Page 17 of The Duke's List

Jane joined him onstage as Beatrice. “Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner.”

“Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.” Hawley took it upon himself to cover one of her hands with his.

Jane stepped back a pace from his touch. “I took no more pains for those thanks than you take pains to thank me. If it had been painful, I would not have come.

“You take pleasure then in the message?” When Hawley moved close to Jane again, Sidmouth rose from his seat so quickly he tipped over his chair with a loud clatter.

“That’s enough. You’re certainly a pretty addition to the scene, Mr. Hawley, but I think I could do much better justice to the role of Benedick.” He moved rapidly toward the actor until they were inches away from each other

Jane stared at her husband as if he’d grown a second head. An awkward silence filled the hall until Franny Algernon came to the rescue. “That is a wonderful suggestion, Your Grace.” She gave him a wide smile. “But we’re staging the play tomorrow night, and surely you haven’t had time to memorize Benedick’s lines.”

“That is not a problem.” The buzz of conversation in the hall raised in volume. “Have a copy of the play sent to my chambers and I’ll be ready for the dress rehearsal tomorrow morning.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but what about me?” The foolhardy farmer Hawley was brave enough to push back at Sidmouth.

He gave him a cool glance down the length of his aristocratic nose. “Your compensation will remain the same, but I think you would fare much better as Borachio, the villain’s henchman.”

“But…” The man pushed his luck still further.

“If you are so unhappy, perhaps you could attempt a whole new life for yourself. I have not nearly so much need for tenant farmers as for miners in our tin mines along the coast.”

Hawley took his place back at the table in silence and tucked into his sherbet and cakes, taking care to avoid further eye contact with Sidmouth.

Chapter Thirteen

Jane fled from the hall,her cheeks burning. Her obnoxious husband had made a fool of both of them in front of all of the actors, not to mention Harriet and Nicholas.

And now she’d have to endure an entire theatrical production opposite a duke who would be fumbling through half-memorized lines. Friends and neighbors from the estate as well as Falmouth would be watching, and laughing behind their backs.

What could have possibly set off Sidmouth’s temper? She went back over every line, every movement and could not for the life of her fathom what had happened. What had sent her husband into a jealous fit?

She escaped to the only place she felt was really hers, the tiny bedroom in the stable master’s cottage with the cheerful, cushioned window seat. She kicked off her slippers and curled up with a book of poetry. He husband’s rude behavior had put her in the mood to re-readThe Corsairby Lord Byron. If ever there was a wild and ruthless pirate, she could not think of a better example than Sidmouth. He seemed to revel in the knowledge he could do whatever he pleased with people’s lives, simply because he was a duke.

She assumed the light tap at her door was her maid, Elsie. “Come.” Loathe to lose her place in her book, she kept reading until she was aware of an unnatural silence in the room. She sighed and placed a ribbon in the book to mark her place. When she raised her eyes, Sidmouth stood in the doorway, with an expression on his face like one of the mastiffs when they knew they were going to be scolded for tracking mud into the cottage.

“What are you doing here?” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I forgot this is your home. I’m merely a guest here.”

“You arenota guest, you’re my duchess, and I’m here to address the second demand on your list.”

Her mouth flew open and all she could think to say was, “Why aren’t you back in your chambers memorizing your lines for tomorrow?”

“I’m done.”

“How can that be? You could not have had the script pages even an hour.”

“It’s a kind of, um, special gift I have.”

“A gift?”

“Yes. All I have to do is look at the words on a page once, and everything is locked in my memory forever.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, I’m not. Test me if you like.”

“All right.” She took the bait. “I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me…”

He came right back with “God keep your ladyship still in that mind; so some gentleman or other shall ‘scape a predestinate scratched face.”