Delilah opened her mouth to say she was quite well, but shut it quickly. “Quite miserable, actually,” she admitted, blowing out a deep breath.
Sympathy shone in Danielle’s bright blue eyes. “Why’s that?”
Delilah leaned her back against the wall and hugged her script to her chest. “You know I’ve been trying to make an impression on the Duke of Branville.”
Danielle nodded. “I’d guessed as much.”
Delilah dabbed at the scab on her forehead with one finger. “Well, I fear I’ve made an impression, but the exact wrong one.”
Her cousin winced. “If you mean the incident with the shirt, he cannot possibly hold that against you.”
“The shirt, the abysmal French, the parrot, then this.” She pointed toward her scab. “I don’t see how he cannot hold some of it against me.” Delilah sighed and hugged the script closer.
Danielle folded her arms over her chest. “If he does, he’s a bigger ass than Nick Bottom.” She finished with a nod.
Delilah tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. She peered over the script at her slippers. They were already scuffed, of course. Poor Amandine had spent hours cleaning them. “I don’t know what to do. I’m failing miserably at the one thing I’m supposed to be good at.”
“What’s that?” Danielle asked, her kind eyes filled with sympathy.
Delilah dragged one slipper along the floor. “Matchmaking.”
“It must be difficult to matchmake for yourself.”
“It should be simple. I’ve had a great deal of practice.” Delilah lifted her head and pressed it back against thewall, searching the ceiling as if that large area of plaster might give her the answers she sought.
“You’re being far too hard on yourself.” Danielle laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“I suppose so.” Delilah shrugged. “If only there was some way to make it easy.”
Glancing over both shoulders, Danielle lowered her voice. “What if I told you there is?”
“Is what?” Delilah asked, blinking.
“A way to make it easy. Or easier, at least.” Danielle’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Delilah knew mischief when she saw it. Her pulse quickened.
She searched the Frenchwoman’s face. “What do you mean?”
Danielle took a step closer and whispered, “You know I’m a connoisseur of perfume.”
Delilah nodded. Danielle was half-French and had the best-smelling lavender perfume. She’d even helped a few friends buy perfume that would suit them. But Delilah failed to see what that had to do with matchmaking.
“I met a woman in Sweetings Alley who sells… special perfume,” Danielle continued.
Delilah frowned. “I’m not certain I understand. You mean perfume that will draw Branville’s attention?”
Danielle glanced around again. They were quite alone, but it was obvious the Frenchwoman did not want to be overheard. “If I tell you, you must promise to keep it a secret. It may sound quite mad.”
A strange emotion uncoiled in Delilah’s chest. It felt like hope. “I’m excellent at keeping secrets, and I’m also half-mad myself, or so my mother tells me, which means I am in no position to judge the madness of others.”
Danielle smiled. “Very well. The woman who makes the perfume is a Roma woman named Madame Rosa.The perfume is purported to make the person it’s sprinkled upon fall in love with the person who administers it.”
Delilah narrowed her eyes. “Cousin Danielle, youdoknow that sounds ever so much like what Oberon’s up to in our play?”
Danielle smiled and nodded. “I told you it would sound mad.”
It did sound mad. Entirely mad. But that didn’t keep excitement from racing through Delilah’s veins. Because in addition to sounding completely mad, it also sounded… perfect. “How do you know it works?”
Danielle shook her head. “I don’t know that it works. I haven’t purchased any. Madame Rosa told me about it when I visited her shop last year. But it cannot hurt to try, can it?”
