Chapter Three
The throng of excitedly chattering guests filled the foyer of Pembroke Hall.
An elegant and older building, it possessed a charm all its own, boasting intricately carved finials on both ends of the massive split staircase that currently held a lot of people.
The treads were obscured, mostly by the frills and fripperies of ladies’ gowns, but what could be seen was highly polished and covered with a richly patterned oriental carpet.
Lucas sighed as he watched the crowd ascend, fluttering butterflies of the genus fatuus homines. That passing notion brought a brief memory to his mind; Silas was always fond of coming up with something inappropriate in Latin.
At some point, he was going to have to pay a call on his brother, but tonight was for other business.
Joining the procession, he found himself next to a couple who were apparently already quarrelling. But incredibly politely, of course.
“I did tell you, Marmaduke,” hissed the obviously irate lady.
“Yes, but half an hour after we’d left,” responded the gentleman, in less than gentlemanly tones.
Lucas sighed and looked the other way, happy once again that he’d not married. Apparently such a permanent arrangement most often brought dissatisfaction along with it. At least that’s what he’d seen more often than not.
Finally reaching the top of the stairs, he could see the massive chandeliers, almost blindingly brilliant, sending twinkling sparks from the many jewels on display. The ballroom already held a very large number of guests, making him frown at the prospect of trying to locate Alastair.
Complicating matters was the sound of the orchestra, a clarion call to everyone that the first dance was about to start. Barely avoiding being run over by eager participants, Lucas eagerly sped to the safety of a large pillar on one side of the room.
From there, he was able to survey the dancers, and also those ringing the floor. And there, at last, he spied Alastair.
It only took about five frustrating minutes to circle the dancers, avoid being bumped, dodge the fantastically decorated gowns that swung wide with the steps of the waltz, and cleverly avoid servants carrying trays of glasses, some filled with what looked like champagne, others obviously already emptied.
At last, with a massive sigh of relief, he reached the corner where Alastair Pembroke had set up shop for the evening. The elderly man’s face lit up with a smile when he spied his friend.
“Thank God, Lucas,” he grinned. “I was despairing of meeting anyone tonight who could manage a decent conversation.”
“Well, there’s an easy solution to that problem. Don’t host balls, Alastair. You’re asking for trouble when you do that.”
Alastair laughed. “I am so glad to see you in person. Our conversations through the CCE never really satisfy.”
The two men shared a glance of understanding.
“It’s delightful to be here,” Lucas said, aware of the public environment. “I am honoured that you invited me.” He bowed and smiled, the perfectly proper guest.
“I have seen a few surprised faces already, my friend. My suspicions are that you’ll be besieged before the evening ends. The prodigal son and all that...”
“Yes. And I anticipated it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to like it, but...” He glanced at his host. “I had to come.”
Alastair nodded, keeping a social smile fixed firmly on his face. “I know.”
“Perhaps we could...”
Lucas got no further as a loud blast of music from the orchestra’s dais drew everyone’s eyes.
“Ahhh.” Alastair rose. “Here’s our young lady.
The amazing girl who has assumed responsibility for this evening, along with any number of other charitable causes.
And she’s damned good at managing ‘em, too.” He nodded to where the crowd was parting.
“Here’s where I have to go make an idiot of myself.
” He shot Lucas a smile and rolled his eyes. “Don’t let anyone take my chair.”
“I won’t.” His gaze was fixed upon the woman forging a path through the crowd, and then waiting at the corner of the dais. She looked strangely familiar...
Alastair walked to the front of the dais and cleared his throat.
“Good evening, good evening.” He nodded and smiled as the chattering and shuffling decreased. “I just want to make sure I wish you all a wonderful time tonight, since you’ll all be far too busy to say hello to an old man...”
Laughter and a few calls of “noo” and “hello” answered Alastair’s humourous comment.
“Anyway,” he continued, “At this moment I must perform the most pleasant of duties by introducing the true heroine of this evening. Many of you are familiar with her good works on behalf of the children of Arcvale. Many more might know of her other forward-thinking ideas concerning education and the health of our youngest citizens. So I must say that it is with great pride that I present this evening’s hostess. ..Lady Verity Turner-Yardley.”
Applause rang out, growing in intensity and—to judge by the faces—it was genuine, surprising Lucas, who waited for his first glance of this person held in such high esteem by his old friend.
A woman in a perfectly tailored grey silk gown stepped up onto the dais beside Alastair, and put her hand on his arm.
Her smile was warm and affectionate, her style elegant, and confidence lingered about her like the finest perfume.
She leaned in and dropped a soft kiss on the older man’s cheek, saying something beneath her breath that made him chuckle and shake his head.
Then she moved forward slightly, allowing Alastair to step back to his chair.
The room quietened, and Lady Turner-Yardley removed a small piece of paper from her reticule. Then she lifted her chin and smiled...
And Lucas’s jaw nearly hit the floor as he got his first good look at her.
It was that Verity. The poor girl who’d been thrust at him as a suitable bride by parents who hadn’t cared she’d barely turned seventeen.
*~~*~~*
It was an excellent turnout, thought Verity as she smiled her social smile, nodding at one or two faces she recognised, and waiting for the applause to die down.
As it did so, she cleared her throat and glanced at her notes
“Good evening,” she began.
The room was surprisingly quiet while she spoke, for which she was profoundly grateful, since she hated having to shout over background noise. It always left her hoarse the next morning.
She had memorised many such speeches, so she delivered this one with clarity and genuine emotion, knowing that those guests in front of her could well afford a sizeable donation. The words fell from her lips with ease, the smiles from the audience reassuring her it was going well.
But there was no harm in giving them a nudge.
“Charity is not an act of impulse,” she said clearly. “I like to think of it as an act of stewardship. Tonight is not about giving once—but about ensuring that what we give endures.”
She took a breath, pleased to note the quiet attention.
“Every contribution given this evening will be placed into a protective trust, audited quarterly, and invested conservatively, so that the children who benefit from your generosity will continue to do so, long after tonight’s music has faded.
We must all agree that the success of our city is measured not by the height of its spires, but by how carefully it accounts for those who cannot yet stand beneath them.
” She took a breath. “Thank you again for being here, and a special thanks to our host for opening Pembroke Hall so graciously... Now? I think it’s time to dance. ”
With those words the little girls in pink and white dresses appeared from the back of the dais, clutching brightly coloured posies. Gasps of surprise and laughter followed as they wound through the guests, presenting their little bouquets.
Needless to say, the applause was loud and enthusiastic, and Verity took a moment to breathe deeply.
The worst was over.
Gathering her notes and putting them back in her reticule, she turned to make her way to Alastair, where she intended to spend most of the evening.
But before she could reach him, a tall figure stopped her progress.
“Lady Turner-Yardley.”
Verity looked up at the sound of her name.
And her gaze met a pair of dark eyes that sparkled with amber lights. Eyes that had haunted her for years until she’d firmly pushed them back into her past where they belonged.
It took every ounce of her self-possession—and even more of her control—to merely tilt her head to one side, and give him a polite smile.
“Goodness me. Sir Lucas Ashcombe? What a surprise to see you here this evening.” Her voice was steady, even though her heart was threatening to thunder its way right through her corset.
“So—you remember me?”
His voice still had the ability to raise goosebumps on her skin. She prayed he didn’t notice, and thanked the Lord she wore long sleeves.
“It has been many years,” she responded politely. “You have been away, haven’t you? If I recall, you chose to live in Sectorvale.”
“Indeed,” he nodded. “I returned to visit with my friend Alastair, and see Pembroke Hill once again.”
“How lovely for you.”
Another voice intruded, for which Verity was most thankful. She was running out of platitudes. Fast.
“Here you are, Lucas, damn you.” A man almost as tall as Lucas, fair haired and with a moustache, came up to him and thumped him solidly on the shoulder.
“Ouch,” he said, grinning. “Hello, Julian.”
“Glad to see you made it. And in time to hear our resident heroine make one of her amazing speeches.” He bent to Verity and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Well done, sweetheart. Those words would wring donations out of a rock.”
Verity smiled. “Julian. How lovely. I know your father will be so thrilled you could get away for a bit.” She glanced around.
“I’m sure you both have much to discuss, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle and say hello to some friends.
” She gathered her skirts and turned toward the dance floor where many were already lining up in anticipation of the next dance.
“Of course.” Julian smiled.
“My Lady,” bowed Alastair.
She calmly made her way off the dais, and moved casually through the crowd, exchanging smiles and pleasantries as she progressed across the room.
To the farthest side of the room. As far away from Lucas Ashcombe as she could get without calling her aethercoach.
Only then did her heart slow down to something approaching normal, and she could collect her breath. Of all the people she’d expected to see tonight, the man who had haunted her dreams wasn’t among them.
Damn him.