After selling his ancestral estate, Archibald Colston decides to exchange the pastoral serenity of country society for a chance to make a new life for the Colston family in the wealthy elite of New York City. Upon their arrival, Archibald and his si...
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The Civic Opera House swarmed with a dizzying amount of activity. Archibald wasn't ever sure where to look. Stagehands hammered away at towering set pieces that started to take the shape of a Parisian cityscape. A matron and her corps of ballerinas ran combinations across the stage while Jasper Green barked orders at the crew hanging a scrim from where he stood braced atop the arms of two seats in the front row of the theater.
"Stage right, raise the scrim two inches — No! Stage right! House left — no, not stage left!"
"Is everything all right, Mr. Green?" Archibald asked as he surveyed the chaos.
"Everything's not alright," Mr. Green said. He alighted from his perch upon the chair with surprising ease for a man of his age. "We have a week until opening night and we are still casting our leads. This doesn't bode well for us, Mr. Colston."
Archibald nodded as the crash of wood on wood made the dancers scatter with screams of alarm. "You might be right, but perhaps Miss Vanderberg will work out."
"Perhaps, but I never put too much faith in these society types. Very rarely does their talent live up to their reputation." Mr. Green turned and glared at the crooked backdrop. "I beg your leave, I must go instruct some stage hands on how to raise a scrim. Mr. De Rosier is in the costume shop if you want to stop in."
Archibald gave the man his thanks and set off for the costume shop on Mr. Green's vague instructions. He found himself backstage, dodging dancers and set pieces, when a firm hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks.
Archibald's stomach dropped as he turned to see Grace Hodges attached to the delicate hand. Her blonde hair of loose curls was swept away from her face into an elegant knot at the base of her neck, her pink lips in a severe line, and her brows wrinkled to form a crease on the bridge of her nose.
"This is a private rehearsal," she said, though it took a moment for the words to sink in.
Archibald's mouth flopped open, words lost as if his breath had been stolen from his lungs at the unexpected sight of the woman. He tried to call up the reason he was backstage, but his mind could only focus on the warmth that spread from the hand that pressed unflinching against his chest.
"Mr. De Rosier," he finally choked out. It wasn't even a full sentence and he cursed himself for it. He'd harbored the hope of an introduction to the lady, but not like this. Miss Hodges probably thought him a simpleton.
He didn't think it could get worse until it did. She looked him up and down with discerning blue eyes, and to his great dismay didn't seem impressed. "The costume shop is that way." She pointed to a door on the back wall. "Don't touch any props," she added, then took her hand off Archibald's chest to let him through.
"Thank you," he said. He bowed and regretted it immediately. The stiff gesture made the line between Miss Hodges brow deepen as she watched him. With a smile that barely hid his panic, Archibald hurried past the intimidating stage manager and into the costume shop. He shut the door behind himself before collapsing against the frame with a pained groan.
