“The Honorable John Granville and Miss Emily Turner,” intoned the butler hired for the occasion. As they entered the crowded, high-ceilinged ballroom, Emily hid a delighted grin. Less than two weeks ago, she’d been locked in her room in disgrace, yet here she was at the Howe’s “Turn of the Century” ball, on the arm of her intriguing pretend-fiancé.
Unlike her older sisters, she hadn’t even planned a new dress for tonight, but after Granville announced their engagement, Mama had given her the dress for Christmas.
In keeping with the occasion, her gown was pale green silk, with sheer lace sleeves and an elegant train that shimmered as she moved. She’d checked, pirouetting in front of the old cheval mirror in the parlor when no one was looking.
The silk was from China, and came in on one of the Empress ships.
It hadn’t been made up, of course. Mama had to pay Madame Christina an outrageous amount for the three rushed fittings it had taken to finish it in time. Emily had always hated dress fittings; standing so still, being poked and prodded at, but this time it might have been worth it.
“What is she doing with him?” Emily could imagine the whispers behind the ladies’ fans. Thank goodness their engagement wasn’t real; she’d have felt like a sideshow act.
Mama kept giving her little looks to make sure she hadn’t tripped over her train or something equally dire. Papa looked so proud, yet two weeks ago he’d forbidden her even to speak to Granville. Until he’d found out about his noble birth, that is.
She shot a glance at Granville.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“Immensely,” she said, surveying the room.
It was packed with the cream of Vancouver society, dressed in their finest, while maids in crisp black and white circulated with trays of champagne. Her eyes followed the whirl of colors on the dance floor.
“Usually I hate balls, but tonight feels different. Maybe it is because we are bidding goodbye to the 1890’s. And the music is superb, don’t you think?” Emily said.
I’m babbling, she thought, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I’ve heard there will be an amazing buffet. I’m particularly looking forward to trying the lobster patties and the cranberry fool.”
“In the meantime, would you care to dance?” Granville asked. His tone was smooth but there was laughter glimmering in his eyes.
She flushed, and smiled back at him. “I’d love to. But you don’t have to stay with me,” she said in an undertone. “There are so many people here you haven’t yet met. And we’re only pretending to be engaged, after all. Until I finish my typewriting course and can earn my own living.”
“Or until your father forgets you’re in disgrace for helping me free Scott from a charge of murder,” he said, whirling her into a waltz.
He bent his head down, lowered his voice. “But I’m enjoying your company.”
“Thank you,” she said, then was silent while he swirled her through a graceful turn. “We haven’t had the chance to talk since you got back from Denver. Is there news of little Sarah?”
“Not yet. We’re hoping one of the connections we made there will give us a lead.”
She shivered despite the heat of the dance. “That poor child. Has Lizzie the papers for her?”
“Not even a record of her birth. And only the late unlamented Jackson’s word that he left the baby in care in Denver.” He was silent for a moment while he neatly avoided another couple and executed a truly masterly turn. “I’m beginning to fear he sold the child.”
“But that’s horrible! Do you think you’ll ever find her?”
“I promised Lizzie we’d bring her daughter back.”
The arms that held her so lightly through the dance tightened a little and his jaw firmed. He’d keep his word, no matter what it cost him.
Just as he’d done when he cleared his friend Scott of murder. Emily gripped his arm a little tighter, sought a lighter topic. “And how are things with your business? Have you any new clients?”
He grinned.
“You do,” she said. “Tell me.”
But when she’d heard about their new client and his lost mine, her enthusiasm dimmed. She’d heard the stories of men losing their lives in those mountains. “You do know it’s dangerous?”
A grin was her only answer.
The dance came to an end and he escorted her off the floor.
One of the maids stopped and proffered her tray. Emily gave the girl a quick smile as they each accepted a glass of champagne.
Granville raised his glass to her in a silent toast.
Emily could feel her cheeks heating, and hoped he’d blame it on the dancing. “This affair must seem awfully dull to you,” she said quickly, “after all the grand balls you attended in London.”
“Actually I avoided most of them, and spent the better part of the ones I did attend in the card rooms.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. The grander the ball, the more formal it is, and the more rules there are. Too much posturing for my taste.”
“I know. It’s fun to dress up, but none of this is real.” She waved a gloved hand at the throng.
“You don’t enjoy the dancing?”
Most men didn’t dance as well as he did. “Yes, but I’d much rather have spent the evening skating, then stopped for hot chocolate.”
“Then we must plan such an evening.”
She flushed a little, but met his eyes. “You needn’t pretend…” she began.
“Emily!” came her father’s voice from behind her.
“ …To agree if you don’t,” she finished quickly. Granville’s eyes were glinting, the scoundrel. Removing her hand from his arm, she turned to face her father.
“Hello, Papa.”
He gave her the slightly baffled look that said he thought he’d missed something. “Hello, puss. Are you enjoying your chat with your fiancé? “
“Enormously,” she said. Beside her, she thought Granville choked on his champagne. Serve him right.
“And what are you discussing so earnestly?”
“We were talking about whether today is really the dawn of a new century,” Granville said smoothly.
Here we go, Emily thought.
“Indeed it is, and it will be Vancouver’s century,” Mr. Turner said with the air of a true enthusiast. “We’ve electric streetcars and lighting, steam trains running clear across the continent. More settlers are arriving every day and real estate is booming. Who knows what might be ahead of us.”
The same blond maid stopped beside them and held out her tray. Granville and Mr. Turner each accepted a glass of champagne. Emily still hadn’t finished hers.
Turner raised his glass in a toast. “To progress,” he said. Then catching the eye of an acquaintance, he gave them a nod and strode off.
Emily and Granville exchanged glances.
“He’s right, you know,” Granville said softly. “Here we stand amongst the signs of progress,” and with a wave he indicated the glittering crowd, brightly lit by the electricity that had so inspired Mr. Turner. “And the irony is, tomorrow I’ll be tramping into a wilderness that hasn’t changed in thousands of years.”
“While I will be mastering the typewriting machines Papa says are changing the face of business,” said Emily, watching him.
“But then, that’s why you’re taking this job, isn’t it?” she asked. “You appear entirely the polished sophisticate, but it’s the wilderness that appeals to you, is it not?”
Granville looked at her for a long moment, but before he could answer their hostess came bustling up.
“I must introduce you to the Seymours,” she said, and the moment was lost.