Suddenly You(62)

More sought after were the invitations to events attended by what could be considered the upper middle class…people of undistinguished bloodlines but considerable wealth or celebrity. This group included a number of politicians, rich landowning barons, businessmen, physicians, newspapermen, artists, and even a few well-heeled merchants.

Since her move to London, Amanda had been readily welcomed to suppers and dances, private concerts, and theater evenings, but lately she had refused all invitations.

Although she had enjoyed herself at these affairs in the past, she could not seem to take an interest in going anywhere. She had never truly understood the phrase “heavy heart” until now. More than four weeks had passed since she had seen Jack, and her heart felt like a lead weight that imposed painful pressure on her lungs and ribs. There had even been times when breathing had been a laborious effort. She despised herself for pining after a man, hated the useless melodrama of it, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop. Surely time would ease her longing, but the prospect of months, years, without him filled her with gloom.

On the occasion when Oscar Fretwell had come to collect the latest revisions for Amanda’s serial novel, he had been a source of plentiful information concerning his employer. Jack had become insatiable in his efforts to achieve ever-greater heights of success. He had acquired a notable newspaper called the London Daily Review, boasting a dizzying circulation of one hundred fifty thousand. He had also opened two new stores, and had just bought a new magazine. It was rumored that Jack had more ready money to lay his hands on than almost any other man in England, and that the annual cash flow at Devlin’s was approaching the one-million-pound mark.

“He’s like a comet,” Fretwell had confided, adjusting his glasses in his habitual gesture, “hurtling along faster than anyone or anything around him. I can’t recall the last time I saw him partake of a full meal. And I am certain that he never sleeps. He stays long after everyone else leaves for the day, and returns in the morning before anyone else arrives.”

“Why should he be so driven?” Amanda had asked. “I should think that Devlin would want to relax and enjoy what he has accomplished.”

“One would think so,” Fretwell had replied darkly. “More likely he’ll push himself into an early grave.”

Amanda couldn’t help wondering if Jack was missing her. Perhaps he was endeavoring to keep himself so busy that he had little time to dwell on the end of their affair. “Mr. Fretwell,” she said with an awkward smile, “has he mentioned my name of late?…that is…was there any message he wished you to impart to me?”

The manager’s face was carefully blank. It was impossible to discern whether Jack had confided anything about their affair to him, or revealed any clue as to his feelings. “He seems quite pleased by the sales of the first installment of Unfinished Lady,” Fretwell said a bit too brightly.

“Yes. Thank you.” Amanda had masked her disappointment and longing with a strained smile.

Realizing that Jack was doing his best to put their relationship squarely in the past, Amanda knew that she had to do the same. She began to accept invitations again, and forced herself to laugh and make small talk with her friends. However, the truth was that nothing could dispel her loneliness, and she found herself waiting and listening constantly for the smallest mention of Jack Devlin. It was inevitable that one day they would attend the same event, and that thought filled her with dread and anticipation.

To Amanda’s surprise, she was invited to a ball given in late March by the Stephensons, with whom she was not at all well acquainted. She vaguely recalled having met the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson the previous year, having been introduced at a party by her lawyer, Thaddeus Talbot. The family owned a string of South African diamond mines, which had added the allure of great wealth to the luster of a solid and well-respected name.

Prompted by curiosity, Amanda decided to attend. She wore her finest gown for the occasion, a confection of pale pink satin with an enormous collar of white ruffled gauze that exposed the tops of her shoulders. The full skirts rustled and swished crisply as she moved, occasionally revealing a glimpse of her lace slippers with pink ribbon ties. She had dressed her hair in a loose-curling topknot, with a few tendrils dangling against her cheeks and neck.

Stephenson Hall was a classically English house, a dignified design of red brick and giant white Corinthian columns that rose over a wide stone-paved forecourt. The ceiling of the ballroom was painted with trompe l’oeil emblems of the seasons, matching the elaborate leaf-and-flower motif of the shining parquet floor below. Hundreds of guests milled beneath the shimmering light shed by two of the largest chandeliers that Amanda had ever seen.

Immediately upon arriving, Amanda was greeted by the Stephensons’ eldest son, Kerwin, a corpulent man in his early thirties, who had arrayed himself in an astonishing manner. There were glittering diamond pins affixed in his hair, diamond buckles on his shoes, diamond buttons on his coat, and diamond rings on every finger. Amanda could not help but stare at the extraordinary sight of a man who had managed to decorate every part of his body with jewels. Proudly, Stephenson swept a hand along the front of his glittering coat and smiled at her. “Remarkable, is it not?” he asked. “I can see that you are dazzled by my brilliance.”

“It almost hurts to look at you,” Amanda replied dryly.

Mistaking the remark for a compliment, Stephenson leaned closer to murmur conspiratorially, “And just think, my dear…the fortunate woman who eventually weds me will be similarly adorned.”