A Foolish Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Quote Reference Guide

  Other titles by Martha Keyes

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Foolish Heart © 2020 by Martha Keyes. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover design by Martha Keyes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Martha Keyes

  http://www.marthakeyes.com

  First Printing: February 2020

  Dedicated to Mom, the woman who taught me—and seventeen years’ worth of sixth graders—to love and appreciate Shakespeare.

  Preface

  Creating a retelling is a challenging task—I knew that when I set out to begin the Regency Shakespeare series. Deciding how closely to keep to the original while also bringing a fresh take on a story is no small task, and certainly not less so for being one of Shakespeare’s beloved plays—in this case, the most beloved of all.

  I have done my best to provide an authentic, Regency spin on the play while preserving the fun and the sense of the ridiculous that characterize A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Whether you are a lifelong Shakespeare lover or have never read one of his plays, I hope you enjoy A Foolish Heart.

  Chapter One

  Mercy Marcotte couldn’t bring herself to look Solomon Kennett in the eye, instead training her gaze on the branches of the weeping willow which flowed with the light summer breeze. “I cannot marry you, Solomon.”

  His hold on her hands slackened. “What?”

  Mercy’s insides writhed wretchedly. But surely he would understand? In the blink of an eye, everything had changed, and her entire future—the one she had hardly been able to believe would be hers just a few days ago—had been pulled from under her.

  “Don’t do this, Mercy,” he said, the pain etched into each word. He tightened his grip on her hands again, and she could feel his energy and a hint of desperation in the gesture. “I swear to you that I will do whatever it takes to make a name and a fortune for myself again. I will not let you go wanting. We can postpone the wedding until the ground is more steady under my feet.”

  She wavered. This had been so much easier when she had practiced it in her head. But in her head, Solomon had merely listened to her, and she had been so persuasive that he hadn’t been able to help agreeing with her.

  She reminded herself what her mother and father had said. “You may as well go live with Aunt Mary’s family—may she rest in peace—if you are to marry a man in Mr. Kennett’s position.” Mercy had never met Aunt Mary or her family, but she had grown up hearing their names spoken with pity—particularly upon Aunt Mary’s death. She knew she had a cousin of similar age— Viola, apparently—but the Marcottes and the Pawnces may as well have lived in different worlds for the width of social gap between them. Was that what Mercy wanted for her own future family?

  Solomon put a hand to her cheek, and his intent gaze forced her reluctant eyes to his. “Mercy,” he said. A lock of his hair grazed his forehead with a flurry of wind. “You are young enough still that you cannot possibly know how long I have searched for exactly this—what you and I have together.” He brushed a thumb along her cheek, his head slowly shaking from side to side. “It is unique.” His voice pleaded with her.

  She would have agreed with him just three days ago. She’d had no desire then to see what else there was in the world—she had been perfectly content with the future before her, by the side of the man she loved.

  But the loss of an entire fortune was no small thing. And though it pained her deeply to hurt Solomon when the loss was no fault of his own, she saw no reasonable alternative.

  Had his father known what havoc he was wreaking when he staked what remained of the Kennett fortune? Or was he simply so selfish, so completely unable to control his propensity for gambling that it had never even occurred to him?

  She shut her eyes, her brows knitting together, then shook her head ever-so-slightly.

  His hand dropped from her cheek, and something shifted in his manner—a stiffness appearing. “I see. You cannot bring yourself to trust me enough to lay your worries at my feet. Do I have your family to thank for this sudden change?”

  How was he laying the blame at her door, or her family’s? She was not responsible for the situation in which they found themselves. She had wanted their future together as much as he did.

  But the future they agreed to when they became engaged...it no longer existed. And Mercy had to believe that there was still a bright future for her, much as she wished it could have been with Solomon.

  “I cannot deny that my parents encouraged me toward this decision—they want what is best for me, of course! But it is nothing against you, Solomon.” She reached for his hand.

  He turned away, rubbing at his chin harshly.

  “It is not personal.” Her voice sounded small and pathetic even to her.

  “Not personal? We are engaged, Mercy—set to tie ourselves to one another for the rest of our days. How can you claim that this is not personal?”

  The accusation in his tone raised her hackles, making her feel defensive and misunderstood. “What do you want from me?” she said. “It is not as if I were enjoying this—it is not what I wanted.”

  “Then don’t do it!”

  She stared at him, her breath coming quickly. Why must he make it so difficult? It wasn’t fair for him to ask such a thing of her.

  “Come with me—stay by my side.” He didn’t reach for her hand this time; he merely entreated her with his soft, brown eyes. “Join me in the West Indies, and let me prove myself to you.”

  Her eyes widened. “The West Indies?”

  His brows knit. “Did you think I had no plan to make back the fortune my father lost? That I would leave it entirely to chance? Or force you to live in penury indefinitely? I have some money left, Mercy. And I am confident that I can multiply it with hard work and determination.” He smiled hesitantly. “It will be an adventure.”

  Adventure? That was his plan for regaining his fortune? It was hardly better than the gambling that had lost the fortune in the first place.

  No, adventure was not at all what she had envisioned for their future together. She had imagined security and comfort—sitting in the parlor of their country house, holding hands while she read a book and he the newspaper, growing old together and leaving their children with that same security and comfort.

  The West Indies were hot and humid, and she had heard of too many men dying there
while making their fortunes.

  The image struck cold fear into her heart.

  “I must protect my future,” she said almost to herself, feeling a bit more confident in her position. She looked up at him and lifted her shoulders, swallowing. “Even if that future is with someone else.”

  The thought felt wrong to her, but surely that was natural? It was difficult to imagine someone she could love as well as Solomon, but she had known many women who had fallen in love more than once. It likely wouldn’t feel real until it happened—until she found that gentleman. But when she did? She was confident that she would be grateful she had not settled for less.

  Solomon studied her quietly until she shifted under his gaze.

  “Don’t look at me in that way,” Mercy said, and the words came out angry.

  “In what way?”

  “As though I repulsed you.” She fiddled with the finger of her glove. “How can you ask me to continue on as if nothing were different?”

  He took another step backward, and it cut her—the increased distance between them, and the way it portended a more stark separation. And still his eyes looked upon her with reproach.

  “In marriage, a husband agrees to stay by his wife and a wife by her husband through whatever fortune—good or bad—life brings them.”

  “Yes,” Mercy said with a bite to her voice, “but normally the bad fortune is a distant possibility rather than an overpowering certainty—the very stage upon which the marriage is set.”

  He looked grave and shook his head. “Perhaps this is for the best after all. I must say—I thought better of you than this, Mercy.” He exhaled. “I wish you the best in your quest for happiness, even if I think you have mistaken where it is to be found. May you find the man...deserving of your fleeting affections.”

  He looked at her one more time, then turned, leaving her under the shade of the willow tree, eyes burning and heart throbbing, wondering if she would ever see him again.

  Chapter Two

  Two Years Later

  It wasn’t just the noise. Everything about London jarred him. The town air sat stagnant and hot, pooling all around Solomon Kennett as he descended from the hackney carriage in front of White’s, followed by his younger brother John. There was no Jamaican breeze to provide relief from the oppressive June heat, and his legs still felt unstable after weeks on the rocking and lurching ship.

  He looked around him at the bustling street. Horses and carriage wheels kicked up dust, a few well-dressed gentlemen walked on either side of the lane, and, every now and then, the curious gaze of women looked through the windows of passing coaches.

  “A sight for sore eyes, isn’t it?” John surveyed the busy street. “Nothing like you’ve become accustomed to.”

  “No.” Solomon’s eyes tracked the passing of carriage after carriage.

  It was nice to be back in England, despite the noise—and the smell. He had looked upon his return with a fair amount of apprehension, unsure how it would feel to return home after two years. Of course, home now wasn’t the same home he had left. In fact, he wasn’t sure the estate he now owned merited the title of home yet.

  But he had put off his return long enough. John could only be expected to do so much for so long when the responsibility—and the finances—lay with Solomon.

  It was time to see the estate his money had bought, to see his parents and his other siblings, and… he sighed. Well, it was time to consider marriage again. He hadn’t anyone in mind for the task, but certainly he would be approaching things very differently from the last time he asked a woman to marry him.

  For one, this time he would actually get married. And this time he stood in a much better position to ensure that outcome.

  “Well, then?” John said. “What are we waiting for? Let’s conquer the beast. Though why you were so set upon being accepted into a silly place like this, I don’t understand.”

  No, of course John wouldn’t understand. Few would.

  Solomon manufactured a smile. “I told Mr. Lanaway I would meet him here. It’s the least I could do after he put us up for membership.” He stepped up the club stairs, his heart thrumming inside him. It was silly to be so nervous, but this was a milestone of sorts—one of many items to check off on his list. The club which had blackballed their father after he had gambled away his fortune would now admit Solomon and John into its exclusive confines.

  Solomon stepped inside, handing his hat to the porter. He knew a moment’s trepidation as he listened to the low timbre of gentlemen’s voices wafting through the doorway before him. But he squared his shoulders.

  He belonged here. He would wear his confidence so that no one could doubt for a second that he belonged. The past was the past, and it would be a fool who would turn away someone of Solomon’s means.

  The door opened behind him, and he and John stepped forward to make room for the newcomer. The voice of an older man filled the entry, and Solomon turned toward it.

  The man removed his gloves and glanced at Solomon indifferently before looking at him again.

  “Well, if it isn’t Solomon Kennett!” Mr. Richard Lanaway grinned and extended a hand.

  Solomon’s heart stuttered. He hadn’t remembered Mr. Lanaway and his niece Mercy sharing much in common, but the family resemblance was visible—the shape of the nose, the shared shade of blue eyes, even the thick eyebrows which were accentuated on Mr. Lanaway’s aging face.

  “I see that you took quite easily to the West Indies!” Mr. Lanaway said to Solomon after shaking hands with John. He scanned Solomon from his head down to his boots. “Brown as a chestnut, aren’t you?”

  Solomon laughed. “The Jamaican sun is not so easy to avoid as the English sun.”

  Mr. Lanaway chuckled and clapped him on the back. “I am very glad to find you here on English soil, Kennett, and that you accepted my invitation today. Come drink a bottle with me!”

  Mr. Lanaway owned the largest plantation in eastern Jamaica. Solomon suspected he had little idea how ill things were managed by those he employed there. From what Solomon had gathered, the man had never set foot on the island, and Solomon had been itching to get his hands on the reins. He was fairly confident that it was something in that vein that Mr. Lanaway wished to propose.

  “Do you mind very much, John?” Solomon asked his brother.

  John shook his head. “Not a bit! I shall just browse through the betting books.”

  John was much more prone to gambling for high stakes than Solomon was—he seemed to have inherited at least some of their father’s propensity for losing money. But Solomon couldn’t coddle him. He was an adult and capable of making his own decisions. If their father’s mistakes weren’t enough to prevent John’s folly, his brother’s words certainly wouldn’t make a difference.

  Solomon followed Mr. Lanaway to a small, secluded table, where they sat down with a bottle of port and, to Solomon’s secret delight, a plate of warm English fare.

  He had certainly missed English food. His cook in Jamaica had done everything he could to imitate the dishes Solomon most loved, but one simply couldn’t do them justice without the same ingredients. They always had a distinctly Jamaican tang.

  It was just as Solomon had hoped—Mr. Lanaway had heard report after report of his successes, and he wished for a taste of it. He was reasonable enough as they discussed the possibility of aligning their interests—and their finances—but Solomon had to exercise great care in his communications. He had the feeling that the man might become somewhat unpleasant if he felt his business sense or ability was being called into question.

  Solomon navigated those waters successfully—there was a reason he had managed to recuperate and multiply an entire fortune so quickly. He had a talent for setting people at ease.

  When Solomon returned to Jamaica, he would take the reins in the management of their adjoining plantations, and he was confident that the sheer size of their operations would set the tone for the rest of the island. It would grant h
im the influence necessary to effect positive change in a place where things were often accomplished in underhanded ways and always at the cost of the slaves.

  “I am pleased with this arrangement, Kennett.” Mr. Lanaway took the nearly empty bottle of port in hand and raised it in the air as if to toast. “Shall we solidify it even further?”

  “Certainly.” Solomon held his port glass still as Mr. Lanaway refilled it. He was committed to helping the east side of the island thrive, and he was confident that he could guide Mr. Lanaway toward accomplishing that.

  The man smiled at him enigmatically. “Are you familiar with my daughter Deborah?”

  Solomon slowed his drinking and forced himself to swallow. He set the port glass down, watching the way the liquid jostled back and forth. He didn’t know what to think of the strange way Mr. Lanaway was regarding him. “I am. But I fail to see what that has to say to our dealings in Jamaica.”

  Mr. Lanaway rubbed his hands together. “What say you to not only joining our plantations together but our families too?”

  Solomon stared. Joining their families? He realized his mouth was hanging open and shut it. “You mean a match between your daughter and myself?”

  Mr. Lanaway nodded. “I think it would be a very smart match indeed!” He seemed to sense Solomon’s hesitation. “Of course, if you are already attached, I quite understand, but…”

  Solomon ceased to hear what was being said. If he was already attached? No, he wasn’t.