The sunny Tuesday was perfect for the younger Stratfords who had nothing to do during a social season. Too young for ballrooms, they had more time for other things. One of them, of course, was laying out bribes and threats.

"If this doesn't go as planned, it's not my fault," Gale murmured under his breath.

"This will go as planned, Gale. You are of age."

"And you look like infants," he growled out through pursed lips.

Simone's heart was racing, but she lifted her chin and tried her best to look like a proper lady. Lydia was clinging to Gale as if she'd faint any moment.

"Crazy infants, I might add," Gale added. "Lydia, let go!"

"I don't feel well," Lydia said. "Sisi, maybe we should leave."

"Yes. Perfect. We should," Gale immediately said, turning away from the line.

Simone pushed him back. "No, we're entering the theater! Lydia, here." She placed a tiny bottle under her cousin's nose. "Breathe."

"Is this grandfather's?" Lydia moved away from the bottle. "The same one he injects into his nostrils?"

"Maybe."

Lydia shook her head and looked around, her lips pale. "If we get caught, we'll be in trouble. Harry will kill us."

"Yes, definitely," Gale said, attempting another turn.

"No, he won't. He's in Strait for business."

"And we'll be in hell if he finds out!" Gale hissed over his shoulder, smiling at the gentleman behind Simone. His eyes landed on her head. "Get rid of those ribbons," he ordered.

"But—"

"They don't only make you look like bloody infants—they make you look like forgotten Christmas gifts."

"That's rather harsh of you," Lydia snapped, her face flushing with color.

Gale plucked the ribbons off their heads and threw them inside his coat. "I can't believe I'm condoning this. All for an actor!"

"And I can't believe you're willing to condone this. All for a lady!" Simone answered back.

"Hush," Gale ordered, pulling Lydia with him toward the doorway. "Oh, for God's sake, Lydia, move your feet!"

"They're quite flimsy at the moment. And if you're not so brusque, I might manage a step, Gale."

Gale forced out a patient breath. "You know, if you're both unsure, I suggest we go home."

"We're sure," Simone said.

"Lydia isn't, Sisi."

"My mind is stronger than my legs, Gale," Lydia said. With a determined look in her brown eyes, she said, "We've been through more challenging things than this in Abberton. Truth be told, breaking into the village chapel was scarier. I still pay for that sin every Sunday."

"We're going in," Simone said.

They were nearing the door. "Remember—If this doesn't work, it's not my fault. You tell everyone you got the ticket from the neighbor as a gift and you didn't know there's an age limit to the show."

But it did work. The man guarding the door did not even spare them a look. His eyes focused on their tickets and then on the next ticket. All three of them let out a sigh of relief.

"Our ribbons, Gale," Simone said, holding up her hand.

"Good heavens," Gale complained in a pained voice as his cousins searched his coat.

Lydia and Simone faced each other and expertly replaced their silk ribbons on each other's head—pink for Lydia and gray for Simone—then stepped back and inspected each other's dresses (the one Gale paid for) and excitedly closed the distance between them, hands tightly clasped together.

"Oh, for God's sake," Gale groaned, turning away as if he could pretend he did not know them.

"I feel like a lady just being here," Lydia squealed, looping her arm around Gale's. Simone did the same on the other side.

"Let go," Gale growled under his breath.

Simone and Lydia tightened their hold, not hearing him. They were now busy looking around, eyes wide with wonder. The ceiling was so high, with lamps hanging in midair. They pointed with awe at anything they found interesting and amazing, drawing some attention where they passed.

Gale squirmed away from their hold and expertly maneuvered around and behind them, pushing them toward an arcade and through one of the arches, emerging into a wide space with rows of seats. Theirs were in front, right below the stage.

"Do not be too obvious, please," Gale pleaded as the two of them gaped with excitement, their ribbon-ridden brown head turning in every direction. He sank into his chair, hooding his face with one hand.

"Oh, balderdash! You barely even have any experience on these things," Simone said, staring at the stage in anticipation.

They went on like that until the lights were shut, the stage lit up, and the magic began. And when he walked out, dressed expensively, presenting himself as the Duke of Weshire, Simone and Lydia squeezed each other's hand.

And when Daniel Cavendish faced the audience, eyes strong as his character, his voice whole and resounding, every emotion of a cold but miserable man there on his handsome face, Simone knew.

She knew she was enamored.

He was perfect—just like the books talked about. His brows were thick and had a life of their own, moving as he willed them into different expressions. His jaw was sharp, his mouth firm when shut, but could spill words so delicately, so touching that twice or more, Simone and Lydia brought their hands to their chest in response, as if they could also feel his suffering and little joys. Even his nose was perfect, not too tall nor too slim. Just perfect for his deep-set eyes.

But it was not just the way he looked. It was the way he moved, his body lean yet fluid. He could have walked and Simone would have thought he was floating and dancing. His hands were as graceful as a woman's when the scene demanded it, and screamed of security when he pulled his love toward him for a thorough kiss.

Simone and Lydia hid behind their fans with an "Oh!" while Gale snickered behind his hand. Cheeks heated, Simone forced herself to look over the edge of her fan. And to her surprise, his eyes landed on hers. She ducked back behind her wall of lace, blindly gripping Gale's hand, twisting her cousin's finger as if she could wring out her utter embarrassment.

Gale's cry of pain echoed around the theater. Before the music drowned it, Gale slumped low in his chair, hissing, "Let go—Sisi! Ow!" His foot stomped on hers. She let go, and he slapped her hand away.

The lights on the stage dimmed. Simone peeked and sighed in relief. He was gone. The other actors were now doing another act.

"Don't touch me," Gale warned when she reached for his hand.

"Gale," she said, "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Lydia asked, hearing her.

"He looked at me."

"No, he didn't," said Gale. "Stop dreaming."

"He did!"

"Well, maybe he did because you were murdering my bloody finger!"

"Shh!"

"Apologies," they murmured over their shoulders. Two ladies were glaring at them. And far behind the ladies, in the third row, someone else was scowling. She knew his eyes were brown like hers, but at that moment, they were as dark as the days that would follow this one. Simone went cold.

She whirled her head back to the stage. "Gale," she whispered, swallowing.

"What now?"

"Did Webster say he's joining us in Coulway?"

"I thought you said he's in Birth?"

She slumped lower in her chair. "He's here."

Lydia, with an uncanny ability to hear everything, abruptly slid lower in her chair. "Where?"

"Here!" Simone said.

Gale stiffened, eyes quaking at the stage. "Did he see you?" he managed with lips barely moving.

"Yes."

His eyes slowly closed in defeat and in a single breath said, "Bring my body back to Abberton. I want nothing but lilies for my funeral. And I want Pauline Baker to say a few words about me."

"What should we do?" Lydia asked.

"Prepare our funerals—That's what I'm doing," Gale retorted, standing.

"B-But—Gale!"

She shot to her feet, clearing her throat, and with a forced smile, dared to look where Web was moments ago. Her brother was on his feet as well, looking at her as he made his way through the rows of audience who craned their neck to look at the stage as he passed. She jumped to reach for Gale while Lydia did the same to her. Gale skittered toward the nearest exit and they gathered their skirts in breathless haste.

"Simone, my dear sister, where are you going?" Web's amused (and scary) voice called behind them.

Simone was the youngest of four. Her three eldest brothers were men (as they claimed) and ever since their parents died four years ago, many things remained the same. It was as if time had frozen when their parents died and Webster, Damon, and Price still believed she was the same twelve-year-old girl. At twenty-three, Webster could be scary, but Simone preferred his anger than Damon's, the second brother, older than her by three years, whose anger was silent and deadly. Price she could deal with most often, perhaps because he was just a year older and could be quite as problematic.

However, there was a rule amongst all Stratford cousins. Harry, a year older than Web, and brother to Gale, should always have the last say. And Harry was a different scary. Because he could be quite arrogant and unemotional if he had to. And Web always reported everything to him.

Since their grandfather, the Earl of Abberton, after taking in all his grandchildren after all his children and their spouses died in a very tragic shipwreck, lacked the enthusiasm for control and disciplining, Harry, who became his heir after the accident, took it upon himself to inherit the task before he could claim the title. If Web reported this incident to Harry, he would give them his own punishment after they suffered Web's.

"The three of you, stop at once."

Simone and Lydia continued to follow Gale into a narrow corridor. "Gale should have known better, shouldn't you have, Gale?"

"Oh, God," Simone prayed under her breath. "Drop a miracle. Anything."

The miracle was not dropped. It crashed against Gale, sending him to fall back against Simone and Lydia. The three of them fell to the ground in a series of thuds and yelps. When Simone rolled to her knees, she looked up and found her brother standing above them, hands on his hips, brown eyes narrowed to slits.

"Ow, ow! Lydia—Ow!" Gale was screaming.

Web's eyes rolled at the mess on the floor before they landed on the man that caused it all. "Daniel?" His face broke into a smile. One thing everyone knew about Web was his substantial number of friends.

"Priest?" a man's voice—one Simone grew too acquainted with in the last hour or so—replied. "Webster Priest!"

Simone snapped her head around and gasped, jumping to her feet, mouth dropping open at the beautiful miracle. Mr. Daniel Cavendish, their neighbor, the actor, was grinning at her brother. Without tearing her eyes off him, she stepped beside Web and murmured, "Introduce us."

Lydia, getting up, hastily fixed the ribbon on her hair and stood beside Web. "You are friends? From where? Butler?" Simone was thinking the same. Nearly everyone Web knew was from university.

Handsome, talented, and educated. The perfect miracle.

Ignoring his sister and cousins, Web stepped forward and extended a hand to Daniel Cavendish. "I knew it was you the moment I saw you on that stage," he said, pulling the man none-too-gently off the floor and slapping his arm in greeting. Simone stepped forward and tugged at her brother's coat with an expectant smile. He elbowed her away as he asked Daniel, "But what are you doing here in Coulway?"