The Davenports(53)

The grin now spreading across Ruby’s face snapped Olivia back to the present. “You need to worry about you,” Olivia scolded her friend. “What’s going on with you and Harrison Barton? The two of you have been spending a lot of time together. If the old birds are talking about anyone, it’s you.”

Ruby’s features pinched. “What have you heard?”

Olivia folded her arms. She whispered, “That you may beat me down the aisle, given the way Mr. Barton moons over you. I can’t believe you’ve moved on from John.”

“A girl could grow old waiting for your brother to make up his mind.”

Olivia reached for her friend’s hand. “I don’t blame you. He’s behaving as if he’s got all the time in world. He and Helen are up to something and I fear it’s blinded him to everything else.” She watched a shadow come over Ruby’s face. “Don’t give up on him just yet. Unless your feelings for Harrison Barton . . . ?” She let the question trail, but Ruby didn’t finish it.

Olivia wanted to admit her disappointment, that they might never be sisters, when she spotted Washington DeWight. His presence filled her with a mixture of exasperation and apprehension. Only the high ting! of silverware against glass pulled her gaze away. John in front of the band, dutifully reciting the speech she’d written to introduce their parents. It highlighted their bond and the accomplishments they’d achieved together.

I could do it, she thought. With the right person, Olivia believed she would be able to explore the calling growing louder in her every day. And as her parents embraced to dance for their guests, her attention drifted not to Jacob Lawrence, who gathered a small crowd around him, but to the outspoken lawyer Washington DeWight.

Applause erupted in the grand space, and the party really began. The band played in earnest. Olivia thought of revealing her doubts. If anyone could keep her secret, it would be Ruby. Her friend was no stranger to sneaking off.

“Ruby, do you see the gentleman making his way over here?”

Ruby followed Olivia’s sightline. “Mr. DeWight?”

“You know him?”

“Not well.” Ruby shrugged. “He met with my father a few days ago. You should have heard them argue.”

“Argue?”

Washington DeWight was almost within earshot.

“Well, maybe not argue, but that is how Papa responds to anyone who disagrees with his suggestions. Mr. DeWight had the most pessimistic outlook for the city.”

“I have heard his outlook,” Olivia confessed. Ruby’s eyes grew wide as saucers as she turned to her friend. “He’s often at the community center where I volunteer,” Olivia said quickly. “We volunteer together,” she explained. “We have several acquaintances in common. In fact, one of them is the wife of a man who is working on your father’s campaign—”

“Oh yes, volunteering,” Ruby teased. “I heard you and I volunteer a lot too.” She stood taller and nodded to the person approaching their corner. At her friend’s tone, Olivia’s throat suddenly felt dry.

“Good evening, Miss Tremaine, Miss Davenport.” Washington DeWight turned to Olivia and hesitated only the briefest second before asking, “May I have this dance?”

She threw her friend a look she hoped told her to school her features. “You may,” she said, accepting his hand. He bowed, allowing her to look at him without the distraction of his high cheekbones. Mr. DeWight had dressed the part. The invitation stated black tie, and although the fit of his tuxedo was a bit off, Washington DeWight was dashing nonetheless.

“Is Miss Tremaine well?”

“She will be,” Olivia said. Ruby had found John after all. The pair now moved in a graceful circle not far from where Olivia had left her. “Enjoying the party?”

“It has certainly improved.” He held her in a rigid frame, like he had little practice beyond a few lessons, yet his touch was gentle and his smile never wavered. “It’s an interesting group of friends and acquaintances your parents have. Black and white union leaders. Teachers, doctors, lawyers, and bankers. It’s the kind of social climate we strive for.”

Olivia looked around the room and imagined what he saw. The ease with which they laughed, danced, and ate must be frustrating to someone from outside “high society.”

“My apologies. It seems I have ruined the celebration,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “I think you identified what makes it all so special.”

“I’m glad to be of service, Miss Davenport,” he said wryly. His honey-colored eyed shone under the light of the chandeliers.

“You’re not a terrible dance partner either. Not good, but . . .”

“Did you expect me to be terrible?” he said, feigning shock. His breath was warm on her neck. “Miss Davenport, do you lie awake at night, thinking about my two left feet?”

“No!” she said. Olivia sniffed. “You’re just so serious.” She wasn’t sure what she expected. She was strongly aware of his hand on the small of her back, the way he guided her with subtle pressure, and the way her temperature rose every time their bodies grazed each other.

“My work is serious. But no person is just their work.” He pursed his lips, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw. Their faces were dangerously close to each other’s,