Fenella considered. She was no stranger to gems of all kinds; Diana’s family had diamond mines in South Africa and her own mother had a wealth of jewels, mostly locked away in the bank for safekeeping. But a color-change sapphire? She shook her head. “No. I know there are many different kinds of sapphires, but color change?”
“To put it simply, they’re stones that change color according to the light. There’s an interaction between the light source and the stone itself,” he explained. “It’s something to do with the particular bedrock where they’re found. A deep blue stone could change in a moment to a rose pink, or even almost black, depending on the light it’s exposed to.” He reached over to refill her teacup and leaned back against his own chair, his long legs extended in front of him. A lock of hair flopped over his brow, but he didn’t seem to notice, and Fenella had to resist the absurd urge to brush it back with her fingers.
“And this Rose character has the same characteristics, she changes mood instantly?”
“Mood, and to a certain extent personality . . . angel one minute, devil the next.”
He regarded Fenella carefully for a moment from beneath the flop of hair. “It’s a very fine line you’ll have to draw. It’s imperative that you don’t lose the sympathy of the audience even when you’re at your most malevolent.”
“It sounds impossible,” Fenella stated. “At least for someone with no experience. I am a complete novice, Edward.”
“I know that,” he said with a touch of impatience. “But Cedric says you can do it and I trust his judgment.”
“What’s her background? Does she have a dark secret?” She instantly regretted the slightly cynical, almost mocking note to the question, but it did seem too obvious.
To her surprise, Edward didn’t seem offended. “She’s a changeling.”
“Oh, what, a fairy substituted for a baby spirited out of its cradle by other fairies?” Now she made no attempt to hide her incredulous amusement.
“Not exactly,” he said with a patience that surprised her. “She was found—”
“Not in a handbag!” Fenella interrupted on a bubble of laughter. The line from Oscar Wilde’s most successful play was too apposite to resist and she was too busy laughing to realize at first how insulting she was being.
Edward’s expression closed, his eyes losing the laughing glint they’d held a moment before. “This was clearly a mistake. Obviously, there’s no point discussing this with you if you won’t hear me out,” he said stiffly. “I’ll show you downstairs.” He stood up in one easy, agile movement. “Let me get your coat.”
Fenella finally realized what she’d done. She scrambled to her feet with a lot less elegance than Edward had shown. “No . . . no, please. How abominably rude of me. Please, Edward, forgive me. It was outrageous; I don’t know what I was thinking. The words just came out of my mouth.”
He stood looking at her, his hands resting lightly on his hips, his expression as dark as ever.
Inspiration hit her. “Is that something that Rose might do in one of her black incarnations? Find herself saying something appalling to someone, hurting them without thinking about it?”
He frowned. “It wouldn’t be by accident. She does nothing without intention.”
Fenella grimaced slightly. “So she’s actually evil?”
“Some of the time.”
They were still standing, as if poised on the brink of something. Fenella knew she didn’t want to leave. It would mean the abrupt end of something that she now realized she wanted to pursue. Whether it was the play or Edward Tremayne himself she wanted to pursue was not entirely clear to her, but she knew it wouldn’t become so if she allowed him to compel her departure.
Edward let his ready anger fade as he regarded her steadily. She was lovely, he reflected abstractedly. There was something almost ethereal about her appearance, but nothing ethereal at all about her personality. That was razor-sharp. He thought once again that she was the embodiment of Rose.
“You haven’t finished toasting your crumpet.” He returned to his place on the floor, sprawled against the chair at his back, his legs stretched in front of him.
Relieved, Fenella returned to her own position and took up the toasting fork. “Can we do a read-through? It might help me to see the character more roundly.”
“I wanted to explain my thinking first,” he responded. “But that doesn’t seem to be a working strategy, so, yes, we’ll do a read-through. On one condition . . .”
“Which is?”
“That we read it once, straight through, no stopping, no questions until we’ve come to the end. You’ll read Rose and I’ll read the other parts.” He reached for her toasting fork, snatching it from the fire just as the crumpet was about to burn. “Pay attention, Fenella. You’ll burn the house down in a minute.”
She flushed with annoyance at her carelessness, but also at his peremptory tone. “Sorry, I wasn’t concentrating, but there’s no need to sound like a schoolmaster.”
He spread his hands in acknowledgment. “Mea culpa. May we continue?”
Fenella swallowed her irritation and picked up where they’d left off. “I agree, a straight read-through makes the best sense. I need to get a feel for the whole, even if I don’t understand every aspect of the character.” She took up the delicate bone-china teacup and drank the last of her tea while Edward buttered her crumpet.
She glanced at the clock as she ate. It was past four o’clock. A full reading would take at least two hours, even without breaks. She needed to be home for a dinner party her mother was giving. Her mother had invited several eligible bachelors, not to mention Lord George Headington. Lady Grantley was far from ready to give up on her efforts to get her only daughter suitably, if not spectacularly married, and Lord George was her first choice. Fenella needed to be home in time to make herself ready enough to satisfy her mother’s exacting tastes. It would take nearly an hour just to do her hair.
“What’s the matter? You look as if you’ve swallowed a worm.”
With annoyance, she felt herself flush yet again. Was she going to compound her earlier offenses by telling him she couldn’t stay long enough to complete the reading?
“It’s awkward,” she said finally. “I have to be home by seven at the latest. My mother’s giving a dinner party and—”
“And you need to be looking your best before the first guests arrive,” he interrupted. “Believe me, I understand the imperative. We’ll do the reading another time, when there’s nothing pressing to cut it short.”
“Thank you. I was afraid . . .” Uncomfortable, Fenella let her sentence fade as she got to her feet.
“Afraid of what?” Edward asked, standing up, brushing crumbs from his faded corduroy trousers. “Afraid I wouldn’t understand about dinner parties? Believe me, I’ve suffered through more than any man should in a lifetime.”
Fenella put her head to one side, regarding him quizzically. “Aren’t you too young to make such a definitive statement?”
“Maybe, if I was not who I am,” he returned somewhat obliquely.