Fenworth House is classic Charleston, all shutters and piazzas and twisty wrought iron. The grand old dame sits on Queen Street near the Powder Magazine and the Gibbes Museum of Art. At my insistence, Kit dropped me at the curb. No way I'd walk in on his arm.
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I entered through the carved oak doors. I felt like a giant strawberry cupcake, wobbling in heels, clanking with Whitney's high-priced jewelry.
Panic thought. What if everyone else wears jeans?
I needn't have worried. The debs were decked out as if Brad Pitt might drop by looking for a date to the Oscars.
But no one else wore pink.
Oh joy.
The ballroom was straight out of Gone with the Wind. Brocade drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows, and enormous crystal chandeliers hung over acres of gleaming oak. Small linen-clad tables surrounded the dance floor.
Musicians tuned their instruments on a stage at one end of the room. Saxophones. Trumpets. Trombones. Cymbals clanged and horns tooted as the acoustics were perfected.
A long table hugged the room's right-hand wall, spread with vases of lilies, china, punch bowls, and appetizers mounded on elegant silver trays. Crab cakes. Mini beef Wellingtons. Bacon-wrapped scallops. Not a bad spread.
"Tory?"
Jason stood beside the buffet. In his black tux and cummerbund, he looked like James Bond. The Daniel Craig version.
"Hi." I kept it short.
"Wow. You look ridiculous."
My cheeks burned.
Stupid cupcake dress! Stupid Whitney!
Jason whistled. "Fantastic! Please dress up more often. I'm stunned." He called across the room. "Chance, look who's here."
"Tory, my God!" Chance wore a white tuxedo with tails. On anyone else? Dopey. On him? Yes, please.
Chance snagged a crab cake, all the while appraising me like an art collector evaluating a painting.
"You're a brave woman," he said. "It takes great courage to walk in here like that."
"Like what?"
"Hands down the prettiest girl in the room. All the other ladies will be furious."
Wait for it ... There! The wink.
"Don't let Hannah hear that," I said without thinking. "You're spoken for."
My stomach performed a back flip. Flirting with Chance? Was I insane? Why not grab the mike and sing "Macarena." Complete the lunacy.
Chance's brows floated an inch up his forehead. Then his lips curled in amusement. "Lucky for me, my princess hasn't arrived. In fact, I'd better meet her coach outside. Excuse me."
With that he was gone.
"I didn't know you were a deb," Jason said.
"Junior deb," I corrected. "This is my first event. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."
"Then, Mademoiselle, I shall be your guide this evening." Jason bowed from the waist.
My face must have betrayed my confusion.
"Tonight we practice our dance steps for the big ball. You need a partner. Please allow me the pleasure of being your escort?" Formal.
"Oh! Then, kind sir, I accept."
Where was I getting this stuff? I'd never taken a dance lesson in my life. This could be a disaster.
Whispered voices intruded.
"Maddy, look! It's the boat girl."
Ugh. Courtney Holt. Where one skank lurked, two others couldn't be far.
"What's she doing with Jason?" Ashley whispered.
I didn't turn, didn't let on that I heard. Jason was grazing the appetizers, completely unaware.
"Poor thing. We should rescue him." Madison's giggle was pure malice. "What's she doing here anyway?"
"She's a junior deb now, can you believe it?" Ashley whispered. "My mother's on the committee. She told me that Dubois woman got her in. I have no idea how."
"She looks ... good." Courtney sounded surprised. "Very good, actually. I never noticed she was pretty."
"So the child has a dress," Madison said. "Big deal."
"Pretty gutsy wearing pink," Ashley said.
"And she's pulling it off," Courtney added. "Nice bracelet, too."
I was astonished. The unholy trinity thought I looked good? The world was officially upside down.
The glow was quickly extinguished.
"If the tramp makes a move on Jason, she's roadkill." Madison's resentment was unmistakable. "The little girl's definitely out of her league."
Nonchalant, I scanned the room. The Tripod was huddled by the stage, at least twenty yards off. Nowhere near me.
No! Please God. Not here.
I ran a check for signs of an impending attack. Prepared to bolt.
Oddly, I felt fine. Good even. My hearing had gone superhuman, but nothing else seemed altered. Yet.
The band struck up Sinatra's "I've Got You Under My Skin." Irony there.
Around the room, debs paired up with their escorts.
"Ready to fox-trot?" Jason offered an arm.
Holy moly.
"Sure." I most certainly was not.
At that moment, Hannah floated into the hall wearing an elegant white dress with a simple blue sash. I conceded the title of prettiest in the room.
Madison sauntered over, cleavage fighting to escape her Vera Wang dress.
"Shall we, Jason?"
"Sorry, Maddy." Leading me out onto the dance floor. "Tory's new. I promised to show her the ropes."
Madison's overly mascaraed eyes fluttered in surprise. "Sure. No problem."
But it was, in fact, a problem. Mine.