“And what brings you here now?” pressed Mrs. Robertson. Like all good gossips she had a nose for a story untold.
Delilah’s gaze shifted to meet Juliet’s. “Is it all right to say?”
Juliet nodded. After all, her enjoyment in committing words to paper was no great secret.
“Miss Windermere,” said Delilah, “has become fascinated by a Scottish heroine of yours.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“The warrior maiden, Scáthach of Skye,” supplied Juliet. “Little more than research, really”
In fact, she was in the beginning stages of writing an epic poem, or possibly a play, about the female warrior. But she wasn’t ready for that particular truth to be aired, so half of it would do for tonight.
“We decided she needs to stand where Scáthach stood,” continued Delilah. “Breathe the air Scáthach breathed. That sort of thing. I’m not the creator of sentences here.”
This was met with a small frisson of interest, but it passed quickly. “And Lord Kilmuir?” asked Mrs. Robertson, turning to her neighbor. The woman was determined to extract every morsel of gossip she could from this meal. “I noticed you weren’t introduced to the young ladies. I take it you’re already acquainted?”
“I know their brother Lord Archer from school,” he replied. “We would see each other up here during term breaks.”
Juliet remembered those wild barefoot summer visits well, as the Dalhousie estate neighbored Baile Ìm.
Delilah pointedly cleared her throat. Juliet detected an agenda in her cousin’s eyes. “Now,” began Delilah, “as it’s nearly the thirtieth wedding anniversary of our outstanding hosts.”
Mrs. Dalhousie blushed prettily, and Mr. Dalhousie smiled approvingly.
“I have a proposal for the gathered.”
Juliet knew enough to brace herself, even as everyone else looked remarkably relaxed. They would learn.
“Let’s put on a play.”
A few beats of silence met the proposal. Delilah never could apprehend that most people would rather eat their left foot than tread the boards and spout lines from the Bard.
But Delilah was never one to allow a few beats of stunned silence deter her. “Shakespeare, methinks.”
A low, pained groan caught Juliet’s ear. She glanced across the table to find Kilmuir looking like he might, in fact, rather eat his left foot than have anything to do with this conversation.
And then Juliet remembered Kilmuir’s full name.Lord Rory Macbeth, the Viscount Kilmuir. A bloodthirsty name, if there ever was one.
A few amused eyes cut in his direction, as surely he’d known they would. “How about the Scottish play, eh?”
A few laughs followed theMacbethreference, and an unamused smile pulled at his mouth, which provoked a giggle from Juliet. It was likely wrong that his discomfort delighted her so.
His gaze landed on her and narrowed. “Or how aboutRomeo and Juliet?”
All eyes swung toward Juliet, and the laugh that had sprung from her mouth fell to the floor with a resounding thud.
Kilmuir heard it, for amusement shone in his eyes. He understood something about her most in this room didn’t. Unlike her cousin, she didn’t enjoy being the center of attention. Where Delilah blossomed, she wilted.
“No tragedies,” said Delilah, unaware of the silent battle raging between her cousin and friend. “A comedy will do nicely. I was thinkingAs You Like It.”
At her end of the supper table, Mrs. Dalhousie brightened at the idea. “That would be a fun diversion, don’t you agree, husband?” Mrs. Dalhousie never agreed to anything without her husband’s express approval.
“I do believe you’re right, my dear.” And Mr. Dalhousie never denied his wife her heart’s wish.
Mrs. Dalhousie’s brow gathered. “But I do wonder if we have the numbers to fill out the play.”
Delilah began explaining that they, indeed, did have plenty of actors. “I’ll take on the role of Rosalind, of course, as I know all her lines.”