Heatherwood Hospital. His hospital.
I stared down at the invitation, desperately trying to decipher its meaning. What was this? Was it just a general invitation, sent to all the rich Lords and Ladies living in and around Ascot?
Oh yes, of course. You just happened to receive an invitation to a ball at the hospital he is in charge of, a day after he spoke to you for the first time in days. It's all just coincidence. Please! Are you really that thick?
But if the note had been sent by him, why was it addressed "dear guest?" That didn't make sense! Was I just suffering from wishful thinking?
I was! It had nothing to do with him at all! How could it have? Why would a man like that, the chief surgeon of the only hospital in the most high-society town in all of England, a man with the face of a God and the eyes of a devil, want someone like me? A crazy widow who wore hats with pineapples on top?
I wouldn't go! I couldn't! The part of my brain responsible for logical behavior shut off whenever I got within a dozen yards of him! I couldn't go to this event. I just couldn—
My thoughts abruptly cut off when I noticed something else on the invitation apart from the printed text—a single word in elegant, cursive handwriting:
Come.
My heart made a hundred-foot leap.
On the other hand... I couldn't just refuse an invitation to a charity ball, could I? After all, it was in favor of children with terminal heart disease. You had to help sick children, right? I had a duty as a caring member of society to help those less fortunate than me. Plus, if he was there...
You did not just think that! Remember, he's NOT your reason for going. Think of the poor, sick children, and forget about his perfect face, fathomless dark eyes and... Well, just forget about him altogether! Sick children. That's why you're going. Poor, sick children.
I smiled. Time to be generous.
"Jenny?"
"Yes, my Lady?"
"Kindly have the Rolls Royce cleaned until it sparkles."
"Yes, my Lady."
"And send a message to Heatherwood Hospital that I will gladly accept their invitation."
"Of course, my Lady."
"And, Jenny?"
"Yes?"
"Stop calling me my Lady!"
"Yes, my L— I mean, yes. Yes, I will."
❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤
In the orange-golden light of the street lamps, the brick walls of Heatherwood Hospital shone warm and welcoming. Garlands were draped around the blue posts of the portico and laughter and music drifted out of the open door. My chauffeur skillfully steered the Rolls Royce into an empty parking space.
"When do you wish me to pick you up, my Lady?"
"If all goes well, not at all."
Realizing what I'd just said, I hurriedly cleared my throat. "Um... I mean, I'll call you when I need you."
"Of course, my Lady. Do you wish me to escort you to the door?"
"No. I think I'm still able to walk on my own two feet, thank you."
"Don't you need help to carry your suitcase?"
"I'll manage."
Opening the door, I slid out and inhaled as the cold air hit my face. The wind tugged hard on my thick parka. I had been right to put it on, even though I suspected it somewhat clashed with the Ralph Lauren designer dress I was wearing.
Oh, to hell with it! It was their own stupid fault for holding a charity ball in the middle of an extremely wet November.
I was proven right when, just as I was halfway across the parking lot, light drizzle began to fall. Hurrying my steps, I reached the safety of the portico just in time before the deluge started.
"Ma'am?" There was a uniformed doorman at the door, no doubt hired for the special occasion. He gave me a smile. "May I take your coat?"
"It's a parka, not a coat," I informed him. "But thanks."
I slipped out of my parka—and the doorman's eyes widened. I smiled. Apparently, I had chosen the right dress.
"Where is the ball happening?"
"The hall and the cafeteria, Ma'am. Just go through there."
"Thank you."
"Should I take your suitcase and keep it for you, Ma'am?"
My hand tightened around the black leather suitcase I had brought with me from the car. "No, thanks. I'll need that for the ball. It's a charity ball, after all."
The doorman's eyes widened even more. "You mean it's full of—"
I just winked and marched through the doors.
A cheery din of noise greeted me. The lobby was astonishingly warm and welcoming for a hospital. The walls, just like the portico outside, had been decorated in garlands in all colors of the rainbow, a band was playing a low swing melody at the back of the room that got into your hips and made you want to jiggle, and pictures of smiling children from all over the world had been pasted on all the walls. My gaze lingered on the picture of a handsome boy with deep, dark eyes.
Geez, and why's that? Who could he possibly remind you of?
"Oh my God! Cassy, is that you?"
I turned to see Fergus McCloud, a wispy little man who owned a shoe store on High Street I had frequented rather frequently before I had begun my life as a recluse. Behind him stood his witty, if ugly-as-hell partner Steven. I had known them both quite well, before retreating into the manor. It seemed like another lifetime.
"Yeah, it's me." I gave him as brave a smile as I could manage.
"So you've finally decided to rediscover the world outside your walls, have you?" He smiled at me. "Good for you! Hey, Steven! Isn't it good that Cassy is back?"
Steven glanced over from the buffet and grinned. "I always said she'd be coming out sooner or later." He waggled his thick eyebrows suggestively.
I laughed. "Sorry, Steven, but I think that isn't going to happen."
He shrugged, a twinkle in his eyes. "A shame. A few female friends of mine have been asking after you."
"Sure they have."
"No, honestly, they did." His eyes slid up and down my form with appreciation, and I must say, it was by no means a bad feeling. "Glad to see you're wearing our shoes. And... holy Moses, where did you get that dress, Cassy?"
His appreciative gaze sent a warm tingle of confidence through me. Now, if the admiration would just come from a man who could appreciate my form in more than a purely aesthetic manner, preferably a man with the face of a god and fathomless black eyes, my life would be perfect.
"Big secret." I placed a finger over my lips.
"That's some color!" Theatrically, he placed a hand over his heart. "That red almost burns my heart and soul away."
"You old flatterer!"
"Why red, if I may ask?" inquired Fergus. "Don't misunderstand me, it suits you like fire does hell, it's just that you don't wear it that often. Why now?"
I smiled, a bit sadly. "I just felt I had worn black long enough."
Both their faces sobered for a moment—but it was only for a moment. Neither Steven nor his face could stay sober for long.
"And who are you trying to impress?" he asked with an impish grin.
Color rushed to my cheeks, and my face turned at least as brilliantly red as my dress.
"Aha! I knew it!" Steven stepped forward, and Fergus looked at me, surprised. "Who is it?"
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
I was saved from answering by a sonorous voice echoing through the hall. Turning, I saw the band had stopped playing, and a broad man with an equally broad smile on his face was standing on the platform instead, holding a microphone.
"Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to our annual Heatherwood Hospital Charity Ball. My name is Jim: I'm the chief of staff here at the hospital, and I will be your host for this evening."
Applause arose, and I clapped along with all the others, although I felt more like sighing in disappointment and confusion. The chief of staff? Why was he on the podium? Shouldn't that be the job of the man who was in charge of the hospital? Besides, Jim seemed nice enough, but I couldn't imagine him drawing nearly as many contributions as a certain doctor would have been able to. Glancing around, I saw that I wasn't the only lady in the room who appeared disappointed at Jim's appearance. He didn't let that put him off, though.
"This year, all the donations will go to Heartfelt Help, a charity who, all over the world, is trying to help sick children in need of heart transplants." Raising his hand, the gestured at the pictures covering the windows. "Look around you, ladies and gentlemen. All those children you see here are perfectly healthy—except for a heart problem that will cause them to die before they've even really started life. Only you can save them. Look into their eyes. Look deep, and read the story there, the fear, the hope, the suffering you can end. Pick the child you want to help most and make a donation. Every penny counts!"
I swallowed. Raising my gaze, I started wondering around the room, letting my eyes glide over the pictures of child after child after child. I hadn't really expected this. I'd thought that maybe we would hand some money over, dance, have dinner, and that would be it. I hadn't expected all those innocent, beautiful eyes looking down at me, asking: "What are you going to do?"
My hand tightened around the handle of the suitcase. Good thing I'd come prepared.
I approached the first portrait. Underneath, a hospital nurse waited besides what had to be the mother of all collecting boxes. I looked up at the picture of the child—a sweet little girl with black ringlets and bright blue eyes. She wasn't quite managing to smile for the camera, and who could blame her.
A fat old woman walked past me, dropping a twenty pound note into the box. Then it was my turn.
"Only cash, Miss," said the nurse after a moment, when I made no move to withdraw my wallet. "I'm afraid we can't accept checks."
"Oh, I know." Setting the suitcase down on a chair that stood against the wall, I entered the combination and raised the lid. The nurse's eyes bugged, and the old woman stopped in mid-stride.
I picked up a thick bundle of notes and held it up. "How much does a heart transplant cost?"
Suddenly, the room around me became very quiet.
❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤
A number of lotteries, auctions, and other events followed. By nine pm, my suitcase was cold and empty. It didn't really matter though, because my heart felt fuller of warmth than ever. I knew I had more money than I knew what to do with, and finally I was putting it to some good use.
But money, even spending it on behalf of sick children, isn't everything in life. It wasn't long before one nagging question began to resurface in my mind: Where was he?
He hadn't made an appearance on the podium or on the floor. He hadn't taken up post underneath one of the children's portraits. He hadn't so much as shown the tip of his nose so far. This was his, hospital, dammit! He was the big shot doctor from Cambridge with the mesmerizing eyes and a list of degrees like Einstein. He was probably behind this whole thing! Shouldn't he at least show up?
And what about that word scrawled on the invitation?
Come.
That had to have been him, right? And he had to have meant "Come to the charity ball." Why else write it on the invitation?
Gah! Why did this man have to be so cryptic!
I should probably leave. Yes. I had done what I could for the heartsick children in the world—time to go home and nurse my own sick heart. Granted, I wouldn't die of mine, but that didn't stop the stinging pain of disappointment in my chest. Sighing, I turned to go. My dark, fascinating fantasies about a certain doctor would have to remain just that—fantasies.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!" The Chief of Staff proclaimed. "You all know, of course, what I'm talking about—or rather whom."
I froze.
"The music is about to start, the dancing about to begin. Now, the only question that remains, is: which of you lovely ladies will open the dance in the arms of the man that you've all been missing?"
I whirled around, just in time to see a door open at the back of the podium, and a tall, dark figure step out.
"Ladies," Jim called out, his voice booming all across the hall. I was only hearing it dimly, in the background, though. I was too busy staring at the incredibly perfect man towering in the center of the podium. "Please empty your wallets and give a hearty round of applause for our very own chief surgeon, Dr. Roy Stein!"