Emma Barry Read Free

generic compliment was met with a long, awkward silence. This was why he avoided dances. And women. He offered another wan, chivalric statement, hoping to aid things along. “Will you introduce me to your charming companions?”
    Her lips quirked, stifling a scowl perhaps, as she did so. Her students were pretty girls, no doubt, but he was only interested in Margaret. He hardly took his eyes from hers as he offered the expected niceties to the girls.
    Turning to Margaret, he asked, “Miss Hampton, are you engaged for the opening waltz?” An abrupt transition, he feared, but what was the use in pretending this wasn’t his aim?
    She blinked once and then again. “I am not.”
    “Will you do me the honor?”
    Margaret paused for a long moment and regarded him levelly. He could almost see the gears in her mind grinding away as she attempted to figure out what he was all about. He was anxious, but not overly so. They both knew she couldn’t refuse without seeming uncivil.
    Finally, she inclined her head. “I will.”
    “Until later this evening, then,” he said, bowing to the ladies more fluidly now and retreating.
    The light-headedness lessened. His pulse returned to a normal rate. He had performed acceptably and secured her for a few moments at least. Across the room he found Mother standing with Josiah, jaw set and eyes slightly aghast.
    “Whatever were you saying to Margaret Hampton?” Mother asked. She made no attempt to hide the sourness in her voice.
    “Asking her to dance.”
    “Oh, Theodore, no. Please let’s not start
that
again. I thought she was in the past.”
    “I find she’s not.”
    Mother harrumphed but said no more. Perhaps her desire for grandchildren was stronger than he knew.
    He’d obtained Margaret’s company for five minutes. For that space at least, she would be in his arms again. He’d done it, he knew, mostly to be able to inspect her décolletage at a shorter distance and to clear the vertigo she had engendered in him merely by walking across the room.
    Careful. It’s a dance, nothing more. You still disappoint her.
    • • •
    Margaret watched broad shoulders recede across the room. Air had still not returned to her body and had perhaps exited the room altogether. After a few formal words with Theo, she felt trapped in a bell jar. He made her a frozen observer of a confusing world. Then he began speaking with his mother and Josiah Trinkett, and her flush shifted abruptly to a chill. Of course.
    She turned back to the cadre of her favorite students who stood in a little cluster around her. No one said anything. Matilda, Rebecca, and especially Phoebe blinked expectantly, hoping she would fill the silence with an explanation of who precisely Mr. Ward was to her. As if she could find the words. As if in the sea of language available to her there was a way to express the hopefulness and longing and heartbreak — all the emotions she had left in the past — that were contained in one name: Theo Ward.
    She faced her most ruthless examiner, Phoebe King, with a smile and forced something out. “Do continue about the decorations.”
    Phoebe had the aspect of an angel from a parlor engraving, gold curls, upturned lashes, and depthless blue eyes. If Margaret was being frank, the New York princess was more than surpassing vain. She avoided being insufferable, however, by being utterly candid about her shortcomings. Tonight she looked stunningly beautiful in a light blue gauze gown trimmed with white lace and a green paisley shawl. But the effect was ruined by the mischievous way she arched her brows and shook her head.
    “Only when you’ve told us everything about Mr. Ward!” the impish girl said. The other two nodded in agreement.
    Margaret swallowed a sigh. There was no avoiding it. She had to provide some story. As straightforwardly as possible, she said, “He was a dear friend of mine some time ago. We haven’t spoken in years, and now he would apparently like to reminiscence