The two young men dressed in scholarly clothes were none other than Lucas and Matthew, though anyone who knew them would have done a double-take. The pressed coats, stiff collars, and carefully brushed hair stood in sharp contrast to their usual appearance when haunting late-night bars and alleys. Especially Matthew; the spectacles and crisp waistcoat gave him a surprisingly convincing scholarly air.
Besides him, Thomas grumbles under his breath, jaw tight with irritation.
"Remind me again why you agreed on my behalf that I'd be available?"
He shot Matthew a glare sharp enough to slice fabric. Social gatherings were the last thing Thomas ever willingly attended.
Matthew flinched. Before he could defend himself, the middle-aged woman walking beside them intervened. She bore Thomas's features—sharp eyes, soft jawline, though layers of powder attempted to hide the fine lines beneath her eyes.
Miss Charlotte's lavender walking gown swept lightly as she moved, trimmed with pale lace and chosen with deliberate elegance, as though insisting time had not touched her.
"Now, now, Thomas," Miss Charlotte said, pouting dramatically trying to look angry, "don't make a scene. What are you so busy with that you can't accompany your dear mother? Hmm? You are your mother's heart."
If Adrian had been present, he would have confirmed another theory of his: shamelessness clearly ran deep in the family.
Thomas scoffed at her reaction, but didn't answer. He knew better than to argue. Experience told him nothing he said would change the outcome. Instead, he redirected the full intensity of his glare at Matthew, who straightened as if preparing for execution.
Matthew cleared his throat loudly while he put some distance. "Ahem. I didn't have a choice when Aunty asked me if you were available. Also", he straightened his tie, trying to recover his confidence—"consider this payback for last night's insult."
Then, with all the swagger he did not earn, he added,
"Besides, every charmer of skill needs his wingman."
Thomas visibly cringed. Miss Charlotte only laughed, already accustomed to the absurdity of their conversations.
She merely sighed as she looked at Thomas, "Why can't you have this kind of confidence when going out? It would be good for you. You only act bold with that usual grin on your face, when you're either in a betting den or counting money.Honestly, it's not healthy."
Her voice sounded like a mother scolding her child, but her expression betrayed pure mischief.
If anyone listening didn't see her expression, they would have thought the same even though her tone suggested otherwise.
Then her smile faded.
"And when," she said slowly, folding her arms, "will you give me a grandchild? I am not getting any younger."
Matthew stepped in immediately, as though he'd rehearsed it.
"Don't worry, Aunty Charlotte. As long as I'm here, I'll make sure you get one."
Thomas stood dazed, not surprised as one of the other new reasons he didn't attend such events with them, was due to his mother's recent request for grandkids. He did not dignify that with a reply. Mortified, he lengthened his stride, putting as much distance as possible, he didn't want the other guests to know, he was with them.
Miss Charlotte laughed delightedly at her son's fleeing form. She linked her arm with Matthew's, allowing him to escort her forward.
Two stone lions guarded the entrance, their manes catching the gaslight. Beyond them, the Verin Mansion rose, pale stone glowing beneath the night sky, every window spilling golden light into the garden.
Music drifted through the open doors, violins weaving between bright laughter and clinking glasses.
The trio stepped inside. Warm air enveloped them at once, rich with the scent of roses and polished wood, underscored by the faint, lively fizz of champagne. Attendants in spotless uniforms moved with practiced efficiency, collecting coats and hats.
Matthew let out a low whistle.
"It's like walking into a painting."
"Try not to embarrass yourself," Thomas muttered, climbing the marble steps ahead of them.
Matthew ignored him, staring up at the tall pillars, the balconies draped with flowering vines, the soft flutter of gauzy curtains behind stained-glass windows. The elegance of the place overwhelmed him.
Thomas walked forward with Miss Charlotte, scanning with mild boredom. He'd attended enough social events to become numb to the spectacle.
But behind him, Matthew suddenly stopped.
The ballroom shimmered with guests, silks and pearls, polished shoes, laughter warm as wine. The Verin's steward waited nearby to greet new arrivals. But Matthew wasn't looking at him
Someone was descending the grand staircase.
Their silhouette was graceful, steps measured and unhurried.
Thomas noticed Matthew's sudden stillness.
"What now?"
Matthew didn't speak. His breath caught lightly.
The night had barely begun, yet something in the air shifted. Subtle, undeniable.
Whatever awaited them inside the Verin Mansion was going to change far more than just their evening.