“You would fit into my family so perfectly.” My words were the lament of a loving heart.
He ran his hands through his beautiful hair, paced away, then walked back.
It occurred to me how similar in track this conversation was to my earlier discussion with Cal.
Lysander’s determined chin warned me of a different tack. “I can support you in elegance, in luxury. I can invent the world anew for you, and for that, I will be paid admirably.”
“My friend, my love, do you believe that I make my decision by weighing how much each of you can give me in material goods?” In a deliberately sisterly gesture, I put my arm around his shoulders. “Do you really think that of me?”
“No.” He sounded wearily disgusted—I hoped with himself.
“Cal much envies you your talent and inventiveness.”
“Puhlease. He’s the prince of Verona!”
“As he pointed out, one of many princes past and future. You’re unique and hold the prospect of everlasting fame. Cal’s right; I’ve never met a man like you, and may never again, and my heart breaks knowing that I hurt you. Yet Prince Escalus would have me be happy.”
Lysander turned and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I can make you happy!”
When I disentangled myself, he didn’t try to hold me. “I have to make myself happy, and to do that, I make the honorable choice.” Taking his hands in mine, I put them palm to palm, as if in prayer, and, bowing down, kissed them and wept hot farewell tears.
As I ran toward the stairway, Lysander groaned in pain, yet I resolved I would never indulge in regrets.
For once, Elder intelligently said not a word.
CHAPTER61
Down the stairs I went, too fast for my still-wobbly knees, but always with a desperate urgency. Would I be too late to stop Cal from making his announcement? Halfway down the great walk, I saw Princess Isabella, skirts in hand, running toward me. “Rosie! Rosie! You’ve got to stop him!”
“Where is he?”
“On the balcony!”
The balcony where the podestà traditionally made his pronouncements, the balcony that was inset into the palace walls and provided protection for the prince from weather and attack.
“Come with me!” She ran through some door and up another flight of stairs, one I had never climbed—broad, shiny with wood, and on the landing a collection of noble marble busts of great antiquity.
Fittingly, I was on my way to the family’s private chambers. At the top, I had to stop a moment, to gasp and hold my ribs, but Princess Isabella would have none of that. She grabbed my arm and dragged me. “Hurry! He’s already speaking!” She stopped in front of a set of bronze doors of glorious workings, where Dion stood guard. “Open for us!”
I’d never heard her use such an imperious voice.
He blinked as if a kitten had slapped him with its claws, and obeyed.
I paused in my rush. “A sedan chair must at once go for Friar Laurence. Go you with it, and bid him bring herbs, potions, and tools for a bleeding wound. Hurry. Your master has need.”
“Come on!” Princess Isabella grabbed my hand and tugged me through the large, luxurious,gloomyroom, with its massive fireplace, massive bed, and massive wooden table scattered with maps, rolled parchments, and scribbled papers. From the open door at the far corner of the room, I could hear Cal speaking.
Were we too late?
In a low, rushed voice, Princess Isabella said, “Holofernes guards the door to the balcony. Marcellus guards my brother. I’ll create a diversion and you make Cal see sense!” Without pause, she ran around the corner and shrieked, “Holofernes, I declare my love for you now and in front of the world!”
Well, I hadn’t expected that! As I ran past the wide-eyed, white-faced Holofernes, I knew he hadn’t, either.
Still in the shadow of the room, I paused. Marcellus, indeed, stood at Cal’s shoulder in the middle of the balcony, where he could survey the citizenry for any threat, but now the threat came from within. He looked toward the door with a face like thunder personified.
Cal continued speaking, as if nothing untoward had occurred, and his intent expression made me think he hadn’t heard or didn’t care. He would finish his pronouncement regardless of the clamor behind.
Marcellus stalked toward me and, in a menacing tone, said, “You cannot stop him.”
