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“ Wherefore art thou Romeo! ” She ran the words together in one triumphant shout and opened her eyes.

Charlotte tittered. Sally coughed.

“Butchery!” Mr. Arbuthnot reared back. “I have heard the bard abused, mangled, put on the rack, but you, my child, you have disemboweled him with a truncheon.”

Elf was pressing her fingers to her throat, a smile spilling off her face.

“I know the bard will recover.” Her voice shook but only slightly.

“You and your company give him new life every night.” She gazed at Mr. Arbuthnot, and then out at the dozen players, all staring back at her.

She was shaking visibly now, but she continued.

“So would Georgie Bowen there. If you need a new player to help you captivate the public, look no further.”

Every pair of eyes swung to Georgie.

There was only one pair that they saw. Deep as the sea. Deep as their love.

Help.

“I can even fence,” they said, forcing themself to focus on Mr. Arbuthnot.

“In that case”—the manager pinched the bridge of his nose—“Tybalt. And if you prove yourself tolerable, I’ll engage you for Manchester.”

Georgie grunted as Sally, Charlotte, and Louisa rocketed into them. They went down under a giggling pile of congratulations.

“Zounds,” they breathed, as they struggled upright, grinning in all directions. “I am peppered.”

“That’s my line,” said Mr. Garnet, mildly.

“We’ll rehearse in the morning.” Mr. Arbuthnot lumbered to his feet. “Is that a sea monster?”

It was Roscoe, back in the pond. Georgie charged after him, and so did Sally, Charlotte, and Louisa, shrieking, and Phipps, with a mighty yawp.

Georgie’s steps slowed as the water pushed on their legs and pulled on their shift, and they dove.

When they surfaced, they could hear Mr. Arbuthnot’s distant voice.

He was singing a ballad about Robin in the greenwood, derry derry down s floating on the air, growing fainter as the wagon creaked away through the trees.

Georgie emerged from the pond, all chattering teeth and racing thoughts. There was no one on the bank. They wrapped themself in their discarded Roman habit and padded to the willow.

“I’ve never been here at night,” said Elf, as though in explanation, as they ducked through the fronds, relief coursing through them to find her there.

“Me either.” They sat next to her, resting their damp head on her shoulder. The air was warmer in this curtained place and smelled of green growing things. A breeze whispered through the leaflets.

“I think I’d like being anywhere with you,” they said. “Even that cave was delightful, in retrospect.”

She laughed. “No, it wasn’t.”

“This is more delightful.” They sighed. “You were wonderful tonight.”

“You forgive me my crime against Shakespeare?”

“You spoke in front of a whole crowd of strangers. It was as bold as when you attacked the bandit, who turned out to be me, but never mind. It was bolder even.”

“You hummed.”

“I know. I’m a twit.”

“ I hummed.” She said this with all the surprise she must have felt still there in her voice. “I knew I was embarrassing myself, so I didn’t dread embarrassing myself. Somehow that helped. And my vocal cords weren’t waiting for my brain anymore. That helped too.”

“It’s the twit’s creed. Speak first. Think never.”

Her shoulder made a small, exasperated movement. “You’re not a twit.”

They lifted their head. “You wouldn’t give me so much credit last time. Have I risen in your esteem?” They couldn’t determine anything about her expression, only that her face was turned toward them.

“Thank you,” she said, after a pause. “For humming.”

“Thank you .” They reached out slowly, until their fingers touched her jaw. “For what you said about me. I’m not going with them, of course. But thank you.”

“Not going.” Her tone was as unreadable as her face.

“I can’t play in Thornton. Mrs. Roberts will invite the neighborhood. It’s worse than Drury Lane when it comes to discretion.”

She didn’t move. They didn’t move either, but they felt their heart teeter, waiting for something, unsure what it was.

“But that’s easily resolved,” she said, and now she sounded confused, perhaps even disappointed, that they’d let themself be stopped by such a trifle. “You could start after Thornton, couldn’t you?”

They swallowed. “Maybe.” They’d thought of that.

They could at least inquire. They’d thought, too, of the letter they’d write to Harry.

It would say that Anne had invited them to Halifax for a long visit.

And meanwhile, they’d tour north, a strolling player, acting the parts they’d dreamed of acting, in locales where no one would know who they really were.

Their first real opportunity. Was that what gave them pause?

They preferred fantasy to reality? Preferred to leave potential unrealized, keeping every door open, passing through none?

“You think I should go,” they said, fingers drinking in the feel of her skin. Their very fingertips thirsted. “Why?”

Delicate muscles tensed as she swallowed. “Because you want to go.”

They were glad she couldn’t see their smile, its ugly edge. Elf had never doubted her purpose in life, only the best method for attaining her goals. But they had no goals as such. They were uncommitted even to their frittering, always chasing new interests and pleasures like will-o’-the-wisps.

I’m madly in love with you. They could say it to her now. But wouldn’t it seem no more than their latest diversion? And what if it was?

Elf was braver than they were. And truer. And responsible already for so much. They couldn’t ask her to take responsibility for their decisions on top of everything else.

They asked anyway. “Tell me what to do.”

“Georgie!” There was a world beyond the willow, and Sally Linley was calling. “Where have you gone? You haven’t left us?”

“We’ll get the worst rooms if we go back to the inn now.” That was Charlotte. “May we stay the night with you? Just the three of us. And Roscoe, but he won’t mind sleeping in your stables.”

“I’m fagged to death,” said Louisa. “I could sleep right here.”

“I have to…” Georgie began, and Elf nodded, not meaning, probably, to shake off their fingers, but that was the result.

They spread the fronds. “You’re all welcome to stay the night.” They turned back to Elf. “Will you come too?” they asked in a softer voice.

When she nodded, they released their breath.

It was an odd procession up to the manor, Georgie driving slowly in the gig, with Elf at their side, Phipps and the players trailing after, in Roman habits, looking both silly and solemn.

The present in the garb of the past always looked silly and solemn.

And the future? Georgie didn’t have the least idea what the future looked like, but they drove on regardless.