It was an excellent turnout, thought Verity as she smiled her social smile, nodding at one or two faces she recognised, and waiting for the applause to die down.
As it did so, she cleared her throat and glanced at her notes
“Good evening,” she began.
The room was surprisingly quiet while she spoke, for which she was profoundly grateful, since she hated having to shout over background noise. It always left her hoarse the next morning.
She had memorised many such speeches, so she delivered this one with clarity and genuine emotion, knowing that those guests in front of her could well afford a sizeable donation. Thewords fell from her lips with ease, the smiles from the audience reassuring her it was going well.
But there was no harm in giving them a nudge.
“Charity is not an act of impulse,” she said clearly. “I like to think of it as an act of stewardship. Tonight is not about givingonce—but about ensuring that what we giveendures.”
She took a breath, pleased to note the quiet attention.
“Every contribution given this evening will be placed into a protective trust, audited quarterly, and invested conservatively, so that the children who benefit from your generosity will continue to do so, long after tonight’s music has faded. We must all agree that the success of our city is measured not by the height of its spires, but by how carefully it accounts for those who cannot yet stand beneath them.” She took a breath. “Thank you again for being here, and a special thanks to our host for opening Pembroke Hall so graciously... Now? I think it’s time to dance.”
With those words the little girls in pink and white dresses appeared from the back of the dais, clutching brightly coloured posies. Gasps of surprise and laughter followed as they wound through the guests, presenting their little bouquets.
Needless to say, the applause was loud and enthusiastic, and Verity took a moment to breathe deeply.
The worst was over.
Gathering her notes and putting them back in her reticule, she turned to make her way to Alastair, where she intended to spend most of the evening.
But before she could reach him, a tall figure stopped her progress.
“Lady Turner-Yardley.”
Verity looked up at the sound of her name.
And her gaze met a pair of dark eyes that sparkled with amber lights. Eyes that had haunted her for years until she’d firmly pushed them back into her past where they belonged.
It took every ounce of her self-possession—and even more of her control—to merely tilt her head to one side, and give him a polite smile.
“Goodness me. Sir Lucas Ashcombe? What a surprise to see you here this evening.” Her voice was steady, even though her heart was threatening to thunder its way right through her corset.
“So—you remember me?”
His voice still had the ability to raise goosebumps on her skin. She prayed he didn’t notice, and thanked the Lord she wore long sleeves.
“It has been many years,” she responded politely. “You have been away, haven’t you? If I recall, you chose to live in Sectorvale.”
“Indeed,” he nodded. “I returned to visit with my friend Alastair, and see Pembroke Hill once again.”
“How lovely for you.”
Another voice intruded, for which Verity was most thankful. She was running out of platitudes. Fast.
“Here you are, Lucas, damn you.” A man almost as tall as Lucas, fair haired and with a moustache, came up to him and thumped him solidly on the shoulder.
“Ouch,” he said, grinning. “Hello, Julian.”
“Glad to see you made it. And in time to hear our resident heroine make one of her amazing speeches.” He bent to Verity and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Well done, sweetheart. Those words would wring donations out of a rock.”
Verity smiled. “Julian. How lovely. I know your father will be so thrilled you could get away for a bit.” She glanced around. “I’m sure you both have much to discuss, so if you’ll excuse me,I need to mingle and say hello to some friends.” She gathered her skirts and turned toward the dance floor where many were already lining up in anticipation of the next dance.
“Of course.” Julian smiled.
