Or perhaps he would study animals, she thought, remembering the squirrel.
“Do you have a telescope?” Aunt Knowe asked him, obviously coming to the same conclusion.
“No need,” Thaddeus said. “I outgrew the interests of my boyhood.”
Joan stood quietly, watching his face as he explained the mysteries of the universe to her aunt. She was in trouble.
She felt far too much.
A dangerous amount. She had instantly decided to give him a telescope for his birthday.
Ladies didn’t give gentlemen gifts . . . unless they were married to them.
She shouldn’t have taken off her shirt on the island, let alone allowed the intimacies that followed. She should have guarded her heart.
Even looking at him made ripples of feeling wash through her body. Followed by a wave of panic. She had to cancel the trip to Wilmslow tomorrow. She didn’t particularly want to play Hamlet again, to be honest.
Her fervent wish to play before a public audience?
Not gone, but definitely muted. She’d learned something about herself in the course of the evening, and prudence suggested that she wave goodbye to Thaddeus Erskine Shaw and set about getting herself into a sane frame of mind.
Plus, there was the bargain she’d struck with Thaddeus: She would perform for a live audience, and he would find her a husband.
No performance, no husband.
That was a double no when it came to finding him a wife. He could find his own wife. She wanted nothing to do with it.
A flurry of movement caught her eye, and she realized that Viola was waving at her from the other side of the room. Her stepsister was seated in a large chair brought into the ballroom especially for her, as the imminent arrival of her child, despite Viola’s small frame, had made one of the flimsy gilt ballroom chairs an impossibility.
Joan dropped a curtsy to Thaddeus and Aunt Knowe, still talking of stars, and headed over to Viola. “Hello, V,” she said, sitting down and realizing (for the thousandth time) how comfortable she felt wearing Hamlet’s breeches rather than a voluminous gown.
“You were marvelous!” Viola said, beaming at her. “Wasn’t she, Devin?”
Devin was standing behind his wife, a hand on her shoulder as if he were poised to snatch her into his arms and head upstairs. “Yes,” her husband agreed, his eyes warm. “You were an excellent Hamlet.”
Joan grinned at her brother-in-law. He was a man of few words, but she had come to treasure every one. “Had you seen the play before?” she demanded. “Mr. Wooty just told me that my interpretation of Hamlet is the opposite of the Hamlet he usually stages.”
“A first encounter is the best way to judge a performance,” Devin countered. “I hadn’t realized Hamlet was such a dislikable character, but you were entirely believable.”
“He was so mean to poor Ophelia,” Viola said, squeezing Joan’s hand. “She was always my favorite character in the play. Shy, you could tell. At least, until she became mad.”
Devin cleared his throat. “I’m not certain that Otis deserves the same accolades as does Joan.”
“He doesn’t care,” Viola said, giggling. “Who is that extraordinarily pretty girl he eyed throughout the performance? He nearly fell off the stage at least twice.”
They looked across the room to where Otis and his father were talking to the Wooty family. Everyone was smiling.
“Dear me,” Devin said. “I believe that Otis has fallen in love.”
Joan managed a smile. She was happy for her friend. But she was jealous too.
She didn’t get a chance to talk to him for quite a while, until the theater company had retired to their wagons, the nursery had been ushered off to bed, Viola had departed on her husband’s arm, and everyone else was quietly leaving for their rooms.
“Otis!” she cried, catching his arm.
He turned to her with a beaming smile. “I’m betrothed!”
“I thought so.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Madeline is a lovely woman.”
“She’s beautiful, but most of all, she’s funny. I realized within an hour of talking to her that I couldn’t possibly marry anyone who didn’t make me laugh. She does.”
Joan kissed him again, and then said, “Otis, I’d rather not do the performance in Wilmslow tomorrow night, if you don’t mind.”
To her surprise, his brows drew together. “We’re traveling there tomorrow with the Wootys. I’ve talked them into staying at the inn with us.”
“I don’t want to do it,” Joan said, unable to explain that she didn’t want to spend time with Thaddeus.
“Is it because I’m such a bad Ophelia?” Otis asked. “Madeline said that I was fine until the mad scene in the throne room, but tomorrow I won’t let the absurdity get to me. I promise.”
“You were quite good,” Joan said, feeling even more crushed. “Especially when you gave a flower to my stepmother. And when you threw flowers to the children. They loved that.”
“Your stepmother’s name is Ophelia,” Otis said smugly. “I couldn’t neglect her under those circumstances.”
“I don’t want to do a public performance,” Joan said starkly.
“You weren’t a terrible Hamlet,” Otis protested.
“I knew the part. But I wasn’t a good Hamlet, Otis. And don’t try to tell me that I was. I’ve been going to plays for my entire life.”
“I thought you were excellent,” Otis said.
“I was adequate,” Joan corrected him. She had never been the sort of woman who lied to herself, not about her parentage, her prospects, or anything else.
“You can’t back out of tomorrow,” Otis said, abandoning the question of her acting skills. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking unusually stubborn. “The performance in Wilmslow has already been advertised. My future father-in-law can’t cancel it with no notice.”
“You could pay him to do so,” Joan suggested. “Buy out the theater.”
Otis rolled his eyes. “I’m not nearly as knowledgeable about the theater as you are, but even I know that the show must go on.”
Joan opened her mouth, but Otis raised his hand. “I would rather that my future wife has made her last public performance, because Madeline doesn’t care for the stage. When her parents died and she came to England, she had no choice. Therefore, I play Ophelia tomorrow night.”
“I feel for Madeline,” Joan said, “but I don’t want to play Hamlet again.”
“Your Hamlet was unusual,” Otis said encouragingly.
“Not heroic,” Joan said flatly.
“You certainly brought forward the prince’s less valiant side, but it’s there on the page. I was startled when Hamlet casually announced he’d had his two friends killed. I don’t remember that detail from when we read it at school.”
He caught her arm. “Please, Joan. I promised Madeline that I would take her part and I can’t do it without you.”
“I suppose I owe you, since I forced you into a corset in the first place,” Joan allowed.
Otis gave her a kiss and started to go, before turning back. “Don’t forget that my father and Thaddeus’s mother are accompanying us tomorrow, and they have no idea about the public performance. My man will sneak a trunk with your breeches onto the coach at first light tomorrow.”