“I can see well,” she commented lightly. It was only as he nodded and grunted in agreement that she noticed that he’d changed the subject. She wondered why.
He’s a viscount, and he seemed very confident when I first met him at the ball,she thought with a little smile. He’d seemed arrogant that day, barely looking at her. He would surely be at ease in any discussion. He boldly stared down theTon, even when the entire hallway of people stared when she’d slipped on the stairs. She frowned, thinking. Lord Blackburne had caught her, pulling her back so she could balance. Did he think her a blundering fool? If he did, he hadn’t shown it. He was polite and kind. Would he be so nice to a timid, uninteresting creature? It seemed as though he didn’t see her that way and she couldn’t understand it. He seemed to want to talk with her. She leaned back and she racked her brains trying to think of something to say.
“What do you think of Shakespeare’s plays?” she asked him swiftly.
He blinked, as if he was surprised to be spoken to.
“I have always enjoyed Hamlet.” He answered slowly, carefully, as though he was also nervous about speaking to her.
“I am partial to Hamlet too,” she confided, pleased to be talking. “I’m glad it’s showing tonight.”
“Me, too.” He smiled, a sudden, bright expression that transformed his face. When he smiled, he was stunning. He frowned, and she thought for a moment that she’d offended him, but he gestured down at the audience below.
“The play’s about to start,” he commented.
“Oh. Yes.” She whispered back. The curtains were lifting and, in spite of herself, she found herself gripping the seat with excitement. The curtain rose slowly, and the actors appeared.
The beginning of the play was eerie and dramatic—Horatio, on the battlements, being visited by Hamlet’s father’s ghost, who insisted that he’d been killed in cold blood. Bernadette gazed down, watching the actors, lost in the action of the story.
Beside her, she heard Lord Blackburne draw in a sharp breath. She turned, gazing at him. He was focused on the stage, an expression of sadness on his face. She felt her heart stop for a moment. She knew nothing about him. No stories, no sorrows, no aspirations that might explain that expression on his face. He was a total stranger.
She felt an ache inside. She was a stranger to him, too. And with Judy sitting watching them, even though her presence was discreet, it felt hard to get to know him.
She glanced down at the stage again. The scene had shifted to Hamlet greeting his mother and treacherous uncle at the palace. She watched it distractedly, trying to ignore the derogatory comments from the pit directed at Hamlet’s uncle. The audience was always rowdy, and it was difficult to concentrate due to their disparaging of actors or characters they found not to their liking.
Lord Blackburne blinked again, his face twitching in a way she thought meant discomfort. He, evidently, didn’t like the yelling and the noise either. She felt a twist of sympathy for him. She also wished they’d let them watch the play in peace.
The audience fell blessedly silent again—except for whispers and comments too soft to hear properly—and the first interval arrived. The noise in the theater increased dramatically as the lights were turned higher again, then the swell of speech settled. Bernadette turned to Lord Blackburne.
“How did you enjoy it?” she asked nervously. She had to talk loudly to be heard over the din in the theater around them.
“Sorry?” he blinked. “Oh. The play? I enjoyed it.” He had to shout, too, and she grinned despite herself at the amusing situation. He grinned back.
She stopped thinking altogether, lost in the blue, intense gaze. His smile lit his eyes and even with the lights bright again, she barely noticed his scar. The rest of his face was so handsomewhen he smiled that it didn’t cross her mind to focus on it.
“It’s quite noisy,” she commented, giggling.
“A bit!” He yelled back.
She chuckled out loud.
“I liked the play, too,” she commented, distracted as he smiled at her. “I thought Hamlet showed some excellent acting. Very convincing.”
“Me, too,” he agreed. “And Ophelia. She’s excellent as well.”
“She is,” Bernadette commented.
“Poor girl. First warned against him, then forced to court Hamlet by her ambitious father.” He tilted his head and Bernadette wondered for a moment why he was fixing her with such an intent stare. She cleared her throat.
“But she wished to,” she said quickly. That was her understanding of the play. “It wasn’t just her father who wanted her to. I think that’s quite clear, later on.”
“You think so?” He sounded dubious.
She nodded briskly. “Absolutely! Despite how it began, real love grew between those two. That’s what made it such a tragedy.” She held his gaze; quite sure that she was right. She’d read almost all of Shakespeare’s plays, andHamletmore than once since it was one of her favorite ones.
“You think so?” he asked again.
“Yes. I’m quite convinced. Read it again. You will find yourself sharing my opinion.”
