“The butler is being played by Mr. Fortesque, and Mr. Henderson is cast as Colonel Channing. Do you know what role you have?”

“I’m afraid not.” He shook his head. “I have only just arrived.”

“There’s probably another part I am unaware of.” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I don’t know how they expect me to be prepared when the script is constantly changing. Although, I suppose, as there is only an audience of one, one can allow for changes.”

“Audience of one?”

“The prince, of course.” She raised a brow. “You didn’t know?”

“As I said, I have only just arrived.”

“Of course. And, as no doubt Lady Lydingham would prefer the entire world not know she has hired a troupe of actors to play her family to impress a prince at Christmas, it makes perfect sense that you would not know all until you arrived.”

“It does indeed make sense.” And more so with every word from the actress’s mouth.

“I believe I shall rehearse a bit more before I meet the prince. Now that I know I was right about my portrayal of Lady Hargate.” She tilted her head and considered him. “Wouldn’t it be great fun if you are here to play the role of Lady Hargate’s secret lover?”

“That would indeed be interesting.” He grinned.

“I shall hope for the best, then.” She smiled in a flirtatious manner and left the room.

Surely, he misunderstood, although Miss Murdock was quite clear as to why she was here. Why on earth would Camille hire actors to play her family? And who was this prince everyone kept waiting to meet? None of this made any sense to him; it all seemed entirely farfetched. Beryl was probably behind it. She had always been more devious than Camille, although the two of them together had made a dangerous pair. Apparently, in that respect too, nothing had changed.

“Miss Murdock,” a harried feminine voice sounded from the hall. “Have you seen Fortesque?” The voice grew closer. “Apparently, Mrs. Montgomery-Wells is wandering about freely—” His heart skipped a beat. Regardless of the passage of years, he would know that voice anywhere. “And who knows what kind of mischief she might get into.” Camille passed by the door, glanced his way, then pulled up short and stared.

Her hair was as blond, her eyes as blue, her face as lovely as the last time he had seen her. Nothing had changed. The moment her gaze met his, the clock turned back eleven years. To the day before her wedding when she had gazed into his eyes and he had known without question that she loved him. A myriad of emotions flashed through her eyes—disbelief, delight, annoyance, even anger. But there was more. So subtle that he doubted she was aware of it. No more than a hint or a vague promise perhaps of something deeper and richer and forever shone in her eyes.