Читать книгу The Marriage Agreement - Renee Ryan - Страница 13

Chapter Five

The next morning, Fanny woke before dawn and went straight to work. Preparations for Mrs. Singletary’s ball kept her busy all day, making it impossible to find a spare moment for herself. There hadn’t even been time for a cup of tea with her mother.

Tonight, she promised herself, as she hurried back to the room she called home in the wing reserved for hotel staff. She would seek out both her parents later tonight, as well as visit with each of her siblings and their spouses. For now, she had to dress for the ball.

She slipped into her gown, buttoned up the bodice, tied the ribbons on her sleeves, then secured the last pin in her hair. Turning her attention to the writing desk, where she’d laid out her lists in a neat, tidy row, she couldn’t help but think she’d forgotten something important.

Why did she have this nagging sense of doom, this foreboding that something terrible was going to happen at the ball this evening?

Nerves, she told herself, a simple case of nerves. Perfectly understandable, considering the importance of tonight’s event.

The clock on her nightstand told her she had nearly two hours before the first guests arrived. Plenty of time for another run-through of the ballroom, as long as she didn’t fuss over her appearance.

Ironic, really, since most of her life she’d been lauded solely for her looks. Far too often she’d been touted as that lovely, charming Mitchell girl. Not a terrible reputation to have—quite pleasant, actually—but Fanny wanted to be seen as more than a pretty face.

Tonight the good people of Denver would meet a new Fanny Mitchell. A woman with substance and depth and a complex brain beneath the doll-like features.

With that in mind, she moved closer to her writing desk and reviewed her notes again. Working from top to bottom, left to right, she considered each item, one list at a time. Only after repeating the process twice over did she let out a sigh of relief.

The hotel was ready.

Was she?

Giving in to a moment of vanity—she was representing the Hotel Dupree, after all—she checked her reflection in the standing mirror by the window. The woman staring back at her looked refined and cultured, not frivolous and shallow. She supposed she looked pretty as well, not as striking as she had in the past, but not bland, either. The modern cut of her gown set off her trim figure, while the silvery-blue satin served as a perfect accompaniment to her pale blond hair. Best of all, the color of her dress was Jonathon’s favorite.

A stirring of fascinated wonder settled Fanny’s nerves, calming her ever so slightly. She still didn’t know what had motivated his request to escort her to the ball. And yet hope surged. Why not use her time by his side to get to know him on a more personal level?

Her mood lighter than it had been in days, she gathered up her lists—all five of them—rushed out of the room and sped down the back stairwell. The noise level increased as she conquered each step. By the time she reached the first floor of the hotel she could no longer hear her footsteps.

The kitchen was a hive of activity. A sea of staff members hurried this way and that, carrying trays laden with food, moving with purpose and efficiency.

Fanny nodded in approval.

She entered the ballroom and paused a moment to catch her breath. Light blazed from the chandelier, wall sconces and candelabras placed strategically throughout the empty space. The floors gleamed. The gilded walls shone bright.

For days, Fanny had worried her decision to go with a simple color palette of green, gold and white was a mistake. Not so. Instead of overshadowing the crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, the decorations enhanced the structure’s unique artfulness.

Pleased by the overall effect, she floated through the room, her slippered feet soundless on the parquet flooring. A few mistakes caught her notice, mostly minor details, certainly nothing major. But still.

She could only hope Mrs. Singletary didn’t notice that the ribbons on the candelabras were closer to ivory than gold. And that the cloths on the buffet tables had only three inches of lace hanging over the edge, instead of the requested four.

The stillness on the air was both soothing and yet disconcerting. A room this grand was meant to be full of laughter. Soon, hundreds of voices would clamor for supremacy, each trying to be heard above the loud din. Fanny would probably miss the quiet then.

She turned. And froze.

Her heart took an extra hard thump as she caught sight of the man standing just inside the ballroom. One shoulder propped against the wall, Jonathon watched her in silence, an unreadable expression in his gaze. A sense of déjà vu rocked her to the core. He’d stared at her like this once before, only a few days ago, and she’d found the experience just as unnerving now as then.

She scanned his face, seeing something quite wonderful in his eyes, something soft and approachable and solely for her. She was staring, she knew, but couldn’t help herself. He’d never looked more handsome, or more accessible.

Her heart took a quick tumble.

She searched her mind for something to say. Anything would do, anything at all. “Jonathon, you haven’t changed into your evening clothes.”

Oh, excellent, Fanny, stating the obvious is always a marvelous way to show off your intelligence.

A slow smile spread across his lips. “Not to worry. The ball isn’t for several hours yet, still plenty of time for me to transform into a suitable escort for a woman of your class and style.”

What a kind thing to say, and spoken with such sincerity, too. Really, could the man be any more charming? Could she be any more touched by his compliment?

“You look perfectly fine just as you are,” she whispered.

It was no empty remark. Even in ordinary, everyday business attire, Jonathon Hawkins exuded refined elegance.

Chuckling softly, he pushed away from the wall.

Now her heart raced so hard she worried one of her ribs would crack as a result.

Jonathon’s eyes roamed her face, then lowered over her gown. Appreciation filled his gaze. “You’re wearing my favorite color.”

“I...know.” She swallowed back the catch in her throat. “I chose this dress specifically with you in mind.”

Too late, she realized how her admission sounded, as if her sole purpose was to please him. She had not meant to reveal so much of herself.

He took a step forward. “I’m flattered.”

He took another step.

And then another.

Fanny held steady, unmoving, anxious to see just how close he would come to her.

He stopped his approach.

For the span of three rib-cracking heartbeats they stared into each other’s eyes.

She sighed. The sound came out far too tremulous.

“Relax, Fanny. You’ve checked and rechecked every item on your lists at least three times, probably more. Go and spend a moment with your—”

“How do you know I checked and rechecked my lists that often?”

“Because...” his expression softened “...I know you.”

She fought off another sigh. There was a look of such tenderness about him that for a moment, a mere heartbeat, she ached for what they might have accomplished, together, were they two different people. What they could have been to one another if past circumstances weren’t entered into the equation.

“We’re ready for tonight, Fanny. You’re ready.”

She drew in a slow, slightly uneven breath. “I suppose you’re right.”

He took one more step. He stood so close now she could smell his scent, a pleasant mix of bergamot, masculine spice and...him.

Something unspoken hovered in the air between them, communicated in a language she should know but couldn’t quite comprehend. If he lowered his head just a bit more...

“Go. Spend a few moments with your mother and father before the guests begin to arrive. I’ll come get you there, once I’ve changed my clothes.”

“I’d like that.” She’d very much enjoy the chance to show him off to her parents.

He leaned in closer, closer. Fanny let her eyelids flutter shut. But then the sound of determined footsteps commandeering the hallway had her opening them again.

“That will be Mrs. Singletary,” she said with a rush of air. The widow’s purposeful gait was easy enough to decipher.

“No doubt you are correct.” His lips tilted at an ironic angle, Jonathon shifted to face the doorway.

Mrs. Singletary materialized two seconds later, Philomena a full step behind her. Like Fanny, both women were already dressed for the ball. The widow looked quite striking in a gown made of black and glittering gold satin that spoke of her wealth and status in town.

Philomena’s dress was slightly less elegant, but the pale green silk complemented her smooth complexion and pretty hazel eyes. She looked beautiful, excited.

“Ah, Mr. Hawkins, Miss Mitchell. The very people I wish to see.” The widow moved to a spot directly between Jonathon and Fanny, forcing them to step back. “I have a concern about the timing of our request for donations.”

She paused, eyed them both expectantly, as if waiting for one of them to respond.

Jonathon took the cue. “You foresee a problem?”

“Not a problem per se, I merely wish to switch the order of the night’s events. In the past, I have presented the goodwill baskets at the end of the party. However, this evening I would prefer to do so earlier.”

Though Fanny didn’t think the timing truly mattered—the guests understood this was a charity event—Mrs. Singletary seemed to think this change was necessary. Important, even.

Jonathon inclined his head. “We’d be happy to accommodate your request.”

Taking his lead, Fanny added, “I’ll let the staff know of the change.”

“Excellent.” The widow glanced over her shoulder, clucked her tongue in frustration. “Whatever is that man doing here, when I specifically sent him on an errand outside the hotel?”

Curious as to the identity of that man, Fanny followed the direction of the widow’s gaze. Burke Galloway stood in the doorway, conversing quietly with Philomena. Both looked caught in the moment, as if they were the only two people in the room.

“That girl is proving a most difficult challenge.” Mrs. Singletary shook her head. “Most difficult, indeed.”

Fanny bit back a smile, even as a quote from her favorite poet, Emily Dickinson, came to mind. The heart wants what the heart wants—or else it does not care.

It was clearly evident that a match between Philomena and Jonathon would not come to pass.

Surely, Jonathon was relieved.

Fanny cast a covert glance in his direction. His gaze was locked on her and that was not business in his eyes.

Something far more personal stared back at her. She had but one thought in response.

Oh, my.

* * *

Barely two hours after the first guests arrived, the ballroom overflowed with at least three hundred of Denver’s finest citizens. With the strains of a waltz floating on the air, and a rainbow of dancers whirling past, Jonathon stood away from the main traffic area, Fanny by his side.

He liked having her close, liked knowing they were here, together, presenting a united front as representatives of the hotel.

It seemed the entire female population of Denver had gone all out for tonight’s event. Dressed in formal gowns made of colorful silks or satins, the women wore long, white gloves, and jeweled adornments in their hair that matched the stones glittering around their necks.

Fanny outshone every one of them, including the women in her own family.

He watched her siblings laughing, joking with one another and generally having a good time. Their interaction spoke of affection and easy familiarity. There was an unmistakable connection between them, one that went beyond words.

The Mitchells represented the very essence of family.

An icy numbness spread through Jonathon’s chest.

What did he know of family? Nothing. No, that wasn’t entirely true. His mother had tried to give him a sense of belonging. And, of course, Marc and Laney Dupree had created a home for him at Charity House.

For nearly five years, they’d shown him unconditional love. They’d stood by him, even when he’d made terrible mistakes. It was Marc who’d retrieved him from jail the night Jonathon had confronted Judge Greene at his home, Laney who’d hugged away his pain and sense of betrayal.

Jonathon made a promise to seek them out tonight and thank them for their love and acceptance.

He searched for them now, but was distracted when a shrill, high-pitched female giggle sounded from the center of the dance floor.

One of the two oldest Ferguson sisters was making a spectacle of herself. Jonathon wasn’t certain of her name. He always found it difficult to tell them apart. Unlike their younger sister, Philomena, the two oldest tended to behave in an inappropriate manner more often than not. Yet somehow they always managed to stay just on the right side of propriety.

Fanny released a chagrined sound from deep in her throat. “Penelope is in high spirits this evening. As is Phoebe, I’m afraid. I can’t decide which of them is worse.”

Jonathon divided his gaze between the two women in question. Both were shamelessly flirting with their dance partners. The sisters were so similar in appearance and behavior they were practically interchangeable.

“How do you tell them apart?” he wondered aloud.

“Years of practice.” Fanny sighed again, then pointedly lifted her attention away from the Ferguson girls and to her own family. “My brothers are especially handsome this evening, their wives beyond beautiful. And Callie, oh, how she shines tonight. She’s practically glowing.”

Jonathon didn’t disagree. “Your siblings seem happy.”

“Marriage suits them.” Fanny smiled. “Garrett once told me that when Mitchells fall in love they fall fast, hard and for keeps.”

Emotion flashed in her eyes as she spoke. For a moment, she seemed very far away and very, very sad. As Jonathon watched Fanny, while she watched her siblings, a pang of remorse shot through him.

Was he making the correct decision about marriage? With the right woman, perhaps he could be a good husband. Perhaps, unlike his father and half brother, he wouldn’t let down his wife. Perhaps the risk was worth the reward.

Another louder, shriller giggle rent the air.

“Poor Philomena,” Fanny said, shaking her head. “To have such sisters.”

Jonathon opened his mouth to agree when an older couple twirled past them. He studied the pair, the woman in particular. Fanny’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny. They had the same tilt to their beautiful eyes, the same classic features, the same regal bearing.

“Your mother is quite lovely.”

Fanny’s eyes grew misty. “I’m so relieved to see her breathing easily.”

He reached down to take Fanny’s hand, and laced their fingers together. The connection was light, and was meant to offer her comfort. Yet it was Jonathon who experienced a moment of peace, of rightness.

This woman meant much to him, too much. He never wanted to lose her.

However, lose her he would.

Maybe not tomorrow, or next week, but one day, when some wise man offered her marriage, for all the right reasons.

As much as it would pain Jonathon to watch her fall in love with another man, he wouldn’t stand in her way. Thankfully, the prospect of her leaving him—or rather, the hotel—was a problem for another day.

Tonight, Fanny was all his.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

She returned the gesture, then angled her head to peer into his eyes. A small, secretive smile slid along her lips. His throat seized on a breath. Fanny Mitchell was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

For the rest of the evening, he promised himself, he would avoid thinking of the future, forget memories of the past. All that mattered was this moment. This night.

This woman.

“Fanny, would you do me the honor of—”

Her sharp intake of air cut off the rest of his request.

He attempted to search her gaze for the cause of her distress, but she was no longer looking at him, rather at a spot just over his right shoulder.

A cold, deadening sensation filled his lungs.

Jonathon knew who stood behind him.

His father. He felt the man’s presence in his gut, in the kick of antagonism that hit Jonathon square in the heart.

His grip on Fanny’s hand tightened. He was probably squeezing a bit too hard. He couldn’t help himself. She was his only lifeline in a sea of uncertain emotion.

Let her go, he told himself. Let. Her. Go.

He couldn’t make his fingers cooperate, couldn’t seem to distance himself from her.

Let her go.

Fanny was the one who pulled her hand free. The absence of their physical connection was like a punch, the pain that sharp and unexpected.

Instead of stepping away, she moved closer and secured her fingers around his arm. Her eyes filled with understanding and something even more disturbing. Sympathy.

He didn’t want her sympathy. Anything but that.

He began to step away from her, to distance himself from what he saw in her eyes. She tightened her grip and smiled sweetly. “You know, Jonathon, it’s long past time we took a turn around the dance floor.”

Her voice came at him as if from a great distance, sounding tinny in his ears, waking a favorite memory he’d tucked deep in the back of his mind. Another evening. Another one of Mrs. Singletary’s charity balls.

Fanny had stood at the edge of a similar dance floor, on the very night of her return from Chicago. Gossip had erupted the moment she’d stepped into the room. Speculation about her reasons for leaving town had been voiced in barely concealed whispers.

She’d held firm under the censure, alone, her posture unmoving, chin lifted in defiance, as courageous as a warrior. She’d been magnificent. Beautiful. Yet Jonathon had seen past the false bravado. He’d seen the nerves and vulnerability living beneath the calm facade.

He’d asked her to dance.

Later, when the waltz had come to an end, she’d thanked him for rescuing her from an uncomfortable moment.

Now she was rescuing him.

It seemed somehow fitting.

“I’d like nothing more than to dance with you, Fanny.”

Taking charge of the moment, he directed her onto the floor and then pulled her into his arms.