Page 19 of Carbon

Phillippa let out another peal of laughter. “Augusta, you’re so hilarious.”

* * *

And of course, when Mother arrived home the week before the floral party, she’d heard all about my “date.”

“How lovely that Gregory took you to The Riverside. He must think very highly of you.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

I seemed to be more of a convenience. A girl with enough manners drummed into her that she wouldn’t embarrass him by using the wrong fork for the starter.

“Nonsense. He asked whether you’d be at the party on Saturday, you know.”

“He did?”

“Yes, and Mrs. Fitzgerald thinks the pair of you would make a wonderful match.”

Much like Mrs. Mulcaire had with Rupert. Swap him out for Gregory and my life had barely changed. Maybe the universe had conspired to give me another chance at a relationship, with the hope I didn’t mess it up this time?

Except fate had thrown in the added complication of Mr. Midnight, and that confused the hell out of me.

* * *

Midnight, Midnight—with three days to go until the party, I thought of little else. Would he be there again? I was going crazy not knowing.

Why couldn’t he have told me in advance? Honestly, would it have been so damn difficult? I mean, wasn’t communication key in any relationship? Not that we had a relationship, but still... He’d been balls deep in me twice and that should count for something, right?

Angie had gone out, and I paced our apartment obsessively on Friday evening, glass of wine in hand. Who the hell was Midnight?

By ten o’clock, I could take it no more—not the wondering or the walking, because I’d got more than a little tipsy. How dare he leave me so frustrated like this? It wasn’t...it wasn’t gentlemanly.

Snatching my phone up off the desk, I did something I should have done ages ago and called his bloody number. This little game couldn’t be all one-way.

“You have reached the Vodafone voicemail service for oh-seven-nine—”

I hung up in disgust and dialled back with the same result. Asshole. Didn’t he know mobile phones were there to be answered? Obviously not. I slumped down into my chair, beyond frustrated.

Now what?

With anger and passion chasing the alcohol through my veins, I did the only thing I knew how to do—picked up the cheap plastic fountain pen I’d treasured since I was an eleven-year-old girl and began to write.

6

If Mr. Midnight followed the book, if indeed he turned up at all, tonight’s escapade would be in the stables. With the floor made from old stone slabs, I figured I’d be safe enough in heels, so I’d avoided Mother’s wrath and gone with stilettos for the floral party.

With the flowers in place, the buffet set up, and the waiters hovering with trays, the ballroom looked magnificent if I said so myself. Now all we needed were the guests.

They began trickling in at seven, starting with the nouveau riche and those determined to curry favour with my parents. Anyone who was anyone would arrive later to make an entrance, Gregory included, it seemed.

Angelica strutted up beside me, making a rare appearance at a family do.

“Didn’t you have a better offer?” I asked.

“Rumour has it the Viscount Northbury’s attending tonight, and he’s...” She made a fanning action with her hand. “Incendiary.”

“I thought he’d got engaged?” Or was that another rumour from the tennis club?

“Until the wedding ring’s on her finger, he’s fair game.”

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