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.