Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
They were entertained in the Diamond Room.
This, Jack—tonight wearing a suit like Stevenson’s, but with a black tie, again with the shield on it, and standing sentry at the bottom of the stairs—told me after I descended them.
All I could think when I saw him looking like he was at attention, rather than smiling and friendly as he had been when he was in the kitchens with us last night, was Lady Jane’s all-important tradition.
I wasn’t one of those people who dismissed other’s beliefs because they were not my own. I might not agree, or even understand, but I wanted to listen, to be able to turn it over in my head, to have the words and facts and feelings so I could make a decision.
So honestly, all afternoon, Lady Jane’s words had been rumbling around in my head.
Was there still a place for pomp and circumstance in this world?
Was it necessary for a young man to stand alone in a massive foyer for the sole purpose of telling a couple of people which hallway to walk down?
It kept him employed.
But there were dozens of bedrooms that went unused every night in this house, when one hundred fifty million people worldwide were homeless.
Solar panels and windmills should have been raised a decade ago.
And as beautiful as this place was, as much as it stood as a testimony to a different time, and we should never lose hold of our past so we don’t repeat mistakes in our future, it could be a hospital. An orphanage. At the very least, broken up so multiple families lived in it, not one.
Lady Jane would probably be horrified at the thought.
But how had we, as a human race, come this far and not seen there should be far less of a divide between the ones who have too much and the ones who don’t have anything?
And yes, this included my own self, sitting on billions of dollars.
This was on my mind. Lady Jane’s lunch was on my mind. The fact Ian put me in the countess’s room without telling me it was the countess’s room, was on my mind. All of that was on my mind as I walked down the long hallway in my thousand-pound-sterling high heels and then entered the Diamond Room.
If it sparkled during the day, it glittered at night. Perfect low lighting mixed with candlelight made every facet shine to its brightest.
Score one for Lady Jane, because this room should never have a single thing changed about it.
And in blood red, I stood out like a stain.
Eight sets of eyes turned to me when I walked in, and I noted several things at once.
Daniel was there, appearing abashed.
Michael and Mary Dewhurst were good, solid, Yorkshire gentry.
And if all of Ian’s flirting was actually real, he had a type.
Chelsea Dewhurst made Jayne Mansfield look subdued.
She was pinup perfection in a skintight, strapless, bangled dress in the colors of Champagne and crystal, like she’d dressed for the room. It was held up at her burgeoning, ample chest by what could only be a miracle.
Her eyes shot down to my gold sandals and up to my golden hair, and it concerned me greatly when obvious jealousy crossed her features like a dark shadow before she hid it behind a sip of Champagne.
So, Ian was a cocky-as-all-hell flirt, but still, he didn’t know women inside and out.
He’d been wrong.
That woman wasn’t going to leave me alone tonight. No way.
Making this worse, Ian moved forward to claim me, and I wished he hadn’t.
I was not exactly angry at him, but he was spoiled for choice as to rooms he could have put me and Lou in. His choice was…if not wrong, then not right.
Furthermore, I wasn’t his to claim and I was perfectly capable of walking into a room alone.
“Daphne, allow me to introduce you,” he said, placing his hand on the small of my back so that I could feel the tips of a few of his fingers against my skin at the cutout and drawing me deeper into diamonds.
During the introductions, Stevenson hung back as I endured Michael and Mary’s superciliousness, this piled onto Richard’s, Jane’s distracted but this time far warmer brush of cheeks, Daniel’s customary overenthusiastic greeting, and finally, Chelsea’s catty glare.
It looked like it was turning out to be another fun night at Duncroft.
“Where’s Louella Fernsby?” Michael Dewhurst demanded, lifting up on his toes (he was rather short, also rather balding) to look over my head toward the door. “And your little pip, Daniel?”
“His little pip has a name,” I said. “She’s Portia. And she and Daniel just returned from London. She’s freshening up for dinner.”
Michael, clearly not accustomed to someone calling him on his shit, glowered at me.
I dismissed him and warmly thanked Stevenson, who was hovering while holding a tray of glasses of Champagne.