The Engagement Party. Barbara Boswell
woman whose days are numbered anyway.’ That’s when I told Carter to take back his stock certificates, we were history.”
Katie winced. “Sounds like you had a lucky escape from Bachelor Number Three, Hannah.”
“I agree. And everything worked out for the best. Grandmother recovered, and I have my antique shop here in Clover. I’m very happy,” she added resolutely. The firm line of her jaw was set with a determination underestimated by those who saw only her striking beauty. “In fact, I’ve never been happier. At this point in my life, I’m dedicating myself to buying antiques and collectibles to resell at outrageous prices to tourists and Clover matrons who like to redecorate their houses every other year.” Hannah smiled mischievously. “So who needs men? Who needs a social life? We’re businesswomen, Katie—the backbone of Clover’s economy. Someday we might actually get elected to the board of the chamber of commerce and then look out—we’ll rule this town!”
Katie laughed along with her. Hannah’s exuberance was contagious. “There’s just one thing I have to dispute,” Katie said, her green eyes twinkling. “Your alleged lack of a social life. You haven’t spent a Saturday night dateless since you turned thirteen, Hannah.”
Hannah didn’t deny it. “That doesn’t mean I don’t find dating an insane concept. I’ve had some unsuccessful dates—I specialize in them, actually.” She cast another glance at Abby and Ben. “And even though I am definitely not looking for another fiancé, when I see those two together, I can’t help but wish—”
“Hannah!” Tall, lanky Sean Fitzgerald came up behind her. “You’re looking beautiful as always. Have I ever told you that you’re the unrequited love of my life?”
“You’ve mentioned it on occasion.” Hannah smiled languidly, knowing he was posturing. Sean, whose grandfather had founded the ever-popular Fitzgerald’s Bar and Grill on Clover Street, and Hannah had been friends for years. They playfully flirted with each other without a single thought of deepening their relationship.
“And here is the lovely Lady Kate!” Sean turned his megawatt smile on Katie. “Well, the surprise was probably the worst-kept secret in Clover history but this party is terrific. Even the weather cooperated, huh? A beautiful June evening made to order for the happy couple.”
He laughed as another violent crack of thunder seemed to shake the house to its very foundation. The summer thunderstorm intensified, and the rain, which had been steadily drizzling all day, suddenly began to teem. The heavy drops pelted the windows so hard, the glass rattled.
“When your conversation sinks to bad jokes about the weather, it’s time to move on, Sean.” Hannah gave him a friendly shove, her gray eyes gleaming. “Go chase Ben’s cousin, the blonde in from Charleston. I saw you drooling over her earlier.”
“As always, your wish is my command, Dream Girl.” Sean winked at Hannah as he moved toward the perky blonde dressed in pastel pink from head to toe.
“Heaven help the woman who takes Sean seriously. He breaks new ground in superficiality every day,” Hannah said wryly as she and Katie watched him approach the giggling pink blonde.
Katie nodded, amused. She agreed with Hannah’s assessment, though she never would’ve voiced it aloud. Hannah had no such inhibitions; she said exactly what she thought. Katie, who was reserved by nature and tended to keep her private thoughts just that, found Hannah’s company entertaining, albeit occasionally unnerving.
Undoubtedly the difference in their stations in life affected them as much as their contrasting introvert-extrovert personality types. Though both young people were Clover businesswomen—Katie owning and operating the Clover Street Boardinghouse, Hannah the proprietor of Yesterdays, which featured an eclectic assortment of antiques and collectibles—the two sprang from very different roots.
Katie had been raised by her aunt Peg, the warm, hardworking owner of Peg’s Diner, a Clover Street institution, the past and present town hot spot for down-home cooking, people-watching and good-natured gossip. Despite her own busy schedule at the boardinghouse, Katie still helped out her aging aunt at the diner, dividing her time between the two places.
Hannah was the youngest daughter of Clover’s old-moneyed, blue-blooded Farley family, who traced their genealogy back to the aristocratic antebellum South. Hannah, a cheerful flirt, lively, laughing and teasing, with a gift for mixing with all types and putting anyone at ease, was an enigma to her very proper relatives. With the exception of her beloved grandmother, who doted on her, the rest of the Farleys were still trying to adjust to having “a shop girl” numbered among their kin. They did not understand or wholly approve of her friendships with “tradespersons” such as Katie and her aunt Peg, the Fitzgeralds and Emma Wynn, who managed the bookstore on Clover Street.
At her own insistence, Hannah was the first and only Farley ever to attend the Clover public schools and the state university, and she’d graduated with a degree in marketing despite her relatives’ dire predictions concerning her fate.
Hannah knew nothing would please her family more than for her to marry well, although they lived in horror of yet another disrupted engagement. The thought of a fourth broken engagement alarmed Hannah, as well, one of the very few things she had in common with her kin.
A brilliant bolt of lightning reflected through the rain-streaked windowpanes. It was almost simultaneously accompanied by a boom of thunder. The lights flickered, went out, then almost immediately flashed back on. There were groans and squeals among the party guests, followed by a rowdy burst of cheering when the electricity held its own against the storm.
“Miss Jones!” The voice, deep and peremptory, very annoyed and very male, caused nearly every head to turn to the foot of the stairs, where a very annoyed man stood on the landing, his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes glowering. He projected the air of an infuriated marine drill sergeant, looking over a group of unsatisfactory recruits, and for a moment, the entire crowd shifted uneasily, as if feeling the apprehension of a hapless young corps.
But the group was too jolly to sustain any mood but a festive one for very long. They quickly resumed their partying, ignoring the imperious intruder. Not Hannah, though. She bristled. The nerve of this stranger. No one used that tone with her, nor would she permit her friends to be verbally accosted in such a manner. Why, poor Katie looked positively stricken!
Hannah started toward the stairs, determined to cut the obnoxious intruder down to size. When she was through, he would be miniaturized, so small that the antique dollhouse featured in her shop window would be too big for him.
Her eyes met the stranger’s when she was only a few feet away from him.
Hannah stopped cold in her tracks. The man’s smoldering dark eyes, so dark they appeared as black as onyx, were making a leisurely perusal, moving over her from head to toe and then back again. Males had been giving Hannah the admiring, assessing once-over since she’d donned her first training bra at age twelve. She knew how to deal with it, knew when to be flattered or insulted, knew how to respond playfully or forbiddingly.
But she wasn’t sure how to respond to this man. For after taking careful, minute inventory of her every feature, her every curve, he merely blinked and dispassionately looked away, totally dismissing her.
Hannah followed his gaze, saw those dark eyes of his fix on Katie, who was crossing the room to him, looking worried and nervous and apologetic. Hannah’s eyes widened. She silently willed the dark stranger to look over at her. She intended to devastate him with her most sultry stare, then reduce him to a quivering pool of nerves with an ego-shriveling insult.
But the man never looked her way again. She might as well have been invisible. It was as if he was unaware she existed, hadn’t seen her at all during those few charged seconds when she’d watched him devour her with his eyes.
“Mr. Granger, is there something wrong?” Katie asked breathlessly.
Hannah was standing near enough to overhear the conversation, and she moved closer, listening shamelessly.
“Yes,