“Actually,” Philip began somewhat reluctantly, “title to the other theaters has been transferred to Loretta. It was a parting gift, of sorts.”

Maggie wondered sadly what Reeve’s “parting gift” would be to her once he grew tired of their romance. She brought herself up short, however—Reeve had asked her to marry him. She was not going to be his mistress, but his wife. “I see,” she said.

Rehearsals began shortly thereafter, and Maggie found that while Philip Briggs was gentle at all other times, he was a hard taskmaster when it came to the blocking of scenes and the delivery of lines.

The actor playing the role of Petruchio was an Englishman named Samuel Fairmont, and Maggie found a friend and mentor in him. Tall and blond and very handsome, Samuel was the perfect hero.

When the work had ended for the day, he walked Maggie to her dressing room door. “You really are very good,” he said gently.

Maggie was exhausted and quite discouraged. All this time she’d prided herself on knowing the play so well, but Philip had railed at her from the beginning—everything she’d done had been wrong. “Thank you,” she said in a dispirited voice.

“May I buy you supper?” Samuel asked, lingering at Maggie’s elbow.

At first she was inclined to refuse. But then some inner spark of rebellion struck itself against the possibility that Reeve might indeed be planning to keep her as he had kept Loretta, and Maggie’s pride ignited. Besides, her doubts about the sincerity of Reeve’s marriage proposal aside, a simple supper with a new friend seemed innocent enough, and it sounded like fun. “I’d like that,” she said.

“Excellent.” Samuel smiled. “I’ll wait for you at the stage door.”

Maggie ducked inside her dressing room and made quick work of straightening her hair. There was nothing to be done with her dress, really, but she gave the stiff skirts a rueful shake and went out.

Samuel was prosperous for an actor; he took Maggie to one of the nicer hotel dining rooms and ordered roast duck for them both, along with wine.

“You will make a marvelous Kate,” Samuel said, lifting his glass to Maggie in a graceful toast. “You have the spirit, the fire—”

“I think Philip sees me as Bianca,” Maggie confided wearily. “That was the role he originally intended me to play, you know.”

Samuel smiled, looking dapper in his rust-colored waistcoat. The soft gas lighting flickered in his wheat-blond hair. “What changed his mind?”