Once Again a Bride - By Jane Ashford Page 0,40

certainly does,” replied Alec drily. And a bigger set of gamblers and lechers and incompetents could hardly be imagined.

“Claudius usurped the throne,” said Anne, savoring the verb.

“But how? With an army?” Lizzy wondered.

“With… um… persuasion and intrigue,” Charlotte offered, with admirable ingenuity, Alec thought.

Lizzy contemplated this as she finished her ice and reached for another. “Why didn’t he kill Hamlet then? In the history books people are always trying to make me read, they do that when they u… usurp.” She wrinkled her nose at their surprised expressions. “I have read some of them!”

“I expect he thought Hamlet’s mother wouldn’t like it,” Frances put in.

“Oh, yes. He wanted to get on her good side, because he wanted to marry her.” Lizzy nodded wisely.

Alec found he was smiling.

“She seems rather stupid, doesn’t she?” Lizzy looked from face to face. “I mean, she can’t understand why Hamlet is upset. But he didn’t get to be king. Why wouldn’t he be upset?”

“Very true,” said Alec. Lizzy shot him a glance, saw his smile, and returned it. Alec felt his chest lighten with relief. He didn’t enjoy being at odds with his sister.

“So, Hamlet thinks that his uncle killed his father. He knows his uncle married his mother and took away his kingdom?”

The rest of the party nodded, enjoyment of Lizzy’s commentary evident in all their faces.

“But he isn’t doing anything about it?”

“He’s thinking about what he should do,” said Anne.

Lizzy cocked her head. “He seems a bit damp, doesn’t he? Compared to King Arthur and his knights, or the princes in fairy tales? They’re always righting wrongs and fighting injustice. Hamlet just keeps talking.”

“Well done, Lizzy. You’ve hit on the characteristic he is most famous for,” Alec told her.

There was general laughter. Seeing Frances throw back her head and indulge in a hearty laugh, Alec was abruptly struck by the memory of a picnic, ten years or more ago. He’d been home from school, so it must have been during the summer holidays. Frances, his father, his brother, and sisters had all been there, around a bright blanket on the shore of the stream that ran through the estate. The picture was vivid in his mind—green grass and paler willows, splashes of wildflowers, the sound of water in the background and his family’s laughter close by. But mostly he remembered the feeling of contentment that had enveloped him that afternoon, for the first time in a long while, perhaps since his mother’s death. And he had known somehow, even at fourteen, that it came as a gift from Frances Cole. She didn’t laugh enough these days. He needed to see about that.

“What do you think Hamlet should do?” Charlotte was asking Lizzy when he came back to himself.

Lizzy’s dark blue eyes narrowed. She scraped the last of her second ice from the dish. “Challenge his uncle to a duel. They could fight each other for the kingdom.”

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Alec said. He would have preferred it over what was to come.

Lizzy looked around. “Is that what he does?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Anne told her.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose at her sister. “Well, next time I would rather see a comedy.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alec told her. “What do you think of the play, Anne? Is seeing better than reading?”

“Of course. Although Mr. Kean is…”

Alec waited.

“He seems awfully…” Anne searched for a word, “…excitable.”

Alec burst out laughing again, wholly in sympathy with his sisters. Charlotte was laughing, too. Their eyes caught and held, and Alec found he couldn’t look away from the warmth of those coppery depths. He wanted to… rise and… or reach out a hand. Anne leaned over to speak to her; Charlotte turned away. Alec kept gazing at her until the curtain rose, and Edmund Kean came railing and frothing onto the stage.

***

Ethan looked around the servants’ hall of Sir Alexander Wylde’s town house, at a circle of lamp-lit faces. With the family out for the evening, all the staff were present except Thomas, the coachman, and Jennings. As usual, she’d claimed she had tasks to do in her room. She put herself above the rest of them, Ethan thought, even the housekeeper, which was laying it on a bit thick.

Mrs. Wright knitted and kept a benign eye on the younger staff. Cook and Agnes were hulling chestnuts, some of which they’d roast in the fire later on. Ethan hefted his mug of mulled cider and let his gaze linger on Lucy. She was smiling; she looked happy.

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