“Hello, Frederick,” one of the girls says when she spots us. When we join them, she asks, “What did you think of the show?”
“It was brilliant as always.” He then introduces me to the group, tossing out a dozen names I’ll never remember.
“Where are you from?” one of the young men asks, catching my eye and giving me a smile.
Are all humans so keen on that question?
“Up north,” I say evasively.
Another asks, “How long are you in Davon?”
“A few days only.”
He offers me a crooked grin. “Once you get tired of Frederick, come find me. I’ll take you on a tour of the city.”
One of the girls scowls, perhaps jealous. Uncomfortable, I look at Frederick.
After clearing his throat, he says, “I’m going to introduce Sabine to Carianna.”
“She’s in a right fit,” the dark-haired girl warns. “Tread with care.”
“When isn’t Carianna in a fit?” Frederick asks with a laugh.
“She’s particularly put out tonight.” The girl drops her voice. “Word has it Mr. Devereaux is thinking of giving Candace Whitmore the lead in the next show. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Frederick?”
“Me?” He presses an innocent hand over his heart.
The group laughs, and the girl says, “Fine, keep your secrets—but be prepared for Carianna’s wrath. She’s blaming you.”
Shaking his head, Frederick begins to lead me away. “I assure you, I certainly have nothing to do with it.”
“Who’s Candace?” I ask when we’re away from the group.
“She’s the daughter of Lord Joseph Whitmore. Her fiancé is considering funding the next show, but he has made a special request.”
“She wants in the show,” I say.
“That’s the general gist of it.”
“And who’s Mr. Devereaux?”
“He’s the owner.” Frederick stands a smidgen straighter, smirking as he motions to himself. “My good friend.”
“Of course,” I say with a laugh.
“You’ll meet him shortly. He’s likely going over numbers now, hyperventilating because the theater wasn’t full tonight.”
“It seemed like a good attendance to me.”
Frederick shrugs. “Nothing but sold out is ever enough.”