And I learned much of the rest was the same.
Although we rode through districts that were less abouttownhomes and shops, and more about banks, merchants’ offices, brokers,solicitors, physicians and estate agents, and the parks were less plentiful(but they still had them), the trees and streetlamps remained.The buildingsstill glittered, people strolled the streets, horses and carriages clompedalong the cobblestones, and the city seemed alive.
I loved sitting next to Loren.
I loved we were going out on a date.
I loved that, at the end of the date, he was a sure thing.
I loved the gown I was wearing.
I loved that he was holding my hand and that seemed to be athing with him, which I loved even more.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes from the carriage windows so Icould drink it all in.
It was a good thing.
For when the hotel in whichLe Cirque Magiqueoccupied its upper floor, the tallest building in the city, standing at ninestories (all this, Aunt Mary had shared with me, beside herself with glee Lorenwas taking me toLe Cirque, a restaurant in a hotel, both of whichwere apparently renowned across the Vale), came into view, I gasped.
It reminded me of The Plaza in New York.
Except better.
We stopped at its grand entry, which had three plush, royalblue carpet runners running down the steps to the street from its three ornatedouble doors, and at once, a footman was there to open our carriage.
He pulled down the steps, and it was Loren who alightedfirst so he could assist me.
The hotel was called The Heritage.
It was not adorned in gold, but gleaming silver thatcomplemented the glittering gray stone.
It was outlandishly ostentatious.
And I hadn’t even walked inside, but I already knew I lovedeveryinch of it.
Loren guided me in, and I nearly fainted at the opulence ofthe lobby.
Black marble floors, veined in silver and blue, blue marblecolumns veined in black and silver.Enormous dripping crystal chandeliers.
The middle was an atrium domed in stained glass.
It wasstaggering.
“Milord, the private car awaits,” a liveried employeemurmured to us, and I looked to him, then to Loren, who dipped his chin to theman.
We were led to the side, down a short hall, and the manopened a carved pocket door, where inside, with a magnificently tiled floor,and silver gilded mirrors, there was an elevator.
“Oh my,” I whispered.
Loren led me in, our escort came in with us, and at once, heclosed the door and pulled a cord.
I felt Loren’s lips at my ear.
“The riffraff take the stairs,” he whispered on a tease,because no “riffraff” ever came here.
It was just that this elevator was saved for people asimportant as the Marquess of Remington.
I turned startled eyes to him, it occurring to me for firsttime since I met him how prominent his title was.
