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And so it was that Miriam took Sofia to Parkvale while Xavier dropped me off in Mayfair, from where I’d be driven on my own to meet him at the ball when it started.
At the time, the prospect of arriving to a society event on my own hadn’t really bothered me.
Now that I was here, however, nervous didn’t even cover it.
“Frankie?”
I looked up to find that Ben, Xavier’s driver, was standing outside my open door, hand extended to help me out of the Rover. He smiled kindly—one of the few staff members who did on a regular basis (Elsie and Jagger were the others). It was hard to believe I’d been intimidated by him or anyone else in Xavier’s employ when I’d first arrived here. Then again, compared to the Parkers, Xavier’s people were utter salt-of-the-earth types, even agreeing to use my given name instead of “miss,” as if to emphasize my young and very unmarried status.
I took Ben’s hand and allowed him to escort me to the curb before I brushed off my dress and checked that I had my shawl and clutch. People were streaming into the large Victorian house, which was framed by vine hydrangeas growing up the brick exterior and dangling over the large white columns that marked its entrance. Bright lights gleamed inside, from where a chorus of posh voices, laughter, and music emanated into the night air.
“Enjoy,” Ben said, then got into the car and drove off, leaving me to be swept up in the line of glamorous attendees making their way into the house.
The door was blocked by a woman in a sleek silver dress holding a clipboard next to two large security guards. Some things never changed, I thought as I approached. Exclusivity in England looked the same as in New York. Same snooty doorkeepers on power trips everywhere you went.
“Good evening,” I said with a smile. It felt like the polite thing to do.
The woman looked me over with one of those stares that felt like it was undressing you, and not in a good way. “Your name, please.”
Okay, so I wasn’t dripping in diamonds and didn’t have on a freaking tiara. But that didn’t make me chopped liver.
“Um, yes,” I told her. “I should be. I’m here with Xavier Parker—er, the Duke of Kendal and his family.”
“Yourname,” she repeated without looking up again.
I swallowed, then glanced behind me at the other attendees, who were starting to look impatient. “Sorry. Francesca Zola.”
The hostess flipped through a few pages. “Sorry, not on the list.”
I frowned. “Well, if the duke is inside, perhaps you could let him know I’m—”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.” She looked around me brusquely at the couple behind. “Ah, Lord Moreley. Lady Moreley. Pleasure to have you this evening.”
I wanted to cry as I was unceremoniously pushed back down the steps in favor of actual peers. I pulled out my phone to call Xavier, though I doubted he would hear anything inside the party. It went straight to voicemail anyway. Great, his phone was off, and I was stranded outside, no better than a stray dog looking for scraps. A gender-swapped version ofLady and the Tramp.
“Frankie?”
I whirled around to find the last person I ever thought I’d see in London staring at me like I was, well, the last person he thought he would see.
Adam Klein, art teacher at P.S. 058…but definitely not the Adam I knew.
“Adam?” I gaped.
Gone were the paint-stained jeans, driver’s cap, and tortoiseshell glasses that marked him as one of the Brooklyn hipster class. In their place was an elegant black tuxedo, contacts, and chestnut-brown hair that had been tamed and slicked back. He looked like he had walked out of the society pages. Or maybe a Bond movie.
He said something to the people he was with, then came to join me on the steps. “Holy shit, Frankie, yeah. What are you doing here?”
“What am I—what are you doing here? In London? At a ball, of all things?” I couldn’t help grinning. It was just so good to hear an American voice at a place like this. Even better that it was someone I knew, even if it was the guy with whom I’d had a sort of disastrous date last spring.
Adam just shrugged. “My dad still works at the embassy here. Diplomat, remember? And we have some cousins in the area who were coming tonight, so they got us an invitation.” He rolled his eyes conspiratorially. “Honestly, it’s a bunch of stuffed shirts, but the food is usually good. What the heck are you doing here, though?”
“Xavier,” I said simply. “His family was also invited.” I looked toward the building, as if I might see him through the shaded windows. “They’re close friends with the Douglases, apparently.”
“Oh…so you’re still with him, huh?”
I didn’t like the surprise in his voice. “Well, I wouldn’t be in London if I weren’t.”
“I just thought you might have…”
