by Sonia Parin
Faith had been right to be excited about the evening. The driveway into Willoughby Park had been turned into a magical thoroughfare with sparkling fairy lights lighting the way. The clouds that had been hovering around all day had cleared up, making way for a spectacular night sky full of bright stars.
While the evening air felt crisp, the thrill of the moment made Abby forget she wore a sleeveless dress. She’d had to make some last-minute repairs to her heels, covering up the scuff marks with the only thing she had available. The black marker had done the trick with the long dress hopefully covering anything she might have missed.
They joined the other guests making their way to the imposing porticoed entrance.
Abby fell silent for a moment. She’d always tried to keep her finger on the pulse; staying abreast of current affairs, the news, celebrity gossip and anything that might or might not come in useful. She’d been known to go through stacks of magazines, simply looking at photos of glamorous soirees and events attended only by the privileged few. Strangely, she’d never felt pangs of envy or even wondered what it might all be like.
Catching sight of the Chinese lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze, she decided the ball might actually give her a taste of the grand life or at least a glimpse of how the other one percent lived.
Abby could barely keep the surprise from her voice when she said, “Oh, look. Charles Granger hired footmen.” Dressed in royal blue and gold livery and donning white wigs. It made her think of the balls in her favorite regency novels. That thought led her to remember there were always receiving lines, with the host and various members of their family welcoming their guests.
Moment of truth, Abby thought and felt a rush of heat splash on her cheeks. While she’d planned on making her entrance with Sebastian by her side, she’d hoped to then fly under the radar and lose herself in the mixing and mingling part of the event.
If Charles Granger had made a point of ‘not’ inviting her, how would he react when he saw her?
When she’d trekked out to Willoughby Park the day before, she hadn’t seen Charles so she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him about the invitation. His assistant, Kelly Pierce, had been too busy to allocate any time for an interview, but she’d given Abby the run of the place so she could take as many photographs as she wanted. She hadn’t mentioned seeing Abby arriving at Miffi’s house, so Abby hadn’t mentioned the encounter either.
The estate had been a hive of activity with workmen putting the finishing touches to the grounds and all the waiting staff attending to every detail inside the house. A live band had been tuning their instruments and doing a last-minute rehearsal. With so much happening, no one had paid any attention to Abby.
Sebastian adjusted his bow tie. “The last time I had to queue up to get in somewhere was at the Met Gala.”
Abby laughed. “The Met Gala? Oh, you mean the event the rest of us get to read about because it’s only attended by A-listers and society’s crème de la crème? The Super Bowl of fashion…” Reportedly costing $30,000 for a ticket, Abby thought, knowing the guest list always included the world’s best achievers in all the spheres of music, film, Broadway and fashion, as well as supernova personalities.
Sebastian chuckled under his breath. “Did I sound pompous?”
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to.” Abby drew in a breath. What if she had to produce an invitation? Or worse… What if someone pulled her aside and, none too discreetly, told her there seemed to be some sort of mistake because her name didn’t appear to be on the guest list?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian slip his hand inside his coat pocket. Clearly, her scheme had a plot hole. “Oh, dear,” the words trembled out of her mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Sebastian asked.
Abby cleared her throat and whispered, “I… I don’t have my invitation.” Abby silently laughed. She didn’t have one…full stop.
The couple in front of them moved forward. Abby thought she might have a few more minutes to come up with a game plan, but the line moved and suddenly they were next.
They were greeted by a man in coattails. “Good evening and welcome to Willoughby Park.” He looked at Abby and quirked an eyebrow up.
Reading the gesture as a prompt, Abby swallowed and blurted out, “I… I don’t have an invitation.”
“When Abby said she didn’t have an invitation,” Sebastian drawled out, “Doyle took a step back and sidled over to sit next to me as if to say she was on her own.”
Everyone in the group burst out laughing. Abby managed to find the humor in the story and gave a nervous chuckle as she said, “Thankfully, Sebastian came to my rescue saying I was his plus one, which put Doyle in a perilous position. Would you believe it, the butler looked down at him as if to ask, so who are you with?”
Abby breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a close call. She had meant to play it cool, calm and collect by suggesting she had forgotten her invitation, but her conscience had intervened at the worst possible moment, weighing her words with the sense of guilt she felt at gate-crashing the event. To make matters worse, as she’d made her forced admission, everyone around her had fallen silent, giving her words even more significance.
“Champagne,” a waiter offered.
“Oh, yes please. Thank you.” Abby took a sip and tried to discreetly adjust the Venetian mask she’d been issued with. Everyone wore one, which made identifying people somewhat difficult.
Sebastian had led her toward the group she stood with and had introduced everyone to her but she’d still been trying to calm her thumping heart so she’d missed most of the names. She only remembered they were all local landowning cattlemen and their wives.
Excusing herself, Abby set off on a tour of discovery. The day before, she’d seen the ballroom with its polished parquet floor, sparkling chandeliers, French doors, and the massive fireplace. With all the guests milling about, chatting, laughing, and looking resplendent, the place had come alive.
“Stick close to me, Doyle. You don’t want anyone stepping on your paws.”
From a distance, she spotted a familiar face. Even though she wore a Venetian mask, there could be no mistaking Joyce Breeland’s presence. The woman lived and breathed a bigger than life personality. She wore a replica of Audrey Hepburn’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s black dress and managed to pull it off with admirable elegance. She’d even found the perfect accessory using a long cigarette holder to gesture.
Mitch Faydon stood in the group, and she only recognized him by his easy manner. The way he had his hand inside his pocket, she’d swear the man had been born to wear a tuxedo. The woman with her arm wrapped around his had to be his girlfriend, Elizabeth.
As Abby’s gaze skated across the ballroom, she saw locals she recognized from the café, but again, only because she recognized particular traits.
A light melody played in the background. Abby thought she recognized the composer but couldn’t think of his name.
As she turned, she smiled politely. Doyle’s tail flapped against her leg. Bringing him along had been a good decision, Abby thought catching a few admiring glances thrown his way. When she spotted Faith, she began moving toward her only to nearly collide with a woman.
Instant recognition hit her.
Kelly Pierce. Charles’ assistant.
Seeing her, the woman’s eyes widened slightly. Then her smile wavered and her eyebrows drew down.
Abby didn’t want to read too much into the swift change but if she had to guess, she’d say Kelly Pierce had, at first, been surprised to see Abby and then… somewhat displeased to find her at the ball.
Chapter Four
“When I saw you, I wanted to wave,” Faith said. Looking around her, she smiled. “But then I remembered my manners and lifted my chin and gave you a polite nod of acknowledgment. It wouldn’t do to call out a person’s name across the room.”
“Relax, Faith. You’re here to have fun. Charles would be the first to tell you so.”
“Did you know Charles Granger’s father is an English Duke. As in… A Duke. A Duke’s son lives among us. Right here in this out of the way town.”
“Yes, his father holds the title.” And Charles had been born the third son and didn’t have any titles because they’d all been bestowed upon his other two brothers. Such had always been the fate of the third son, Abby thought. A couple of hundred years before, he would have joined the clergy or taken up a profession. “You look amazing,” Abby said.
“As do you.” Faith giggled. “Did I say that right? This champagne is the real thing. I’ve already had two… maybe three glasses.” Faith leaned in and whispered, “It’s French. I’ve never had the good stuff before.”
“No, neither have I.” Abby took a small sip. She wished she could make the best of it, but she needed to keep her wits about her and not draw attention to herself.
“Did you think there would be so many people? I stopped counting at five hundred. I’m beginning to feel like a sardine.”
Great. The more the merrier, Abby thought. She figured it would be easy enough to blend in, especially since everyone had been required to wear black. If anyone decided to question her reason for being at the ball, she’d have to be creative or hope she could run in her heels.
“Everyone who is anyone is here and then, there’s the rest of us,” Faith continued. “I knew this would be a big event, but it has exceeded my expectations.”
Abby turned as discreetly as she could and tried to locate Kelly Pierce. She found her standing by the entrance to the ballroom, a tablet in hand. Was she looking through the guest list and double checking to see if Abby’s name cropped up?
Abby’s heart gave an alarming thump. Doyle must have picked up on her moment of panic and leaned against her. Abby smiled at his show of support and remembered only a few moments before the treacherous little rascal had been prepared to disown her.
Just as Kelly Pierce looked up and straight at Abby, a waiter strode by, blocking her from view with his tray full of canapés.
“That’s the third time he’s walked right past me,” Faith complained. “He keeps heading in the opposite direction. I need to re-position myself and find a more strategic spot or chase after him. By the time he makes the rounds, the tray is empty. I’d like to enjoy another glass of champagne, but I need to get some food inside me first. Back in a sec.”
Abby took another sip of her champagne, appreciating the subtle flavors. Everyone had been talking about the event for a month and would no doubt continue to do so for several months to come. She wouldn’t be surprised if the night became imbedded in the collective memory with elaborate stories embellished with each retelling.
The murmured conversations around Abby hitched up and filled with awed excitement. Thinking someone of note had made an entrance, Abby stood on tiptoes.
Just then, Faith returned, her mouth full of canapé. “She’s here.”
“She?”
“Marigold Winthrop. As I chased after the waiter, I caught snippets of people’s conversations. Her name is on everyone’s lips. Apparently, she’s just been issued with divorce papers. So, they were all wondering if she would attend tonight.”
“Is she well-known in the district?”
Faith snorted. “She’s only married to the wealthiest businessman around. In these parts, they’re considered landed gentry, but as they spend most of their time in the city, they’ve been labeled Melbourne Royalty.”
Abby clicked her fingers. Marigold. She remembered Miffi Howsen mentioning her. Abby craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of her.
“I’ve only ever seen photos of her in magazines but I wouldn’t recognize her if she crossed paths with me. Photos tend to make people look different,” Faith said. “Everyone appears to be looking toward that corner.” Faith steered Abby, turning her slightly in the direction she’d pointed.
“Miffi Howsen made her dress,” Abby offered.
“How do you know?” Faith asked. “From what I heard, Miffi didn’t want to make anyone’s dress.”
“Well, I have it on good authority. It has a silver clasp on one shoulder,” Abby said.
Faith gave a dreamy sigh. “You saw her dress? It must be beautiful.”
“Did I say that?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Oh, all right. Yes, I saw the dress.”
“Hang on. If you saw the dress, then… you must have gone to Miffi’s.” Faith stepped back and gave Abby’s dress a head to toe sweep. “Is that where your dress came from?”
Abby smiled.
“But… But Miffi said…” Faith lifted her chin. “Well, I’m cross with her. Of course, I’m happy for you, but the rest of us had to settle for off the rack dresses. Consider yourself lucky.”
Oh, she did.
Faith sniffed.
“Are you smelling me?” Abby asked.
“Have you been smoking?” Faith got closer and sniffed her again. “I smell cigarettes on you.”
“You must have a sensitive nose. I don’t smell it.”
“And you’re not surprised,” Faith said.
“Miffi smokes like a chimney.” At least Abby knew she wouldn’t be the only one wearing a dress smelling of cigarettes.
“I guess you can’t really complain. After all, you’re wearing a Miffi Howsen dress.” Shaking off her annoyance with Miffi, Faith stood on her toes again. “I can hear people gasping. Can you see if Marigold Winthrop is wearing a mask and did she come alone or is her soon to be ex-husband with her, here to debunk the gossip mongers and pretend life is rosy? A-list couples about to get divorced tend to appear in public together to offset the rumors.”
Abby shook with laughter. “Okay, I see her. She’s headed our way.”
“Does she look happy?”
“It’s hard to say. She’s wearing a mask, but she’s smiling.”
“Yes, but… what sort of smile is it?” Faith asked. “Forced? Satisfied? Smug? Anguished?”
“She’s too far away for me to tell the difference. There’s a man by her side. He’s a head shorter than Marigold.”
“Oh, yes. That’s Harry Winthrop. I hear his posh school friends nicknamed him ‘The Runt’ because he’s always been shorter than everyone else.”
Abby hopped on the spot and tried to see past a couple of people blocking her way. “He’s wearing a bright red tartan tuxedo.”
“Oh, that’s a tad excessive. He really wants to stand out and obviously doesn’t mind breaking the rules. Everyone is supposed to be dressed in black. Do you think we should curtsey?”
Abby snorted. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were star struck.”
“How can I not be? Look around you. Marigold’s appearance is the icing on the cake. Now we need a cherry to top it off. Oh, wouldn’t it be grand if they have a quarrel in public? I hear she’s been having an affair. Her lover could be here right now, right under our noses. Hey, there might be paparazzi disguised as guests. They might have gate-crashed the event just to catch Marigold in the act.”
Abby nearly choked on her drink.
A few suspicions had hovered in her mind but nothing that could have been substantiated. After all, mail went missing all the time. Now, those suspicions began to take shape. Had she been deliberately left out of the guest list because she worked as a reporter for the Gazette?
“By the way, I noticed you arrived with Sebastian Cavendish. Are you on a date?” Faith asked.
“Heavens. No. We just happened to arrive at the same time and met on the doorstep and… well, we chatted and as we chatted, we moved toward the door… together. It sort of happened. I didn’t plan it.”
Faith frowned. “You sound flustered and a little bit defensive.”
“It’s the champagne. Where is that waiter? I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat.”
“I think Marigold is getting closer.”
“Here’s a suggestion,” Abby said. “Why don’t you get closer to her?”
“And ruin the anticipation? I’m trying to milk this experience for all its worth.”
Abby finished her champagne but didn’t have to hold onto the glass for long as an attentive waiter took it away. Seconds later, another glass appeared in her hand.
“I fell for that trick too,” Faith said. “You should pace yourself. I wish the food waiter could be as efficient. Although, I shouldn’t fret. Dinner is about to be announced.”
“How do you know?”
Faith slanted her gaze toward Abby. “Didn’t you read your invitation? It’s all in bullet points. The entire evening has been meticulously orchestrated.”
Buffet or sit-down meal? Abby didn’t dare ask. However, she could fish around for more information… “While you ogled the invitation, I only glanced at it.” If they served a buffet, Abby could continue to mingle and blend in. However, if she had to sit at a table, she assumed there would be place name cards. Several worst-case scenarios unfolded in her mind. What were the chances of finding someone else named Abby?
She bent down and scooped Doyle up. Surely no one would try to physically remove her if she held an adorable dog in her arms…
“Oh, oh… Marigold is headed this way. She’s getting closer,” Faith exclaimed. “What if she stops for a chat? What should I say?”
“The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain?” Abby suggested as she gave Doyle a scratch behind his ear.
“I can’t say that. She’ll think I’m a halfwit.”
“Relax. People like Marigold are probably used to small talk. Let her take the lead.” Marigold Winthrop appeared to know everyone she encountered or, rather, she had the grace to acknowledge them. As she made her way through the throng of guests, they stepped back to make way for her.
The woman knew how to make an entrance and look the part. The dress Miffi Howsen had designed for her made her stand out, but Marigold had added an extra hint of glamor by wearing her golden hair braided and styled into a crown that sat on top of her head.