The Marriage Agreement. Renee Ryan

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       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.

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