Love, Come to Me(19)

“Good evening, Lucy,” Abigail said politely. “I wanted to tell you that we got word from Daniel earlier today. He said to tell you that he would be in Lowell until late this evening.”

“You mean he won’t be coming to . . .”

“That’s right,” Abigail said, her sharp eyes almost daring the younger woman to complain. “You know how important his work is, Lucy. He can’t fall behind just for the sake of a little dance.”

“Of course not,” Lucy replied, flushing, and she felt her heart sink. To her dismay, her disappointment was so sharp and immediate that tears pricked at her eyes. Don’t you dare cry! she commanded herself, and managed to will them away. Sally and Abigail looked at each other frostily, and then Abigail left.

“That was a mean trick,” Sally declared indignantly, “to wait until you were dressed and ready before telling you. Without Daniel here—”

“Everyone seems to think that my life should center around Daniel,” Lucy said in a low voice. “I guess now I’m supposed to go home, or mope around here and look lost because he’s not here with me. Well, I’m not going to do either of those things. I’m going to have a good time, and . . . and dance with other men, and . . . and laugh . . . and maybe even flirt a little!”

“Lucy!” Sally looked shocked and delighted. “You couldn’t. What will everybody say?”

“I’m not Daniel’s property . . . not yet. There’s no reason to put me on a shelf. We’re engaged, but we haven’t even set the date of the wedding. And I’m young and unmarried—and I want to enjoy myself tonight.”

Determinedly Lucy lifted her chin and swept out of the room, clutching her silk fan as if it were a small hatchet. True to her word, she swept through the evening as if she had no attachment to any man, chattering in an animated fashion and dancing uninhibitedly. Lucy knew that she was not behaving like her usual self, and she knew that she was attracting much attention with her quick laughter and fast manner. Good, she thought grimly, plying her gleaming smile on any man who happened to catch her eye. When Daniel hears about this, he won’t be so eager to work so many extra hours instead of being with me. Maybe he would get angry and demand an explanation from her, or insist that from now on she talk to no other men. All she knew was that she would gladly welcome any attention from him. Ignoring her father’s reproving glances from across the room, Lucy whirled around the dance floor with partner after partner. Gradually, as the music rang through the room and the windows were partially opened to let some cool air in, the hard knot of frustration inside her loosened.

“Daniel’s going to be sorry he missed seeing you tonight,” David Fraser, her current partner, said as they waltzed to a popular new melody. Lucy beamed up at him in pleasure, because that was what she had most wanted to hear.

“Do you really think so?” she asked, and as David launched into a series of prettily phrased compliments, Lucy giggled unrestrainedly. But just a few seconds later her laughter stopped abruptly as she looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the small group of men by the refreshment table. Heath was there, saying something that made his companions chuckle, and his smile was startlingly white against his tan.

So he had returned.

Chapter 3

Lucy stumbled slightly as she stared at Heath. David Fraser slowed the pace of their waltz. Following the direction of her eyes, he noticed the object of her attention. “That’s Heath Rayne, the Confederate who—”

“I know who he is.” Lucy tore her gaze away from Heath and looked up at David with a smile. “I’m just surprised to see him with those people in the corner,” she said lightly. “I thought everyone hated him.”

“Not everyone. He’s the type that you either admire or you hate—and I guess his style is something that some of the men around here want to imitate.”

“Style . . . do you mean the style of his clothes?”

“That and everything else . . . the way he does things.” David smiled wryly. “Some men are just that kind. It’s hard to explain, and I certainly don’t understand the admiration he attracts, not when he was trading shots with us just three years ago.”

“Well, there’s going to come a time when everyone’s going to have to stop remembering who was trading shots with whom, and start learning to get along with each other,” Lucy said absently, peering over David’s shoulder again as they did a slow turn.

It was rare, even in Concord, to see a man as stylishly dressed as Heath was. Who nowadays could afford to wear such clothes? His vest was superbly fitted and made of white piqué, cut low on the waist of his black trousers. Unlike the baggy Prince Albert coat that everyone else had on, his was less bulky, the sleeves more tapered, the wrists narrowed. And instead of the false-front shirts fastened with wide ribbons, which were just beginning to go out of style, Heath wore a crisp tailored shirt and a narrow white necktie. His sun-streaked hair shone with a rich gleam, cut short at the temples and the back of the neck in a new style that made the full curls at the temples of the other men look outdated. Big, vain peacock, Lucy thought, irritated by the fact that hers were not the only female eyes fastened on him. He knows that every woman in the room is stealing glances at him . . . and he certainly seems to be enjoying it! Not a shred of shame or modesty in him.