Chapter 10: Mrs. Marchand

I put the roses in the kitchen sink and the torn decree in the bin.

Then I went to find my husband, who was eating toast in the dining room with the morning paper held very high.

He lowered it when I came in.

"Good morning, Mrs. Marchand."

"Good morning." I sat in the chair beside his. "Who fell first?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rule five. Whoever falls first loses. I would like to know the standings."

He buttered a corner of toast and handed it to me.

"I believe we fell together," he said. "It was a tie."

"That's a very convenient ruling."

"I am a very convenient husband."

I bit the toast to keep from smiling.

His foot found mine under the table and stayed there.

We were sitting like that when the housekeeper came in with a stiff cream card.

The conservatory's spring luncheon was at noon in the Ashford ballroom.

Donors, the board, and the press.

I was on the program to play for six minutes.

"Come with me," I said.

"I'm already coming," Etienne said. "It is my money."

The ballroom held two hundred people, and most of them had read the city paper that week.

I felt every glance, and I walked through them with my head up.

The dean introduced me from the podium.

I played the Schubert, the bright one, and the applause came before the last note had finished.

I rose from the bench and bowed.

That was when the ballroom doors opened and Colin walked in carrying the roses.

He had bought a second bouquet to match the ones he had sent, white roses tied with the same ribbon, and he had a photographer behind him.

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