The Davenports(19)

Finally, Mr. DeWight spoke. “Miss Davenport and I were just having a laugh.” He chuckled as if they shared a private joke. “I mistook her for an old acquaintance. Though now that I think on it,” he said, pinning her with his stare, “I must have just seen a picture of you in the society papers.” The air rushed back into her lungs with such speed, Olivia became dizzy. “If you’ll excuse me.” Washington DeWight gave Olivia a tight smile and tipped an invisible hat to Mr. Lawrence.

Olivia watched him walk away, her heart pounding, gooseflesh rising all over her skin. She turned back to Mr. Lawrence and smiled wider than she had all night. “Now, where were we?” she asked, her hand fitting nicely in the crook of his elbow.

As Mr. Lawrence guided her to the dance floor, Olivia was relieved to see the lawyer from the South had disappeared into the crowd.





CHAPTER 10


    Helen



Helen knew it was going to be a long night. As soon as her family had ascended the stairs to the Tremaine home, she’d made a break for it. She saw no need to wait in a receiving line to be introduced to people she already knew. It was always the same players at these events, with the same outdated notions of how young ladies ought to behave. After that talk with her father, she didn’t need any more of that right now, thank you very much.

The first chance she got, Helen snuck into the ballroom, ducking between guests. She stole a tray of crab cakes and two flutes of champagne and found a chair nestled in the corner. She watched the party around her, the younger girls her age whispering and giggling to one another. They seemed altogether unconcerned with the fact that they were basically here for the amusement of their parents, with the eventual responsibility of finding a husband. They’d all be coming out soon enough, and the pressure to select a good match—or rather, to be selected—would take up every waking breath. Helen herself would be eighteen by the end of the summer, and if Olivia had been matched last year, Helen would now be stuck dancing with the new crop of bachelors. She couldn’t stand the idea. Helen rolled her eyes and turned to the large windows overlooking the gardens. Maybe some fresh air would do her good.

The Tremaines’ garden was a legendary maze of neatly manicured hedges, now strung with tiny lights that flickered like fireflies. Once outside, Helen cornered the son of one of her father’s business partners, Josiah Andrews, and convinced him to give her a cigarette and a light.

Once Josiah had walked away, Helen took a drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke out in a swirling cloud above her head. She tried to dislodge her father’s words from her mind. Couldn’t he see that she had so much to offer? That she was more than a pretty face? She flicked the ash into the wind and cleared her throat. She would not cry again.

“Oh, hello.”

Helen stilled, cursing herself for getting so caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear someone approach. It could have been her father, or worse, her mother. Emmeline Davenport saw smoking as a pastime for women of lower classes.

She turned to the intruder.

Jacob Lawrence. The young man Olivia had spent most of the night with. They’d met briefly before dinner. Helen noticed right away that he was tall, lean, and carried himself as though he could have anything if he only asked. Indeed, it appeared quite likely he would soon have her sister.

He came to stand next to her. But not too close. He tapped a cigarette on an engraved gold cigarette case and waited. “How about we come to an agreement?” he asked when she didn’t move. His voice was smooth and accented. “I’ll not breathe a word of you being out here and you’ll share that light in your hand.”

Helen eyed him, not sure if she could trust him. His smile was too wide and his eyes too intense. They didn’t break contact with hers as she held the matchbox out to him.

“I’ll want another cigarette too,” she said, stubbing out her spent one beneath her toe.

Mr. Lawrence laughed and Helen felt a chill run up her spine.

“Beautiful night,” he said, holding the light steady for her.

“Yes,” she said, wishing he would go away and leave her with her thoughts.

“Is this a true maze?” he asked. He stepped down into the wet grass.

She nodded. “There’s a fountain at the center.” She stuck out her chin and crossed her arms.

He looked at her. “You don’t seem impressed by me.”

“Should I be?” she asked.

He laughed again, further unsettling her nerves. Helen felt his laugh like an engine turning over under her hand—powerful, eager, and a little dangerous.

“Most people find I’m very impressive.”

She couldn’t help it; a laugh of her own escaped her lips and echoed through the night. In the shadows, she could see his smile widen and his confidence, so strong already, grow.

“I’m wealthy. Well read. Well traveled,” he said, listing these traits on the fingers not holding the cigarette.

“Oh, don’t forget handsome too,” she said.

“I thought that was a given.” He cleared his throat and climbed the stairs to stand beside her again. The heat from his body drew gooseflesh on her arms. She breathed deep. The smell of his cologne—cedar—and the smoke from his cigarette generated a strange sensation in her chest.

“What about you?” he asked.