The actress considered the question thoughtfully. “Let me think.”

“Regina,” Henderson prompted in a less than effective stage whisper.

Miss Murdock glanced at the others. “I thought it was Florence.”

Camille looked at her sister. “And do you have any suggestions to offer?”

“Absolutely not.” Beryl shook her head. “I know my name.”

“As well you should.” Camille turned her gaze toward Fortesque. “You will resolve this?”

He nodded. “Without fail, my lady.”

“Excellent.” Camille addressed Miss Murdock. “You need to restrain what is obviously a natural desire to flirt. I gave you all dossiers on my family, and nowhere do I recall saying my youngest sister was a tart.”

The actress again glanced at Gray. He couldn’t resist a slight nod of the head. Miss Murdock raised her chin. “I am playing this part as I see it. And doing a fine job of it as well. Don’t you think so, Mr. Elliott?”

“I’ve never seen Delilah in better form,” he said.

“Thank you.” Miss Murdock smiled smugly. “The prince seemed to like me.”

“What man wouldn’t?” Beryl said with a pleasant smile.

“And Mr. Henderson.” Camille turned to the older man. He smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious he had had one brandy too many. Or perhaps four. “While, all in all, I think you did a splendid job of it, perhaps you need to make your anecdotes a touch more realistic.”

“I am an actor, my lady,” he said gruffly. “I make them sound real.”

“Come now, Mr. Henderson,” Camille said gently. “Some of your stories were distinctly Shakespearean in tone. Honestly, being shipwrecked—”

“Entirely possible.” He huffed.

“And misplacing your twin sister?” she continued.

“I understood Uncle Basil is a twin,” Henderson said staunchly. “I studied my role quite thoroughly, my lady, and I am certain he has a twin.”

“A twin brother, Mr. Henderson.” Camille sighed. “My father.”

“Oh.” Henderson winced. “Must have missed that.”

“I assure you, Lady Lydingham,” Fortesque said quickly, “we shall thoroughly go over our roles before we retire for the night.”

“See that you do.” Camille nodded in a weary manner, started toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, and do tell Mrs. Fortesque that dinner was excellent. I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good evening, then.” Camille smiled shortly and took her leave.

Now that Camille was gone, Gray could continue his conversation with Beryl, but she, too, bid the others a good night and left the parlor. He had no intentions of letting her get away that easily. What did she mean: He had broken Camille’s heart? What utter absurdity. He started after her.

“You’re leaving as well, Mr. . . .” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells frowned in confusion and glanced at Fortesque. “Who is he playing?”

“He is Cousin Grayson. A very distant cousin.” Miss Murdock’s gaze caught Gray’s. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Elliott?”