Free One Perfect Rose by Mary Jo Putney Page A

and be eaten by a bear.”
    â€œYou know your Shakespeare,” she said with approval.
    â€œI’ve always enjoyed the theater, Shakespeare most of all. I’ve even taken part in amateur productions of his plays.” He opened the door to the hall for her. “Long after a performance is over, the Bard’s words linger in the mind like the taste of fine brandy.” A few of those words suddenly danced through his head: “ She’s beautiful, and therefore to be woo’d. She is a woman, therefore to be won .” Good lord, where had that come from? Henry I, Part I , if he recalled correctly, and from Rosalind’s enchanting smile.
    He took a deep breath, then followed her from the foyer into the main hall. At the far end was a raised area that could be used either as a stage or a musicians’ dais. A number of people bustled about the platform, several working on the set while others rehearsed under Thomas’s direction. Stephen asked, “How large is your company?”
    â€œEighteen. About ten of us do real acting—the others, like Calvin Ames and Ben Brady over there, are musicians or stage crew and act only in minor parts.” Rosalind frowned. “It looks as if Ben is having trouble. I’d better go see.”
    Stephen followed her toward the stage, where the actors were hurling accusations of betrayal and jealousy at each other. “What play is being rehearsed?”
    â€œ The Ghost Speaks . We’re performing it tomorrow.” She gave a mischievous smile. “The play isn’t much, but it does allow us to take advantage of the Royal George’s nice trapdoor. Whenever we perform here, we do at least one play with ghosts.”
    â€œIt would be a pity to waste such a fine opportunity,” he agreed. “What is tonight’s show?”
    â€œ A Midsummer Night’s Dream . One of my favorites. I play first Hippolyta, then Titania’s chief attendant. It makes for a busy evening.”
    â€œAre the costume changes difficult?”
    â€œNot really. In this play, everyone wears flowing, medieval sorts of robes, so a change in mantles and perhaps a hair ornament is usually all that is required.” She had a shawl draped over her shoulders, so she stopped and turned toward Stephen, flipping the shawl over her head like a medieval cowl. “’Tis clothing that makes the woman, you know,” she said in a dark, conspiratorial voice.
    â€œYou’re a better actress than you give yourself credit for,” he said, impressed.
    â€œOh, I know the tricks of the trade.” She returned her shawl to its usual position. “Mama and Papa have seen to that. But I lack the inner fire.”
    Perhaps she didn’t have an actor’s fire, but he suspected that she was capable of more intimate fires. That lush, beautiful figure was made for passion.
    Knowing he’d better change the direction of his thoughts, he glanced at the materials stacked against one wall. “I suppose all the sets and costumes are used in many different ways.”
    She nodded, then climbed onto the stage and circled around the actors, who were too absorbed in their roles to notice distractions. “That painted tree Ben is holding has shaded Macbeth and his witches, concealed Bonnie Prince Charlie, and lashed in many a stormy gale.”
    The tree, however, had definitely seen better days. In fact, two of the flat spreading branches had broken off. Rosalind asked the wiry man examining the pieces, “What happened, Ben?”
    â€œThat clumsy assistant of mine dropped it,” he said dourly. “First all the excitement yesterday put us behind schedule today, and now my tree is broken.”
    Rosalind frowned. “What needs to be done?”
    Ben rattled off a list of tasks, ending gloomily, “Most of which won’t get done if I take the time to repair this properly, so I suppose we’ll have to do without the