Hawk & the Lady - Elizabeth Stevens Page 0,10

the same tuxedo they’d been wearing at least all season, and acting like it was by their power alone that their women-folk looked so good.

It was a night of bullshit at its finest.

But at least it was for some good causes.

When I opened the door on Edward, he was as polite as I’d have expected him to be.

“You look lovely,” he said. “That red really compliments my hair.”

I smiled as I picked up my phone and keys, and slid them into my dress pockets. Was a clutch more ‘appropriate’? Yes. But I had a habit of putting them down and forgetting what had happened to them.

“Why thank you,” I replied. “And that black really suits my soul.”

He gave a soft chuckle, the kind perfected over years. “Look at us. Matching already. Your mother will be thrilled.”

“She’ll be something all right,” I muttered as I locked up the house.

Edward followed me to his car, noticeable for being the only black Bentley in probably the whole suburb. The ride was mostly comfortable silence, interspersed with some small talk such as how work was going and who we thought the next engagement would be.

When we arrived, we were led into the ballroom and it was much the same as it always was. We nodded in greeting to people we knew, stopping now and then for small ‘hello’s. The room itself was also the same as usual; all creams and gold trims, huge bouquets of flowers in vases that took four men to lift, mirrors and bright lights, and a string quartet playing the appropriate music to serve as background to conversation or to dance elegantly to.

I noticed a significant lack of Isabella and felt slightly gypped I wouldn’t be exposed to her singular brand of passive-aggressive ridiculousness. I chose to make no comment on it, though, as that would possibly lead into veering into overt territory, and that wasn’t how we rolled.

Edward, as usual, was a fine companion for the evening. Would I have missed his company? Probably not. But I also didn’t hate it. We danced a bit, drank a sensible amount – enough to be sociable but not enough to be messy – and talked with acquaintances.

One of whom found me alone a couple of hours into the ball as I was debating how many more canapés I could feasibly be seen eating.

“I must say, I was rather surprised to see you turn up on Edward Barnes’ arm tonight, dear,” Mrs Fortescue said, looking at me in that calculating way she had.

“I like to think he turned up on my arm.”

She smiled knowingly. “So do I.”

“Why are you so surprised, anyway? I thought everyone knew Priscilla had chosen him as my future husband.”

She nodded. “Everyone does know that. Very few are willing to acknowledge that’s never going to happen.”

I looked around in surprise. “I didn’t think you all knew about Isabella?”

She blinked. “Isabella? What does that vapid attention-seeker have to do with it?”

Okay. She didn’t know after all. “Uh, no. Nothing. Why do you say Edward and I will never happen?”

She gave me a look that clearly told me I need not put on any act for her, and that she thought I was doing us both a disservice by doing so. “Because I know you, Leah. As decent as the younger Mr Barnes is, he’s not at all your type.”

“Really?” I teased. “And who would you say my type was exactly?”

Mrs Fortescue started looking around the room. I wouldn’t have said it was totally suspicious, but it was definitely conspicuous.

“I’ve been thinking about introducing you for months. He’s not the shy type, just…”

I was interested to see where this was going, so I didn’t prompt her.

“…he’s very…dedicated. Ah.” Her hand rose as if in greeting and she nodded. “There he is. Come on, dear.”

She started off through the crowd and I followed. It said something about her standing among these people that they moved to give her more space. To say they’d got out of her way wasn’t quite right. They just swayed where they stood in their groups so she had easier passage. Among the considerable egos in the room, it was an impressive reference for her character.

“Patrick!” Mrs Fortescue said as she walked towards a man’s back. “Patrick, I want you to meet someone.”

The man turned around and I recognised him as her companion for the last year or so. Only now I had a name for the face I seemed somewhat addicted to.

He looked as good as