☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
~~~
Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
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The ceiling of Tower Ballroom was three stories high and showcased a series of classic ornamental domes of varying heights and circumferences, each boasting a mural that appeared to illustrate the main plot points of various cautionary tales.
In between the domes hung resplendent crystal chandeliers, their light basking the vast space beneath in a golden glow.
The floor was polished marble. The elevated windows were stained glass. And the walls were mahogany wood embellished with carved designs and intricacies that must have taken the craftsmen years to complete.
Tall vases bursting with fresh floral arrangements were positioned on end tables and podiums all throughout the ballroom, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. Multiple tables in a wide assortment of sizes stood at regular intervals, their surfaces laden with hors d'oeuvres and champagne coupes. The tablecloths were burgundy and ivory satin, which matched the gathered banners that decorated the walls.
In one corner, an eight piece orchestra was setting up and tuning their instruments on a wide, low platform.
A horde of impeccably dressed servers darted to and fro, their movements so perfectly in sync that they appeared to be choreographed. They wore ivory dress shirts, black pressed trousers, and burgundy cummerbunds and bow ties, an exact match for the decor.
One glance at the scene rendered Rose into a state of dazed enchantment, and she squeezed William's arm as they passed through the double doors of the corridor and into the ballroom proper.
“Oh, William,” Rose said, her voice breathy and childlike. “It's divine. Positively dazzling! I have seen many a ballroom in my life, but this…” She trailed off and shook her head in wonder.
“It receives the Rose Sinclair stamp of approval, does it?” William teased.
“It does,” Rose confirmed. “Tenfold. No, twenty. I daresay, even my mother would find no fault in it.”
“Highest praise, eh?”
Rose sputtered a laugh. “You have no idea.”
Before the pair could take another step, a stunning yet formidable dark-haired woman appeared before them, obstructing their path. She was decked to the nines in a silky silver gown with an off-the-shoulder boatneck and matching clutch. Her hair was arranged in a dramatic twist that accentuated her dark eyes and groomed brows.
“Here at last, I see,” she stated, her expression unreadable. “What kept you?”
“'Evening, Audrey,” William said in greeting, ignoring her question. “This is Rose Sinclair. Rose, me half-sister, Audrey McQueeney.”
“How do you do?” Rose asked. Uncertain of the reason, she dipped into a curtsy. This woman's presence almost demanded it.
“Ahhh, yes,” the woman named Audrey drawled. Her eyes took a slow, meticulous tour of Rose's face and gown. “Your...house guest.”
