In the course of a single glittering evening, half a dozen lives were ruined. Although the five or so victims would never be represented in the media, it would be cruelly incorrect to assume that their individual tragedies had no impact outside of their personal spheres. In fact, it could be argued that these scandals were so collectively disruptive that they were directly responsible for disbanding the most important social event of the season: the Montgomery Gala. With that pinnacle of tradition and security gone, it was no wonder the city’s old money society dissolved as quickly as it did after the last night of spectacle ever held in the Montgomery family’s mansion.
Here, we continue to recount the unfortunate events of that fateful night…
PART I: MARY
Donald
Donald Wilkins was left to pick himself up, half-dazed from the shock of being shoved to the floor. Another maid offered him a hasty apology as she rushed after the crying girl.
“It’s alright!” he called after them, wondering what had happened to make the girl so upset. The dinner crowd was thinning as guests moved into the ballroom. Donald saw a group of butlers bustling with rags and buckets around the empty hosts’ table. “Maybe if you hadn’t walked here, Don,” he scolded, “you would’ve arrived on time and could be in the loop for once in your life.” Petunia would know — she could fill him in on the details. After she read his letter, of course…
The letter! “Oh, no no no!” He frantically patted down his coat. “Where did it go?!” He had been in the process of taking the precious envelope out of his pocket when the maid crashed into him; now, it was nowhere to be seen.
“It must’ve slid under a table,” Donald muttered to himself. He flung away the nearest tablecloth, dismayed to see only bare floor beneath. The next two tables had crumbs and fallen napkins, but no envelopes. He began rearranging dirty dishes on the tabletops, but the only papers there were the place cards. Where on Earth could it have gone?!
Donald had just started deconstructing a centerpiece when a voice halted his panicked search: “My father will have you escorted out if you continue to ruin his table settings.” He whirled around to face the eldest daughter of the host and hostess. “Oh,” said Peony Montgomery. “The tutor.”
“Good evening, Miss Peony.” He gave a hasty bow and almost hit his forehead on a chair.
The debutante’s pert nose wrinkled in distaste as she watched him tug at his ill-fitting suit. “I didn’t realize it was customary for lessons to be held during a dinner party,” she said nastily.
“Petunia invited me to come after our last Latin session,” Donald explained. When Peony’s baby-blue eyes narrowed, he quickly corrected his breach of etiquette. “Miss Petunia invited me. Do you know where she is? I need to speak to her immediately.”
“She’s still freshening up after that mishap during dessert,” Peony replied. “It may take a while. I doubt she’ll return until the dancing is well underway.”
“Mishap?”
“Oh yes. It was quite distressing.” She flared her lacy fan to conceal the lower half of her face.
“Will she be alright?”
“I couldn’t say.” Peony was very poorly disguising the giggle that brightened her tone. “The poor thing was still sniffling when I left.”
Petunia in tears? That was a scenario Donald never wanted to imagine. He had seen her cry once — she’d argued with her mother before their mathematics lesson, and the sums were the breaking point of her frustration that day. The sound of her weeping guilted Donald, as though he were personally responsible for her unhappiness. Her mood had improved when he ended the session early, but that pitiful offering made him feel so useless.
He frowned, disgusted by Peony’s mocking attitude toward her sister’s misfortune. “I suppose I’ll wait for her in the ballroom, then.”
“Would you like me to deliver this so she’s prepared when she comes back downstairs?” The fan collapsed to reveal cream-colored stationery and a torn envelope inscribed with Petunia’s name in his own handwriting.
Donald’s face and ears turned bright red. “Give that to me!”
Peony smiled cruelly and sauntered toward the fireplace, reading his words aloud in a sing-song voice: “‘My dear Petunia, I know this will come as a surprise and that my timing could be better, but I cannot go another day without expressing the feelings I have kept secret from you for so long…'”
“Stop it!” He lunged, hand outstretched to snatch away the paper, but she twirled out of reach.
“You know, I think it would be only right to let my father have a look at this,” she said icily. “Oh, but he’s in such a bad mood already…”
“There’s no need for that,” Donald argued. “If you –“
“Oh, but there is a need. He deserves to know that a person under his employ is lusting after his youngest daughter.” Donald froze. If the judge were made aware of his affections toward Petunia, his career as a private tutor would be ruined; even worse, he’d never see her again.
“Y-you won’t do it,” he stammered, but it was an empty show of bravado. He knew from Petunia’s stories that whether by manipulation or blackmail, Peony always got what she wanted. And at this moment, Peony Montgomery wanted to have him under her thumb and securely in her debt.
“No, not right now,” she said. “It can be our little secret for now. But I think it would be a good idea if we keep this from Petunia as well.”
“What? Why?” Donald was dismayed. Months of working up the nerve, weeks of planning and writing and rehearsing, all for nothing?
“She’s had to deal with enough unexpected stress tonight,” Peony simpered. “The last thing the poor girl needs to worry about is a confession of love from an unviable suitor.”
Donald’s stomach sank. She was right — until he graduated and secured a proper vocation, he had nothing to offer Petunia but pretty words and an open heart. Even if she reciprocated his feelings, there was no way her family would approve of her marrying a penniless university student. He’d been so caught up in his perfect romantic vision for this evening that he hadn’t thoroughly considered the facts. It was entirely the wrong time to propose a potential courtship. “You dunce,” he said under his breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, I was thinking aloud,” he excused quickly. “You’re right — it’s for the best.”
“I knew you would agree,” Peony said with a smile. “I can tell you care about my sister very much.”
“I do.” Donald sighed. “I truly do.”
The debutante came close and slipped her gloved arm through his elbow. “You’re doing the right thing,” she reassured him. “She will appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
Donald hoped that what she said was true. More than anything, he just wanted Petunia to be happy; if that meant he had to give her space until he could provide the quality of life she deserved, then he was willing to maintain his silence. As long as Peony kept up her end of the bargain, he would still be part of Petunia’s life — listening to her stories, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile… He could be content with that. He would tolerate this one-sided love as long as he had to, because he knew that no great thing, especially a happily ever after, was created suddenly.
“Thank you,” he said before departing. “And please give my apologies to your sister. Tell her I hope she feels better soon.”
“Of course,” Peony promised, dropping into a perfect curtsy.
With that, Master Wilkins unknowingly crossed the threshold of the Montgomery mansion for the last time, leaving the key to his happiness in the wrong hands.