Page 51 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

“The benefits are clear,” Appleton finally said, his gaze steady out the windshield as the countryside rolled by in hills and farmland. “But my family would never approve the match.”

Her stomach dropped. “An earl needs his family’s approval?”

“An earl has no shortage of relations who would gleefully see him stripped of his peerage and take that title for their own,” he replied. Finally, he looked at her, and there was something like an apology in his eyes. “The daughter of a mysterious maharaja isn't quite the same as an English lady of unquestionable money and pedigree.” Returning his eyes to the road, he said, “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I can’t imagine any other man in the world turning you down.”

Crushed under the weight of unexpected disappointment, Deepa cleared her throat. “I’m sure I can count on one hand all the men in the world I might tolerate as a husband.”

“Anyone as beautiful as you can afford to be discerning, I suppose,” he said carefully.

“Ah, but the only man I would ever marry would be the one disinterested in my beauty. Just as the only woman you could ever stomach as a wife must be disinterested in you as a man. So it goes.” With a shrug, she packed up her disappointment and set it aside to be tidied away and disposed of. She still had a job to do, a performance to give, and more than enough time to come up with a new plan.

The Appleton estate was enormous, which was to be expected, though the party was sequestered in a relatively small section of the gardens. Appleton took Deepa to the party via a winding route, forestalling their arrival for as long as possible under the guise of giving her a guided tour around the flowerbeds. She allowed his procrastination, as it furthered their image of a young couple head over heels for each other, stealing any moment of privacy they could manage.

Though they hadn’t coordinated their outfits, they matched nicely: he in a creamy tan three-piece and she in a marigold-bright sari, her skirts sunny yellow and her draped top burnt orange, the hems of both heavily embroidered with spellwork. Metallic charms glinted and chimed from the skirt’s folds. Her bare arms were adorned with bangles, at least one of which she was determined to get onto Appleton, if not during the garden party, then certainly before their arrangement had concluded. Englishmen, she found, were frustratingly averse to such self-décor, which was, in her opinion, to their detriment.

Finally, Appleton ran out of garden space unless he wanted to loop her around the mansion’s entire perimeter or take her through the stables, and she had to draw the line somewhere. Arm in arm, they approached the party, which was set up with long tables where black-and-white waitstaff were arranging platters of hors d'oeuvres, miniature desserts, and drinks. Sunlight beamed through the clouds in patches, with the rain seeming far enough off to miss them, and the well-manicured grass was barely damp underfoot from the last shower.

“Your sister,” Deepa said through her smile. “Does she know about our arrangement, or are we acting for her, too?”

“I haven’t told anyone anything, but she may be suspicious. I don’t know.”

“Lyndon!” Their hostess greeted them with a cheerful call, swanning over the instant they came in view. Charlotte Appleton was a tall brunette with the same striking cheekbones and grey-green eyes as her brother, similar enough that they could be twins. She gave him a light embrace, which he returned without complaint, before they both turned to Deepa.

“I heard my brother had been spotted out and about with a new friend,” said Charlotte, “but I thought I must be mistaken, seeing as he failed to tell me anything of the sort.” She turneda playful glare on her brother, whose expression remained impassive.

“Charlotte, meet Deepa. We met recently at Eden.”

“Eden! Thrilling.” Charlotte did a double take. “Deepa Patel? Not the model for Jules Coxley’s Lady Godiva painting?”

“That was me,” Deepa agreed, feigning modesty. “Actually, I invited him along this afternoon; I hope you don’t mind? Lyndon gave me the impression that it was the more the merrier.”

“Brilliant, brilliant. Yes, of course, we have room enough for plenty. If the guests overflow, I’ll simply open up another section of the gardens. Are you good friends with Mr. Coxley?”

“We stay in touch, though I don't model for him much anymore.”

“No? Seeing you as Godiva was so terribly striking, though.”

“I’m told it made an impression on a number of people,” Deepa agreed, swallowing her laughter.

“My brother included, it seems, though I wouldn't have thought you were his type before today.”

Before Deepa could defend either herself or her date, Charlotte turned with a gesture for Deepa to join her and meet the other guests who were beginning to arrive, the beads on her dress flashing in the sunlight.

“If you’ve gone out with him at all, you must know that you can't rely on my brother to introduce you to anyone,” Charlotte told her, taking Deepa’s arm as she marched her up to a handful of newly-arrived men and women, all of them dressed to the nines. “He’s terrible. You know your way around a party, of course, but as the hostess, I'd be remiss not to break the ice myself.” Charlotte beamed at her. “To think, my brother finally has a date! I doubted I'd ever see him partnered off.”

“He likes his privacy,” Deepa said with an easy shrug. “I’m sure there have been others he’s kept secret. He's tooexperienced for me to have been his first, if you know what I mean.”

Charlotte laughed once, the sound startled out of her, before batting Deepa’s arm in despair. “Oh, no, tell me less! I'm tremendously happy for him, for both of you, but please, don’t tell me anything about it. I’ll just die if I have to imagine my little brother like that.”

Deepa was as much in her element as Appleton was out of his. By the time her friends traipsed in, she was well on her way to charming all of Charlotte’s acquaintances, and was in the process of starting several new rumours concerning Appleton’s stamina and generosity as a lover. She found that the more drinks were involved, the more outlandish the tales her audience was inclined to believe, so she always scaled her storytelling appropriately at parties. Though it was early afternoon, the drinks flowed freely, and it wasn’t as if the Appletons knew many people who had to keep strict schedules. If they wanted to drink themselves silly in the middle of the day, they were entirely free to do so.

Appleton himself drank lightly, just enough to avoid appearing antisocial, while Deepa walked the tightrope of getting delightfully tipsy without drinking enough to lose her metaphorical or literal balance, though by sleight of hand she made her intake seem greater. At her friends’ arrival, she peeled herself away from poor Appleton’s side, allowing him to take refuge behind the dessert table as she went to greet them.

“You made it! Everyone here is absolutely lovely,” she declared, waving her champagne flute in a toast to the company at large, “and the food and drinks are very nice, too. Aaliyah, you have to meet Charlotte Appleton. She throws a very sensible party, and I think you'll like her.”

As Aaliyah and her entourage went winding through the garden to find their hostess, Deepa discarded her drink tograb Roz by both hands, drawing her close. She wore a navy suit with a light bowtie and brown oxfords, her hair gelled in careful finger waves, and she smelled amazing, dark and mouth-wateringly smoky, to the extent that Deepa was tempted to pull her close enough to steal a taste. She resisted, but barely. “I’m glad you came,” Deepa told her in a more intimate tone. “You look stunning in the suit.”

Roz’s smile was only slightly strained around the edges as she squeezed Deepa’s hands in return. “You look gorgeous, as always.”

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