Forthwith his former state and being forgets,
Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.’”
He suddenly bowed with great embellishment before any applause was attempted. As he took his third bow, the stunned audience began to clap weakly for a performance that was obviously concluded.
Bartholomew soaked up the timid adoration like a sponge. As if he had just completed the greatest performance of his life, he thanked the crowd graciously, working his way toward the dais, shaking hands and kissing women’s palms as he went on his way. He knew, without question, that he was the greatest actor in all the civilized world. Soon enough, all of England would realize it as well.
The applause was already dying out as Richmond and Gavan watched him approach. “God’s Teeth,” Gavan muttered, rising from his crouch. “Of all the….”
Arissa shot him a nasty look, giving her brother a loud standing ovation as he approached. Gavan bit his tongue and removed himself from the dais lest Arissa physically attack him for his opinion. Richmond, however, was not so fortunate.
“That was by far the most unsuitable act….”
Arissa turned to him before he could finish his sentence. “If you say one negative word to him, Richmond le Bec, I shall have your head. Do you understand me?”
Richmond glanced at William, his back turned against his daughter and the great knight as he conversed softly with his wife. And Richmond had little doubt regarding the subject. Turning his gaze to Arissa once again, he nodded once in resignation. “Perfectly, kitten.”
Pleased with his submission, Arissa returned her focus to her brother as he came upon the table. His smile was bright as he took both of Arissa’s hands into his own, kissing them loudly.
“For you, my darling Riss,” he said happily. “Are you pleased?”
She nodded vigorously. “It was wonderful, Bart, simply wonderful. Thank you so much for a most memorable gift.”
His smile threatened to divide his face in half. He glanced at Richmond, waiting expectantly for the same words of praise. Richmond cocked a stubborn eyebrow until Arissa stepped onhis foot. It was not a painful action, but he took the hint nonetheless. It would please Arissa and, therefore, he would perjure himself.
“Most accomplished, Bart,” he mumbled.
Bartholomew bowed courteously in thanks. “I am glad you are pleased. I have saved several others for later this eve when everyone grows tired of dancing.”
William had turned away from Maude and sat listening to the conversation. Maude had managed to convince him to praise his son’s talents and he was fully prepared to do so. But when Bartholomew intimated that his performance was not yet complete, he could no longer remain silent.
“This is a party, Bart, not a theatre performance,” he said sternly. “You cannot expect people to sit still when there is music and food and entertainment to be had. Truthfully, I do believe one dose of Greek tragedy is quite enough.”
Arissa turned to her father, highly aware of her brother’s feelings. Bartholomew was terribly sensitive when it came to his craft.
“I…. I think it would be wonderful, Father,” she insisted. “Mayhap Bart could grant us another recitation later on this evening. I would certainly enjoy it, and you saw the favorable reaction of our guests to his act.”
William cast her a droll, irritable glance. “Aye, I saw their reaction. And I would hardly call it favorable.”
“It was grand!” Maude leapt to her son’s defense. “However, I would suggest that you change out of your costume and enjoy the evening. You are a host and certainly not expected to entertain your guests as a common artisan. Truthfully, dear, it is beneath your station as heir to the earldom to perform in front of those you would preside over.”
Leave it to Maude to tactfully put an end to Bartholomew’s act. His expression dampened somewhat and he glanced atArissa uncertainly. Seeing his indecision, Arissa took her mother’s lead.
“I must agree with mother, Bart,” she said gently. “Although your performance was magnificent, it is quite different when you perform for the immediate family. To display yourself for your vassals, subjecting yourself to their review, is hardly fitting for the future earl.”
Bartholomew’s gaze roved over the entire table, his eyes veiled with doubt. After a moment, he nodded reluctantly. “If that is your wish, then I shall adhere to it. I am sorry you feel that way.”
Arissa could see that his feelings were hurt and she hastened to assure him. “Truly, Bart, I could listen to you all night. Please do not be angry.”
He shook his head, his mood damp and his demeanor somber. “I am not. I suppose I shall go and change so that I may join the festivities,” he slanted his father a cold glance. “So that I may blend in with the crowd. That is what you want, is it not? You would have me be like all the rest so that you are not embarrassed by your son, the eccentric.”
He moved across the room, leaving Arissa in tears. As Regine slipped after her brother, William sighed heavily. “’Tis about time he realizes my view. It’s taken him a long time to become aware of his station in life. Mayhap now he will even reconsider his knighthood and forget about this ridiculous thespian art.”
Arissa turned to her father. “How can you be so heartless? Bart is a deeply sensitive man with a good deal of intelligence and vigor. How can you quash his spirit under your boot as one would a spider?”
“Do not fret so, Riss,” William saw her tears but, as usual, was not overly swayed. Sometimes he was quite inept when it came to sensing the depths of the human soul. “He’s not quashed, but merely realizing his place in the world. He’s to bean earl, not an idiot performer with dreams of grandeur. The sooner he comes to grips with his destiny, the better for us all.”
Arissa stared at her father. He could be a callous man at times, with little understanding beyond very basic emotions. Even when it came to his own family. He viewed the world the way he wanted to see it or not at all; all else was scorned or ignored.
