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And I learned much of the rest was the same.
Although we rode through districts that were less about townhomes and shops, and more about banks, merchants’ offices, brokers, solicitors, physicians and estate agents, and the parks were less plentiful (but they still had them), the trees and streetlamps remained. The buildings still glittered, people strolled the streets, horses and carriages clomped along the cobblestones, and the city seemed alive.
I loved sitting next to Loren.
I loved we were going out on a date.
I loved that, at the end of the date, he was a sure thing.
I loved the gown I was wearing.
I loved that he was holding my hand and that seemed to be a thing with him, which I loved even more.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes from the carriage windows so I could drink it all in.
It was a good thing.
For when the hotel in which Le Cirque Magique occupied its upper floor, the tallest building in the city, standing at nine stories (all this, Aunt Mary had shared with me, beside herself with glee Loren was taking me to Le Cirque, a restaurant in a hotel, both of which were apparently renowned across the Vale), came into view, I gasped.
It reminded me of The Plaza in New York.
Except better.
We stopped at its grand entry, which had three plush, royal blue carpet runners running down the steps to the street from its three ornate double doors, and at once, a footman was there to open our carriage.
He pulled down the steps, and it was Loren who alighted first so he could assist me.
The hotel was called The Heritage.
It was not adorned in gold, but gleaming silver that complemented the glittering gray stone.
It was outlandishly ostentatious.
And I hadn’t even walked inside, but I already knew I loved every inch of it.
Loren guided me in, and I nearly fainted at the opulence of the lobby.
Black marble floors, veined in silver and blue, blue marble columns veined in black and silver. Enormous dripping crystal chandeliers.
The middle was an atrium domed in stained glass.
It was staggering.
“Milord, the private car awaits,” a liveried employee murmured to us, and I looked to him, then to Loren, who dipped his chin to the man.
We were led to the side, down a short hall, and the man opened a carved pocket door, where inside, with a magnificently tiled floor, and silver gilded mirrors, there was an elevator.
“Oh my,” I whispered.
Loren led me in, our escort came in with us, and at once, he closed the door and pulled a cord.
I felt Loren’s lips at my ear.
“The riffraff take the stairs,” he whispered on a tease, because no “riffraff” ever came here.
It was just that this elevator was saved for people as important as the Marquess of Remington.
I turned startled eyes to him, it occurring to me for first time since I met him how prominent his title was.
He was.
He winked.
The car lurched, I grabbed on to him, and we started going up.
One could say they didn’t have the elevator business quite flowing in that world. It took forever to get to the top.
But I didn’t care.
I was holding on to my man and he was taking me on the best date I’d had in my life, I knew that even if it hadn’t really started.
We arrived at the top, our guy opened the doors and led us out, but Loren slowed our progress and said something I didn’t get.
“Twenty men.”
I gazed up at him. “Sorry?”
“The lift. For a smooth ride, they shift around, it’s like a dance. I requested they show me how it’s done once, and it was remarkable. It takes twenty men to lift us to the top.”
Holy cow!
“Men pulled us up here?”
He gazed curiously at me. “How else would that car rise?”
How else indeed.
I shrugged.
He smiled.
He then stopped us at the wide entry to a vast room.
I stood in the middle of the doorway, looking into the room.
And I nearly burst into tears.
Every inch of the ceiling fell with extraordinary crystal chandeliers, one fat white candle burning in each. The walls between the windows had a line of crystal sconces holding three candles. The tables had elaborate crystal candelabrum, the bases of them high so diners could see each other. The smaller tables, the holder had five tapers. The larger, seven candles. Larger than that, there were several holders on the table.
The walls were upholstered in something dark but gossamer. Web-like and subtly glittering.
The tables were covered with pure white tablecloths. The silver and crystal on them picking up the candlelight and sparkling. The plates did too, as they were made of glass edged in silver.
It was dim, the lighting so carefully orchestrated, blow out a single candle, and it would be nearly impossible to see.
And all around there were views of the city.
The black-uniformed waiters, carrying trays of food and drinks, maneuvered the dark space like acrobats.
