Chapter Text
Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess with smooth olive skin, silky long wavy black hair, and big beautiful brown eyes. She lived with her mother and father in a castle on the hill. One sad day the Princess’ father died. So the Princess, scarcely a toddler at the time, and her mother went to live with the Princess’ grandmother (the Princess’ mother’s mum) in a very large castle hidden within a deep dark forest. They lived together for many years. But then a terrible accident occurred killing the Princess’ mother leaving the Princess alone with her Grandmum. The Princess was very sad.
**********************
Mrs. Paige Brenna Crowley reached out and picked up a box from the table. It was one of several parcels, of varying shapes and sizes, placed on the table, some more flamboyantly decorated than others, all wedding gifts. Paige and her husband Tom Richards had chosen to hold their reception in The Green and Gold, Tom’s new shop, one that catered to a strictly Slytherin clientele. It was an opportunity to celebrate and showcase all their products. As a reception, the event had been a smashing success. No doubt the open (Slytherins only) invitations, free food, drink and musical entertainment had much to do with attendance. Everyone who was anyone Slytherin and everyone else Slytherin had attended. Paige was glad she had taken the time to install some temporary room extending spells to the shop to accommodate all the guests. Hopefully those who came would return as customers…
The formal wedding reception for Slytherins that she and Tom had held had mostly ended. While Tom was deep in conversation with some of the more prominent Slytherin elders discussing business matters, Paige decided to open the wedding gifts.
The gift in her hand came in a small plain white box. A slender lime green ribbon neatly tied in a bow held the box closed. There were no markings of any sort on the box. Paige easily slid off the ribbon with one hand and then opened the box. A plain piece of folded parchment, edged in clover green, covered the item(s) inside. Paige removed the parchment and looked at the gift. It appeared to be a circular fibula, or brooch, perhaps 5 centimeters in diameter. The burnished colour suggested the brooch was made of bronze; Paige easily recognized the design of the brooch as a Celtic knot—more accurately a “Lover’s” knot.
“Appropriate,” she thought approvingly while she unfolded the note with her other hand. “I can use it to pin my spidersilk scarf in place…” Paige glanced at the words and froze! Her blood chilled as she read the message within. “Use it well.” There was no signature but none was necessary as Paige easily recognized the handwriting: Auntie “D.!”
“DeWitt!” Paige called out keeping her voice deliberately calm.
“Yes mum?” answered Roland DeWitt in a respectful voice as he stopped sweeping and came over to her. That was as it should be; he was on the clock… Roland DeWitt was employed as the store clerk in Tom’s shop and had been retained to help before, during and after the reception.
Wordlessly Paige handed DeWitt the note. He read the words and then looked at Paige. “Umbridge?” he asked bluntly no longer obsequiously polite. She nodded. DeWitt shrugged. “Well, she’s not here now,” he declared aloud and, lifting his broom, turned to leave.
“You’re not surprised?” questioned Paige.
Her words stopped DeWitt. He turned and looked again at Paige. “No,” he answered simply. Paige waited so DeWitt went on. “Given all the Slytherins who came today, I’d be surprised if she hadn’t come.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” questioned Paige accusingly.
“To whom?” replied DeWitt. “To the Ministry?” Aunty D. had escaped from Azkaban three years earlier and was still a fugitive. “I didn’t spot her,” continued DeWitt, “so she had to be in disguise and probably had an escape route all planned out. The Ministry would have looked like a fool had they come in here interrupting your party hunting for her. So I did what I could to protect you instead.”
He had? Paige lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?” she questioned aloud. DeWitt was also an auror on assignment to support Paige should Umbridge come by. It was totally unnecessary as far as Paige was concerned; she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. Paige would have objected strenuously to permitting a Ministry “plant” within Tom’s store, but good help was hard to find; DeWitt was not only “good,” but “cheap,” an unbeatable combination.
“What did you do?” questioned Paige curiously.
“Watched the food like a hawk,” DeWitt began. DeWitt no doubt knew that Auntie D. had once trapped Paige by doctoring her food. He probably didn’t know that, once freed of Auntie D.’s influence, Paige never ate anything from questionable sources or in places where the food could be doctored. Paige had gotten very good at avoiding food in public. The practice had done wonders for her figure.
Paige had found it fairly easy to avoid eating at the reception; the stemware and dishes tended to snap and break in her fingertips—obviously shoddy material. Anthony (Tom’s little brother) had been in charge of supplies and decorations for the reception; Paige intended to talk with him later about the difference between getting a good deal and getting cheated.
“…and put a Spell Jinx on all the glassware and dishes,” continued DeWitt informatively.
“Spell Jinx?” questioned Paige. She’d never heard of a Spell Jinx.
“Yeah, I modified the hair jinx you used against Potter only made it “spells” not “Potter” drawn to the dishes…
Paige could feel her face warm with the mention of that hair jinx. Auntie D. had made her cast it and in doing so, nearly destroyed all Paige’s own career plans. Paige shoved the memory aside and focused on what DeWitt just said. Was it possible Anthony hadn’t been cheated? That the broken glass was the result of spells going awry? “You mean all that breaking glass wasn’t just shoddy material?”
“Yep!” answered DeWitt cheerfully. “In fact, the spell works best on the good stuff.”
“But who?”
“Couldn’t peg the source,” replied DeWitt regretfully, “but the jinx didn’t have much of a range. Judging from the amount of glass that broke around you, I’d say it’s a good chance you were the intended target.”
“Me?” echoed Paige softly. “Auntie D.?”
“Possibly, but I wouldn’t think she’d be so public in her activities.”
“It was a Slytherin event,” reminded Paige crisply. She’d never invite the general public to her reception!
“True,” agreed DeWitt thoughtfully, “but still… May I?” he asked reaching for the contents of the box.
Paige nodded absently. Auntie D. had bewitched her as part of a plan to get a key. The key was long gone and so, surely, was Auntie’s bewitching interest in her…
DeWitt removed the brooch from the box and placed the note back in. “Can’t imagine Umbridge giving you such a pricey gift if she intended something sinister,” commented DeWitt thoughtfully as he studied the brooch.
“Pricy?” questioned Paige in surprise. At most, the knot was bronze and perhaps of value because it was an antique…
Paige watched while DeWitt turned the brooch over and placed his fingers on the clasp. He twisted and the brooch seemed to blur beneath his fingers. After a moment DeWitt held the brooch up for Paige’s inspection. To her surprise, the design was no longer a “Lover’s” Knot. Paige recognized the new design as a “Sailor’s” knot, also Celtic. “I thought I recognized Larry’s work, or his dad’s,” said DeWitt with satisfaction and he gave the clasp another twist.
“It’s a weekly brooch,” explained DeWitt as the “Sailor’s” knot morphed into a new design, a “Shield” knot, in front of Paige’s eyes. “Four turns to the right; four different designs. Four turns to the left; same thing…” DeWitt twisted the clasp again.
“Why haven’t I heard of such things?” questioned Paige as she watched the brooch morph yet again, this time into a “Solomon’s” knot, one of the oldest symbols found in stone-aged carvings.
“No reason to,” replied DeWitt matter-of-factly. “This kind of jewelry is by commission only, very exclusive, and never sold on the public market. It’s an heirloom item handed down from family member to family member. “You try…” he suggested while handing the brooch to Paige. “One quarter turn at a time.”
“Auntie D. commissioned this?” Paige questioned as she examined the brooch in her hands. The burnished sides of the knot gleamed in the light.
“Ah, probably not,” answered DeWitt hesitantly. Paige looked up at him expectantly. DeWitt continued. “She’s not known for paying this kind of money for anything. More likely she, uh, appropriated it somehow. I twisted to the right,” DeWitt informed Paige changing the subject. “Why don’t you see what happens if you twist to the left.”
“Appropriated?” persisted Paige as she took hold of the clasp and twisted to the left. It took more effort than she expected to get the movement started. Then the clasp stopped after one-quarter turn, lodging in some sort of notch.
“I, ah, made inquiries after what happened to you and Holly,” admitted DeWitt with reluctance. The brooch heated up in Paige’s hand and the strands of the knotted design twisted into a new form.
“Oh?” Paige didn’t recognize the new design but it was as intricate as the others.
“Yeah, it seems that, Umb—, ah, your aunt had a habit of acquiring items in exchange for, ah, favors…”
“So?” Paige twisted yet again.
“She, ah, sometimes accepted things for looking the, ah, other way…” DeWitt added reluctantly as a new design formed in Paige’s hand.
“She took bribes?” translated Paige aloud. Some people were so convoluted with their words.
“Uh, yeah,” replied DeWitt with obvious relief.
“So? Bribes are just an exchange of goods for services in which both parties walk away satisfied,” observed Paige firmly. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Not always,” countered DeWitt. “Some say she used her position to her advantage and made up infractions in order to get something that caught her eye…”
“Why not?” argued Paige. “Why hold a position in the Ministry if you can’t use it to your advantage? There are only seven days in a week,” she added thoughtfully as she twisted the clasp a third time. “But you said there are eight turns…”
“The eighth is supposed to be a bumble bee,” informed DeWitt as the form of a “Celtic Triquetra” or a “Celtic Trinity” knot formed in Paige’s hand.
“Bumble bee?” questioned Paige in disbelief. Seven beautiful Celtic knots and then a bumble bee design? That didn’t make sense.
“Yeah, for Hufflepuff colours,” DeWitt explained, “or that’s what I heard,” he amended. “I’ve never seen one before, you understand,” DeWitt added. “Just heard about them.”
“If you’ve never seen one before, how did you know this is a weekly brooch?” questioned Paige as she tightened her grip on the clasp.
“Told you, I recognized the craftsmanship,” replied DeWitt. “Larry makes the best! And looking like a brooch as it did, it could only be one thing.”
Paige twisted the clasp. “Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise as she felt a sharp pinprick on the tip of her thumb. Paige dropped the brooch in surprise and immediately inspected her thumb. A tiny drop of blood welled up from the injury.
“The bee sting,” said DeWitt without surprise. “That’s what I heard it did.”
“And you didn’t warn me?” accused Paige after she cleaned off her thumb.
“I wanted to see if it did anything else,” replied DeWitt without guilt. He reached down and picked up the brooch. “Well, well, well,” he added approvingly. “Maybe Umbridge did commission it! Or else she paid a lot to have this properly cleaned and reset for a new owner... And now I know why it’s Larry who makes ‘em.” He handed the brooch back to Paige. Only, it wasn’t a brooch any more but a shiny bronze key. Or, rather, a brooch in the shape of a key.
“I’d wager only the owner can get the key,” DeWitt added confidentially while Paige turned the key over. There was the familiar clasp in back. “And anyone else who makes that eighth turn just gets stung!”
“What’s it go to?” Paige asked as she stared at the key. She resolved to learn more about this “Larry.”
“Don’t know,” answered DeWitt bluntly. “Depends on what you need, but Larry’s keys are always good.” Abruptly DeWitt straightened. “Is there anything else, mum?” he asked in a proper deferential employee voice. Paige looked up. Tom was coming over. Tom didn’t know DeWitt was also an auror.
“No,” she answered while giving the clasp a quick twist to the right. Tom didn’t need to know about the key either, not yet anyway.
“Then I’d best return to sweeping,” DeWitt said and started away.
Paige could feel the brooch warm in her hand as it reformed. “DeWitt?” she called suddenly stopping him in his tracks.
“Yes, mum?” he asked looking at her expectantly.
Paige swiftly dropped the forming brooch into its box, replaced the lid and held out the box to DeWitt. “Look into the background of this,” she ordered. “If something less than proper was done to obtain it, then make it right.” Paige had a sudden vision of being served an arrest warrant for receiving stolen goods and Auntie D. wanting a favor to “fix” things… “Perhaps some potions or other services could smooth things over if necessary,” she continued thoughtfully. “I want a proper bill of sale linking this brooch to me.”
“Yes, mum,” said DeWitt while taking the box. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he added. He slipped the box into his pocket and walked off.
Ordinarily, DeWitt would never obey any order of Paige’s that didn’t pertain to employment within the shop but this time he would. That box contained the first tangible lead to Auntie D.’s whereabouts since her escape. Thomas (Head of Magical Law Enforcement) would want it checked out thoroughly. Paige’s order had given DeWitt the excuse to do just that without connecting him or his questions to the Ministry. The investigation would yield nothing of use concerning Auntie D.’s location; Auntie D. was an extremely careful person. But it would tell Paige whether the gift was truly a “gift” or part of another “set-up” of some sort. In addition, DeWitt’s efforts on her behalf would gain Paige the goodwill of the Hufflepuff community for “trying to make it right,” and perhaps enable Paige to meet the very talented “Larry.”
***********
“Hey Jane, how’s it going?” questioned Greg cheerfully as he slid into the limo next to Holly.
“Just fine,” replied Holly Wycliff; she was “Jane Smith” to Greg. Something was off. “What’s wrong?” she asked bluntly.
“Nothing’s wrong!” denied Greg instantly. “What makes you think that?”
“Body language,” answered Holly briefly though in truth it was his emotions that didn’t add up. “What’s going on,” she repeated persistently.
“Man, you’re really good,” said Greg approvingly.
“And you’re stalling,” replied Holly. That time it was body language.
“Yeah, right,” admitted Greg. “Uh, would it be O.K. if we didn’t go to the concert tonight and went somewhere else instead? I’ll make it up to you later, I promise…”
“Where?” asked Holly cautiously.
“Um, a Ball? Lookit,” Greg continued in a rush. “I don’t know if you can dance or not or even if you want to, but there’s live music, I checked! And it’s really important!”
“Why?”
“It just is,” answered Greg vaguely. “I called, but I guess you didn’t get my message,” he added.
Holly sighed. She hadn’t gotten any message because she hadn’t the foggiest idea how to get messages off her cell phone; didn’t even turn it on unless to call Greg… “What’s it all about,” she asked.
“Well, I got this invite,” Greg began. “I was going to toss it seeing as you and I already had plans but then father saw it and he really wanted me to go to it instead…”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s kind of complicated but you see, ever since father got knighted, the rest of the Peerage community have kind of, well, ignored him...”
“They have?” Holly had no idea what happened within the world of knights and lords…
“Yeah. I don’t care but it really bothers father,” acknowledged Greg. “Frankly, it’s the first time anyone has ever included us in their functions… Father is certain it would be rude for me to not participate… So, what do you say… Will you go to a Ball instead?”
“What kind of ball?” asked Holly warily. There was only one Ball that she knew of and the odds of it being the same one were…
“Uh, it’s a Debutante Ball…” answered Greg.
“Debutante?” echoed Holly in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s where the eligible daughters are introduced to society…” Greg added explaining further. “I know it’s terribly old fashioned but that’s the Peerage for you…”
“Uh, surely something like that would have had invitations sent out ages ago,” said Holly carefully. There couldn’t be two such events on the same day…
“You’d think,” agreed Greg. “But ours didn’t arrive until yesterday… Father called the coordinator personally to make sure my RSVP was received…”
“Wait a minute,” began Holly. “Your father RSVPed before he knew what I’d say?” she asked in disbelief.
“Well, yeah,” replied Greg defensively. “He had to—That had to be done by yesterday! I couldn’t exactly tell him you don’t answer your phone; he’d think you’re ignoring us too… Besides, seeing as your cousin knows someone who knows the PM, father figured you’d already gotten an invite and were just being too polite to bring it up…”
“Oh. Can I see the invitation?”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“Course I believe you,” replied Holly promptly. Greg positively oozed honesty. “But can I see the invitation anyway?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Greg reluctantly reached into a pocket and pulled out a heavy cream coloured card filled with embossed lettering. It looked very official and definitely specified an RSVP deadline of yesterday…
“Well,” asked Greg expectantly. His emotions told Holly that Greg truly wanted to go, or, rather, wanted to please his father, but she still wondered about the lateness of the arrival. That seemed fishy somehow…
“I guess,” Holly began reluctantly, “if it’s that important to your father…”
Greg brightened. “Thanks!” he said with obvious relief. “I really appreciate this.”
“Mmmm,” said Holly dubiously and added silently: “I think I’m gonna regret this…”
**********
Holly Wycliff stared apprehensively at the building that went with the address for the Ball that Greg had given the chauffeur. (Rupert Shunpike) It (the building) was positively huge and seemed to stretch out over a block in length. Holly had never seen such a place. To get there, Rupert had driven the limousine through a lane bordered on either side by thick stately beech trees. Beyond the trees were gently rolling green pastures that turned out to be a huge lawn filed with peacocks.
Holly hoped that the simple dress she had selected to wear to the concert with the short lace fingerless gloves (that hid her cricket tattoo) would not look too out of place at the ball. It was a ball for young people; surely they wouldn’t all be wearing formals! The limousine slid silently up to the curb and stopped. Holly studied the other guests anxiously while Rupert got out. She breathed a silent sigh of relief to note women wearing both short and long gowns. Perhaps her dress wasn’t as fine as theirs or her jewelry as expensive, but it would do.
Rupert walked over to the passenger side of the curb, opened the door and stood respectfully to one side as the two got out. “Have a nice evening,” he murmured as they passed.
“Thanks,” acknowledged Holly. Greg offered his arm; Holly slipped hers within the crook of his elbow and together the two walked up to the huge front doors.
“Have you an invitation?” questioned the doorman imperiously. He was tall and heavy and looked easily capable of turning away the uninvited, using force, if necessary…
“Yes,” replied Greg proudly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the invitation and handed it to the doorman.
The doorman scrutinized it closely. “Welcome, Mr. Smythe,” the doorman said finally as he returned the card to Greg. “Have a nice time.”
“We will,” assured Greg and he stepped forward pulling Holly in with him.
A huge crystal chandelier lit the entryway. The cut glass prisms sparkled like diamonds. Strands of music came from an open door down the hall. People milled about in small groups. They glanced up briefly at Holly and Greg’s arrival and then returned to their own conversations without giving the two a second glance. Holly stared at the people matching the emotions she felt with bodies making sure the number matched. This was a Muggle event; there shouldn’t be any witches or wizards nearby but Holly checked anyway…
“Would you like something to drink?” Holly whirled at the sound and saw a young waitress with short curly brown hair holding out a tray of filled wine glasses.
Holly felt appreciation, need and desire coming from Greg; she gripped Greg’s arm tightly and pulled him back. “No, thank you,” she told the person while she pulled Greg away. Greg had an alcohol problem. It had never been an issue between them before as Holly didn’t drink but they had never been in places where alcohol was freely available.
“That was rude!” scolded Greg as he shook himself free from Holly’s grip. “I could have answered for myself!”
“And what would you have said?” replied Holly knowing full well what Greg was about to say.
“It was only one drink!” Greg protested.
“Which leads to another and another and another,” retorted Holly. “You’ve told me that time and time again, which is why you can’t start at all!”
“But I’m over that now!” Greg argued.
“You’re never over it!” disagreed Holly. That’s what her brother Vernon insisted—“Once a drunk, always a drunk!” he repeated whenever Greg’s name was mentioned. To him, Greg was “that drunk who ran you over!” Well, Greg had, but it had turned out O.K. “Look-it!” continued Holly. “I know you meant well trying to please your father and all, but this was a bad idea from the start and it’s not getting any better. We should get out of here before things get worse.”
“And admit defeat before really trying?” countered Greg. “I can’t do that! O.K., I slipped a bit,” he admitted. “But you stopped me. It won’t happen again. I promise!”
Holly sighed. Greg was totally sincere but she’d read that a promise from an alcoholic only lasted until the next glass showed up… On the other hand, if she hadn’t gotten Greg’s father the Knighthood, he wouldn’t be in this position; Holly felt an obligation to help make it work… “O.K.” she agreed reluctantly, “but if you break your promise and drink anything alcoholic tonight, it’ll be the last outing you and I ever go on together and I mean it!”
“Agreed,” said Greg cheerfully. “Now, what do you say we check out the music?” he added and moved down the hall towards the source of the sound. Holly followed and then stopped. “Uh, you go on ahead,” she told Greg. “I’ve something to do first.”
“What?”
“Uh, you were right,” Holly told Greg. “I was rude. I want to apologize first.”
“I’m sure you don’t have to do that,” Greg assured her. “You weren’t really rude; I was just saying that.”
“No, I could have handled things better. I’ll be right back.” Holly swiftly moved back and found the waitress with the tray of wine glasses. She whispered something in the waitress’ ear. The waitress smiled and whispered something back. Then Holly returned to Greg’s side.
“Feel better?” Greg asked.
“Much,” agreed Holly with a smile. “Let’s see those musicians!” Holly again hooked her arm around Greg’s and the two entered the room with the music.
*************
The Ballroom was huge! Maybe even larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts but instead of rough hewn stone walls, the walls of this room gleamed sparkly white with more glass crystal chandeliers for lighting. The hardwood floor beneath positively shined. A graceful staircase, white steps, polished dark wood rails and a rich red carpet covering the center, arched down from the second floor. Two huge matching burgundy vases held pink and red roses on either side at the base of the staircase and more vases filled with flowers lined the edges of the steps.
A tiny stage had been erected at one end of the ballroom; eight musicians, an octet, with cellos, a bass and violins, performed a classical piece as background music. Along the wall were round tables with white lace tablecloths and flower centerpieces where the guests could sit. Many tables were already filled with people relaxing and chatting. Waiters and waitresses bustled about, some carrying trays of drinks and others with appetizers. Holly looked around scanning emotions. There were too many to count but she would have known instantly were any other witch or wizard present, unless that person was practicing Occlumency...
Greg looked about uncertainly. “I guess we ought to pick out a place to sit,” he suggested.
“That’s easy enough,” replied Holly in a cheerful voice. “This way.” She would have preferred two seats in back, but they were all full and unfortunately, there were two very obvious seats in front. Walking forward Holly led Greg to a tiny table directly across from the stairs—a location that could not be missed by anyone. The table was smaller than the rest and could only seat four. Though decorated the same as the rest, the small size made the table look out of place. “Look, you were expected!” Holly added as they neared. A placard, name card, actually, but one larger than any Holly had seen before, rested on a plate on the table. Greg’s name could be easily read even from a distance.
“How did you know?” asked Greg curiously as he picked up the card bearing his name.
“A hunch,” replied Holly. “There aren’t any other name cards…” she whispered.
“Huh?” Greg looked about curiously for himself. Indeed, none of the other tables had name cards. “So?”
“There was a reason why your invitation came so late,” Holly added. “They didn’t expect you to come.”
“Huh?”
“Your father was right. Despite the late notice, by not coming, it would be you ignoring the Peerage, not the other way around…” Holly could feel the anger grow within Greg. “Don’t be mad,” she hastened to add. “You came! So there’s no insult and no harm. But be careful, someone out there really wanted to—”
“What do you think you’re doing?” came an imperious voice. Both Holly and Greg turned to face a young man with brown hair and brown eyes.
“I’m sitting down,” replied Greg as he folded up the name card and tucked it into his pocket.
“Not there!” insisted the man. “That place is reserved for—”
“Gregory Smythe, I know,” replied Greg. “That’s why I’m sitting here!”
“You’re Smythe?” the man questioned in disbelief.
“Yeah. Want to see some I.D.?” Greg asked dryly. “Or will my invitation do?” Greg reached into his pocket, pulled out the cream coloured card and held it out to the man…
“That’s not necessary,” the man said with ill grace without taking the card. “I was told you wouldn’t be attending…”
“Then you were mis-informed,” replied Greg stiffly. He returned the card to his pocket.
“Someone reserved us a seat in the very front,” added Holly in a cheerful voice. “Isn’t that great? Greg must be really important for them to do that for him.”
“Mmm,” replied the man disdainfully.
“I don’t see a second name card, though,” Holly added thoughtfully. “Where are you sitting?”
“Right here!” said the man firmly while sliding out a chair to sit in. “Like Smythe,” he added smoothly, “I removed my name card when I arrived…” The man lied. He told it well but Holly knew he lied because his emotions said so. Greg didn’t have Holly’s Empath advantages, but his (Greg’s) emotions were filled with “doubt” and “disbelief” so Holly guessed that Greg was fairly certain the man had told a lie as well. But neither of them challenged the lie—there was no point.
“Dear?” broke in a new voice. “What are you doing?” Holly looked up and saw a lady with flawless white skin in a sleeveless turquoise coloured floor-length gown and matching above-elbow length gloves. An emerald pendant adorned her neck. The lady’s blonde hair was swept up high held in place with a green and blue jeweled hair piece and a single tendril of hair artfully swirled down on one side. The man abandoned his attempt to sit and stood back hastily from the chair at her arrival. “I thought you were going to—”
“Welcome Mr. Smythe to the Ball,” filled in the man. The lady stopped mid-sentence, sank into the chair the man had slid out and looked at Greg with new interest. “You look a little young to be a Knight…” she observed acidly.
“That’s my father,” filled in Greg without offense. “He’s not much for dancing and thought I would have more interest in a Debutante Ball…”
“Oh,” replied the lady. “And you are?” she added directing her blue eyes at Holly.
“Miss Jane Smith,” answered Greg firmly for Holly. “I don’t believe I caught your name…either of you,” he added pointedly.
The man straightened and then spoke. “Montague--Hilbert John Bartholomew Montague the Third,” he said proudly. “And this is my wife, Vanessa.”
**********