Holding back an irritated retort, I carefully wrap the wound once more. After I drop Sabine’s hand, I step back. “Why are you going to help me after what I’ve done to you?”
She studies the bandage. “I didn’t know my mother trapped you, but I suppose…”
“Do you feel guilty, princess?” I ask quietly, studying Sabine’s face, confused when her disdain is replaced with a shadow of deep regret.
“I suppose I do.” She whips her attention back to me, irritation swiftly replacing sorrow. “Though you certainly don’t deserve my sympathy.”
I laugh under my breath, stepping back to assess her. “Shall we say we’re even now?”
“I haven’t forgiven you. But…all right.”
She holds her ground when I take several steps forward, even when I lean down to meet her at eye level.
“Now that we’ve settled that,” I say, “I don’t suppose you’d like to return to my hotel?”
Smiling sweetly, she answers, “I’ll stay with Frederick.”
* * *
The first dayof practice is always chaotic, but I dread today more than usual because I must take Candace aside and tell her about Sabine. There’s an excellent chance she will storm out of the theater, taking her fiancé’s money with her.
I rub my temples as people line up at my desk in front of the stage. They’re already questioning my casting and demanding changes.
“I just believe I’m more suited to play one of the muses,” Lydia argues, gesturing to her undeniably lithe body. “Look at me, Mr. Devereaux. Do I not fit the description? Surely there was a mistake.”
“Lydia, I’ve cast you as the constable’s daughter. She’s a main supporting character.”
She waves the script in the air. “But she’s mute—I don’t have any lines!”
“And if you keep arguing, you won’t have a part.”
The actress scrunches her mouth into an angry pout, and then she turns on her heel and joins the flock of regulars. Hopefully they can console her—I’m not in the mood.
“Miss Whitmore has arrived,” Dennis informs me.
I push away from the desk, rising to greet my prima donna. Indigestion burns in my chest even though I skipped breakfast. I’ve told myself a dozen times that the situation isn’t as dubious as it feels—it’s simply the way of the theater. No different from Madame Corsavina’s tricks. After all, everyone knows the fortune-teller is a fraud, but they’re still entertained. And I plan to be transparent about my casting choice—I’ll give Sabine credit for her role on the playbill.
“Mr. Devereaux,” Candace says as she descends her carriage like a vision in tasteful gray silk. She beams as she reaches me. “You didn’t have to greet me personally.”
I bow over her offered hand. “You are the star of the show, Candace. Of course I should greet you.”
Frederick materializes at my side. “Candie, you look lovely. Are you ready for your first rehearsal?”
She presses a gloved hand to her stomach. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I think I’ve read the script you sent over at least a dozen times in the last few days.”
“Before we begin, we need to go over a few details,” I say.
She smiles up at me. “Of course, Mr. Devereaux.”
“Call me Alex, please.”
The request makes me think of Sabine, which does my digestive system no favors.
“Alex,” Candace corrects in a slightly husky tone, touching her fingers briefly to my wrist. “I’ve wanted to get to know you better for a long time.”
The declaration takes me by surprise, but she’s heading inside before I can make sense of it. When I glance at Frederick, he wears a thoughtful frown.
Because Sabine waits in my office, I escort Candace to the conference room off the foyer.