I Am Juliet Read Online Free PDF Page A

them yet. I had not even lifted up my quill. You would think ink loved me more than any in the land, it stuck to my fingers so.
    Nurse fussed at my hair as we followed the footman along the portrait gallery under the gazes of my grandfathers and uncles and great-uncles: the one who went on a crusade, the one stabbed by a Montague, the one who was a bishop, and the one who had first sent our ships as far as the Spice Islands. The Montagues had never dared to venture there until we Capulets had led the way.
    Down the stairs, Nurse lifting my skirts, along the hall with its tall stained-glass windows, then out to the stone terrace above the rose garden. My mother stood there, pointing out the blooms she wanted cut. Her fair hair showed a few threads of grey on either side of her coif.
    Nurse curtseyed. ‘Madam, she is here.’
    My mother turned and assessed me in the way I supposed all mothers did. My dress and posture I could correct, but nothing could make me tall or fair like her. My mother seemed always to judge me by what I was not, not what I was. I was not a son. Nor was I a beauty, as she had been, with hair a field of gold.
    I gave her my best curtsey, a swift sweep down then up. To my surprise she smiled at me, then looked at Nurse. ‘Nurse, you know my daughter’s of a pretty age …’
    Nurse curtseyed and talked at the same time. ‘She was born on the same night as our Susan, God rest her soul …’
    Nurse’s own baby had died, which had left her with milk for me. I concentrated on smiling politely. Down at the end of the garden servants carried chairs into the banquet hall. Cooks lugged linen-covered trays. My parents must be holding a banquet this afternoon.
    ‘… she was the prettiest babe ever I nursed and I might live to see her married …’
    My mother held up her hand. ‘Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of.’ She turned to me and smiled again. ‘Tell me, daughter Juliet, how comes your disposition to be married?’
    Married? At thirteen! Tybalt must be in debt, I thought. He needs my dowry to pay his bills.
    ‘It is an honour I dream not of,’ I told my mother.
    I lied. Of course I lied. I had dreamed of marriage every night since I was four years old. Marriage to a knight like Guigemar; to the dark shadow in my dream, who would love me till the sun crumbled like yellow cheese, a love so strong that poets wrote of it.
    I never dreamed of marriage to Tybalt. I knew it was necessary, but I was in no hurry for it to happen. Tybalt was … Suddenly I had the word. A peacock, parading his honour to the world, all feathers with little meat behind.
    But why was my mother talking of marriage now? She could lend Tybalt money if he needed it. A daughter could be five and twenty and still not wed, especially if the marriage was a settled thing. But a nice girl does not ask her mother questions. I bit my lip.
    My mother waited just long enough to make sure I would not ask. ‘The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.’
    Who was Paris? Had there been a miracle? Had a knight spied me in church? That was the only place I ever showed my face beyond these walls. Was Paris my shadow lover, come to claim me?
    My mother watched me, still smiling. For a moment it was as though she was truly happy for me — me, a person, not just the girl who was her daughter.
    ‘Verona’s summer hath not such a flower,’ she said softly. ‘The Earl of Paris is cousin to the Prince.’
    So that was why she smiled. The Prince’s cousin wanted to marry me! An earl, not just a wealthy trader like the Capulets. For the first time I had done something that made my mother proud. Our family joined to the Prince’s? I put up my chin. Let the Montagues match that!
    Nurse clapped her hands. ‘Cousin to the Prince! He’s a flower, in faith, a very flower!’
    My mother took a rose from the footman and smelled it thoughtfully. ‘What say you? Can you love the gentleman? Today you shall behold him at our feast.’
    So