“Oh?” asked Juliet, striking the wind chime with more force than necessary.
Miss Dalhousie jutted her chin toward the stage. It was obvious who she meant. “Kilmuir.”
Juliet scoffed and shook her head dismissively, decidedly uncomfortable discussing Rory with Miss Dalhousie.
But Miss Dalhousie, it seemed, had something to say. “Do youknow why I refused his proposal of marriage two years ago?”
Juliet met the other woman’s gaze. She did have the loveliest brown eyes that one could fall into. “No.”
She’d never understood it.
“Because he didn’t look at me in that specific way.”
“What way is that?”
“The way he was looking at you at supper a week ago.”
Juliet’s heart might’ve stopped in her chest. She couldn’t be certain, because she’d gone numb all over. “And what way isthat?” she somehow asked.
“Like he is a planet in orbit to your sun.”
Now it was Juliet’s lungs refusing to move. “In addition to all your other numerous talents, are you also a poet, Miss Dalhousie?”
The other woman shook her head, her smile broadening. “Hardly,” she said. “I’m simply speaking the truth as I see it.”
Juliet set her wind chime down and faced Miss Dalhousie fully. It occurred to her that she might owe the woman an apology for disliking her for no better reason than she’d been the recipient of Rory’s attention years ago. In truth, she’d never gotten to know Miss Dalhousie—the woman she truly was behind all her perfection and accomplishments. That was a wrong that needed to be righted.
But it was Miss Dalhousie who spoke first. “I admire something else about you, Miss Windermere.”
“Juliet,” said Juliet, taking Miss Dalhousie’s hand. “You must call me Juliet.”
“Juliet, you must call me Davina.”
“A lovely name,” said Juliet. “It suits you.”
“I admire that you’ve always known what you wanted.”
“And what do I want?” She was genuinely interested in what this woman saw.
“To be free to write,” said Davina. “You Windermeres seize your freedoms. You don’t ask forthem politely.”
“Oh, you can’t do that, Davina.” On this, the ground was firm beneath Juliet’s feet. “You can’t ask. Take now, apologize later.”
Davina smiled ruefully. “For all my accomplishments, ’tis not a skill I’ve developed, I’m afraid.”
Juliet squeezed her hand. “You can do anything, Davina. I’m convinced of it.”
“Mine are simply accomplishments that anyone can be taught. They don’t originate from true desire. That has never come to me.”
True desire.
At that moment, on stage, Rory stumbled into view, laboring beneath an object attached to his back. Except it was no object, but rather James Dalhousie attempting to wrestle Rory to the ground.
Miss Dalhousie lifted a hand to her mouth and stifled a giggle. “I’d heard that James was taking his acting duties rather too far.”
All the stage and audience went uncomfortably silent—save James’ grunts of exertion—as everyone watched, mesmerized, the spectacle of a lad of seventeen years and eight stone attempting to bring down a man of thirty-two years and fifteen stone. It defied all logic and good sense, and yet, as she watched, Juliet felt certainty swell alongside the befuddlement inside her.
True desire.
