Page 37 of To Marry and to Meddle
“Cecil Lucifer Beelzebub,” Julian said, setting his teacup down and rising to his feet, “is a menace.” He began to walk toward her.
“Did you have some sort of traumatizing childhood experience with cats?” Emily asked indignantly. “I can’t think what else could explain this sort of antagonism.”
“Can’t you?” Julian asked. “Need I remind you of the fact that Cecil Lucifer Beelzebub spoiled our wedding night?”
Emily blushed. “We more than made up for it.”
“Eventually,” Julian said, looking pained. “And to answer your question, I adored cats as a boy. One of our barn cats had a litter ofkittens the year I was eleven, and Robert, Frannie, and I were each allowed to name one.”
“What was yours called?” Emily asked.
“Puck.”
“Puck,” Emily repeated slowly. “As in—”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream, yes,” Julian said, waving an impatient hand.
Emily giggled. Julian sighed. “Yes, I know,” he said, with the air of a man who had heard jokes along these lines many times before. “It’s all very predictable.”
“I must confess, I don’t know many eleven-year-olds who are so taken with Shakespeare,” Emily said, still giggling. “Did you dream even then of a life on the stage?”
“Have you everseenthat play?” Julian asked indignantly. “It’s utter madness. Precisely the sort of thing that might appeal to a boy. My father—” He broke off abruptly, seemingly startled by the words that had come out of his mouth. Emily held her breath, not wishing to push, but so terribly curious nonetheless.
“There was a theater troupe that came to the neighboring village one summer,” Julian said after a brief pause. “I went to see their rendition ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream—which was somewhat colorful, shall we say—and I became a bit obsessed.” He was standing before her, gazing down at her from his considerable height as he spoke, and Emily found herself drawn to the force of his gaze, unable to look away. “I memorized several of the monologues and was known to recite them at the dinner table.”
Emily could not help wondering what had happened to this boy—this boy whose family seemed like such a loving and welcoming one, so unlike her own; this boy who had adored the madness and humor ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream. How had this boy become a man who had spent years not speaking to his own father? How had this boy become a man who thought thatMuch Ado About Nothingwas a play that needed to be turned into serious philosophical fare?
How had this boy forgotten how to love the things he loved?
She knew she had to tread carefully here, so, a bit hesitantly, she asked, “Did your parents permit monologues at the dinner table?”
He was silent for a long enough moment that she thought he wasn’t going to answer, before finally saying, “Yes. They… humored me. All three of us, really, but me in particular—I was always something of a troublemaker.”
“I’m shocked,” Emily murmured, straight-faced, and Julian grinned at her, quickly and fleetingly.
“I did it a bit deliberately, I suppose—my father and brother are both the upstanding, well-behaved sort, so I took some pleasure in provoking them, trying to get a reaction, to see what I could get away with. As many boys do, I expect.”
The words sprang to her lips before she had time to consider their wisdom, and she asked, “Is that why you purchased the Belfry? To see how your father would react?”
The grin that had appeared on his face a moment before vanished, and he cut his glance away, gazing down into the contents of his teacup, the firelight casting dancing shadows upon his face. He looked surprisingly young, she thought, when the full force of that icy gaze wasn’t evident—his eyelashes unfairly long against his cheeks, his brow slightly furrowed in thought, his mouth curving faintly down at the edges.
“Perhaps,” he said simply, after a long moment of silence, glancing up again to meet her eyes. “I wanted to see how far I could pushhim—how much I could test him—before he became truly angry. And even then, he indulged me… for a while.” A wry, bitter sort of smile twisted his lips. “Until he didn’t.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been told the full story—I don’t know how accurate theton’s gossip is in this regard—but my father tolerated the Belfry for several years. It was only when Frannie was making her debut that he lost patience and ordered me to sell it. Obviously, I refused.”
“Do you… regret it?” she asked, knowing that she was pushing him, perhaps too far, but unable to stop herself, now that she was receiving this rare glimpse into his thoughts.
He sighed. “I regret any pain I’ve caused my mother,” he said. “I regret not seeing Robert and Frannie as often as I’d wish to—I regret that my meetings with them have to be a bit furtive, that I can’t simply come to a family dinner. But I don’t regret the Belfry—I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished there. And if my father can’t see that, if he’s more concerned about scandal than about me, then—well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”
He sounded almost as if he were trying to convince himself, she thought suddenly, and she thought anew about his wish to make the Belfry respectable, proper, impressive, and wondered at once who, precisely, he was trying to impress.
He rose to his feet abruptly, setting down his teacup and advancing toward her. She reached up and placed her hand in his, allowing him to draw her to her feet. “I don’t wish to discuss my family any longer,” he murmured.
“Oh?” she said, feigning innocence. “Did you wish to discuss Shakespeare some more, instead?”
“No,” he said, reaching out to run a hand lazily down her arm, causing gooseflesh to appear in the wake of his touch. “I’m moreinterested in continuing to address the matter of our aborted wedding night—we’ve some lost time to make up for, after all, do we not?”
Emily glanced out the window. “But—but it’s theafternoon,” she said uncertainly. Surely it wasn’t proper to do such things during the daylight hours.
“All the better to see you, then,” Julian murmured, his arms reaching around her to tug at the strings that held the neckline of her gown closed.
