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