Page 49 of I Love a Good Challenge

“You guys look great!” Cricket yells, waving her hand in our direction.

My face flushes with the compliment. It’s strange when people who know me see me with Graham, especially when his memories feel like a hidden treasure chest in the ocean of my heart. I wonder what they think of us together. While I used to think it would be a disaster for anyone to think I’m tied down—given the comments and speculations that would ensue when Lily Anne Thomas settles down—their glances tonight only make me pull back my shoulders with pride. Even if I’m only on his arm for tonight, I’m proud to be seen with Graham. If anything, the strange feelings I’m experiencing have very little to do with anyone’s reaction . . . except my own.

We pause in front of Town Hall, waiting for a group of ball attendees to pose for a photo before proceeding inside. The exuberant notes of the string quartet drift out to us, carried on the soft spring night air.

“I dare you to take a photo with me,” Graham murmurs, his voice husky in my ear. I whip my head to face him. He arches his eyebrows in a silent challenge.

Despite my determination to maintain my cool around this man, I can’t help but let a grin break out across my face. If he thinks he can out-dare me in my own game, he’s got another thing coming. “Oh, you’ve got yourself a challenge, good sir. The question is, tonight, are you a gentleman or a rake?” I reply in a low tone.

He laughs, the sound a warm rumble that echoes all the way to my toes. I nod resolutely and try not to collapse with happiness when his warm hand passes gently across my lower back. Graham’s other hand wraps around my own in a take on a modern-day prom pose. I imagine it looks more like those vintage-style, sketched photos where we appear far more important than we are, but I’ll take it.

“Smiling or not smiling?” I grind out between my teeth as we move forward to take our places in front of the photo backdrop of a majestic English manor and gardens that could easily grace the cover of Pride and Prejudice. As Cricket readies the camera, my face moves from grimacing to resting Regency face—whatever that is (confused . . . confused is what it is).

“Smiling,” Graham replies without hesitation. “When I’m this close to you, how could it be otherwise?”

Internally, I blackout. The camera clicks in my ear, and I hear people milling about in the background, but my body is frozen until Graham gently nudges me forward. A low chuckle escapes him again, the sound sending the wild impulse to rip off my gloves and toss them in the nearest trash can coursing through me. This man’s forearms (and his laugh) could cause a woman’s gloves to spontaneously disintegrate. I’m not sure if I can force myself to go the whole night without touching him for real. Lifting my chin higher, I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that still lingers where his hand just rested on my lower back.

The next couple moves into place behind us. As we pass Cricket, I lean over and whisper in her ear, “Send me a rough cut of that, will you?”

She winks. I applaud myself for snapping out of it enough to secure evidence of the moment that just unfolded between us. No one will ever know what sweet words Graham whispered in my ear except for me.

When we reach the wide steps leading up to the entrance, I take in the fabric banner signs hanging above the door. Hand-painted calligraphy welcomes us to a festive spring dance and Regency Ball celebration. We hear the party first. The music from the string quartet carries beyond the ballroom. When Graham and I enter the hall, my spirits are already in the mood to dance. We step through the large, wooden doors, and my breath catches. It’s too much to take in. What was once a boring judicial room has been completely transformed, and goodness if I don’t tear up at how perfectly it all came together. It’s like a scene right out of my dreams.

Everyone has embraced the spirit of it. Ladies and gents from a bygone era mill about the room, drinking punch and laughing while they converse together. Gosh, if I don’t love this town even more for showing up today and giving it their all because I care about it. Everyone knew the Regency Ball was my passion project when I proposed it last year. But as soon as Sparrow’s wedding was announced, and I stepped away to give her my full attention, the Music and Arts Committee promised they’d take care of all the details. And take care of them, they did.

Candles and some magic of dim and romantic lighting cast a golden glow throughout the room. Cream linen-covered tables piled high with scrumptious desserts are tucked into the corners. Wooden chairs and benches line the perimeter of the dance floor for the people who don’t feel like dancing but want to be part of the festivities. Front and center on the stage of the hall, which also serves as a theater sometimes, is a band. Liam is playing the cello as a group of his friends, all in costume, play classical-era minuets and concertos that make my heart very happy.

I catch sight of Gladys lingering near the punch table. She seems to have gladly taken on the look of what I imagine must be Mrs. Bennet. I let out a delighted laugh that carries across the room. When she spots me, her eyes widen. She gives us a nod of approval before whirling in a spinning dance move that causes her dress to float about her legs, a few drops of punch spilling onto the wooden floor.

“Is she going to be okay over there?” Graham remarks, catching sight of her with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, yes. She’ll be right as torrential rain.”

“I don’t think that’s the saying . . .” Graham trails off.

“Trust me. It is now.”

When Gladys winks and moves her eyebrows while simultaneously looking Graham up and down, I flash her what I hope is an affectionate grin mixed with a bit of horror.

“There you are!”

I hear Sparrow before I see her. Turning to greet her, the smile that overtakes my face is genuine. Despite her dark hair, she’s the picture of what I imagine Jane Bennet to be—namely, the most gorgeous person in the room with the amiable and handsome Rafe right behind her. When he’s comfortable and carefree—as he is around Sparrow—he makes the most perfect Bingley. I don’t know how I missed such a resemblance before.

“You two look positively brilliant!” I exclaim in a British accent I’ve been quietly perfecting my whole life.

“First rate,” Graham interjects next to me in a posh accent.

“What’s that you say?” I raise my eyebrows in mock confusion. “Quite the Cockney accent this one.” He could audition to play British royalty tomorrow. But the furrow in his brow is satisfying.

“Is this where we start to say words like ‘dashing’ and ‘incandescent’?” Rafe asks with a smile. He doesn’t need to playact a character as his charming, native French accent slips through more and more each day.

“Oh, I already tried that,” Graham replies with a laugh.

Lightly, I pat his arm. He hasn’t let me go yet. “He’s finally ready to audition for a Hallmark movie.”

Graham’s exasperated sigh is delightful.

“You can use words like that if you’d like. Or you could just speak French. It was just as romantic back then,” Sparrow murmurs to Rafe, a serene smile on her lips that almost makes me want to stick my head in the punch bowl just to get a break from the continuous love fest for a minute.

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