Chapter Twenty-Two The Unexpected
Lydia
The band shifted into something warm and familiar, a melody that invited people to stop thinking about where they were standing and start thinking about where they were moving.
The floor filled in slow increments. Dresses swayed as shoes scuffed and laughter threaded through the air in bright, careless bursts.
For a few minutes, it worked.
Jane pulled Meri into a dance with exaggerated enthusiasm, Meri protesting just enough to make it convincing before giving in. Mom watched from the edge of the floor, her smile soft and proud, while Dad’s arm settled comfortably around her shoulders as if this were exactly where they belonged.
Kitty returned from the bar with a drink she immediately decided she did not like and handed it to me without asking.
“Hold this,” she said. “I need to be perceived as occupied.”
“For what?” I asked, uncertain of her meaning.
“For survival,” she replied gravely.
Collin was nearby, unmistakable in his overdressed splendor.
He hovered at the perimeter of the dance floor like a man waiting for the exact right moment to launch a romantic ambush.
He adjusted his cuffs, straightened his jacket, and took a breath that suggested he was about to declare something he believed would change Kitty’s life forever.
Kitty clocked him instantly and took two strategic steps backward, hiding behind me.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“I thought you wanted to be perceived as occupied.”
“I would rather not be perceived by him at all,” Kitty complained.
I smiled despite myself, the knot in my chest loosening just enough to let the evening feel almost normal. ”Then come dance with me.”
I pulled Kitty onto the floor and we grinned, dancing away our woes for the moment in the music. For a heartbeat, I forgot why my shoulders were tense and the quiet question I had been carrying since I saw Ephram across the room and then lost him again to the flow of guests.
I was mid-laugh at something Kitty said about romantic choreography when the temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree as I spotted the familiar form of someone I had never wished to see again.
Gavin Wickham stood near one of the tall cocktail tables, glass in hand, posture relaxed.
He looked exactly as he always did when he wanted to be underestimated.
He wore a polished suit and an easy smile.
I had once called him devastatingly handsome and now he made my stomach roil.
Nothing about him suggested tension or guilt or even concern.
Our eyes met across the room.
He inclined his head slightly, a gesture so small it could have been mistaken for courtesy.
I broke eye contact first.
That was a mistake.
At the end of the dance, I handed off Kitty to a young man, insisting they dance. Perhaps it was a bit rude, but I hoped Collin would at least get the point.
I felt Gavin’s presence behind me before I heard his voice, close enough that I could smell his cologne, something clean and expensive that made my skin crawl.
“Lydia,” he said warmly, as if we had arranged to meet. “It’s been a while.”
I turned slowly, careful to keep my expression neutral. “Gavin.”
He smiled, genuinely pleased. “You look well.”
I resisted the urge to glance around for witnesses, for Ephram, for anyone. I was not doing this again. I would not shrink or apologize or make myself small just because he occupied the same space.
“Enjoying the gala?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“Immensely,” he replied. “Carly Hale has done a remarkable job. You must be delighted to have received an invite. I admit, I was not expecting the little Bennet family, small time entrepreneurs, to be invited to a local heiresses event.”
I could have told him Braxton was Carly’s brother. Instead I said nothing. I wasn’t about to give Gavin more information.
He took a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass. “I was hoping we might have a moment to clear the air.”
My pulse ticked faster. “There’s nothing to clear.”
“Oh,” he said lightly. “I think there is, but not in the way you’re imagining.”
He gestured toward the dance floor, where couples moved in lazy circles beneath the lights. “We’ve both had… misunderstandings in the past. Emotions run high and sometimes stories get tangled. It’s nobody’s fault.”
My jaw tightened. “You took money from my family.”
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t deny it either. He simply smiled, a soft, indulgent expression that made my skin prickle.
“I think,” he said gently, “that what happened between us has taken on a life of its own. And I would hate for it to follow either of us into the future.”
I stared at him, searching for the angle, the hook. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”
“That we let bygones be bygones,” he said. “We’re adults. We’re both here tonight, successful in our own way." His gaze flicked briefly to the room around us. “Why carry old grievances when we could… move forward.”
A familiar pressure built behind my eyes. I was angry by the audacity of him.
“I’m not interested in pretending nothing happened,” I said quietly.
His smile widened just a fraction. “Of course not. I wouldn’t ask you to pretend.”
He held out his hand then, palm up, offering it with practiced ease. “But perhaps we could dance. Publicly, to show the room there’s no animosity.”
The music swelled, the timing impeccable. I realized dimly that this was the point. This wasn’t about reconciliation, it was about control. If I refused, I would look bitter. If I accepted, he would rewrite the story without my consent.
I met his eyes. “No.”
The word was calm and certain. Not loud enough to draw attention, but firm enough to leave no room.
For the first time, something flickered across his face. Surprise then amusement.
“Very well,” he said smoothly. “Another time, perhaps.”
“There won’t be one,” I coldly told him.
He chuckled softly, as if I had made a joke. “Enjoy your evening, Lydia.”
Gavin stepped away, leaving behind the echo of his presence and the sour taste of being tested.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, steadying myself. Kitty appeared at my side almost immediately, her instincts sharp.
“Was that him?” she asked, low.
“Yes.”
Her expression hardened. “Do you want me to spill something on him?”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
I watched Wickham move through the room, laughing with a donor, shaking hands, slipping seamlessly into the background. He looked untouchable.
I knew better.
As the song ended and applause rippled politely across the floor, I made a decision that felt less like courage and more like inevitability.
I wouldn’t wait for him to vanish again.
I finished my drink, set the glass down, and began to follow him at a careful distance, blending into the shifting crowd as naturally as I could.
Whatever he was doing here, I was not letting him do it unseen.
Following someone without being obvious turned out to be harder than it looked in movies.
Gavin moved with the easy confidence of a man who expected doors to open for him, pausing just long enough at each cluster of guests to exchange pleasantries before drifting on.
I stayed several paces back, using the natural ebb and flow of the crowd as cover, pretending interest in floral arrangements and appetizer trays while keeping him in the corner of my eye.
I told myself I was being careful.
I told myself this was smart.
The truth was, I was running on something sharper than logic.
A combination of anger and instinct that made my skin buzz.
I had seen this version of him before. The genial charm and the strategic warmth.
The way he slid into spaces that weren’t meant for him and made people believe he belonged there.
Not again.
He veered away from the ballroom toward a narrower corridor that led deeper into the lodge.
The lighting changed immediately, softer and dimmer, the music fading into a distant hum.
Staff moved through here more frequently, carrying trays, speaking quietly into headsets, focused on tasks rather than guests.
I hesitated.
This was where it crossed from observation into something riskier. I knew that. I also knew that if I turned back now, I would spend the rest of the evening wondering what he had done while I stood politely under chandeliers pretending nothing was wrong.
I could tell Carly, but I didn’t know if she would believe me. I could tell Ephram, but if he interrupted Gavin, then while we would be preventing a crime, we wouldn’t catch him in the act if he intended to rob the Hale Gala just like he had robbed us at our Christmas dance.
Gavin stopped near a side table, speaking briefly with a server. I slowed, pretending to adjust my shoe, watching his hands. He gestured casually, then continued on, slipping through a door marked private without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
My heart began to pound.
I waited a moment, then another, counting breaths. When I reached the door, it was already swinging shut. I caught it just before it latched and stepped through, my pulse loud in my ears.
The hallway beyond was quiet, carpeted thickly enough that my steps made almost no sound. The air smelled faintly of cleaning solution and pine. Doors lined the walls, some labeled for storage, others unmarked. This was not a place meant for guests to linger.
I stayed close to the wall, moving slowly, peering ahead.
Gavin was halfway down the hall, his back to me now, shoulders relaxed. He paused again, checking his phone, then slipped into another doorway. I reached it moments later, pressing myself to the side as I listened.
Muted voices. One of them was his.
I leaned closer, straining to hear anything useful, my earlier confidence dissolving into raw nerves. I had no plan beyond not letting him disappear. I had no idea what I was going to do and no backup.
This was foolish.
And yet, I couldn’t stop.
I backed away just as footsteps sounded from the opposite direction. I turned instinctively, heart jumping into my throat, and ducked into an alcove meant for cleaning supplies. A cart stood abandoned there, bottles lined up neatly, mop propped against the wall.
I waited, barely breathing.
Two staff members passed, deep in conversation about timing and when to serve the next round of appetizers. Their voices faded. I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders screaming in protest.
This was getting out of hand.
I stepped back into the hallway, intending to retreat, when Gavin emerged from the doorway ahead of me. He looked up, his gaze snapping to mine instantly.
For half a second, neither of us moved.
Then he smiled like a wolf eyeing a rabbit.
“Well,” he said softly, as if we had stumbled into each other by accident. “This is unexpected.”
My pulse roared. “I could say the same.”
His eyes flicked briefly past me, down the hall, then back again. “Are you lost?”
“No,” I said, too quickly. “Are you?”
He chuckled under his breath. “Always suspicious.”
I held my ground, refusing to be the one who stepped aside. “What are you doing back here?”
“Enjoying the evening,” he replied smoothly. “Same as you.”
I knew better than to argue. He was baiting me. If I accused him now, he would laugh it off and return to the ballroom with another story about Lydia Bennet being dramatic.
I stepped back instead, my palms damp. “I think you should go back out there.”
He tilted his head. “Concerned for me?”
“Concerned for everyone.”
For a moment, something colder crept into his expression. Then it vanished, replaced by charm again.
“You worry too much,” he said. “It never serves you.”
He brushed past me, close enough that his sleeve grazed my arm, and headed back toward the light without looking back.
I stood there for several seconds, frozen, my heart hammering.
I should stop. I should go back. I should find Jane or Lucy or literally anyone who could talk sense into me.
Instead, I followed again.
More cautiously this time, my nerves jangling with every sound, I crept along after him. I stayed farther back, letting the hallway empty before moving, hyperaware of how alone I was now.
I rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone.
A hand closed around my forearm, firm but not rough.
“Lydia." The voice was low. Controlled.
I sucked in a sharp breath and twisted, my heart leaping violently as I turned to face whoever had caught me.