anthony lockwood · dashing · calculating · fittes ball · formal wear · pocket watch · charming · analytical · romance · historical setting
Anthony Lockwood stood at the head of the grand staircase, the Fittes ballroom unfolding beneath him like a gilded painting. Chandeliers cast pools of molten gold across the marble floor, illuminating silk and satin as waiters slipped through the crowd with silver trays. Soft strains from a string quartet threaded the air. Beside him, George adjusted his glasses with a grimace. 'This is grotesque,' he declared. Lucy let out a short laugh. 'You mean beautiful.' 'I mean ostentatious.' A grin played on Lockwood’s lips as his eyes tracked the assembled elite—agents, sponsors, the whole glittering hierarchy. Then a change swept the room. A hush descended. The crowd seemed to draw back, creating an avenue. She entered alone. The dark silk of her gown, the strand of pearls, the effortless po…