☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
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Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
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Rose had no sooner managed to greet the first two couples through the door when she was accosted by a youthful girl with a stylish bob and glittering gown. The brilliant gold of the snug, floor-length dress clashed loudly with the girl's tawny hair, and the scent of rosewater perfume wafted from her skin in an oppressive wave. Despite her adolescent features, she carried a champagne coupe in one hand, the bubbly liquid nearly gone.
“So, you're Liam's co-host?” the girl tutted. Her voice was high-pitched like that of a child, and she scrutinized Rose's face and attire through narrowed eyes. “I volunteered, but of course it would be contrary to etiquette for Liam to host alongside his sister-in-law, so you must be my stand-in.”
Rose blinked, surprised and a bit affronted. “I…” she began, her first attempt at a response trailing off. She cleared her throat softly and tried again. “Yes. I am William's co-host. Rose Sinclair. How do you do?”
The girl didn't answer. Instead, she waved Rose's words away, as though already bored of them. “How do you know Liam?” she demanded.
“Well, I...work for him, I suppose,” Rose replied, growing more uncomfortable by the moment.
“No, you don't. Do you?” The girl finished off her champagne and squinted at Rose. “Hm. I've never seen you before. And I've never heard Liam make mention of a ‘Rose.’ At least you know how to dress and speak with some semblance of style. You're clearly not from Manchester. I would know, for nor am I. Where are you from? What is your business here?”
Rose stared at the girl, her jaw hanging slack. “Well, I…” she hemmed, uncertain how to respond. The myriad of rapid-fire questions baffled her. Just who was this girl, and why had she appointed herself as William's protector?
Jackson appeared next to the loquacious young lady, rescuing Rose from her feeble attempt to provide answers.
“For the sake of all that's good and holy in the world, ease up on the interrogation, will ya, love?” he teased the girl. With a buoyant grin, he addressed Rose, “Sorry 'bout her, Miss Sinclair. Allow me to present me wife, Tuppence. She can be overzealous at times, but it's mostly harmless.”
“Overzealous?” Tuppence scoffed. “Oh, pish posh!”
“Your wife?” Rose asked. She glanced back and forth between the two, befuddled. This girl's appearance and juvenile presentation suggested that she was far too young to be anyone's ‘wife,’ as she looked like a twelve-year-old parading around in her mother's dress. “Your...wife. Yes. Of course.” Rose extended her hand to the girl. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tuppence.”
Tuppence ignored Rose's outstretched hand, instead thrusting her empty champagne glass against Jackson's chest and crossing her arms over her petite bosom. “Charmed, I'm sure,” she said, her voice flat. “And just what is the nature of your relationship with Liam?”
