What Happens At Christmas by Victoria Alexander Page A

assessing manner. “I must say, you’re handsome enough, even if you are entirely too well dressed for an actor, especially one who might take this role. It’s not as if this was Covent Garden, after all. You certainly don’t look as if you are here for the money.” She considered him closely. “No, you look as if you have money.”
    He chuckled. “I shall have to do something about that.”
    â€œOh no,” she said quickly. “It’s always better to look as if you don’t need money than you do.”
    â€œI shall keep that in mind.”
    â€œThe pay is better than usual here, probably because we are all sworn to secrecy under threat of legal action. Indeed, I should hate to cross Lady Lydingham.” She shuddered. “I think the woman would track us to the ends of the earth if we were to cross her, and God knows she has the money to do so. Nonetheless, one can always use more performing experience, so keeping one’s mouth shut is a small price to pay. Besides, this is a pleasant enough place to spend Christmas, and—” She sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes widened. “Oh, dear Lord, you’re not the prince, are you? Please say you’re not the prince.”
    What prince? “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not the prince.”
    â€œThank goodness.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I should hate to have let on to the prince that Lady Lydingham had hired . . .” The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re not the prince, and you’re not an actor, then who are you?”
    It had been Gray’s experience that complete honesty was not always as effective as partial honesty. “I never said I wasn’t an actor.”
    â€œOh, how lovely.” Her expression brightened. “I’m Miss Murdock, Edwina. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
    â€œI’m afraid not.”
    â€œDon’t be.” She raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m not famous yet, but I will be. I intend to be as famous as Ellen Terry one day.”
    â€œShe’s a very good actress, you know.”
    â€œAs am I.” She tossed him an impudent smile. “And at the moment, I am Lady Hargate, the younger sister of Lady Lydingham.” She paused thoughtfully. “She’s supposed to be quite proper and was described to me as something of a stick in the mud, but I’m not sure I see the part that way.”
    â€œAnd how do you see it?” What was going on here?
    â€œWell, goodness, how proper can she be? She married a much older man and now she’s a wealthy widow. A very wealthy widow, apparently. And her name is Delilah, ” she added pointedly. “I don’t see her as being the least bit proper, but rather”—she deepened her voice slightly—“ provocative, I would think. The kind of woman who knows what she wants and does what she must to get it.” She met his gaze directly, and he wasn’t sure if she was acting or simply very dangerous.
    â€œWell . . . um . . .”—he swallowed hard—“it’s been my observation that nothing makes a performance more realistic than when an actor plays the role the way he—or she—feels it should be performed.”
    She gasped. “That’s exactly how I feel. Then you think I’m right, to play the part as I see it, that is?”
    â€œWithout question. If you think Lady Hargate is, well, something of a tart—”
    â€œAnd I do. Really, how could she be anything else?”
    â€œThen you owe it to your audience to play the role as you feel it—” He laid a hand over his heart. “Here.”
    â€œYou’re quite right. I don’t know why I hesitated. And I have always been very good at playing the tart.” She raised a shapely shoulder in an offhand shrug. “It just seems to come naturally for me.”
    â€œI can see where it