Page 10 of Fairest of Heart

“Cover yourself, Narci. I’m coming in.” The ties on the door flap pulled loose. “You’ve avoided nailing down the program long enough. We’ll be in Granbury tomorrow, and we need a finalized schedule to give to the printer.”

Penelope froze. No, no, no. Her eyes met Mildred’s. “Cover” was all she managed to whisper before the flap opened and the troupe manager strolled in.

Mildred grabbed Penelope’s dress from the chair in front of the dressing table. The corset beneath it slipped to the floor. The seamstress turned back to Penelope, but it was too late. Alfred Billings’s gaze had already found Penelope, roosting on her like a hen settling in for the night. Penelope crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her chin, staring a hole in the ground as heat engulfed her face.

“Madame isn’t here, Mr. Billings.” Mildred, bless her, stepped between Penelope and the manager, but her short figure didn’t block much of Penelope’s display since Penelope was standing on a crate to keep the hem of the ball gown off the ground. “Perhaps you can return later?”

Penelope swiveled to show him her back, but the dressing table mirror made it impossible to hide. A gentleman would leave. But Alfred Billings had never been one to let scruples interfere with business.

“Shame on you, Miss Snow.” Instead of retreating, the man advanced. “Hiding all of these curves beneath those shapeless servant dresses of yours.”

Penelope made a grab for the tan dress Mildred held out to her, but Mr. Billings intercepted it and flung it into a far corner.

He clicked his tongue. “You’ve hidden long enough, Miss Snow.” He clasped her wrist and tugged her arm down. “This is marvelous! A figure to rival Narci’s combined with youth and delicate beauty . . . you’ll make the perfect understudy. You already fit the costumes, and with that face, no one will care if your acting is unpolished. Can you sing?”

On stage? In front of people? Penelope shook her head and pulled against his hold. “Please, Mr. Billings, I have no interest in acting. Let me go. I need to get back to work.” And into her own clothes.

“Work? Fetching and carrying for Madame LaBelle? I think not. You need to start training immediately. I’ve heard you run lines with Narci. You’ve a quick mind. With a little practice, you could fill her shoes when the occasion warrants. I can teach you how to internalize character and provoke emotion. You might not have her command of the stage, but that will come in time. Once you get a taste of the applause, your confidence will grow. Even the great Madame LaBelle started somewhere. You can be just as successful. Maybe more so. She might be a siren, but audiences love a sweetheart.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “I’d worried about what would become of the troupe once Narci retired, but now I know. You, Miss Snow, are going to make us all rich.”

“No!” Pulse racing, she jerked her arm away from his grasp. She had to flee. Hide. Escape. She jumped off the crate, rounded the dressing table, and ducked behind the nearest large object—the dressing table mirror. “I want nothing to do with the stage.”

All those men staring at her? Ogling her? Making her the very thing she’d vowed never to be—a body to lust after with no mind, heart, or soul.

“Penny, dear, don’t be so dramatic.” Madame LaBelle strolled into the tent. “Freddie is paying you a compliment.”

The knots of anxiety pulling tight in Penelope’s belly calcified into stone. How long had her mistress been standing at the door? How much had she heard? As she approached Mr. Billings and set a hand on his shoulder, she looked the picture of grace and serenity. But the woman was a first-rate actress, and Penelope didn’t trust the sheep’s clothing she’d donned. Not when a wolfish gleam hardened her eyes when her gaze slid over Penelope.

Mr. Billings’s smile tightened as he turned to greet his headliner. “Narci, you naughty girl, keeping Miss Snow’s marketable attributes hidden all this time.”

Narcissa’s manicured fingers walked down Mr. Billings’s arm as her lips plumped in a semipout. “Only because I knew you’d rush your fences and spook her, precisely as you’ve done. Our little Penny might have been blessed with a figure to draw a standing-room-only crowd, but she possesses a shy nature. She must be wooed gently, Freddie. Something I’ve been working on for the last six months.”

Madame circled the troupe manager to clear a path to Penelope, her movements poised and sleek like a panther stalking her prey. “I recognized her potential immediately, of course. Knew she would make the perfect protégé if I could just cure her of that pesky timidity. Why else would I encourage her to stand in for me during rehearsals and run lines with the other actors?”

Because you scorn the rest of the cast and have no patience for their missteps, Penelope thought. Surely Mr. Billings was not so naïve as to think Madame’s absence from rehearsals had anything to do with nudging a fledgling starlet into the limelight.

Narcissa reached the side of the dressing table, her mouth twitching slightly as her gaze raked over Penelope’s profile. Then in a swirl of muslin skirt, she spun to face Mr. Billings. “Leave us, Freddie. I must undo the damage you’ve done and calm our dear Penny.”

The way she kept calling her “dear Penny” couldn’t possibly bode well. She’d never been anything but Penelope, Miss Snow, or you there for the entirety of her time in Madame LaBelle’s employ. An explosion threatened, and Penelope feared the eruption would entail more than a flying hairbrush.

“After Penny and I have had our chat, I’ll come find you in the dining tent to discuss the flyers.”

Penelope’s heart faltered. Flyers. Madame had heard everything.

Mr. Billings waved a hand in surrender and bowed out of the tent. Madame then turned her attention to the seamstress. “Mildred?” Her voice flowed like sticky sweet syrup. “Have you finished marking the needed alterations on my gown?”

Mildred’s hands trembled slightly as she collected her sewing box. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Then help Penny out of the dress and take it away. I expect it to be completed tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mildred scurried to do as Narcissa bid, coming around to Penelope’s back and undoing the buttons. As exposed as Penelope had felt in front of Mr. Billings, her vulnerability only worsened as the purple silk was stripped from her body under her mistress’s pointed attention. Mildred met her gaze only briefly as Penelope gathered her thin petticoat in front of her and stepped out of the skirt. The sympathy in the older woman’s eyes offered little comfort.

Every small rustle of silk echoed like a trumpet blast in the too-silent tent. When Madame crossed to collect Penelope’s dress from where it lay crumpled in the corner, each padding footstep vibrated through Penelope with the force of a slamming door.

“Oh, Mildred?”

Arms full of fabric, the seamstress halted by the exit and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, Madame?”