Wilde Child by Eloisa James

Author:Eloisa James
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2021-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Joan strolled into the drawing room that night and realized instantly that Otis, who was usually of a sunny disposition, was not happy. He was seated on a sofa beside Aunt Knowe, his brows meeting above his nose.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“My father arrived this afternoon and will join us in a minute!” Otis hissed. “Prism didn’t warn me, and here I am.” He plucked at his gown with an expression of extreme distaste. “My father is going to be shocked, if not apoplectic. The only thing worse would be if Lady Bumtrinket made an appearance.”

“I told him that it would be better to get explanations out of the way now,” Aunt Knowe said, smiling broadly. “It’s good for a man to experience a surprise now and then.”

Joan opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the drawing room door opened. “Sir Reginald Murgatroyd,” Prism announced, nodding to Otis’s father. And, “The Duchess of Eversley.” Thaddeus’s mother.

Watching them stroll across the room was like waiting for the storm to roll onto the coast from the sea.

Otis seemed frozen. Sir Reginald was walking slowly, with Thaddeus’s mother on his arm. Speaking of whom, where was Thaddeus?

Otis tottered to his feet; Joan had to grab his elbow to keep him from falling over as his father and Her Grace appeared.

“Good evening, Lady Joan. What a pleasure to see you,” Sir Reginald said, bowing as deeply as his corset would allow.

“Good evening, Sir Reginald, Your Grace,” Joan said, dropping into a curtsy.

Otis’s father straightened. “And who is . . .” His voice died out, and Joan watched his face fade to the color of overcooked oatmeal. “Dear me. It seems to be . . . Otis. I didn’t—”

“I would curtsy,” Otis said, “but I find a corset to be confining. This is merely a jest, Father. You know I didn’t care for wearing a gown as a vicar.” There was a note of desperation in his voice.

“I find your son’s attire very amusing, Sir Reginald,” the duchess put in. “He’s been such a good sport, playing the role of Ophelia in Hamlet.”

“My father asked Otis to play Ophelia as a special favor. He didn’t want to. I am playing Hamlet,” Joan rattled off.

Sir Reginald blinked.

“In breeches,” she clarified.

“I wouldn’t be wearing this gown other than in rehearsal,” Otis added, “but the director feels that I do not appear sufficiently feminine. He asked me to remain in costume for the remaining days before the performance.”

“Instruct your man to shave you thrice before you go on stage,” his father said, his eyes resting on Otis’s chin. He turned to Joan. “Did you say that His Grace asked my son to play this role? Why, in God’s name? I am inordinately proud of my children, but Otis cannot be described as an attractive young lady.”

“I begged to play Hamlet,” Joan explained, “but my father insisted that Hamlet’s beloved, Ophelia, could not be a professional actor. I assure you that Otis was my last resort. I asked every lady in the castle.

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