away, to turn the corner and never come back, to go out of a ballroom after they danced and disappear forever.

It was odd.

He never would. He never could.

He adored her. But it was almost as if she had a ghost on her shoulder, more than one perhaps, whispering that he was ephemeral as smoke. But he was determined to banish those ghosts.

He would show her every day that he was the man for her and that she was the woman for him. Persistence was key here. Just as Calchas told him.

And finally, in all of their outings, there was the glory of glories. It was no surprise that the Briarwood family and Josephine seemed to revel in one particular outing the most. And it was, of course, the theater. They went at least twice a week, sometimes seeing plays over and over again.

Josephine did not seem to care. None of the Briarwoods seemed to care if they were seeing a play over and over.

Just as they were this night. Teague stood overlooking the packed audience below who were milling about, waiting for the performance to begin, drinking wine, and eating various tidbits. Gossip was thick in the air.

They had seen Antony and Cleopatra just three days ago. The play was a family favorite. And of course, the dowager duchess’s sister, Estella, was the star. And it was a role she’d played many, many times.

Londoners were always eager to see her take up the part again and again.

The dowager duchess insisted from her gilded seat beside him that a performance had many facets to it.

Teague folded his hands behind his back and gazed down at her, eager to be educated. “But don’t you grow bored of hearing the same lines again and again?” he asked.

The dowager gave him a flummoxed look as she whipped open her silver-edged fan painted with scenes from a beautiful English garden.

“Bored, dear boy? How could anyone grow bored in such a place like this?” She gestured with her fan to the stage.

“Magic transforms mere boards into any world that one can imagine?”

Magic. Yes. She was right. He had come to see the power of plays through Briarwood eyes. And he was grateful.

Josephine watched the two of them, clearly pleased by the way in which he valued the dowager duchess’s opinions.

The dowager fanned herself slowly, for the crush of people and the many chandeliers and lit sconces kept the theater quite warm.

“If you know how to watch a play, you will see that it is different every night. This is one of my favorite things about this artistic medium,” the dowager explained.

“Unlike drawings or paintings or books. In the theater? No performance can ever be the same. And once it is done, it is done.” She gestured dramatically with a hand dripping in magnificent jewels.

“It is gone, the performance only existing in memory, and one has to wait until the next one to see what shall occur. No expression is ever exactly the same, no turn of phrase. It is a marvel.”

She was the marvel. He loved listening to her speak. And he quite understood why Josephine wished for a magical elixir to keep the dowager duchess alive forever.

Josephine smiled up at him. “There. This is why each performance is a gift. Do you see?” she teased.

“I do now,” he replied, smiling. For he loved their enthusiasm for life.

The Briarwoods’ love for the theater was catching.

Even now, most of the Briarwood adults were in attendance, sitting in their multiple boxes, no doubt chatting about Shakespeare, different acting techniques, set pieces, and what a beautiful night it was.

If only everyone could love and live thus.

He took Josephine’s hand and lowered his head over it for a moment. “I shall watch and be mystified by the magic of it all.”

“You do like it though?” Josephine asked, a slight hesitation in her voice.

“Of course I do. One of the happiest times I ever had was the production the dowager duchess put on at my castle in Scotland. And this is wonderful. At long last, I understand why you love London.”

“Do you?” Josephine asked, astonished.

“Bravo, my boy, for allowing yourself to be opened to ideas.” The dowager snapped her fan shut and applauded. “One can loathe the system but still adore parts of it. That has been my whole life.”

Teague lowered himself into the seat between Josephine and the dowager duchess and said carefully, “I love the Highlands. There is much there that gives me joy. I love to go out walking, and I love to read on the nights when the wind whips in off the sea loch and the frigid air wraps the castle in its embrace. And I love the entertainments we give each other to survive the long, dark winters. But here in London, you can find something new every day to feel alive, to…” He didn’t want to say be distracted by , but it was true.

Here in London, if one felt despair or sorrow, there was always something new to look at, something new to do.

“Come. Take your ease,” Josephine insisted. “The performance will begin at any moment.”

And he did, allowing himself to become more comfortable as he surveyed the crowd and the boxes that lined the theater. And then he looked to his Josephine. A soft smile played at her lips. She looked in her element.

His soul soared then. She was happy beside him, here at the theater. He leaned towards her. “Did you never wish to be an actress?” he asked. “Surely you could be, given your position with the family.”

Her eyes danced with merriment as she took his meaning without offense, for there was no insult in it. It was genuine curiosity, because her own aunt was an actress.

“I thought about it,” she said softly. “But I don’t have the same spirit as Juliet and Estella. I like to observe, you see. I don’t want other people observing me.”

“Ah,” he mused, considering this. And then an idea popped into his head as he thought of how splendidly she articulated herself over books and their contents. “Perhaps you should be a critic. You could take up your pen and you could write about the plays that you see.”

She blinked. “What an idea,” she exclaimed with surprise.

The idea grew on him and he insisted, “I think it’s a good one. Perhaps you could convince more people to come to the plays.”

As the music began, and an actor in elaborate costume took to the boards, he let his focus be drawn towards the stage, though it was hard, for he wished beyond all things that he could take Josephine’s hand in his.

He savored the feel of her sitting so close, so consumed by something she loved. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. And as the lights flickered upon the stage, her aunt suddenly strode upon the boards in a costume that was covered in jewels and gold.

Yet, somehow, the costume seemed pale compared to Estella’s grand presence.

Josephine leaned forward, on the edge of her seat, captivated.

“You see,” he whispered. “This is the world you love.”

She glanced back at him for a moment, astonished.

And he wondered then if this was her world, where she was so happy, could he ask her to join his? Or could his world change so that he was a part of hers?

Surely it could, for he too had never been happier in his life than here beside her, bathed in the words of England’s greatest poet and the art of the actors who brought it to life.

“Josephine,” he whispered. “I—”

But then the dowager duchess tutted. “Dear boy, my sister is about to deliver a delicious bit of dialogue. The two of you, be quiet. I know you are obsessed with each other. Well done. Bravo. It makes my heart happy. But shush.”

As instructed, they shushed.

He loved being shushed. There was such love in the way the dowager duchess included him and his brothers in the family.

Teague leaned slightly towards Josephine, and she leaned slightly towards him.

And there, in the golden glow of the theater, he felt his heart expand.

She let out a sigh, and he knew that she was content.

He could never take her to Scotland, he realized, not for long periods of time, and he felt a moment’s regret about that. Summer, certainly. Perhaps several months a year. But he would have to find a way to be here in London too.

It wouldn’t be some great torture. And just as he was about to lean over, despite the dowager duchess’s censure, and whisper his determination to make London his new home, the Fates seemed to ensure he could not, for Phoebe popped in and sat down behind Josephine.

“Where have you been?” the dowager duchess breathed.

Phoebe gave a mischievous stare, then clamped her mouth shut.

“We shall discuss it later,” the dowager duchess said before she turned back to the stage.

Oh, how he would love to be a fly upon the wall and hear whatever had happened. But instead, he turned his gaze back to the stage, to Estella, the dowager duchess’s sister, who was captivating.

She held the audience in the palm of her hand.

She too was still a beautiful woman, but the way she spoke and strode now, it was clear she was no young girl.

Not even a woman of forty. No, she was a grand dame, and one of the best variety.

She was the sort of woman who had seen it all and who could now command everyone before her.

Teague knew that one day Josephine would be like that if the world but allowed her, and he wanted that for her. He wanted to be the reason that the entire world would listen to her. If only she would allow it for herself.

If only she could see that she was worthy of everything this world had to offer. Maybe she did think she was worthy. But whatever was inside her at present, if she was not careful, he knew it was going to cause her to keep herself small.

It was going to keep her away from everything she’d ever wanted.

And he needed to understand where that fear that gripped her in its vise came from. He needed to know why.

And for the first time in a very long time, he felt a wave of his own fear because he knew he was going to have to ask her about it. He knew he was going to have to push, and she did not wish to be pushed.

It would not be easy. But the life that he wanted was not easy because he wanted a love greater than time. He wanted Josephine, and he wanted her to want him back just as much.

He wanted them both to fight. Fight for love. Fight for each other.