His curiosity was piqued. He thought a Shakespeare lover would enjoy all his works. “You don’t find the story of a great warrior totally enraptured by the queen of the largest African country to your liking?”
She shook her head and pulled the pages to her bosom. “No, Bex. I do not.”
The woman was quite adorable holding his script with such a serious pout. Was she again fretting? He needed to become better at engaging her, even as his own attention drifted from the road. “I am at a loss, Ester. I thought we were of like minds, yet how could you not find the story of a Roman soldier and an African queen not similar to, say, us? Albeit, I’m from Liverpool, very close to where the Normans, the Roman’s descendants, came through.”
His jest didn’t seem to amuse her, not if her spreading grimace was an indication. “It’s not like us, Bex. It should never be anything like us.”
Glancing at her and her rising tone, he saw her fingers tightening about his papers. “But their love was so powerful. Aren’t you looking for a love like that?”
“No, Bex. I’m not. Their love was deceitful. Antony was married when he took up with Cleopatra. He was with the queen when his first wife died. How disloyal can a fellow be? Maybe Antony thought he’d get his wife pearls upon his return to gain forgiveness. Pity the wife never collected.”
Arthur fanned his hat. “Uh, yes, Antony was a bit of a scoundrel at first, but you must concede he was devoted to Cleopatra.”
Ester made a horrible laugh before shoving his papers back into his bag. “How devoted could he be? And to whom—the second woman he married, or the queen he returns to and with whom he continues an adulterous affair? I think Antony is horrid.”
“Maybe you are missing the point. It’s a classic love story. His marriages were political.”
“Bex, don’t tell me they were marriages of convenience. That still wouldn’t make me have sympathy for Antony or his portrayers.”
Arthur hadn’t thought about the play like that, and with Ester still smarting over her father’s infidelity, he heard the pain she hadn’t forgiven. He rubbed at his neck. “I can see your point. It was wrong to engage in the illicit affair, but that is how Shakespeare sculpts the web of their relationship.”
Ester tossed her head back onto the seat. “Webs are sticky. You do things for one reason, but you become entangled in another until you can’t break free. A neglected spouse, working all the time, too much to do to come straight home. Webs are ruinous.”
Yes, they were. This wasn’t going well, but at least she wasn’t fretting at his driving. Might as well push farther down this hole. “Do you think the queen was at fault?”
Cutting her eyes at him, Ester said, “Antony is responsible for his choices, but I wonder why he chose her, other than for her beauty. Every time Antony needed her help, Cleopatra was untrustworthy. She left her great love in need, and his ships were defeated. How can there be love, even a little love, if there is no trust? I hope we are never like them.”
One forbidden glimpse at Ester revealed tears in her eyes—wet, topaz eyes. His chest ached as he turned back to the rocky road. “It’s just a play, dearest, not our story. I’m not Antony. You’re not Cleopatra. What’s the matter?”
She fished in her bag for a handkerchief. “I don’t know why it matters to me. I mean it happened years ago. Mama has forgiven my father. Why can’t I? Why am I holding on to the grief?”
They were getting to the steeper parts of the terrain. It was either pull to the side now or have to wait hours. One look at Ester and there was no choice. He slowed the carriage to a crawl then edged over to the side of the road and parked. Slipping his hand about her, he tugged Ester, small delicate Ester, into his chest. His lips found her brow, and he kissed away the creases. The sweet scent of lilac from the soap she used to wash her face was still there. The sweetness so fragrant, so enticing. “Don’t cry, Ester. Your father’s a flawed man. Most men are.”
Fisting her hands, she beat upon his chest, but he did not let go. “You can’t be like that. You can’t lie to my face and say we are everything and then risk it all for a Cleopatra. Papa was perfect. Tall and strong. You can’t be like him.”
Arthur rubbed her back, settling Ester more firmly against him. “Your father, Antony…neither thought of the risks. If your father had properly weighed them, I am sure he’d have chosen the right course. But that is your parent’s marriage. Their lack of happiness or discord will be nothing to us. We won’t be foolish, Ester. We won’t squander what we have.”
“What do we have, Bex? A response to a newspaper advertisement that wasn’t even mine? You don’t know anything about me. You just mentioned you were from Liverpool, but what else do I know? You raised yourself, nothing of your connections. Nothing but what has been in the newspapers, the caricatures of the scandals. Will you leave me when things get tough? Things always get tough.”
Lifting her chin, he spoke of what he did know. “Ester, I’ve known you for two days. It’s not a lifetime, but I’ve never felt more like sharing a life with someone than I do with you. I’m not promising a grand passion, or that we’ll never argue. We’ve already done that.”
“Yes.” She sniffled. “You can be condescending.”
He tapped her nose, tracing the slight arch until he met her cheek. “And you, my dear, will not think of your own safety, in spite of my wishes.”
“’Tis true, Bex. I can be stubborn like my father. That has to be bad.”
“Ester Croome, I know I can depend upon you. That’s important to me. You’re right. I have to learn how to not be a loner, but you are the one I want to learn that with.”
Any doubts about them not being of one mind had diminished to almost nonexistence. Ester was a quiet person, but not passive, and if she truly loved him, Arthur knew she’d fight for him. Wasn’t that what he wanted in a wife above all else—someone to believe in him and recommend him?
Forgetting his past, stuffing it away to the rear of his brain, he gripped her delicate palm, her graceful fingers, so warm and full of life. “I promise you fidelity, Ester Croome. I promise to tell you the truth to anything you ask. I’ll cherish what we build. I won’t take it for granted.”
She pushed away to the edge of the gig as if she’d jump. “Please don’t make promises, Bex. I know things change. One minute everyone is happy. The next, not so much. I’ve admired you for two years. Maybe that has blinded me to our incompatibility. Maybe this crazy trip and lack of sleep has blinded you, too.”
“Ester, I’d rather you not see my flaws. They’re daunting.”
“What if I’m your Cleopatra and every time you need me to defend you, I shrink away? I’m a private person. You’ll push for abolition and you’ll keep fighting, but it is so dangerous. What if you need me to support you, and I can’t because I’m afraid of you getting hurt?”
