The library was not a small simple building with a few encyclopedias.
The library was a large and grand building with two whole floors brimming with every book imaginable.
For the benefit, the main lobby had been converted into a dining area with light food and beverages. The remainder of the floor had a space for dancing and a large area for socializing. There was also a small area set aside for where J. S. Sowers would be presenting his new book.
An exciting night indeed.
Mary entered on the arm of Lord Navarlen looking around for someone more interesting with whom to spend the night.
She spotted her dear friend Victoria across the room.
"Might I go see Miss Benly?" Mary asked of her fiancé.
He smiled handsomely, "Yes, of course, dearest." She returned a gentile smile and began walking to her friend.
Andrew Navarlen is a good match, Mary, she told herself as she did every day. A kind and caring man.
He's wasted on me. He deserves someone who loves him. I do not love him.
You could learn to.
It's not fair to him.
None of this is fair, she thought as she looked at the extravagance of the party. She thought of the boys off at war, forced there by circumstance.
This party seemed frivolous compared to their suffering.
Victoria stood to greet her friend, "Mary, you are a vision in pink."
It was a new dress she had made for the gala. It was light pink enriched in lace design. Her corset was so tight she thought she might burst.
She knew in most places that fashion was changing. Women were forsaking bustles and corsets for more practical styles.
London society was not yet one of those places.
"You're stunning in gold," Mary replied.
Victoria was quite possibly the most beautiful girl of Mary's acquaintance. Her blond ringlets framed her heart shaped face heavenly. Truly a beauty.
"Have you seen the author yet?" Victoria whispered excitedly.
"No," Mary felt her excitement fluttering against her chest. It would probably burst out of her if not for the corset. "Is he here?"
Victoria nodded with a small smile trying itself on her dainty lips, "He's right over there talking to Zelda Roth."
That minx, Mary thought. She hadn't entirely meant it, but Zelda was quite a flirt. She was probably talking to J. S. simply because he was famous. Mary doubted she'd even read his beautiful words. Zelda planned on being an actress and was willing to social climb by any means necessary.
Come now, you don't have some claim over him because he's your favorite author.
Mary looked over to where Victoria had motioned.
J. S. Dowers was much younger than Mary imagined.
He looked about twenty. He was tall and slender with slicked down hair of a coppery color. He had a small beard and mustache that circled his mouth. The mouth that had a curious little smile about it.
"He's very handsome," Victoria said.
Mary just nodded. Zelda was hanging on Dowers, making a right fool of herself. He wasn't truly paying attention. As if he knew Mary was looking, he turned his head to look at her.
He just kept looking at her. It was malicious or flirtatious or mysterious. It was just familiar. Like he was looking at an old friend.
Mary knitted her eyebrows together and looked back to her friend, "Does he look a tad familiar to you?"
Victoria studied him again, "Not that I can recall. I heard he's traveled abroad for many years."
Then Mary did not know him. She hadn't left England in her life.
Lord Navarlen was soon at her arm, "Come and meet some of my university friends."
An order, not a request.
He could be worse, she told herself. He could be a whole lot worse.
OOO
Dowers just kept looking at her.
It seemed that any time Dowers looked up from his reading, his eyes would shift over to Mary. It was like there was some secret he was trying to tell her. Something he wanted to convey that she could not hear.
The Castle's Key was mesmerizing. His tales of kings and queens vying for love and the crown were so beautifully written. His words were like poetry.
Once the reading was done, Dowers disappeared in seemingly an instant.
How do I know him? Mary hadn't a clue.
ooo
"Care for a dance?" Andrew Navarlen asked.
"Of course," Mary answered. As if she could answer anything but yes.
As they danced, her eyes searched for another. J. S. Dowers was nowhere to be seen. As she turned about in time with the music, Mary kept glancing over Andrew's shoulder, looking for the elusive author.
"Looking for someone?" Andrew noted with a small smirk.
Mary blushed, "Mr. Dowers. I did so want to talk to him about his books, but he seems to have vanished."
"Just like those artist types," Andrew said wistfully. "Always thinking of themselves."
Mary frowned at the peculiar comment but was too busy minding her own thoughts to dissect his.
"Though I did overhear that he was in the back study room."
She grinned, "Why Lord Navarlen, you are my hero."
He shrugged, "Not quite. And you can call me Andrew."
Mary simply flashed another smile. Andrew still felt too familiar a name. She wasn't sure how familiar she wished to be.
After they finished their dance, Lord Navarlen escorted Mary to the study where a small crowd surrounded the seated author. He was reclined in a chair a brandy in hand. His very crisp suit fit him nicely. His smile was so welcoming and gentile that Mary wanted to go right up and share a drink with him.
He was handsome indeed, but certainly not vain. There was an air about him that showed that handsomeness and society were new to him, but he didn't appear awkward in the slightest. He was the picture of charm.
"Mary!" Zelda threw her arm into the air and waved at her friend. The rest of the group turned around. Mary recognized only Victoria and Elizabeth and a few others.
Mary gave a small, polite wave back.
Zelda continued, boisterous as ever, "Mary just adores your books, James." James, so that's what the J was for. "Oops," she giggled, "I mean Miss Lennox adores your books Mr. Dowers." Zelda laughed, the only one in the room to find it funny.
She's been drinking. Mary noted her sister's sour face of embarrassment.
Mr. Dowers was all politeness, "I'm so happy you do, Miss Lennox. I'm very grateful for all of my readers."
His eyes lingered on Mary's a bit too long, as if expecting her to say something.
As if it hadn't happened at all, he looked back to his other fans.
"I'm just so very humble that my work is appreciated," he continued. "Many authors far more talented than I were never as readily accepted."
The crowd all replied with their gratitudes. "You are so talented!" "You're the best writer of them all!" "You are wonderful!"
But he just looked at Mary again. She remained silent.
How very brazen he is, she thought, to gaze at me so when I am on the arm of another man.
Though there is so obvious sign of attachment between me and Andrew. Our chemistry is more of brother and sister than husband and wife.
The clock chimed midnight. Dowers took the final sip of his brandy then stood up.
He clasped his hands together, "You have all been lovely, but I simply must be leaving." Various moans. "I'm certain I'll see you all again during the season, but I simply must be off." He reached for his hat, but found it missing.
A giggling Zelda appeared, the black hat swallowing her small head.
Dowers took it back with a smile, "Thank you, Miss Roth." He nodded at the group, "The new book is out on Tuesday." Dowers brushed past all of them, leaving a breeze behind as he walked past Mary.
He smells of books and dust...and roses.
She knew the smells of flowers very well from her childhood of gardening. She traded her shovels and spades in for corsets and dresses a few years ago. Gardening was for children and Mary had to grow up.
And the garden didn't feel right without Dickon. It lost its balance and life. The flowers lost their scent. The grass lost its luster.
She still kept a small garden in London. It wasn't much more than a rose bush but it was her's.
Dowers paused at the door. He turned around.
"The Castle's Key is probably my best work. You'll all love it, I promise."
His eyes locked with Mary's, "And I'll keep that promise. I will."
Dowers put on his hat, nodded, and left the room.
Mary Lennox could not breathe.