“She has been complaining all day, Amy. I wish I had sense to stay away from her,” Madge timidly said. It had been a week since the letter incident, and still Amy turned a cold shoulder to her cousin.
“I entertained your borin’ stories of your brother, surely you should be thankful,” Veronica retorted.
“You seem very listless tonight, Ronnie.” Amy said.
“I always do this the night of a party. I am listless and bored durin’ the day, so at night, anythin’ and everythin’ amuses me. Lord, am I ready for the party.”
Amy energetically helped Veronica from the lounge and grabbed Madge’s hand. “Come, we should get ready for the party: we have only four hours. If we want to eat, we should now. It is infamous how gentlemen treat women at dinner. They set one down and give her a bit of food, and then run out to grab as much as they like and leave the poor girl alone.”
Veronica laughed. “That is not entirely how it is, Amy dear. I wonder where you were shown such atrocious manners! In actuality, it depends on the man who escorts you. And it is all how you talk with him. If you lay enough hints, I am sure he will not disappoint.”
* * * * *
“Pull tighter Madge!” Veronica gasped as Madge jerked her corset strings. She gripped the bedpost, hoping her fingers wouldn’t become slick from the evening’s heat. Madge was ideal for her corset: the girl had a definite wish to cause pain. She giggled at the thought, and was punished as Madge wrenching the strings harder.
“This would be easier if you stopped giggling, Miss Vernon.”
Veronica moaned as the corset enveloped her ribs like a cage. She blinked away the sweat from her eyes, and winced at how the sweat made her eyes burn. How typical, she thought, that the night of the party would be so humid and repulsively warm. Exclaiming, Veronica lost hold of the bedpost and flew across the room with Madge.
“You klutz!” Madge cried, pushing Veronica away. “I don’t know if I have any strength left to do that again.”
“I don’t think I have any strength to withstand yours,” she snapped in reply.
“If you cared for your figure you wouldn’t have all this trouble.”
“I’m not fat!” Indignantly, Veronica turned, careful of her corset as Madge tightened her own corset and replied with a passive face, “Did I say that?”
“Well, you never said I wasn’t,” Veronica said, admiring herself in the mirror as the door was knocked.
“Am I interruptin’?”
Veronica squealed, as she and Madge dove behind furniture to cover their exposed bodies. Relieved to find it was her roommate, she stepped from behind the screen and touched her hair, laughing, “You gave us quite a scare. What is it, Amy, dear?”
“Oh! I am sorry, Ronnie, Madge. I had not thought you would be very surprised…you left the door wide open. Anyway, I came to ask…that is, I should like to know, do I look presentable?”
“What a joke. You know you always look presentable,” Madge chided. She struggled with her tapes to work her hoops, and added to the layers of petticoats. “Why do you wear so modest a dress?”
“Should I change?”
“No, don’t. Madge is just givin’ you a hard time because she couldn’t get that horrid Brad here in time for the party,” Veronica said, waving her hand at Madge.
“Don’t you call my brother horrid. He helped you at Bull Run.”
“Bull Run?”
“Oh, you southerners call it Manassas,” Madge mused, digging through her vanity.
Veronica frowned, but knew better than to pick a fight with Madge at such an hour as Amy exclaimed before rushing from the room, “Madge, hurry! It is nearly time. It would be typical of some guests to arrive early for the sake of makin’ the house uncomfortable!”
Dutifully nodding, Madge stepped into her gown while Nan arranged her hair.
Veronica gazed at her green silk; her favorite in the wardrobe. The waist accented her thin frame, and the off-the-shoulder neckline highlighted her graceful neck. “Madge, Madge, Madge. You will never compete with me when I wear this.”
“As long as my brother is around, I have a chance.”
“Ah, but he is not here, is he, Madge?”
“Are you ready?” Amy impatiently asked, poking her head into the room.
“Quite ready. Show me to the rebels!” Madge laughed, fastening her mask and following Amy downstairs.
Veronica stepped into her gown and waited as Nan did up the buttons. Shooing her slave away to help Maum Jo, she decided not to wear the itchy mask, for it impeded her ability to see the party. With one last look in the mirror, she balanced her heavy skirts and swayed down the hall. Pausing for effect, Veronica allowed a smile before majestically walking down the stair.
The folding doors had been flung open to adjoin the parlor and dining rooms. Veronica could hardly contain her excitement, though the corset certainly tried. The enthusiastic music from the quartet floated above the chattering crowd, and she found her foot tapping. She hardly noticed the small crowd beginning to surround her.
It was evident she was part of the ton, wherever she hailed from, and Mrs. Johnson turned in shame now that her friends saw Miss Vernon had boarded at Mrs. Beaumont’s rather than her own home. The crowd watched her with curiosity more than admiration. For a woman to enter a ballroom alone!—how improper and indelicate.
Veronica searched the crowd for a familiar face and could find none. How ghastly.
A man strode forward, as Mrs. Beaumont had recruited him to escort Veronica until she felt comfortable. He certainly looked a good deal like Everett. “Good evenin’,” she managed.
“Good evenin’, Miss Vernon.” He bowed over her hand and tucked it in his arm. They stepped into the ballroom all smiles, and Veronica’s face burned knowing the women appraised her gown. “I understand you have newly come to Richmond from Manassas,” he said, attempting to maintain a sense of polite conversation.
Veronica started, about to explain she arrived from Washington, when she followed his eyes to Amy. Amy, who stood quietly in a back with a tall, handsome man. Veronica faltered. He distinctly looked the part of an older Jonathan. Forgetting where she was, she froze on her escort’s arm. She caught her breath as the mysterious man from the corner turned to look in her eyes. The audacity! For him to look across the room to stare at her was flattering and highly improper. Bewildered, Veronica vaguely noted his eyes a deep blue: not unlike Brad.
“Who is that man, sir?” she asked, biting her lip in response to her escort’s irresolute shrug. It would be just like Brad to sneak into the party, especially as Madge wanted him to come so badly. But at another glance, he seemed nothing like Brad, for this man smiled and laughed. Good lord, was he flirting? It seemed he triumphed, for Amy genuinely smiled: something Veronica had not seen her do since Everett’s death.
Veronica smiled, picking up her escort’s name as he nodded to a passer-by.
“Miss Vernon, the general purpose of an escort is to entertain the guest. Do you not wish my attentions?” Mr. Harris asked. He smiled, aware that she too looked in Amy’s direction.
“I sincerely apologize, sir.” She refocused on the tall man across the room, disturbed to find his height resembled Brad, and that it gave an adorable pride to his bearing.
Gripping Mr. Harris’ arm tightly as she recaptured the mysterious man’s gaze, Veronica suddenly wondered, was he trying to make her uncomfortable? Shaking out of her reverie, she said, “Well, what is it this group does for fun?”
As they strolled through the crowd, Mr. Harris noticed his charge gently steered him toward Amy and her handsome companion. He had never met the man before, and it seemed Amy had…for she placed her hand easily on his arm as she talked, and confidentially leaned to whisper. Mr. Harris felt insanely jealous, and was secretly glad when Veronica paused a few feet from the suspicious couple. “Is there somethin’ the matter, Miss Vernon? Ask and you shall receive—I am at your mercy tonight.”
“I think not,�
� she insinuated, tipping her head toward Amy. Veronica froze as Amy’s escort turned in her direction to stare. Did he know what trauma he caused by simply looking in her general direction? “Are you related to Mr. Everett Harris?” Veronica asked, desperate to divert herself.
“My older brother. My constitution isn’t what it should be, else I would have been with him,” he replied. “It should have been me.”
“Never say that, else it might come true. Let us go and talk to Amy; she needs some cheerin’ tonight, I think.” Veronica stepped forward, burning with wonder. Pleased when she caught Amy’s eye and accepted her amiable smile, Veronica was less delighted by the similar expression on the face of Amy’s escort. “Miss Williams, I’m sure you remember Mr. Harris. He was hopin’ for the pleasure of a dance.”
“I am overwhelmed with anticipation, Mr. Harris. I have heard you are a marvelous dancer,” Amy beamed. She bit her lip to contain her laughter as she saw her own escort’s gaze rooted on Veronica. “This is…the Lieutenant. He is…a dear friend of my family, and I do hope you enjoy his company, Miss Vernon. He certainly tries hard enough to be pleasin’.”
What an odd introduction. Veronica smiled as Amy accepted Mr. Harris’s hand and followed him to the dance floor, and thought, finally!—the moment had come when she could assess this bold stranger. He didn’t watch her in admiration, as other men did, nor did he ask her hand to dance. He averaged a tall six feet, tall for Veronica. Nevertheless, it added to his charm.
“Why you do not wish to reveal your name?” she inquired, waving her fan to accent her eyes. He glanced at her before rubbing his toe into the ground. She frowned behind her fan. He reminded her of Brad; but silent, and taller. Handsomer, if it at all possible.
“I have my reasons, but I doubt you would understand.”
“Do you think me ignorant?”
“No, I do not think you ignorant.” His voice was hardly that above a whisper, yet Veronica could clearly hear it over the din. “Is that how I appeared? I would not wish grievance on one such as you,” he said, bowing as though not accustomed.
Veronica’s mind raced. She was determined to question Mrs. Beaumont about him as soon as the party ended, if she could not withdraw some information from the man himself. He was Jonathan: she was sure of it. “I thank you, for your well meant wishes.”
The Lieutenant’s face held a hint of a grin. He was determined not to ask her to dance, since she obviously wanted him to. He bowed, which was answered by another curtsey. “I must say, it was rather kind of Mrs. Beaumont to invite me,” he endeavored, knowing Veronica didn’t dare start the conversation. “Though I would rather read.”
“Read?” Veronica laughed; sure he meant to entertain.
“Hmm…yes, reading.”
“How interestin’.”
“You are disappointed! You thought I would be thrilled to see you, didn’t you?”
Veronica felt her cheeks redden as she swiveled to watch the dancing crowd.
“You thought that since I am a man, and you are obviously a pretty woman, that I would fall madly in love with you.” He enjoyed her embarrassment. “I’m awfully glad Mrs. Beaumont invited me. This is going to be an enlightening experience.”
“I must say I think she was a morsel too kind in her invitations,” she said, slapping the fan in her palm. The more Veronica thought of it, the more she was sure this was not Jonathan.
And the way he rocked on his heels! Brad did the very same, the rogue. Oh! How annoying to be ignored by the most eligible bachelor in the room. At least, Veronica hoped he was a bachelor. Good heavens! What if he be married? She was jumping to conclusions. No, this man was not married…hopefully.
Veronica held her breath as it seemed he would say something. No; he turned. How could he like to watch people dance, and yet not dance himself? “Would you like to join them?”
The young man abruptly turned, noting her exasperation. “May I have this dance?”
“Why should I dance with you, may I ask?” Her body trembled with her mystified sentiments. She hated him; and yet, she was infatuated. This was not proper.
“I believe I frustrated you. Is there something you want me to do to please you? Would you like to dance? I often enjoy the thrill of it myself. Or should we talk about the weather? The weather has been quiet hot, I must say—quite hot,” he said, running his finger along his collar.
He was a hopeless cause, Veronica decided. “I suggest we focus on dancin’, for it seems as if you love to watch but cannot stand to do.”
He laughed as if much pleased by her answer. “Dancing, then.”
“I so love to dance,” she murmured, watching the couples sail by.
“Whom will you dance with?”
“Why, you, if you have the courtesy to ask me.”
“I am afraid I have promised not to dance tonight, to Miss Williams.”
“Miss Williams! What claim has Miss Williams over you, might I ask? This is an odd business,” Veronica exclaimed. She avoided the gaze of the other women, guessing they thought her very odd, to prefer talking to a man rather than dancing with him. She knew that is what she would think, if in their position to judge.
“She is an old friend, and knows my tendency to be ungracious to ladies such as you. Her only wish was that I might not dance, for she fears I will ridicule the lady and send Miss Williams running in shame.”
“Well. You may be sure to know I am not ridiculed easily, and if you should embarrass me, do not worry for my sake—”
“In your case I would be sure not to worry,” he said, his gaze deceivingly calm.
Veronica paused, taken aback by his quick reply. “Why would you not worry? Is there somethin’ special about me?”
“Of course there is, Miss Vernon. You are still here chatting with me when other women would have left in a definite huff.” He paused. She looked confused. “That was a compliment.”
“You twist words so fast it makes my head spin.”
“And yet you have some very witty replies. I applaud your efforts.”
Frustrated, Veronica felt this conversational war had lasted long enough. With her hand out for his, she asked, “Are you to lead or am I to try it?”
“I’m afraid I’m not very proficient on the dance floor—that is why I assured Miss Williams I wouldn’t to dance.” The Lieutenant repressed his laughter as Veronica fathomed the proper thing to say in reply. “It is odd, I know, to enjoy dancing but not be proficient at it, but I swear it is the truth. I would rather not dance with you, for I am afraid I will tread upon your little feet.”
She blushed, and was more aghast when he bent low to whisper, “I am sure you do not want me to dance with you, unless you are yearning to be aching by the end of the night.”
He really was just too exasperating. And such gall! Leaning down to whisper into a strange girl’s ear? Was he trying to embarrass her? She had no doubt this was his intention. And to mention her small feet—how improper for ballroom etiquette!
“It just so happens,” Veronica burst, “that I am accomplished on the dance floor, and would like to exercise that accomplishment! I suppose it is odd, for a person of your…stature, to understand why a person of my distinction wishes to dance.”
“I suppose this means you are going to lead?”
Veronica took this moment to pause and regain control of her emotions and accent. “If I must, then I will. I do not comprehend it: you look capable enough, why are you afraid of dancin’? At least tell me you dance more intelligently than you act. And your accent! I am seriously wonderin’ about your origins, sir!”
His paused. He had forgotten his accent. No matter, he would merely have to transition into the accent Miss Vernon evidently wished. He took her hand. “Then I shall try not to disappoint,” he said, drawling his words as he placed his hand at her waist.
They danced in an uncomfortable silence.
Veronica decided it wouldn’t help if she commented on the number of couples in the
room, for he would more than likely mutter about how it was too crowded. That he would rather be at home, reading. Reading…of all the things on a man’s mind during a party. She hardly noticed when his grip became relaxed. She watched the other couples as they swirled, paying no attention to her own dancing partner. Very ill conduct, her mother would say.
“Do you enjoy makin’ scenes, Veronica, or was your entrance an indulgence?”
She tripped over his foot. With a shock Veronica realized they had transitioned to a waltz without her noticing. Didn’t he know how new and risqué the waltz was? Evidently not, as he smoothly righted her with a smile and said, “Perhaps I should have been the one worrying over the welfare of my feet.”
Fuming, Veronica found with much astonishment that her partner had quite a talent for dancing. “How is it you call me by my first name?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, it slipped out. You remind me of someone my sister knew. You both have the same sort of…” he glanced down at her, a funny smile on his face. “…charm, I suppose.”
“Of course.” Veronica almost felt dizzy. His hand held hers confidently, his other her waist almost intimately. The song was almost over and it would end too soon.
“You seem to have gotten very quiet all of a sudden. Are you concentratin’ on the steps, or are you makin’ a point to be unsociable?”
“I…was wonderin’ whether you are not used to—you certainly don’t act as if you are comfortable around me,” Veronica asked, her tone sharper than it should have been.
“I once knew a girl from the south,” he said, looking away.
Veronica looked the other way, thinking her partner had sounded quite displeased.
“What are you thinkin’ about?”
“How I am not really enjoyin’ this very much,” she admitted, her cheeks bright with embarrassment. She dared not lie to him…not if he happened to be her Jonathan.
“Well, then I suppose we will have to make it more excitin’.” He gracefully spun, forcing Veronica to gaze at him in wonder. “Which part of South Carolina do you hail from?”
Catching the Rose Page 14
