She blinked, and her straight black eyebrows drew together for a perplexed instant. They released. “To help a friend find his happily ever after, of course.”
Rory wasn’t sure if she believed the words as she spoke them, but he was certain he didn’t. He and Miss Windermere had never been friends—or even particularly friendly.
However, he did think of a way to even the scales. “What can I do for you?”
“Youdo something forme?”
“It only seems gentlemanly.”
“I’ll, erm”—her teeth worried her plump bottom lip—“I’ll think of something later.”
Rory nodded. That would have to do for now. “May I escort you back to Dalhousie Manor?”
“I think not,” said Miss Windermere.
“You won’t get lost?”
“I never get lost.”
She was sounding more like her usual, capable self, which should’ve been a relief. But he wasn’t sure it was.
He rather liked the Miss Windermere who shifted on her feet and revealed more than she’d like to say. But he could see that Miss Windermere was lost to him for now.
He tipped his hat and whistled for Clootie before heading to his day’s work.
More frothy bloat awaited.
He only just didn’t groan aloud.
Chapter Four
Evening
“Delilah, you’re quiteadept at controlling chaos, you know,” observed Juliet over the rim of her teacup before taking a sip.
From the back of Dalhousie Manor’s grand receiving hall, she and Delilah watched the space transform into an impromptu theater, the entire horde of Dalhousie lads, along with Oliver Quincy, springing to every whim and command that crossed Delilah’s mind and lips.
In the short time since she and Delilah had sat to their tea, the dais that would serve as stage had been moved into place and the estate carpenter was presently hammering the final nail into the structure that would frame the playing space.
“One doesn’t control chaos,” replied Delilah. “One becomes one with it and merely”—she swayed her hands before her—“influencesit.”
A dry laugh escaped Juliet. “It helps when all those you command worship the very ground you walk upon.”
Delilah bit into a slice of shortbread, even as her mouth twitched. “Yes, well, that does help.” Her gaze landed on Juliet. “Have you memorized your lines yet, sweet Celia?”
Juliet had known this was coming. “Not quite.”
“Oh, that’s right. You enjoyed a ramble about the Dalhousie lands this morning.”
Juliet shrugged. She knew better than to give ground when an imperious mood struck Delilah. “When given the two options, it’s the choice I’ll make ten of ten times.”
Delilah released a long-suffering sigh, but Juliet knew that would be the end of it. No one ever met with much success in ordering Juliet about. “And how did you find your wanderings?” asked Delilah.
“Beautiful is too simple a word for Scotland.”
“And Scáthach?” asked Delilah. “Did you receive inspiration for her?”
Juliet only just didn’t snort. As an actress, Delilah felt all art to be divinely inspired, but as a writer, Juliet knew differently. Writing was one part inspiration and nine parts work. “I’m getting a feeling for her,” she said simply.