“I don’t mind in the least.”
It was her first lead role, and her inaugural performance was tomorrow night. She wasn’t about to muck it up.
“You’ll knock them all dead, Lilah.”
A shy smile found its way to her lips. How could it not?
“So, what do you know about Stratford-upon-Avon?” he asked, changing the subject.
She shrugged and glanced around. “A lovely, little village perched upon a river, it would appear.”
Incredulous eyes met hers. “You truly don’t know its significance?”
“Should I?”
A pleased, enigmatic smile tipped about his mouth. “You’ll see.”
The path ended on the high street, and they entered the mellow hustle and bustle of the village returning to their labors after midday tea. It truly was a lovely, slow-moving village, but nothing about it particularly stood out to Delilah. What was Sebastian on about?
He brought them to a stop before a slightly dilapidated square building done in the wattle-and-daub style of a few centuries ago. She didn’t understand the self-satisfied look on his face. This building was nothing to look at. “I think you’ll have to explain.”
He extended an arm. “Behold, the birthplace of William Shakespeare.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in before an astonished, “What?” flew from her mouth. “How is that possible?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Even extraordinary men have to be born somewhere.”
“But here?” Her gaze shifted toward the man beside her—the man who had given her this gift. “Youare an extraordinary man.”
He shrugged, but didn’t deny it.
He was an arrogant man, too, lest she forget.
“Shall we go inside?” he asked.
“We can?”
“I’ve made arrangements.”
Delilah snorted. Of course, he had. Seb was still Ravensworth.
He produced a key and turned the lock. Three steps inside the empty house, Delilah sneezed. Murky, dust-riddled light poured in through mullioned windows encrusted with the grime of a hundred years. The atmosphere was close and dark, the sort produced centuries ago when plague still roamed the country and light was meager. Different times, those of Shakespeare, when life felt wobbly and precious and abbreviated. It was Shakespeare with his words and genius for entertainment who helped pull people out of those medieval years of darkness and uncertainty and into a more modern age.
And here he’d been born. Here he’d strained against leading strings and learned the letters that would become words—words that would transform literature.
Sebastian cast his gaze about. “This place has potential,” he said, his voice a hollow echo.
Delilah’s head whipped around to find him inspecting the wide hearth framed with soot-encrusted brick. “Potential?” Surely, she couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“It could be altered here and there to—”
“Altered?” Her brow crinkled. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“Why not?”
A possibility occurred to her. “You cannot be thinking of buying Shakespeare’s house.”
“Why not?” he repeated.
