The Brahmin Ball (A Sweet Historical Romance Novella) (Brahmin Brides Book 1) Read Free Page B

she could let her emotions run wild. “You never did tell me your name. Forgive me, but four years is a long time ago.”
    He shook his head. “It is you who should forgive me . I’m the epitome of poor manners tonight. I’m Garret Gladstone, Esquire.”
    “Esquire? You’re an attorney?”
    “And soon to be a politician, if Uncle Edgar has his way.”
    “Edgar Dwight?”
    “Indeed. He’s my father’s brother. My father passed away years ago, and Uncle Edgar has been like a second father to me.”
    “I’m so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. My own father passed just this year.”
    “How awful. I know how difficult it must be for you. We’re both too young to lose someone so close to us.”
    She looked away, at the clusters of attendees at the fringes of the room as she and her partner sidestepped and turned. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
    They danced in silence another moment, before Mr. Gladstone shifted the subject. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”
    “Oh dear!” She met his gaze and smiled up at him, grateful for the change in subject. “I’m dreadfully sorry. My name is—”
    “Grace Barstow,” he finished. “I know. I was teasing you a bit. I remember your name from the night we met. To be honest, that was responsible for my timidity that night, more than my lack of dance skills.”
    “Why would that be?”
    “You’re a Barstow . I’m a Gladstone. My father’s reputation was solid, and we are well to do, yes, but nothing compared to your family. Who hasn’t heard of Chandler Barstow? If I weren’t connected to the Dwights, I’d never have been invited to a single elite event in Boston. How could someone like me hope to dance with Grace Barstow?”
    “ That’s why you remembered my name, then?” She was crestfallen. “Because I’m a Barstow?”
    “Of course not!” He was offended. “You were the most beautiful, graceful woman in the room. Your manners were impeccable, your speech eloquent, and I was taken with you long before I found out from others that you were a Barstow daughter, or more importantly, that you had a reputation for being kind to the poor and widows, and that you were considered to be the brightest among your peers.”
    “I am?”
    “Why are you surprised? Did you think the men flocked to you only for your beauty, or your father’s reputation? Look around you. Wealthy heiresses are a dime a dozen in this room. It’s only a matter of how wealthy or respectable each girl is. But a woman with a sweet and kind disposition? That is a rare gem in any group, but especially so among Boston’s elite.”
    She was humbled by his opinion of her. “I can’t believe you thought so highly of me, from only a brief meeting.”
    “I admit, I may have spent the better part of that night so long ago studying and thinking of you more than is polite to talk about.” His expression was sheepish. “I regret that I never found the courage to approach you again.”
    “Yet we never met again after that night. Or…did we?”
    “We did not. I live in New York. Or I did, until recently. My father passed away a year before you and I first met—just after I’d finished law school. My mother wanted to move down to New York City to be closer to her sister. I went with her, and remained there, working for a good law firm.”
    “Oh, that would explain why I don’t remember you. Prior to your leaving Boston, I was too young to attend any balls. That ball was only my second.”
    He nodded. “You were familiar—I’m sure I saw you from a distance at some charitable event my aunt hosted—but I didn’t know your name until I met your at your first Winter Ball. After my courage failed me at the ball, I wanted to find a way to meet you again, but I wasn’t sure how…or even if there was a point in trying. After all, my Uncle is a Brahmin, but I am not.”
    “Yet here you are, dancing with me. What has changed?”
    “Perhaps I’ve grown braver at the ripe