This Bud of Love: Part Three

"Only my blood speaks to you"

May 4th
Continued from Part Two

If he had noticed the lonely book in the grass, Tybalt would have chosen another tree. He had wanted a place to sort his thoughts. Instead, he was stuck with a view that only scrambled them further.

He tried to negate the damage done by the face he could not see. Whatever he knew or didn't know about her was worked until it formed a piece of the wildly negative opinion he was determined to have. She was meek and quiet, he decided. She certainly did whatever she was told and was flustered by the indelicate and unpleasant. She was dull and simple. She stowed her thoughts in that sketchbook, which must reveal them to be dominated by flowers, birds, and feminine nonsense. She was blonde and blue-eyed, and when had that ever been appealing? She would undoubtedly age into her mother's sharp features but never her mother's backbone. And when she finally died, she would die silent, insipid, and entirely in the clutches of everything that was frilly and pink.

Pink and white, blue and gold...

If she didn't leave him alone soon, he would run mad.

Nearby, after dragging Benvolio away from the object of his bloodlust, the Montague brothers and their cousin lingered. Romeo and Mercutio were both dreading the tempest that would descend on their family. Bianca, who had been basking in her own brilliance, was sure to be violently angry over this defiance. Worse yet, Lord Montague was bound to burn some of his precious time regretting his approval of the scheme and berating everyone who dragged him into it. The only consolation to the brothers was that they had not been personally involved. This was all the more reason to prevent their cousin from instigating a civil war in their presence.

Benvolio was still put out. "We could yet go back and handle this like men."

"Coz, what are you after?"

"What we all ought to be!"

Mercutio hissed, "Give it up."

"And endure this insult?"

"For the present. Every war has its rules, and the victors will not break them in anger."

"If it suited you to be angry, you'd break his neck as soon as look at him!" Benvolio looked to his other cousin for support and found none. "Have you both lost your stomachs?"

Romeo rolled his eyes. "You've lost your senses."

"It's an offense to us all. If that milksop wishes to be a Capulet, he ought to know from the beginning what he's signed on for!"

"He's not one yet, and there's no hope of anything if you kill him."

He knew Mercutio was right. There were still ways to make Fitzwilliam Darcy switch his allegiance, but only so long as he was alive. Still, this insult, this rejection of Benvolio's innocent cousin for a Capulet, scoured his pride and his patience.

Romeo caught his companions' attention with a bought of snickering. "Look at this."

Three smirks appeared. The energy that might have been wasted on the Darcy problem would now be poured into the humiliation of Tybalt. After a quick glance around, the plan was decided upon. They would lure their opponent out by lavishing harmless but unsolicited attention on the girl. For the sake of surprise, Mercutio walked the other way, to close the noose around Tybalt when the game reached its apex.

But it was all over almost before it began. Tybalt scrambled up onto the high edge of the nearby tree limb to better see who was coming. The sight of Romeo and Benvolio approaching Georgiana pushed him over the ledge, literally. The men looked up and Georgiana turned her head to see what the noise was.

Benvolio was too consumed by laughter to say a word. It was Romeo who cried, "Finally lost your grip, Tybalt?" He was answered with a few grunts but no riposte.

While the men chuckled, Georgiana helped herself up. She looked expectantly at Romeo and Benvolio, who were still snickering at Tybalt. "Aren't you going to help him?"

"Tybalt, do you want helping up, so you can keep watch, or down, so you don't snap your pretty neck?"

A river of curses rolled on the back of his tongue, but he swallowed them all. Tybalt enjoyed the mud as much as any of them, but something had imposed upon him a most foreign sensation: civility. Still unable to give his adversaries the pleasure of 'assisting' him, he tried to slide down the rough-skinned limb. After just a few seconds, his burning hands forced him to let go and he dropped the remaining distance to the ground. He had shocked his joints, skinned his palms, and probably earned himself a leopard's share of bruises. Yet, however painful, pride demanded he stand up.

"I think this would make a pretty picture, Rom, don't you?" Benvolio picked up Georgiana's book and began flipping through it. "Let me find you a blank page."

"No! Give me my book, please."

When Georgiana's plea went unanswered, she reached to take it. Benvolio stopped flipping the pages but held it out of reach. "But just look.." He made a sweeping gesture at Tybalt, dirtied from his fall and closing in on them. "Is that not a pretty picture?"

"You are very kind," she lied, "but I would prefer to choose my own subjects. Return my book, please." Helplessly, she watched Romeo take the book from Benvolio's hands. "No! Please, sir, my sketchbook."

"Give Miss Darcy her book, now!"

Startled, Romeo fumbled the sketchbook. It splashed into the pond.

"Oh!" Georgiana reached for the sketchbook, but it was too late. The book was submerged and sinking out of reach. "Thirty sketches, at least," she lamented before turning on Romeo. "Why did you do that?"

Romeo was at a loss for words. The face was vaguely familiar; he had seen its like on a somewhat older lady, who he now realized was the girl's mother. Matchmaking and nuptial scheming being a lady's sport, he had never had an occasion during his aunt's campaign to meet Georgiana Darcy. He hoped his brother would make his appearance soon, because Romeo was too stunned to be useful. "I'll, uh... I'll get it back?"

"It's made of paper, you idiot!" Tybalt snapped.

Benvolio, who couldn't pretend not to enjoy this turn of events, cracked, "So is your-"

"Brother, coz!" Mercutio dashed onto the scene, pretending to be out of breath. Slyly, he glanced at Georgiana as she scurried past him to confirm his incredible bad luck. "I've been all over for you."

"You should keep your dogs on a leash," Tybalt sneered. "Or is harassing ladies part of the Montague code of honor now?"

"I didn't know you could recognize a lady with a full set of teeth and a clean face. You must be keeping better company these days."

"I know my bitches are better looking than your women, but they are still only dogs. Maybe if you count the legs next time, you'll be better able to tell the difference." Tybalt glared at Romeo and Benvolio, his warning given credence by his previously unwavering desire to beat the blood out of them at any opportunity. "Don't you have the Devil's bidding to do somewhere?"

Romeo had an answer, but he was silenced by Mercutio; this misadventure had gone on long enough. There was a chance, small as it was, that the girl would be too embarrassed to say anything to her brother, at least until the Montagues had formed their response to this shift in loyalties. If she went running for help because Tybalt was dead in the pond, it would do them no good. "We'll let him know you were looking for him, Tybalt."

As soon as Mercutio had dragged his relations out of sight, Georgiana turned to Tybalt with reproach in her eyes. "What were you thinking of? Are you hurt?"

He was expecting a scolding, but not one rooted in sympathetic concern. When he was chided for endangering this or ruining that, the subject was very rarely himself. Stunned and wholly unable to admit anything he had thought of in the last hour, he replied only with a dumb stare.

"Did you bump your head? I think you ought to sit down."

He muttered, "My head is fine," but obeyed. When she offered to fetch her brother, Tybalt bristled. "You shouldn't walk by yourself. Those creatures are still lurking somewhere."

"Surely they have no business with me. I am nothing to them."

Smacked by disbelief, Tybalt asked how she could think so. "Your drawings would be the least... that was nothing. From now on, just keep away from them. "

Her cheeks flushed again in shame. She begged Tybalt not to say anything of the incident. "Fitzwilliam will be very angry if he knows."

"He ought to."

"No, I mean that he will be angry with himself, for leaving me."

"He damn well should be!"

"But their family has been remarkably polite to us because of their intentions toward my brother. Until today, he could not have any reason to think they would turn on me, and surely they could not yet know."

"Know what?"

"That... that he will not marry their cousin." She immediately felt a sense of accomplishment; she had escaped the trap without lying.

Tybalt snorted. "Who would?"

"You really do dislike them all?"

"No, I hate them all. I hate the family, I hate their relatives, their allies, their friends."

"Then, if Fitzwilliam did marry Beatrice, you would have hated my family?"

Tybalt had always known his hate to be complete. He knew he would have hated her brother for his choice, her mother for supporting it, and of course all the heirs of the ugly alliance. If Beatrice Montague Darcy was abducted by vagabonds, he would have hired musicians and a troupe of actors to commemorate the event. But would he have hated her? He had gladly hated others for less.

Georgiana felt ashamed for forcing him into such a terrible spot. Civility always been a safe harbor for her, ready to provide a neutral remark that would take the sting out of an embarrassing situation. Was she suddenly lacking all politeness or was it just the strangeness of the situation?

A heavy, rushed set of footfalls drew both out of their contemplation. 

Sampson was a Capulet servant who generally found himself on the receiving end of orders from Tybalt. He had quick feet and a thick head that made him a fair buffer between Tybalt's sisters and any passing danger. They had been his charge when Tybalt was away at school (though Juliette had made a rule of giving him the slip.) As he hadn't been explicitly told to stop, he had continued whenever he had nothing else to do. A fellow servant had found him lurking near the entrance to the Duchess Gardens, waiting to be told to fetch the carriage, and delivered a message that eventually sent Sampson running and yelling wildly through the park. "M'lord!"

Tybalt glowered when the servant came into sight. "Everyone here could hear you! What are you shouting for?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," he stammered. "I... you..."

"Were you hit on the head, Sampson?"

"No, sir."

"Then what is so godda- what is so important?"

"Sir, your lady sister needs your assistance."

Immediately, Tybalt's fists formed. "Has she been harmed?"

"No, sir! But she is by the entrance and begs you to come immediately."

Georgiana froze in fear of the other obvious reason for Juliette's need, muttering her brother's name.

Tybalt yelled a last time at the servant, ordering him to go back and guard Juliette. He hadn't heard Georgiana's distress, but he couldn't leave her by herself with the Montagues about. "Come on, we have to go."

The voice yanked her out of her thoughts. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "Please, you should go. I will follow."

"You can't stay here alone. Come along." Impatient, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. They had traveled an awkwardly long distance before he dropped her hand. Soon after, they were treated to the sight of their loved ones gloomy but whole.

They shared only a moment of partial relief before their personalities parted ways. Tybalt launched into a gruff inquiry; Georgiana stood back, calm now that she saw her brother was safe. To avoid drawing her brother's attention away from Juliette, she looked idly down at her hands. Her right palm was smeared with dirt and speckled with blood.

"Dearest?"

Georgiana jumped again, surprised this time by her brother. She rubbed her hands nervously. "What is the matter?"

He held her arms firmly, anticipating her reaction. "Their grandfather has taken ill, very ill."

Next Post: "Delays have dangerous ends."