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“O h, man, do we have to?”

“It could be fun.”

“A tour of the palace? Nuh-uh.”

“Probably there’ll be art and, you know, culture.”

Gloomy silence.

“It won’t be so bad. We like Princess Isabella.”

“I love Princess Isabella.” Cesario was six years old and infatuated with Prince Escalus’s sister, who was twelve. He saw no impediment in the age gap—like my father, he had incredible confidence in himself and his own powers of persuasion.

“And we like food.” Katherina, thirteen, was trying hard to look on the bright side.

“The palace is infamous for its kitchen.” Emilia had just turned eight; she was the family wit and food critic.

“We’ll have to use our best manners.” For Imogene, this was clearly the worst of the upcoming ordeal.

“Tuesday is tomorrow night. ”

More gloomy silence.

“ ‘Within the hour’? Who says that?” Papà was incredulous.

“One assumes the prince,” Mamma said sensibly.

“We’re stuck.” Imogene expressed solid despair better than any of us.

Gloom deepened over my family: my parents, Romeo and Juliet, and my younger, still-living-at-home siblings Katherina, Imogene, Emilia, and Cesario.

Mamma had called us to the family table in the atrium of our spacious home in Verona for the reading of the invitation.

It was chilly out here; autumn had arrived early, but she was at the overheated portion of her pregnancy.

I spoke up. “I’ll write back and accept?” I asked brightly.

“Better let me do it.” Mamma lifted herself carefully out of her chair, hand on her back. Papà’s hand hovered behind her, but he didn’t dare help. She was also at the snappish part of her pregnancy. “I’m tactful, unlike everyone else in the family.”

Our faithful family nurse hurried over to offer her arm. Mamma took it and we watched them enter the library.

“It’s true,” Papà said. “Juliet can tell you to go to hell and make you look forward to the journey.”

“You would know.” Katherina grinned at him.

He didn’t grin back. “Yes . . . there’s something about having a baby that makes her look unfavorably on men in general— and me specifically. It might have something to do with waking up all night long to piss.”

“You could get up with her,” Imogene suggested.

“I tried that. It makes her angrier. Like a serpent maddened by night’s candleflames, she hisses at me.” The greatest swordsman in Verona actually looked frightened.

My mother is one of the kindest, most gentlewomen on the face of this flat earth and, it goes without saying, the most beautiful.

She was also one of the most formidable as the rude, curious, and unwary frequently discovered to their dismay.

I half hoped Prince Escalus would step over the line and find out the hard way, but I also half hoped Prince Escalus tripped and fell face-first in a pile of donkey dung, so you could say that, no matter my advanced age, my maturity was not to be admired.

“I’m sorry, dear famiglia, for being such an idiot.” If I’d apologized once, I’d apologized a hundred times.

Emilia asked what all my siblings were wondering. “Rosie, did you really f—”

Papà and I answered at the same time. “No!”

“Why not?” She may have been only eight, but in our family, what with the noises that came from our parents’ bedroom, we all had a good grasp of human nature, or at least human nature as related to Romeo and Juliet.

Romance and flirting led to passion, which led to singing bed ropes, which led to Mamma tossing her biscotti every morning and another baby in the family.

To Papà, the answer was easy. “We caught them in time.”

The real reason was a little different. “I realized I had the wrong gentleman in my arms and kicked him in the hairy hangers,” I replied.

Cesario and Papà winced and flinched.

“You kicked the prince? Good for you!” Imogene imitated a solid kick.

“Did you bring him to his knees?” More than the rest of us sisters, Emilia felt the indignation of being subservient to men, and fully supported bloodlust to right the unbalance.

“Not quite, but his breath’s release made a gratifying whooshing noise.” I’d lived on the satisfaction of that sound ever since.

Emilia got right to the heart of the matter. “Who was the right gentleman?”

I looked at her. Just looked at her.

Emilia had the makings of the second most sensible of the Montagues after me; now she exploded with exasperation.

“You were going out to meet Lysander? In the garden? In the dark? You could have been debauched! You could have been kidnapped! You could have been found with a knife in your chest! Remember Duke Stephano, your most recent betrothed, who was stabbed in that very garden!” She pointed, as if I didn’t remember the location of Duke Stephano’s stabbing. “Rosaline, what were you thinking?”

I exploded back at her. “I was thinking that Lysander’s family had said no to a match with me, and he loves me and asked me to figure out a way we could be together, and, you know, the swiftest path to marriage is the one through the bedroom!”

“That’s also the swiftest path to the nunnery!”

“The plan should have worked!”

“It didn’t!”

At the same time, Emilia and I realized our mother had returned from the library and stood viewing us both with disfavor.

She handed the sealed paper to our footman and in a soft voice said, “Please make sure that is delivered to Princess Isabella.” She turned to her family and said in an even softer voice, “The volume of Montague voices is most displeasing in young ladies and”—her own volume rose—“for at least the next two months or until I deliver this blessed babe, could I please have evidence that my daughters show some semblance of a proper upbringing rather than shaming me by braying like two donkeys?”

At once, Emilia and I were on our feet and curtsying. “Yes, Madam Mother. As you command, Madam Mother.”

Mamma continued, “Tomorrow night, we leave at seven. Before we leave, make sure you’re clean, dressed in the proper garments, and lined up for inspection.

There will be smiles. There will be manners.

There will be no excuses accepted. ” She waited until everyone was on their feet and bowing and curtsying and announcing, “Yes, Madam Mother. As you command, Madam Mother.” Then she pinned me with a level look that promised bloody retribution should I defy her.

“We go to support our beloved Rosie as she faces the future she created for herself, and to that end, Rosie will sweep aside her disgraceful indulgence in self-pity.”

“That’s not fair!” I protested. “Prince Escalus admits he eavesdropped on the plan to unite Lysander and me as a couple, diverted Lysander, and substituted himself—”

“Rosie’s disgraceful indulgence in self-pity, and her whining complaints of what is fair and not fair, will now end. Because what have I always told you children?” Mamma pointed a finger at us.

We cowered and recited, “‘Justice and life seldom walk hand in hand.’ ”

Her attention returned to me. “What does that mean?”

“ ‘Life ain’t fair.’ ” I now believed it fervently.

She used her gaze to hold mine. “Neither by word nor deed will Rosie sabotage her betrothal to the prince. With her deliberate attempt to take destiny in her own hands, she has angered the Fates and now she must face the consequences, which most in her position would consider an honor.”

While the prince’s union with me formed a short footbridge over a small social chasm and was in itself perfectly unremarkable, nevertheless the Montagues and the Capulets, wildly successful merchants all, didn’t regularly intermarry with the dukes and princes of Verona.

“Do you understand me, Rosaline Hortensa Magdelina Eleanor?” Mamma demanded.

It was always bad news when she called me by my full name. I curtsied and said, “Yes, Madam Mother.”

“What do I mean?”

I muttered, “That I can’t secretly meet Lysander ever again and I can’t say anything to Prince Escalus that will give him a disgust of me.”

“More than that, you’ll display the sweet side of your nature, which we as your family well know, to the prince, your betrothed.”

I nodded sullenly.

“What?” she snapped.

“Yes, Madam Mother. I will do as you instruct, Madam Mother.” I dared not put the slightest hint of defiance in my tone, and my deep curtsy reflected my absolute obedience to her as my commanding officer.

If her waiting stillness was anything to go by, she still wasn’t satisfied.

As I knew I must, I added, “I do so swear.”

Mamma’s gaze swept across me and my siblings like a scythe, leaving us awed, afraid and silent. In that tone that both condemned and commanded, she said, “Love teaches even asses to dance.”

The quiet continued until she entered her bedroom and Nurse delicately shut the door behind them.

“Not sure, Rosie,” Imogene said, “but I think Mamma is irritated with you.”

Heads nodded in unison.

“At least it’s not me,” Papà said cheerfully, and strode off whistling.

I’m so glad someone had something to be happy about. Gentle reader, in case you don’t know . . . that was also sarcasm.

Please don’t tell my mother.