Page 49 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

He didn't comment on it again.

Deepa was, in fact, running through a number of thoughts. First and foremost being:this is everything I've ever wanted. To fit in amongst London’s elite, to be accepted as one of them; she even enjoyed the sharp edges and petty cattiness that was to be expected. It was everything she’d been working towards, presented on a silver platter with a cherry on top. She’d been afraid that once her goals were realised, she would find them lacking, a sign of perpetual dissatisfaction.

This was perhaps worse. It was like slipping into a form-fitting dress, tailored specifically to her body. It tasted like the creamiest, melt-in-her-mouth chocolate mousse. Every minute she spent masquerading as Appleton’s partner was a minute of bright, victorious heaven. Her exploits in The Songbird faded in comparison. Her little flat housing all her earthly belongings seemed embarrassingly small. Appleton’s world glittered, like the London elite lived insulated from the struggles and mundanities of reality inside a shimmering snow globe. And finally, instead of skating over the glass’s surface, pretending to be one of them, Deepa had been invited inside, and it was everything she’d ever dreamed.

It was, most unfortunately, worth marrying a man to access permanently.

Even if Appleton didn’t really want to court her, he could introduce her to the right calibre of man. Not the ones whowent skulking about clubs and dance halls looking for a fantasy woman, but an aristocrat looking for a proper, respectable wife. She could make herself into whatever manner of woman he wanted, and she could be set up for the rest of her life. Her mother need never work another day. She could have access to the sort of money that obliterated every earthly stress and worry.

Two problems threatened to snarl this imaginary future.

The first was the matter of her curse. Condemning herself to marriage and living out the rest of her days as someone's wife was something she could stomach, provided it granted her access to this particular snow globe in exchange. Finding a husband who would give her everything she wanted who was also understanding of his wife turning into a leopard every night was rather another, and one she suspected would prove more challenging.

The second problem was Roz. Or rather, the lack of Roz. Unlike Deepa, Roz couldn’t reinvent herself to fit into such a world. Furthermore, she had no interest in trying. And not even a lack of interest — Deepa expected that if she asked, Roz would scoff at the idea of wanting to spend any time among the upper class, let alone belong there.

Deepa whirled through possibilities. She could recommend Roz's garage to all her new friends when their motorcars needed servicing. She could make Roz the go-to mechanic for the rich and fashionable of London.

She pulled up short. She wanted to drag Roz into this shiny new world alongside her, but for what? If Deepa was to marry her way into elite society, Roz could either be her friend or a footnote in her past, but not her lover.

Deepa had long been prepared to sacrifice anything in order to achieve her goals. In that respect, she fancied herself ruthless. Why, then, did the thought of sacrificing her potential future with Roz hurt like a fresh bruise? Especially when there wasevidently no love between them? Affection, certainly, but Deepa could build affection easily enough with someone else. She might even come to feelaffectiontowards the right man, if he was rich enough and he treated her well.

The solution to both problems, she realised in a burst of genius, was the man already on her arm. Appleton knew her priorities, and they were laying the public groundwork of their relationship. He wasn't interested in occupying her nights or her bed, and certainly wouldn't care whether or not she loved him. She even doubted he would object to her carrying on a clandestine lesbian affair, as long as she was discreet. The Earl of Hertford was the perfect answer to her question of how to make her fortune and keep Roz at the same time.

Of course, he might require some convincing before he could muster any enthusiasm for the idea. That was alright. Deepa had a great deal of practice convincing men to see things her way.

“We can go, if you like,” Appleton murmured. “We’ve been here long enough to get them talking.”

She turned to him with a dazzling smile. “One more kiss, before the curtains fall?”

They kissed, and people pointed and whispered behind their hands, and, though she felt no satisfaction from the kiss itself, she did feel a fierce surge of hope and determination for her new course of action.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A GARDEN PARTY AND A PROPOSAL REJECTED

“You’re inviting me out to third-wheel on your date with some rich bloke?” Roz asked doubtfully.

When she put it like that, it did sound a bit much of an ask.

Deepa had rung her up on The Songbird telephone behind the bar that Saturday morning, having just received the invite herself. Appleton was requesting her company at a garden party hosted by his sister, which was apparently the only reason he expected it to be at all tolerable, knowing the hostess was in his corner even if he wasn't interested in any of the guests. It was a relatively casual event, nothing like the Royal Ascot or even a high-profile dinner party, so Appleton had encouraged Deepa to invite any of her socialite friends along.

She expected he was broadening the invitation so there would be more people in attendance to deflect attention away from him. Even when he was going out specifically to start new rumours about his love life, it seemed he couldn't help but shy away from the limelight. Deepa only felt a little bad for him, but she readily agreed to invite her friends along. Aaliyah, Elizabeth, Alphonse, and Coxley would thrive at such a party. Where Aaliyah went, she would take Jasmine, who at least had the wardrobe to fit in with the richer classes, even if she came from a drastically different background herself.

Roz, on the other hand, had neither the wardrobe nor the inclination. Deepa’s earlier fantasy of making a place for Roz in high society was still alluring, no matter how unrealistic. She had the means to make it happen; she only needed Roz to be open to it.

“I’m inviting you because it's going to be fun,” Deepa said, hoping to convince herself as much as Roz. “Aaliyah and Jasmine are coming as well, so you won't be by yourself while I’m busy. And Appleton is paying me to be his date. There's absolutely nothing more to it.”

“So, it’s just work.”

“Yes, exactly. And it would make the work less tedious to have you around.”

“Do I have to meet him?”

Deepa wished she would. They’d have to meet eventually, if her perfect plan were to come together. Instead, she said, “Just wear something nice, dance with my friends, and have a good time.”

“Something nice,” Roz repeated. She still didn’t sound convinced. “This isn’t a club where I can blend in and do my own thing. How nice are we talking?”

“It's a garden party, not a wedding. The suit you wore to meet my mother will do perfectly well, if you don't have anything else.”

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