Free Much Ado about the Shrew by Elizabeth May Page A

he did not bed her.
                It
was really Bee's fault, actually, Ben reminded himself. Immediately after he
had set Isadora up in a small little townhouse near their regiment, Ben had
come home on leave, and had, as was his custom, to check in on Bee and his
aunt. The night he came in, he and Beatrice had been arguing, as was their custom, although this particular
evening Bee had broached the subject of how unfair it was that there were some
behaviors were acceptable for men but were not for women.
                "It
is not fair," Beatrice had said with a stamp of her foot, "that young
men are allowed to go out and enjoy themselves, while young women are supposed
to stay at home."
                Ben
laughed. "I don't think you'd enjoy the gambling hells ,
my dear."
                "But
it's not just that," Bee said. "Because I'm a woman I can't do so
many things! I can't even go into a tavern."
                "You
wouldn't enjoy those, either," Ben said, his countenance glowering at the
thought. "The men there might think you're... you're...."
                "I'm
what?" Beatrice countered.
                "Nothing,"
Ben muttered.       
                "What?
A lightskirt ?"
                Ben
choked on the claret he was drinking and sat up quickly. "Bee!" he
said. "You shouldn't even... I don't... for God's sake!"
                "Don't
swear at me, Ben. I'm not an idiot, you know. And there's a brothel in the next
town over."
                "Bee,
you shouldn't be talking about such things."
                "Why?
Because I'm a lady? You think women don't know about tavern wenches or brothels
or mistresses?"
                "They
don't talk about them, is all," Ben said darkly.
                "Why
not? Some men bring their mistresses out to the theatre or to dinner
parties."
                "They
shouldn't," Ben said, setting the wine glass down. He gazed down at his
shirt, noting the wine stains. His valet would kill him, if he had a valet.
Once the war was over, he should definitely look into getting one.
                "I
don't see the difference between a mistress and a woman in a brothel,
anyway," Bee continued.
                "Bee,"
Ben warned.
                "They
are both getting paid for doing a service. It seems to me that they are the
same thing."
                "Enough!"
Ben roared and stood up. "I cannot have this conversation with you."
He had stormed out of the room, and had been in a foul mood the rest of the
trip, barely saying anything to Beatrice or his aunt.
                When
he got back to the Continent, he gave Isadora a beautiful sapphire necklace
immediately before he had set her free. Beatrice's comments had made something
that seemed such a wonderful idea seem lewd and cheap, and those same words
would not stop haunting him. The thought that Isadora would only be bedding him
because he was paying her tainted any sensual thought he had about her.   Guilt settled around his heart when he watched
her eyes widen with delight at the necklace, then at shock at being let
go.   That guilt was quickly replaced with
disappointment, however, when she did made no attempt to try to change his
mind, but merely smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek instead of a long,
sensual kiss, and asked when she needed to move out.
                Ben
frowned at the memory. Perhaps he would find a nice eager widow, then. There
would be no promise of payment, no irate husband, and no Bee to make him feel
guilty.
                She
would still find a way to make him feel guilty.
                Ben
put a hand through his dark hair and sighed.   He knew it wasn't just chasing after Bee that had him out of sorts. The
truth was that he wasn't used to the constant entertainments of the Season, the
insidious small talk