“Did you tell Miss Devine who you were?” asked Lord Darington from behind his newspaper when Sir John Everett returned home.

“Didn't get the chance. She wouldn't come down to meet me. Said she was ill.”

Darington looked at him over his paper. “Is she sick?”

“She seemed quite well yesterday.”

Dare made a disapproving noise and disappeared behind his newspaper. “Why did you not tell her who you are from the beginning?”

“I thought she knew!” defended Everett. “She is Grant’s niece and he certainly knows my name. Why wouldn’t he tell her?”

“Why not, indeed,” said the newspaper.

“So really it’s Grant’s fault.”

The newspaper was silent.

Everett stood and began to pace the mahogany-paneled library that Dare used as his refuge and sitting room. “I know I should have told her immediately as soon as she started talking about ‘Sir John’ but she was so set against the fellow I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was him.”

“So you thought if she found out later it would be better.”

“You don't think she will be angry or disappointed when she finds out, do you?”

“Guess we'll find out tonight at the ball.” Darington’s tone did not sound particularly hopeful. He lowered the paper, revealing a devious glint in his eye. “But yes, I think she will.”

 

***

 

Though Frankie had avoided meeting Sir John when he called that afternoon, there was no way to avoid him forever. No doubt he would be at the Christmas party that evening and she would be forced to smile and look dolefully pleasant and submissive as she had been taught.

There was a knock at the door and her aunt bustled in, looking radiant. Lady Devine wore a gown of shimmering emerald with gold trim and a tiara of rubies and emeralds, making her the very picture of a Christmas queen. Her aunt was of a natural, cheerful disposition year-round, but during Christmastide her penchant for joy could not be contained, and it was contagious to all she met. It was little wonder that people were convinced to come to London for her extravagant Christmas ball, even if it wasn't the fashionable time of year. The Devine Christmas ball was simply considered one party not to be missed.

“It is too bad you were not feeling well enough to come down to meet that nice Sir John. He was very kind to come to try to meet you again. And quite handsome,” added her aunt. “I do hope you are not actually unwell.” Her smile began to fade and Frankie did not have the heart to keep up the charade.

“No, I am well. I just do not wish to be pushed into finding a husband. I know you mean well and you have always been very kind, but…” Frankie hesitated, seeing her aunt's face turn uncharacteristically somber.

“I know we have not found the right gentleman for you yet, but you mustn't give up hope. It is Christmas after all.” The twinkle in her aunt’s eyes reignited. “Now look at the gown. If this doesn’t inspire a gentlemen to fall at your feet with a marriage proposal than I do not know what I’m about.” She motioned to her dresser who brought in a bold scarlet gown.

Aunt Hilde was not leaving anything to chance this year. Frankie had been subjected to multiple fittings so now the gown fit like a second skin…only tighter. Though Frankie was typically dressed in more demure styles of fabrics and color, for the Devine Christmas ball her aunt had commissioned a gown of bright scarlet. It was admittedly a bit bold for an unmarried female, but according to her aunt the rather shocking color was allowable due to the festive season. The gown was not only bold in color but in cut as well, revealing more of her décolletage then had ever before been on display. No, her aunt was not going to concede defeat without a fight.

Despite Frankie's decision to leave society, she could not help but be pleased by the dress and be affected by her aunt's infectious holiday spirit. The gown was undeniably gorgeous, bright and sleek and trimmed with gold embroidery. If she had to leave society, at least she would go out looking spectacular.

In a rare honor, her aunt provided her own ladies’ maid to assist in dressing Frankie and the arrangement of her hair. By the end of her ministrations, Frankie hardly felt like herself. Reviewing her own image in the glass, Frankie was surprised to see a beautiful woman looking back.

“I hardly look like myself,” she commented.

“You look exactly like how I have always seen you,” replied her aunt with a kind smile.

Frankie turned and gave her aunt a warm embrace. “Thank you. You have always been so kind to me.”

“So you forgive your silly old aunt for her meddling?”

“Of course. I know you only wish me to be happy.”

“I do. I truly do. And you will meet Sir John?”

“Yes, I will meet Sir John,” conceded Frankie, giving herself a twirl in the glass. “And for this beautiful gown I shall even dance with him if he should ask.”

“That’s my beautiful girl. Mein schönes Mädchen.”

“Danke.”

“Bitte.”

The guests began to arrive and soon it was time for Frankie to make her appearance. She was announced to the crowd and glided down the stairs to the ballroom on the arm of her uncle, Admiral Lord Devine. All heads turned to watch her entrance into the ballroom and she was gratified when she heard a few gasps of surprise. As least she had given the gossips something to talk about.

The Devine Christmas ball was truly something extraordinary. The chandeliers were festooned with gold ribbons and evergreen bows were made into garlands and strung about the room. Most impressive of all, a large evergreen Christmas tree stood boldly in the center of the ballroom, decorated with red and gold ribbons and hundreds of white candles, casting a twinkling glow of the festivities. The candlelight seemed to gleam and glitter in time to the music, giving the ballroom an aura of magic.

I wish Mr. Everett could see this. Though she had not known him long, she felt that he would appreciate the beauty of the ballroom, and there was no one she would rather be with tonight. Yet she knew his antipathy for society and doubted he could ever feel comfortable in such a gathering of the British elite.

It did not take long for the glittering ballroom to become crowded with the haute ton of London society. It was considered a soiree not to be missed, and by the sheer volume of people in the room, it was clear that nobody had. Frankie was never at a loss for a dancing partner. As the niece of the hostess, dancing with Frankie was seen as a sign of respect to Lady Devine. None of these partners, though, were of marriageable potential, being either relatives or married men and friends of the Devine family. Though she enjoyed dancing in the gleaming hall, it was bittersweet, knowing it would be her last.

She finished the set and was led back to Lady Devine by Lord Wynbrook, a very handsome, very married man. Her aunt was talking in a cheerful manner to a man whose back was to her. Frankie hesitated, knowing that whoever it was, if he was between the ages of fifteen and fifty and not otherwise engaged, her aunt would see him as an eligible match and introduce them with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. Even worse, Miss Priscilla Crawley was standing next to her aunt, laughing in a pretty manner at something the man had said. The man turned to her and she caught her breath.

It was Mr. Everett.

“Mr. Everett! What a surprise. I was not aware that you would be attending the party. It is a pleasure to see you.” She greeted Everett with a smile. He returned it, but was a bit hesitant and a little unsure.

“Have you met Sir John?” Her aunt asked her. “I am so glad you have made each other’s acquaintance. I was under the impression you had not yet been introduced.”

Frankie turned her attention back to her aunt, not quite attending to what her aunt had said. “Sir John? No, we are not acquainted.”

“What do you mean you are not acquainted with Sir John?” asked Priscilla in a smooth tone, laced with disdain. “You just addressed him in the most informal manner.”

Priscilla motioned to Everett and Frankie stared up at him, waiting for him to correct the misunderstanding. Instead, he returned her gaze with a guilty one of his own.

With a flash of heat, she realized it was not Priscilla who was mistaken. No, it was herself who had been deceived. Frankie stared at the man she thought she knew. The music faded away and the temperature, which a moment ago had felt warm and stuffy, suddenly chilled.

“Acquainted?” Frankie swallowed on a dry throat. “Apparently not.” He had not told her. He had listened to her pour out her life story and not said a word. Was he laughing at her? Did he think her stupid for not knowing his title? Why had Grant not told her?

“Miss Devine,” began Everett, no, Sir John Everett.

“No, please do not bother to explain. Sir John Everett is it? I'm glad to have finally made your acquaintance. Now if you'll excuse me.” Frankie bit out the words and turned on her heel and strode away, her cheeks burning.

“Please, stop,” called Everett.

Frankie moved faster, gliding through the crowded ballroom. She did not know where she was going, but knew she needed to be anywhere but there.

“Frankie, wait.” Everett spoke in a louder voice, causing people to turn their heads.

Frankie stopped for a moment, not turning around. He used her name, her common family name. He had no right to do that, not in a crowded ballroom, not anywhere. She continued to walk away, ignoring the whispers around her.

Frankie reached the stairs and began to climb them, determined to go to her room and hide. She put her hand on the railing and he placed his over hers, forcing her to turn around to face him.

“Frankie, please let me explain.”

“You have no right to call me by that name. Release my hand.” She had no idea she could even speak in such an imperious tone, but she did so now, glaring at the man who had deceived her.

Everett's eyebrows shot up and he released her hand as if she had stung him.

“You are right, Miss Devine. Please, I know I should have told you earlier, but I did come by today to try to explain.”

“There is nothing to explain. You have had your little joke, do not be concerned for me. Go back and enjoy the ball. There are many who are desirous of your attentions, but I am not one of them.” Frankie turned to leave, carrying her head high like a queen…and dying inside.