“I’m afraid I’ll be playing the role of Greta,” Niall laughed along with them. “All roles will be filled by university students.”
“No girls?” the tall man asked, no longer amused.
“Not this time.”
The tall man grumbled something, thrust the pages of script he’d taken off the table at the man standing closest to him, and stomped out of the room.
Niall’s brow flew up as he fought not to be offended. “I guess I’m not pretty enough for him,” he said, feigning a hurt look.
The others laughed, which went a long way to ease the tension that had been growing in Niall’s shoulders. He gestured for the remaining hopefuls to take seats at the back of the room as John helped himself to a chair at the table where he sat.
“If it’s girls you’re looking for,” the man who had defended Professor Carroll said, “we’ve got some staying at our house. They’ve been there all summer.”
Niall did his best to hide his grin over the man’s eagerness to share the information as he shifted through the papers on the table. “Is that so?” he asked, not really paying attention. He needed to start the auditions so that he could get on with things, cast the play, and start rehearsals. His future life depended on it.
“Not just any girls,” the defensive man said from somewhere behind Niall’s shoulder. “The Cannon family from New York has been staying with us for most of the summer.” When Niall didn’t reply, the man went on with, “Their family is practically American Royalty. Mr. Cannon has made a fortune on the railroads. His daughter, Annamarie, is rumored to be the catch of the year. We’ve become quite friendly.”
“Lucky for you.” Niall scanned the list of names of men auditioning, then turned to the defensive man. “Your name, sir?” he asked.
“Ian Archibald.” The defensive man came forward, his hand outstretched. “At your service.”
Niall took Ian’s hand and shook it, sizing him up as quickly as he could. Ian wasn’t bad-looking with his sandy-brown hair and green eyes. His face was just a bit squat, and he had more of a look of the country bumpkins Niall had grown up with stuffed into a suit rather than the sort of elegance John Dandie had, even lounging in a stiff, wooden chair, as John was now.
“I see your name is on my list of auditioners, Mr. Archibald,” he said, nodding to the front of the room. “Let’s see how you sing.”
“Yes, sir.” Ian nodded, then strode eagerly to the front of the room, where David still sat at the piano, ready to accompany.
Ian leaned in to say something to David, who nodded, then launched into the stilted strains of a tune that had been popular in their fathers’ time. Niall took a deep breath and rested back in his chair. This was it. His very first auditions for a show that he had written and would direct and star in. Perhaps it was only a student production at an out-of-the way university few people cared about, but to him, it was the beginning of everything.
And by the time Ian made it through the first verse of his song, Niall had started to wonder if it were the beginning of a thousand troubles. It wasn’t that Ian couldn’t sing. His voice was passable, if a little pitchy. Ian certainly had confidence, though his manner was confrontational, daring Niall not to enjoy his performance, instead of engaging.
“Thank you,” Niall said once he was done. “Have a seat, and once we run through everyone’s songs, I’ll call you up to read.”
Ian nodded, looking a bit disappointed, perhaps that Niall hadn’t praised him or handed him the role on the spot, and headed to the chairs at the back of the room.
“Michael Hollister,” Niall read the next name on the list.
A new candidate for a part leapt up from his chair at the back of the room, handing sheet music to David, before taking his place and beginning his song. It was all Niall could do not to wince. The man was terrible. He could barely carry the tune, let alone do justice to the words he was singing. And the next man to audition was just as bad. And the next.
Niall exchanged a look with John after the fourth off-key, muddy singer to assault their ears. Neither said a word, but their looks conveyed everything. More than a dozen men had come to audition, and while some had the range to play one of the secondary roles, the only one who came close to having the talent to play Siegfried was Ian. And if he were honest, something about Ian Archibald made Niall cringe at the thought of playing opposite him. There was a kiss written into the play, after all.
“Right,” Niall sighed, trying to hide his disappointment after the last audition, turning to face the hopefuls at the back of the room. “If that’s the last of you, we can move on to reading scenes, and—”
“Am I too late?”
The man who dashed into the room was out of breath, his unfashionably curly hair tousled as though he’d run through the wind to reach the choir room, his face splashed with pink and hazel eyes bright. He was the most beautiful man Niall had ever seen in his life. He lifted what had to be a satchel of books off of his shoulder as he strode into the room, approaching Niall’s table, chest heaving as he caught his breath. He walked with an easy manner, smiling as he did, seeming to bring sunshine into the room with him.
“I’m not too late, am I?” he asked again.
Niall shook himself, realizing he’d been staring, dumbstruck, at the man. His lips were the most fascinating shape Niall had ever known. He instantly wanted to touch them, to kiss and explore them.
That thought startled him to full attention. Not only was the man built like an athlete in a way that radiated masculinity, Niall knew him. At least, he knew him from afar. Any student at the university would be hard-pressed not to know who Blake Williamson, Marquess of Stanley, future Duke of Selby, was.
“You’re just in time,” Niall answered, his voice going high and soft. He cleared his throat, forcing himself not to sound like a complete ninny, and went on with, “We were just about to start readings, but if you have a song to perform for your audition, we’ll do that first.”
“I do,” the man said with a breathless nod. “Let me just put my things down and catch my breath.”
“Take your time,” Niall said, giggling.
When Blake turned away from him, heading to the back of the room to set down his satchel and remove the light coat he wore, Niall grimaced at himself. Giggling? Was he actually giggling at gentlemen now? Hadn’t he just told John and David to be careful about being so obvious they were found out? Niall didn’t have the first clue about whether the future Duke of Selby was like them, even. Although by the look of him and the way he commanded the room as he walked over to the piano, he was far too powerful and sure of himself to be that way. It was a terrible loss.
Niall had to blink himself out of a near stupor of observing the man as Blake said something to David that caused David to get up from the piano.
“I hope you don’t mind if I accompany myself,” Blake said. “It would be a shame to waste all those piano lessons.”
“I don’t mind at all. Go right ahead,” Niall said, fighting tooth and nail not to giggle again. He’d been lucky enough to hear Blake sing and play at a student event at Christmas, and was well aware the man had talent.