“Perhaps on our way, you could tell me just how many betrothals you have had and why none of them led to matrimony.”

Win laughed. Gray grinned. It was indeed good to be home. Especially now that, at long last, he had realized what he wanted. Camille’s little Christmas play was exactly what he needed. While she was busy trying to control her cast and impress the prince, he would be busy gaining her forgiveness. As for what happened after that, well, that remained to be seen.

And the curtain was about to go up.

Seven

Seven

“I think it’s all going surprisingly well, don’t you?” Beryl said in an aside to her sister.

“It’s only the first day,” Camille said more to herself than her sister. Still, Beryl was right, at least thus far.

The tableau in front of them did look rather perfect. Nikolai sat on the sofa between Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Miss Murdock. Both women gave him their utmost attention; even if, at any given moment, the attention of one or both of them was a bit more flirtatious than Camille would have preferred. Why, she might as well have had Mother here if impropriety was what she wanted, although Nikolai certainly didn’t seem to mind. Mr. Henderson sat in a nearby chair and was—all things considered—rather more charming than she had expected. He played the part of Uncle Basil with enthusiasm, even if the stories of his military exploits were vaguely Shakespearean in tone, as was the actor’s manner. Nikolai didn’t seem to notice. He was, however, smiling and nodding quite a bit, which struck Camille as beneficial. After all, he couldn’t question what he didn’t understand.

“I don’t think it’s wise to leave them by themselves.”

“Nonsense,” Beryl scoffed. “We’re scarcely ten feet away.” The sisters stood near the tea cart, which had been placed, at Beryl’s direction, closer to the door than to the guests. It was, no doubt, an effort to provide a discreet method of escape. One could simply fill one’s cup and slip out of the room without any undue effort. Why, one would think Beryl had absolutely no confidence in Camille’s plan at all. “And I, for one, needed a momentary respite from inane conversation. I find it surprisingly wearing to watch every word I say, as well as every word everyone else says.”

“I remember the winter of ’78,” Mr. Henderson began. “Damnably snowy that year. Why, I recall . . .”

“As long as the conversation is confined to the weather,” Camille murmured.

“ ‘Blow, blow, thou winter wind,’ ” Mr. Henderson continued. “ ‘Thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude. ’ ”

“Shakespeare,” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells said cheerfully. “From As You Like It, I believe.” The woman had no trouble remembering obscure quotes written hundreds of years ago, but her name was an entirely different matter.