Page 94 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
There were whoops and cheers as the older residents made their way slowly but confidently onto the stage, Valerie with her long loop of chains. A male voice somewhere behind Imogen said, ‘Is this performance X-rated? Because the last book I read with chains in wasFifty Shades of Grey.’ Heads swivelled to see who had spoken, and Jazz’s shoulders shook with laughter, but Imogen was in a panic. She realized, having left the last rehearsal to go and talk with Edmund, she had no clue about the running order; no idea how long she had to wait, surviving through creeping death, until Fiona called her and Dexter’s names.
She half-watched Valerie and Frank’s performance, and had to admit that, with the lights down low and the help of some flickering LED candles and Valerie’s chains, it was incredibly atmospheric. Then came Oscar and Rose Devlin, charming everyone with their scene fromThe Grinch, which got a lot of anticipated laughter along with some that was probably incidental. Fiona and Ermin were next, performing a scene fromJane Eyrethat neither of them had mentioned or done at any of the rehearsals.
‘What the fuck?’ Jazz whispered, when they began. ‘I know they’re not my mum and dad, but they’re the closest thing I’ve got, and this is more cringey than anything I have ever had to deal with in my life.’
Imogen squeezed her arm. ‘Zone out, if you can. Though actually, they’re very good.’
Jazz didn’t reply, and when Imogen dragged her gaze from the stage, her friend had her chin tucked against her chest, her eyes squeezed closed.
Then it was Jazz and Mary’s turn. Their Hallmark sketch was as good as it had ever been, and included a few jokesthat were on the risqué side, and thattheyhadn’t included during any of the rehearsals, so Imogen guessed Jazz had got Fiona and Ermin back in the embarrassment stakes. She craned her neck to try and see Fiona’s expression, but couldn’t find her.
She had just started to enjoy herself, to almost forget that she was still due to perform with the man that – she had realized not very long ago – she was in love with, but who was either mad at her or had washed his hands of her. And, even if it hadn’t all gone wrong between them, their rehearsing had been entirely inadequate, because a lot had happened, and also –also– she had planned something impromptu, and it was too late to find Harry and stop it from happening.
She hadalmostforgotten all of that, and her palms weren’t quite as clammy as they had been, but then Jazz and Mary’s scene ended with uproarious laughter and applause, and they bowed and curtsied and high-fived each other, then hurried off the stage while Fiona took their place.
‘That was wonderful,’ Fiona gushed, ‘and unexpected! It’s made me want to switch to the Hallmark channel as soon as I get home. And now for some good, old-fashioned Regency romance. I’m not talkingBridgerton,’ she added quickly, ‘but something by one of the best-loved authors on the planet. With an entirely non-risqué scene fromNorthanger Abbey, please welcome our beloved baker Dexter Rivera, and Mistingham’s newest resident, Imogen Rowsell.’ There were more whoops and applause, and Imogen watched as Dexter stood up and looked over at her. She stood too, but she couldn’t scootch along the row to join him, because there wasn’t space. He gave her a tiny shrugand walked down the central aisle to the stage, while she slipped past Jazz and went around the edge, meeting him at the bottom of the steps.
‘Hey,’ he whispered.
‘Hello,’ she said. Her voice wavered, which wasn’t a good start.
‘Ready?’ Before she had a chance to reply, he held out his hand. And, even if there wasn’t a future for them, if she’d messed it up before they’d really got going, she was grateful for Dexter’s kindness. She just hoped he would forgive her for what was about to happen.
‘Ready,’ she lied.
She put her hand in his, and was both relieved and unnerved to discover it was as clammy as hers. Together, they walked up the steps and onto the stage, to perform in front of the whole of Mistingham.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was almost quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Why was her and Dexter’s scene so much more anticipated than anyone else’s? Was it because she was new in the village? Because of the rumours that had circulated about them? News of Edmund’s appearance the other day must have spread like wildfire. Had the audience been as hushed for the other scenes, and she was only noticing it now because it was her turn?
She took a couple more steps onto the stage. Dexter dropped her hand and turned to face her.
She faced him, too.
He nodded, gave her a small, encouraging smile, and it might have been Imogen’s imagination, but did the lights overhead dim a little bit, the LED candles flicker more brightly to life?
She took a deep breath, her catalogue of acting tricks playing on a speedy slideshow inside her head, about how best to perform, to project her voice and smile, to get intocharacter. In her shimmery, floaty dress, with the manor’s high ceiling and original features, the mistletoe (so much mistletoe!), it wasn’t as hard as she had imagined.
It was a funny scene. Funny and sad, but with an undercurrent of the romance, the affection, that was growing between Catherine and Henry. It was full of promise.
She said her first line: ‘“Mr Tilney! … Good God! … How came you here? – How came you up that staircase?”’
Dexter replied: ‘“How came I up that staircase! … Because it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why should I not come up it?”’
He had done a better job than her, projecting his voice towards the audience, half-angled towards them, while still looking at her.
She stole a glimmer of his confidence for her next line, which was direction, describing Catherine’s mortification at the situation.
‘Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no more. He seemed to be looking in her countenance for that explanation which her lips did not afford.’ Imogen said it wryly, gentle laughter from the audience spurring her on.
Dexter’s smile widened a fraction, and she thought maybe he was enjoying it, that maybe he wasn’t mad with her after all: that he understood why she’d needed to speak to Edmund, to close that chapter of her life before she could start a new one.
They kept going, increasing in enthusiasm and speed. It was only a short scene, they were nearing the end, and then – shit,then– her surprise would be revealed, and she would find out whether she’d pitched it right or got it completely wrong. Again.
She said her next line, the question Catherine asked Henry, waiting for his answer with bated breath: ‘“But your father, … washeafflicted?”’
Dexter was supposed to say: ‘“For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing him not attached to her. He loved her, I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for him to.”’ But he didn’t.
