Daphne burst through the glass doors of the terrace. The night sky was partially overcast, but a pocket full of stars shone through a break in the clouds and reflected off the surface of the river.

A view to rival all others in Manchester. This, however, was not the reason for her presence.

With a swift look around, Daphne spotted Rose and the two provocatively dressed women that she'd so theatrically greeted in the center of the dance floor. Daphne knew that ploy well. She and her cousins had enacted it plenty of times at events and gatherings in the past. Such a bombastic display could only mean one thing: someone was trying to save face.

The trio of women were speaking together in hushed tones near the marble barrier of the terrace. As there were no other guests in sight, Daphne approached.

“Rose!” she called. “Is everything alright?”

“Daphne! Yes! Everything is fine,” Rose replied. “Please, meet our ‘old family friends,’ Bianca and Desdemona Cazacu. Ladies, this is my cousin Daphne. We can speak plainly in front of her.”

“It's a pleasure,” Daphne said with a knowing smile. “How do you do, ladies?”

“Angry and shamed,” Desdemona answered. Her full red lips turned down in a scowl. “Thought I would be permitted to spend the evening with Ransom. But it seems we were summoned tonight to cause an embarrassment.”

Daphne noticed that she spoke with a thick accent. Perhaps eastern European. “Ransom Mercer?” she clarified.

“Yes. We received these invitations,” Bianca said. She handed Daphne two handsome squares of card stock. “We thought Jackson and Ransom had invited us here to be their...what is the word?...escortas for the evening.”

“Oh, I see,” Daphne mused. Turning over the invites, she saw that each one had a handwritten message on the back, expressing the writer's need to see the respective addressee in very detailed and explicit verbiage. “These notes are...oh, my...specific.”

Bianca bobbed her head in a vigorous nod. “So, you see why we thought they were real. But Rose told us that Jackson and Ransom had no knowledge of the invitations. We received them so that we would come here and cause trouble with their wives.”

“And hurt their reputation at this...?” Desdemona trailed off, looking to Rose for help.

“Fundraising benefit,” Rose supplied.

Desdemona flicked her wrist. “Yes. That.”

“How untoward!” Daphne exclaimed. “And the invitations, how did you receive them?”

“A young man came into the Broken Crown while I was working,” Bianca recalled. “He said he was a courier, and he gave them to me, instructing me to pass on the one addressed to Desdemona. I'd never seen him before.”

Daphne tapped her chin. “So, he knew where you worked and, likely, was instructed to hand deliver the invites directly to you. Interesting. When was this?”

“The night before last.”

“Hmmm,” Daphne hummed, deep in thought. “Well, the crisis at hand has been averted. Though, someone will not be pleased that their devious little plot has failed. Is there anything I can do to help in retrospect?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Rose said. She moved toward the transparent terrace doors and beckoned Daphne to join her. “Do you see...oh, where are they..? There. That stylish young lady with the bob and the brunette with long curls?” She pointed through the glass pane.

“I do. I see them,” Daphne replied. “The brunette is Salvatore Ginovesi's daughter. I recognize her from various Post articles. She's married to Ransom Mercer.”

“Yes, precisely,” Rose concurred. “And the youthful, boisterous one is Jackson Mercer's wife, Tuppence. Née Holcroft.”

“Holcroft? As in Holcroft Distillery?” Daphne felt herself smirk. “That was strategic. My, my. The Mercer family certainly knows how to play the game, don't they? Well done.”

“Quite,” Rose affirmed with a knowing nod. “And both the wives seem to possess a great number of opinions on every subject under the sun. Could you ‘interview’ them about the Clementine Mercer Institute while I sneak Bianca and Desdemona out of here? I think it unwise for them to stay. They're not really dressed to attend a black-tie event.”

“We did not know it would be like this,” Bianca murmured from behind them, covering her abundant bosom with her arms.

“No, of course you didn't,” Rose said. “Your invitations made no mention of the type of party or the appropriate attire to be worn. I'm certain that was intentional.”

Daphne observed the two women Rose had pointed out. A conversation with the pair of business merger wives would undoubtedly prove entertaining, if not enlightening. “Luisa Mercer and Tuppence Mercer,” she said. “Consider it done. In all actuality, I would like to ask them a few questions.”

“Thank you, Daph,” Rose said. She sighed in relief. “I'll watch you and wait for an opportune moment to make our great escape.”

“Just like when we were children,” Daphne mused. She squeezed Rose's hand. “It was a very kind, selfless thing you did tonight. I'm not certain the Mercers deserve it, but I'm proud of you.”

Rose smiled and waved her hand in congenial laissez-faire. “So shines a good deed in a weary world.”

“Only you would recite Shakespeare in a situation like this!” Daphne declared, a tingle of a laugh escaping her. “Oh, Rose, you really are too good for Manchester.”

“That makes two of us,” Rose whispered. She leaned in close to Daphne and her eyebrows rose comically. “I have a great many opinions regarding the Mercer brothers' social activities.”

“As do I,” Daphne murmured, stifling a giggle. “And speaking of social activities, Rose, I saw you dancing with Mr. Mercer.” She gave her cousin a look of significance. “I have a great many opinions on that. We'll chat soon.”

Rose's face flushed a damask pink. “Yes, let's.”

With a conspiring wink, Daphne opened the door and returned to the ballroom for her next rousing interview.

【♖】

Kitty snuffed out her cigarette in the polished ashtray like it had done her great personal offense. As she ground the smoking tip into cinders, she pictured Rose's face. Then Liam's. Then Rose's again. How delicious it would feel to slap her smooth dewy cheek. Pull her golden hair. Rip her red gown to shreds... How delicious. And completely impossible.

In just a couple hours' time, Rose had turned herself into the belle of the ball.

The blood in Kitty's veins had transformed to scalding steam as she'd been forced to watch Liam dance with Rose. He'd looked happy dancing with her, head bent toward hers, eyes locked on her face, a clear intimate conversation in progress between the two. He had even laughed, or so it had appeared. Likewise, Rose had seemed at ease in his arms, her posture regal and waltz graceful. Worst and most unforgivable of all: they'd looked like they belonged together. A perfect match. A handsome couple. Liam and Clementine, chapter two.

Kitty's lip pulled up in a sneer. Disgusting. Disgusting and inconceivable, that Liam would rather take a turn on the dance floor with Rose than a romp in the coat room with her. Who did that little blonde tart think she was?

Then she witnessed Liam take Rose by the hand and lead her off the dance floor. With a seizing heart, Kitty turned away. It was too affectionate of a gesture. Too sweet. She couldn't stomach it. What they were doing, where they were going, how many times he'd held Rose's hand before...she didn't want to know.

She cursed through clenched teeth to keep herself from weeping.

A young male server appeared in Kitty's peripheral. He carried a silver tray laden with champagne coupes and held it at the ready. “Champagne, madam?” he offered.

Kitty frowned. She shouldn't. She'd had four glasses already. Perhaps five..? Four. Fuck it. It didn't matter.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the coupe nearest to her.

“My pleasure,” the server said. “And if I may be so bold, madam, that dress is quite becoming on you.”

Kitty's head jerked in his direction. “You think so?”

“Yes,” he said as he looked her up and down. “Fetching and stylish. It suits you well.”

As she sipped from her coupe, Kitty appraised the server. Such a youthful, clean-shaven face — he couldn't have been more than twenty. Tall and gangly, sandy blonde hair, stout nose, dark eyes, nice smile. Liam's opposite in the most literal sense. “Are you enjoying the party?” she asked him.

“Am I, madam?” he clarified, seeming taken aback.

“Aye. You.”

“Well, I'm working, therefore...I suppose so, however…”

“However, you'd be enjoying it more if you weren't,” Kitty surmised.

“Just so, madam.”

Kitty nodded and took a gluttonous gulp of the bubbly liquid. “D'ya get a break anytime soon?”

The server stared at her with cautious eyes, dithery as though he were being tested in some way that could bring him trouble later on. At last he said, “Say I do. What then?”

“I feel as if I'm trapped in Purgatory, I'm so bloody bored,” Kitty confided. She gave him a coy smile and stepped closer. “Care to show me around? Somewhere the guests aren't typically authorized to go, maybe?”

He smiled at her then, a knowing gleam in his eye. “It'd be my pleasure, madam. I'll show you my favorite spot.”

“Aren't you accommodating,” Kitty praised him. Pleased with her momentary distraction, she polished off her champagne and followed the server out of the ballroom.

【♖】

After sneaking the Cazacu sisters out of the building via a service entrance, the rest of the party passed in a blur devoid of incident. Rose found she was always glancing over her shoulder, awaiting the infamous other shoe to drop, but no subsequent disturbance came. Furthermore, not a single guest inquired after the pair of scantily-clad Romanians, and whether it was due to booze, their need to appear polite, or Rose's steadfast attempt to keep the topic at hand on donations for the cause, she didn't know. Nor did she care. The relief was far sweeter than any explanation could be.

Once Daphne expressed her desire to ‘ask a few questions,’ Tuppence had attached herself to Daphne's hip, convinced there was to be a full page article about her gown and opinions in the Daily Post. It was all Luisa could do to pry Tuppence away, as much to save face for the family as to prevent Tuppence from further embarrassing herself. Rose watched the spectacle in amused incredulity, grateful that the responsibility of reigning in Jackson's wife did not fall to her.

“Make sure she mentions that the gown is bespoke and from Milan!” Tuppence cried as Luisa pushed her into the backseat of the hired motor car. “Reporters tend to miss the important details!”

Luisa rolled her eyes at Rose. “Tell Jackson I escorted his drunken wife safely home, will you?” she asked, climbing into the car next to her sister-in-law.

“I will,” Rose promised. She waved in parting, relieved to see the pair of wives leave for the evening.

Daphne was the last guest to depart, and after Rose had seen her cousin safely to her waiting taxi, she retired to the drawing room in which the Mercers had gathered.

Jackson's elated voice greeted her ears as she pushed through the door to the low-lit, handsome parlor. “...and you shoulda seen her, mate! No hesitation. Nothin'. She just ran over to 'em!” he regaled to Elijah, who lounged next to him on the plush sofa. “Acted like they were old friends of hers. Saved my bloody arse, she did!”

“Aye. Mine, too!” Ransom chimed in. “Luisa was none the wiser, and I'm not headed straight for a pair of broken kneecaps!”

“Consider yo'selves lucky,” Audrey stated from her perch on the arm of the sofa. “Both of your fathers-in-law would make for fearsome enemies.”

“Seems Miss Rose gave us all a sound rescue tonight,” Elijah declared. “Did me a good turn, too.”

“Yeah, we saw youse on the dance floor. Twirlin' 'round all swanky-like,” Ransom goaded. “Lucky bastard!”

Elijah laughed and slapped his knee. “Envy is a sin, Ransom. One o' the Deadly ones. Watch yo'self!” He then spotted Rose where she stood in the doorway. “Oi! The woman o' the hour! Ain't no time to be shy, Miss Rose. Join us!”

Smiling, Rose walked further into the room and Ransom began a slow, exaggerated applause. After a moment, Jackson and Elijah joined in.

“Our hero!” Jackson announced.

“Not ashamed to say we're in your debt,” Ransom added. “Don't even mind that you're a woman.”

“Anybody got a fedora on 'em?” Jackson asked, shielding his eyes theatrically and looking this way and that. “We need to acclimate Rose as an honorary Deansgate Streeter!”

Audrey scoffed at them. “She don't need to wear a man's hat as a symbol of her worth or dedication. She's with us. If she wants to be.” She turned to Rose and raised her glass. “Well done, Rose. Ya saved the evenin' from a right bloody disaster. And as such, you now have somethin' very coveted and hard to come by: my gratitude.”

Rose felt her face flush. She had absolutely no desire to join the Deansgate Streeters, however, their enthusiasm and acknowledgment of her performance tonight made her heart flutter with something akin to pride. “Thank you,” she murmured. “As a wise lady once said, ‘sometimes the women have to step up and take over’.”

Audrey gave her a knowing smile. “I'm no lady. But well remembered.”

William, who had been silent for the entire exchange, left his chosen post by the fireplace and approached Rose. “Boys, I think Miss Sinclair has better things to get up to than joinin' our gang.” He gave her a subtle wink. “But between her heroic acts and accumulated donations, well... She's always welcome at our table.”

Ransom, Jackson, and Elijah made a riotous noise of enthusiasm.

“Whatever you're payin' her, Will, it ain't enough!” Ransom declared.

“You're not wrong, Ransom,” William conceded. He looked to Rose. “We'll discuss a raise later. You've earned it.”

“Entirely unnecessary,” Rose said. “But I won't argue.”

“There's a first.” William gave her a brief half-smile, then returned his attention to the room at large. “But right now, we need to solve the mystery behind our uninvited tarts. Bianca and Desdemona. I wanna know how they heard about our benefit in the first place.”

“They actually were invited,” Rose told him. “More specifically, rather, they received invitations.” Bianca had allowed Rose to keep the pair of invites she'd been given, and Rose now pulled them from her clutch. “Legitimate or not, I cannot say. Hand delivered to Bianca at the Broken Crown by a man with whom she was not acquainted.”

She passed the invites to William, and he inspected them through narrowed eyes.

“They're forgeries, alright, but damn near perfect,” he said. “Just missin' the words ‘black-tie’ and ‘fundraiser.’ Kitty would know best, but I'm sure there are no other discrepancies.”

“Where is Kitty, anyhow?” Audrey asked, peering at the invitations from over William's shoulder. “Haven't seen her since before the debut of Jackson and Ransom's classy lady-friends.”

“They ain't our ‘lady-friends’!” Ransom objected.

William didn't offer a response, his attention still on the forged invites. “Someone went through a lotta trouble to make these,” he remarked. “Filched an original from the post...who knows?” He flipped the invitations over and read the handwritten notes penned on the back. “Not Jackson's handwriting. Nor Ransom's. Good likeness, though. Nice and sloppy.”

“Oi!” Ransom shouted in protest. “Ain't nothin' wrong with me penmanship. Youse can read it well enough, can't ya?”

“Barely,” Audrey sniffed. “Looks like a child drawin' with a stick in the sand.”

“But this proves we didn't invite them,” Jackson pointed out. He released an awkward chuckle of relief. “I didn't want Bianca here, Will. Last thing I need is for Tuppence to meet her.”

“Didn't need proof of that, Jack,” William countered. “Ya said ya didn't, so ya didn't. What I need to know is who did.”

“Regarding that…” Rose began. She bit her lip in hesitation. William's temper was likely to make a torrid appearance when he heard her theory. However, she was certain she was right, and as such, this was not a suspicion she could keep to herself. Plunging in, Rose prompted, “William, you have that letter from James Gallagher with you, correct?”

“‘William’ she calls him,” Jackson snickered. “So proper-like!”

William ignored him in favor of answering Rose. “Aye. I do.”

“May I see it?” she asked.

“If ya like, love.”

William pulled the letter from his inside lapel pocket and handed it to her. Rose unfolded the pages and skimmed the words until she found the paragraph she sought.

“Here,” she said, jabbing the stationery with her forefinger. “Remember this part? ‘I've prepared a gift, arranging its arrival for the pinnacle phase of your party’.”

“Fuck,” William cursed. His eyes hardened and his mouth settled into a grim line. “That fucker.”

“What?” Ransom demanded. “What's Gallagher or his bloody letter got to do with anythin'?”

“The ‘gift,’ Ransom,” William said, his voice low and dangerous. “Bianca and Desdemona were the gift.”

“Precisely,” Rose agreed. “The passage continues: ‘Considering your brothers' tastes, and how similar they are to your own, I think you'll appreciate my selection’.” She glanced up at William. “Historically, do you have a weakness for Romanian women?”

With a shake of his head, Ransom answered for his brother. “Nah. For barmaids. Used to collect 'em like a lass collects dolls before he got married.”

“That's enough, Ransom,” William warned.

“I see.” Rose folded the letter and handed it back to William. “I knew something was amiss with the Cazacu sisters' sudden arrival. It was too perfect.”

“Too choreographed,” Audrey added with a resolute nod. “They were sent for, and despite their ignorance of the situation, the whole thing was planned and arranged just so to discredit our family. Publicly.”

“Ah, shit,” Jackson said, realization dawning on his face. “So, Gallagher's people have been watchin' us.”

“For quite some time,” William concurred. “Aye. Seems that way.”

“Son of a whore's daughter,” Ransom swore. “He's gone too far this time! Too fuckin' far!”

“What are we gonna do about this, Liam?” Audrey asked, her flinty stare locked on her brother. “Tried to be reasonable. Agreeable. Businesslike. But there comes a time when ya just gotta take out the trash.”

“Aye. And so we will,” William stated, his voice nearly inaudible.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Rose shivered as she watched William crumple the forged invitations in his fist and let them fall to the floor.

“Gallagher has stolen business from my factories,” he began, “poached my workers, plotted against me, and now he's tried to damage our fuckin' family at my fundraiser. I've been patient, but that ends now.”

“Meanin' what, Liam?” Jackson asked.

William looked at each of them in turn, his eyes dark with resolve. “Meanin', the gloves are comin' off, lads. Gallagher wants a war? We'll give him a fuckin' war. Let's see how long he can survive in Flanders Fields.”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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