What is Your Will?

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."

July 1st

July had dawned warm and sunny in Verona. Even Montague Court was brighter and lighter in the glow of summer, when the scent of flowers wafted through every wood-latticed window. Still, Beatrice had been glad to wake up to a day when she had somewhere else to be. Her joy had only increased to hear that her father was 'indisposed' and would be staying at home with her grandmother and her grandmother's ladies-in-waiting. Paulina and Mercutio's party would be so much more pleasant without the chill between the Montague men spoiling the summer warmth.

But, once she arrived with her aunt and brother, Beatrice felt a touch overwhelmed by the crowd on the terrace. She wandered out onto the grass and advantageously positioned herself beside a lush, green fruit tree. From here, she could watch everyone and, she hoped, notice when the person she most wanted to see arrived.

Henry Nowell was intelligent, possessed of a good sense of humor, and handsome, in his own way. Most stunning to Beatrice, however, was his presence. He could own any room he entered. When the old dukes of Verona were announced by heralds or horns, they had attempted to create the dignity that came to Henry naturally. Beatrice knew all too well that there were men who would act on merely the pretense of that dignity and its attendant arrogance. Henry was full of confidence, but Beatrice did not find him especially arrogant.

Many days, she thought it would be a dream to marry him for all these reasons. She was his equal. She was beautiful, intelligent, and charming when she so chose. They could restore Illyria Park to light and life and happiness, filling it up with friends and a sprinkling of beautiful, charming children. And if it came to pass, they would do the same at Nowell Castle. Why shouldn't Beatrice Montague become Lady Nowell?

But there were other days - fewer days, but days enough. They were days when all the world was gray and nothing grayer in it than Beatrice herself. Those days, she felt ashen and spiritless. Not only didn't she feel like a golden lady, she couldn't even bear the idea of pretending. It was too much effort for too little reward. What would the golden lord say on the day when his trussed-up rag girl couldn't fool anyone? 

"Lady Beatrice."

"Lord Henry." She curtsied. Lately, she had often granted him the favor of her hand in greeting. Today, it remained at her side, and he had stopped himself from reaching partway. Today was a day between gold and gray.

While even more guests filtered in and mingled with the early arrivals on the terrace, Beatrice and Henry chatted in the garden. They spoke of mundane things, which suited Beatrice's introspective mood. She spent some energy on pretending to be thrilled for her cousins' new home. While it was perfectly lovely and a charming gesture for Mercutio to give his orphaned wife a home of her own, Beatrice still smarted from the loss of their company. Her consolation while her cousins were on their wedding tour had been the thought that Paulina could help her bear the trial of living under the roof of Montague Court. Instead, she was free as a bird, and Beatrice was still in her ancient and honorable cage. 

She indulged an sudden urge to walk, and Henry followed.

"What do you think of women?" she asked out of the blue.

Henry cocked a brow and sprouted a smile. "A trap, my lady?"

"How would it be a trap? I'm asking your opinion on half the people in the world."

"The half which you are part of and I am not, the half which always garners the more dangerous opinion." 

She nodded and started to walk away, daring him to follow her. She smiled to hear his shoes hurrying across the grass. "And why do you think that is, my lord? Are women controversial?"

"Of course not."

"Of course we are," she countered immediately. "Take the noble houses for an example. Half of the world is female, but far fewer than half the houses are controlled by women."

"Noble houses were built up by warriors. Nearly all warriors are men."

"I don't see either of our fathers riding off into battle if war came to the realm. Do you?" 

Henry smiled and admitted that he did not. "I likewise do not see your aunt or my sister leading the charge. War is for young men. Your brother and your cousins would lead your house, as I would for mine."

What a comfort, to rely on Benedick's sword! She had to sit to endure that thought. "And what if you and my brother and my cousins had not been brought up to it?" 

"How so?"

Beatrice struggled not to sigh. "If you had been given needle and thread, not shield and sword? Would you lead because you are trained or because you are men?" 

"Both, I imagine. Men are larger and stronger - usually, at least." Henry noticed that his answer was not entirely pleasing to the lady. Her questions were strange and flowed from a still-obscured source. Short as it had been, their acquaintance gave him no reason to think Lady Beatrice had a real desire to go into battle. As he very much wished to continue that acquaintance, he summoned his best guess of an answer. "I believe the tradition of ladies' archery has many instances of ladies leading a defense. My sister, again, may not be such a lady, but my niece would be." 'Niece' always struck his ears as odd. Cecily was nearly three years his senior. "Although, I would not want to waste the best strategist in the family as an archer." 

"Indeed?" was all Beatrice could say to that.

"My brother, may he rest in peace, had quite... traditional ideas. My niece has never subscribed to anyone else's way of thinking. When her father decided she ought to be married and she disagreed, her father lost the war."

"And which side did your father take?"

Henry felt the heat rising up from the hell beneath this precipice. He now knew where the lady had led him and wherefore. "My father's presence is never lightly felt. Cecily was capable of putting up her own defense without his immediate interference. Likewise, he did not interfere when she made her choice - although, he does derive a good deal of joy from harassing her husband, nearly as much as from harassing my sister's husband."

"Why does he harass Lord Fitzwilliam? Doesn't he consider it a good marriage?"

"Maria does. Being the lady of a great house was what she wanted, and the match certainly has not done our family any harm." And even if it did, Maria would get what she wanted all the same. "It's much the same with Cecily. My father knows they are both content and comfortable, and he exploits his age as an excuse to irritate their husbands."

"And your brothers' wives?"

"Cecily is her mother's daughter; Mary would have snapped right back at him if he tried." Henry quietly snickered. "I've not seen him mark either of them for any extraordinary teasing. I think he likes Mary quite well, and I know he appreciates Fabian's wife, Anne, for being calm and dutiful."

If this wasn't an outrageously progressive philosophy, it was liberal enough to make Beatrice jealous. She didn't know the women of the Nowell family very well, but Henry's descriptions implied they were heterogeneous group. There was no shame in being dutiful, if one was properly appreciated. Calm was sometimes out of her grasp, but she could often use her overflow of energy for good.

Why, then, did she still feel so intimidated? 

"I'm sorry to break up this tête-à-tête."

Henry and Beatrice looked up to see a delighted Paulina. Beatrice knew the purple and white silk gown was new, and she marveled at how well it matched the necklace she had often seen gracing the neck of her late Aunt Olivia. Marriage agreed with her. 

Henry stood as soon as his hostess stepped past him and politely bowed to her. Wearing his most charming smile, he offered Lady Beatrice the hand he had withheld earlier, to help her stand. Her acceptance greatly pleased him. Less pleasing was Lady Paulina sending him over to join the others, who were sitting down to the meal, while she held her cousin back.

"You were enjoying yourself," Paulina teased, once Henry was out of earshot. "I can't blame you. He is handsome and amiable and intelligent."

Beatrice agreed, though she almost begrudged Paulina her teasing. "But I think I may need more than a handful of tête-à-têtes to make any greater judgments. Benedick is constantly inserting himself into the conversation when Henry calls alone, and my grandmother and aunt seem to think the realm will fall if they don't linger at finger's length."

"I'm so glad to hear that!"

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. 

"It suits my plans perfectly." Paulina went on to thank Beatrice yet again for helping her plan the party. Social gatherings were not a primary objective of a convent education, whereas Beatrice had been bombarded with the finer point of such things for years. Paulina insisted she could not have done this without her. Indeed, she was anxious to have Beatrice's help for more of these types of duties while Paulina found her footing as a lord's wife. "You are the nearest thing I have to a sister, in truth, and I might have been expected to ask a sister to stay with me at times. I would be delighted if you would consider coming to stay a few months, at least, with me."

Away from home. Out of Montague Court. Away from Father and Grandmother. Away from Aunt Bianca, too, but that wouldn't be so bad. Parties and young people... and Lord Henry?

"Yes, of course!"

That evening, when about half the guests had left, Beatrice couldn't wait any longer to sow the idea with Aunt Bianca. Her aunt, though inordinately attentive, was her strongest ally. She knew what it was to be trapped, and she had done everything in her power to help Beatrice find her way out.

So, when her aunt pulled her away from the group and into a solitary courtyard, Beatrice was puzzled. 

"You must remember whose side you are on, Beatrice. Don't you dare mention this scheme to your father." Bianca's voice was a whisper, but it cut the warm air like a sword.

"Whose side? What are you talking about?" Confusion darkened her expression. "What is wrong with visiting my cousins?"

"Do you think your father wants his daughter, his only daughter, living with someone he doesn't trust? He isn't blind to what you think of him, you know."

Planted against her legs, Beatrice's fists curled. Her short nails dug painfully into the skin, siphoning off barely enough anger to keep her standing firm. "Well, I'm not blind to what he thinks of me, either. Why should I let what any of them think about titles and politics decide what I do when it doesn't help me one bit? And maybe we shouldn't have wasted six months mourning Grandfather if Father was so unhappy with his will!"

"Do you want to know something about that will?" Bianca's voice remained low and dangerous - much unlike how it ever had been when she spoke to Beatrice in the past. "Your cousins conspired to change the will in Mercutio's favor. Your father has every reason to mistrust him, and so do you. You don't suppose your grandfather would approve of forgery, do you?"

She looked askance at her aunt. There was anger inside of Beatrice, but a healthy dose of suspicion coated it and reflected outward. She knew Aunt Bianca was loyal to her father, but she also knew her aunt loved her and her cousins. "Why are you lying to me?"

"Lying? I was in the room when the will was read. There was a fake codicil attached, planted by your cousins."

"There were two."

"No... how? How did-"

"Father planted his own forgery, so they cancelled each other out. They're equally dishonest, and you know it! Why did you lie to me?"

A chill set in as the sun breathed its last. Beatrice wasn't strictly afraid of her aunt, but she did fear this was some permanent characteristic that lurked within. How could this woman, this woman who knew what it was to be trapped, suddenly be so committed to trapping her? "I want to get out of there, just for a little while! Why are you trying to stop me?"

"Ladies, Paulina is asking for you. She's serving the cakes."

Romeo's appearance stopped any answer. It also shook Bianca loose of her icy air. When she turned back, though her lips were pursed, she was once again the aunt Beatrice loved. "He does love you, for all you can't see it. You will get out, love. There is no need to burn the bridge behind you." 

Watching her aunt leave, Beatrice stepped out onto the gravel path. Her heart still quaked. She felt tired from just that small bit of confrontation - another reason to doubt she could ever amount to anything great. Her emotions fueled her discontent, but when had she ever had the fire needed to break free? Perhaps she was born to be a bird, not a dragon from some fantastical, untrue tale. But then, didn't they both have wings?

"Coz? Is everything all right?" Romeo was genuinely concerned.

"Is there a strawberry cream cake?"

His cousin's cryptic, oddly-timed question confused him. "Yes?"

"Then everything will be fine."

... because, one way or another, I am getting out.

Next Post: "The bow is bent and drawn."