Who was she to disabuse Delilah of her notions? To be the sort of actress Delilah wanted to be, she needed to believe in divine inspiration.
Delilah took a sip of her tea. “Anything of note occur?” Her eye caught on the stage, and she sat suddenly forward. Her teacup clattered onto the tabletop as she shot to her feet. “Mr. Quincy, if you would please set the hammer down and let Mr. Jones finish securing the frame…” Her voice trailed as she hurried down the center aisle toward the stage.
Leaving behind her question for Juliet.
Anything of note occur?
Oh, how to answer it…
A part of her—the part she held secret from all, including Delilah—instinctively knew she couldn’t tell Delilah about seeing Kilmuir and his massive, shaggy dog.
Because then Delilah would ask what they’d talked about.
And there was no good answer for that.
For she herself could hardly countenance the direction their conversation had taken.
Actually, what she couldn’t countenance was her boldness.
Had she, in fact, volunteered to write a love poem that Kilmuir would use to woo Miss Dalhousie?
She’d taken leave of her senses.
Except that wasn’t true either.
“What benefit do you get out of this?”
She hadn’t told Kilmuir, of course, but she was very clear with herself about what precisely shegotout of their arrangement.
She was helping him to help herself.
When viewed from that angle, what she was doing was incredibly selfish.
With Kilmuir happily settled with Miss Dalhousie, she would finally be free of the stubborn secret infatuation she’d been harboring for him all these years.
She’d thought herself free from it this last year, but that had been a delusion borne of necessity. Seeing him in all his shaggy, handsome Scottish glory last night—and again this morning—had only illustrated how wishful her thinking had been.
But it wasn’t only his handsomeness that drew her—or even mostly his handsomeness.
He was kind and, most importantly, not vapid like so many thought him. He was able to see the simplicity in complex matters, which didn’t make him a simpleton. It made him insightful.
And her poet’s heart loved nothing more than simple language that could express complex emotion.
It took a special skill to take the complicated and make it plain.
Right.
Delilah returned, looking harried. “Controlling chaos isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.” She settled into her seat. “What were we talking about?”
Juliet shrugged and reached for her teacup without meeting her cousin’s eye. If Delilah didn’t remember of her own accord, she wasn’t about to remind her.
“Oh, yes.” Delilah canted her head at Juliet. “Didanything of note occur on your ramble?”
Blast.Delilah’s curiosity was roused. Juliet gave her other shoulder a shrug. “If you count the flock of geese I happened upon who nearly gave me the scare of my life when they all took flight at once.”
Actually, it had been wild and majestic and inspiring.
Delilah shot to her feet, again distracted by the stage construction—now it was the garland for the arbor that needed placing—giving Juliet a bit of room to breathe.