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.”

“And co-host,” William added. “Keep her company for a minute, will ya, Aud? Gotta have a word with me brothers. And your son.”

Audrey continued to scrutinize Rose. “O'course, Liam.”

“Be back shortly,” William said to Rose.

Before Rose had a chance to protest or ask questions, William stalked toward the far end of the ballroom where three men in black-tie stood huddled together.

“Ransom! Jackson! Elijah!” William called, motioning to the men as he walked. “C'mon, lads. You're with me.”

The trio of men glanced at each other, then obediently followed William through the double doors on the far wall.

Rose watched them, bemused. When she turned back to Audrey, she found the daunting woman still studying her.

“You're a pretty one, aren't you?” Audrey remarked.

Rose knew from her time spent with William that a question like this was asked in rhetoric and was meant to receive no answer. “William told you about me, I take it?” she inquired, her delivery polite.

Audrey positioned her hand on her hip. “He did.”

“Oh, well, lovely,” Rose hemmed, unsure what to say. The source of William's talent for silent intimidation was becoming quite clear. She paused, recalling the brief prelude William had provided her in regards to his sister during their drive to the venue. “He told me a bit about you, as well. Most notably that you are the matriarch of the Mercer family, essentially raising him and his brothers after their mother passed.”

“Well, our father was a worthless piece of philandering rubbish,” Audrey declared. “Good at makin' children, shite at raisin' them. He took off years ago after some tart from Berlin, much to the surprise of no one. Habitual behavior, for him. My mother's corpse wasn't even in the ground before he crawled between the sheets with Liam's mum.”

“Good lord,” Rose murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. “How uncouth. Such a display tells much about his character; however, far more about yours.”

“Mine?” Audrey scoffed. “How's that?”

“A lesser person would have resented William and his brothers, despite the fact that they are not to blame for the sins of their father,” Rose said, explaining her thought. “You didn't. You chose to step in and help. Chose to raise three boys, while still so young yourself. It must have been a monumental undertaking.”

“Difficult, at times,” Audrey granted. A gleam of warmth grew in her dark eyes that suggested she appreciated Rose's words. “Particularly when the boys went to war. Well, not so much when they went, as while they were gone, and when they returned. The men that came back in their stead...well. They weren't the same.”

“I can't imagine,” Rose empathized. “To my understanding, no man ever returns from war. Not really. And in their absence, you became an army of one. Caregiver, head of household, protector, bread winner... Every responsibility must have fallen on your shoulders.”

“Aye,” Audrey agreed. “I was all of those things and more, and I handled the struggle best as any man. Better. Sometimes the women have to step up and take over. The war was a harsh reminder of that fact. Everyone changed. Everyone. But my boys most of all.”

“I knew many men who fought in the war, but none were immediate family members,” Rose confided. “And it seems to me that those left behind during wartime experience a trauma every bit as trying as that of the soldiers, as we see the before and after, but nothing of the gradual, gruesome metamorphosis. For them, the reform is inevitable. For us, it's jarring. To witness your brothers change in such drastic ways while also having lost your husband, I daresay, you are a woman of remarkable fortitude.”

“Kind of ya to say,” Audrey said, a hint of suspicion in her voice. “But what do you know of my husband?”

“Merely the footnotes,” Rose explained in haste, wincing at her own tactless delivery. “William told me you were a war widow. I apologize if I was too forward.”

“Nah. Old wounds, mostly healed,” Audrey said with a wave of her hand. “And, yes, my husband was deployed at the same time as my brothers. Only he didn't come back. Killed in the Battle of the Somme. Damned generals thought nothin' of sending a black man to the front to take the first wave of fire. But he was fearless. Died a hero. I'll always be proud of him for that. Just wish our son coulda had more time with him.”

“You must miss him terribly,” Rose commiserated, her heart heavy. “He was black? Your husband?”

Audrey's pencil-thin eyebrow arched in challenge. “Aye. He was,” she stated in a tone that dared Rose to comment. “Find that unseemly, d'ya?”

Rose shook her head in firm contestation. “No, I don't. Not at all.” In her mind, she saw Duke Ellington's debonair face smiling down at her, and a little wave of nostalgia rippled through her chest. “There was a time, not so long ago, when I was completely enamored with a black man. A jazz musician, no less. I regret nothing. He was marvelous. And I have always been of the opinion that prejudice is a weakness of both the mind and heart. I like to believe, that in those two aspects, I am a person of strength.”

Something akin to a smile lit Audrey's face from within. Subtle, but unmistakable. She gazed at Rose as though really seeing her for the first time. “Yes...I see it now,” she mused. “You remind me of her.”

Rose blinked, quizzical. “Of whom?”

“Clementine.”

“Ah,” Rose said. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a brief stint. “William's late wife.”

“Yes,” Audrey confirmed. “In spite of her very privileged upbringing, she had no tolerance for prejudice either. To be frank, I didn't know what to make of her at first, but she was a good sort. Helped Liam in a way no one else could. In a way he desperately needed.”

Unsure what to say, Rose nodded in understanding.

Audrey studied Rose's countenance with her flinty eyes, as if she were trying to find a hairline crack in an expensive piece of china. “He hasn't gotten over her, y'know. Hasn't gotten over what happened. I doubt he ever will. So, you are either very good for him...or very, very bad.”

Rose frowned. “I would never allow myself to be ‘bad’ for anyone.”

Audrey dug into her clutch and pulled out her cigarette case. “Intent aside, my dear Rose, that remains to be seen.”

【♖】

Huddled in the preparation alcove adjacent to the ballroom, Liam read aloud to his brothers and nephew from James Gallagher's letter.

“...‘and I've prepared a gift, arranging its arrival for the pinnacle phase of your party. Considering your brothers' tastes, and how similar they are to your own, I think you'll appreciate my selection’.”

“Gift?” Ransom repeated. “What the hell kind o' gift?”

“One we don't want. That's my guess,” Liam replied, his expression sour. “He's out to make fools of us in front of our guests, I'd bet me house on it. And I'm a bettin' man.”

“Whatever it is, we'll send it right back to him. Eh, Will?” Jackson said, his habitual mischievous grin firmly in place. “Oi, Gallagher, you fucker. Ya dropped this!” He mimed shoving an invisible object down Elijah's throat.

Elijah pretended to gag, and Jackson and Ransom laughed. Liam did not.

“We can't intercept it or return it if we don't know what it is,” Liam stated, his voice grim. Folding the letter into thirds, he slid it back into his inside lapel pocket. “And that's me point, lads. We got no way of knowin' what that thievin' bastard has up his sleeve. Keep your eyes open and heads up, eh? Vigilance: that's the game. From here on out. Especially tonight. Ya hear?”

He received three affirmative responses in various verbiage.

“Good,” Liam said, appeased. He eased his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “And speakin' of tonight, boys, this benefit needs to go off without a hitch. Alright? So, let's swallow our pride, displeasure, and prejudices, and put on a nice party for these deep-pocket toffs. Tonight is not about us, lads. It's not about our feud with Gallagher, or our businesses, or our fuckin' family tiffs. None o' our cousins are here, Ransom, so you got no one to harass.” He raised his eyebrows at his brother in challenge, then continued. “Tonight is about those orphaned girls. Tonight is about expandin' the Clementine Mercer Institute. And to make that happen, we need donations. Which means, we need these elitist snobs to see us as an upstandin' family worthy of their money. Which means—”

“Lemme guess,” Jackson cut in. “No misbehavior?”

“Bleedin' hell, not that speech again!” Ransom bellowed. “Think you're our da', d'ya? Lecturing us like school boys every time we wanna have some fun!”

“Ya don’t wanna hear it?” Liam demanded. “Don't make me fuckin' say it. Best behavior tonight, lads. I mean it. Alright, Ransom?” He pointed at his most vocal brother in warning.

Ransom held up his hands. “Aye. Alright, Will.”

With a curt nod, Liam pivoted and aimed his pointed finger at his youngest brother. “Jackson?”

“No misbehavior,” Jackson vowed, suppressing a smirk. “I swear, Will.”

“Right,” Liam said. He pivoted again. “Elijah?”

Elijah shook his head. “I ain't here to cause trouble.”

“Good.” Liam nodded again and lit a cigarette. With an abrupt tilt of his head, he took a drag. “Right. So. No arguments. No cocaine. No fighting. No barmaids or whores. No fuckin' with the vehicles outside. No sniffin' around the female guests. And no excessive drinkin'. So, in short?” He made a sweeping gesture toward his audience of three.

“No misbehavior!” they chorused.

“No misbehavior,” Liam repeated. Removing his cigarette from between his lips, he exhaled a plume of smoke and jabbed the lit fag toward them to accentuate his point. “That's right. Them's the rules, lads. Follow the rules, and it'll be a good night. Ya wanna have a good night, don't ya?”

“Sure 'nuff, Will,” Jackson granted, a waggish glint in his eye.

“Oi,” Liam said, clapping Jackson on the back. “You're here with Tuppence, Jackson. The last thing we need is a temper tantrum from your wife, or these well-to-dos doubtin' our respect of the family dynamic. So, no skirt chasin', eh? I mean it.”

Jackson shook his head in amusement. “What're you on about, Liam? Swore I'd behave, so I will. End of!”

“Aye, ya did swear,” Liam conceded. “And I trust your word. But Ransom told me all about the Romanian barmaid at the Broken Crown gettin' sweet on ya.”

“Bianca,” Jackson drawled, wiggling his eyebrows. “Tits for days on that one. But it's just harmless fun, Liam. Nothin' more.”

“Harmless. Right,” Liam sniffed. “Don't care what her name is, don't care about her tits. My point is, ya get rakish as all fuck when ya drink, so watch yo'self. Eh?”

Jackson gave his brother a cocky mock-salute. “Best behavior, Will. On my word.”

“Good man. Same goes for you, Ransom. Luisa's here. So, act like Luisa's here.”

“Oi, I give me wife proper recognition,” Ransom said defensively. “Not keen on havin' her father come at me.”

“Sure ya do. All's I'm sayin' is that tonight ain't the night to cock up. Alright?” Liam pressed.

“Aye. As you say, Will,” Ransom grumbled with a disgruntled nod.

“Glad to hear it. Where are they, anyway? Luisa and Tuppence?”

“Where d'ya think?” Ransom answered for both himself and Jackson. “In the bloody loo. ‘Getting dolled up’.”

Exhaling smoke, Liam nodded and turned to his nephew. “Elijah, I don't care what ya do — within reason. You're not married. But keep it discreet, eh?”

Elijah smirked. “Nobody will see or hear nothin'.”

“Good.” Liam snubbed out his cigarette and tilted his head until his neck cracked. “Alright, lads. Let's be off. Before we make nice with the toffs, there's someone I want ya to meet.”

【♖】

When the four men returned to the ballroom, William approached Rose in a businesslike manner, the others marching along in his wake.

“Lads, this is Rose Sinclair,” William said as he waved a hand in her direction. The gesture was simplistic yet respectful, and much to her relief, Rose noticed the distinct absence of the word ‘Lady.’ “Miss Sinclair works for me, and she's doin' me the great favor of co-hostin' this party, so be nice, eh?” William met her eye and motioned to the three men. “Rose, this is me brother Ransom, me brother Jackson, and our nephew Elijah McQueeney.”

“How do you do?” Rose asked. She nodded politely to them and, noting that they seemed more the type of men to appreciate a handshake than a curtsy, she extended her hand to each of them in turn. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mercer, Mr. Mercer, Mr. McQueeney.”

“Miss Sinclair,” the brother named Ransom greeted her. Just as the photograph in William's study suggested, his face looked as though he'd been in many a nasty scuffle in his life. He seemed surprised by Rose's modern gesture, but willingly shook her outstretched hand.

The boyish handsome one William had called Jackson held onto her hand a few seconds longer than necessary. “She's right proper, this one! How do, Miss Sinclair?”

“Well, thank you,” Rose replied with a breathy chuckle.

“Pay him no mind, Miss Sinclair,” said the dark-complected young man dubbed Elijah. “Jackson'll exclaim over any ol' thing.”

“Is that so?” Rose teased. As she took in Elijah's brown skin, mischievous dark eyes, and easy smile, she was unable to suppress the momentary memory of Duke Ellington. For the second time that evening, a twinge of nostalgia tugged at her heart. “McQueeney, hmmm? You must be Audrey's son.”

“I must be,” Elijah returned with a bob of his head. “Honor to meet ya.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her white glove.

“Aren't you the charmer,” Rose observed with a sly smile. “Did you see that in a moving picture?”

“I mighta,” Elijah admitted, his full lips adopting a smirk.

“Pompous arse,” Ransom goaded him.

“Yeah, she's too clever to be fooled by that shite,” Jackson added. He saddled Rose with a flirtatious smirk of his own. “Aren't ya, Miss Sinclair?”

“Showmanship has its place, I believe,” Rose allowed, amusement coloring her tone. She briefly wondered if these men were all members of the ‘Deansgate Streeters’ gang she kept hearing about, but to inquire at present felt situationally inappropriate.

Audrey appeared at Rose's side, a hand on her jutting hip. “Look at these ridiculous lads,” she scolded. “See a pretty girl, and they fall all over themselves, never mind that their wives are here. Stop your leerin' and fawnin'. You're gonna scare her off just in time for the guests to arrive.”

“Are they here, Aud?” William asked.

“Sure 'nuff,” Audrey confirmed. She motioned to the ballroom entrance where a cluster of tuxedos and gowns were walking through the double doors, chatting amicably. “The first wave.”

“Like bloody France all over again,” William muttered, and his brothers nodded their heads in kind.

“Oh, come now,” Rose soothed. “It won't be nearly as bad as all that! You just let me handle them.”

“Think ya can make willing donors outta this lot, d'ya?” Ransom questioned her.

“I believe I can, yes,” Rose said. “I rise to the challenge. And if for some reason my etiquette, decorum, charm, and puppy eyes should fail in the task, well, there's always Plan B.”

“Which is what?” Elijah asked.

“Oldest trick in the book,” Rose replied. “We'll get them good and sauced, wait until they pass out from inebriation, then make off with their pocketbooks before they come to. Who would be the wiser?”

Jackson's face split into a wide grin. “Oi, Liam,” he said, wagging his finger at Rose. “I like this one.”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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