Chapter 12: Founders' Gala

Three hundred people turned to look at the blue dress.

Tiernan's arm was steady under my hand.

Hattie walked a step behind us in a green velvet jumpsuit, whispering "Cavalry" under her breath.

Lowry House had never been so lit.

Candles lined every stair rail, and white roses spilled from the chandelier chains.

A string quartet in the gallery above the ballroom, and above them, the balcony where a caterer had once stood with a phone.

At the far end of the room, a giant screen glowed with the Lowry Foundation crest.

Constance waited at the foot of the stage.

Her gown was silver, her pearls were three strands, and her smile was a thing she had put on that morning with her makeup.

"Willa. Midnight blue. How brave."

"You asked for white."

"I asked for a small courtesy."

"I'm not in a mood for courtesies."

She looked past me at Tiernan, and for one second her eyes went dead.

"You brought a guest."

"I brought the cavalry," I said.

And then I saw Warner, at the bottom of the stairs.

He wore a black tuxedo.

He stared at me over the heads of the crowd like a man looking at a house that had burned down.

Beside him stood Camille.

She was wearing white.

An ivory satin gown, off the shoulder, a long train, a veil of lace pinned in her hair.

It was not a bridesmaid's dress, and it was not a gala dress.

It was a bridal gown, in all but name.

A murmur went through the guests nearest her.

Camille rested one hand on Warner's sleeve, and she smiled at me with every tooth.

"She told me to wear white," I said under my breath.

"She wanted you in the wrong dress," Tiernan said. "Look who she gave the right one."

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