The Davenports(54)

“I’ve danced with a few lawyers,” she said, recovering from his questions. “Few can match your . . . skill.”

Washington DeWight glanced around, comically exaggerating his movements, and eliciting a peal of laughter from Olivia loud enough to turn heads. “Where are these fellows? They’re out here giving the profession a bad name. Though, I’m sure if they were more skilled, I would not have you in my arms now.” He winked and Olivia’s heart stuttered.

“I should thank them as well,” she whispered, and caught herself wishing they were alone so that she could step deeper into his embrace, let the smell of his aftershave, sharp pine and earthy, envelop her without the distraction of others.

When the song ended, Mrs. Davenport appeared at their elbows without a sound. “Mr. DeWight, lovely to see you again. I do need to steal my daughter. Olivia, walk with me.”

Olivia’s heart jumped into her throat. She and Washington DeWight were standing too close. He congratulated Olivia’s mother on her anniversary and withdrew his hand slowly from Olivia’s waist, like a caress. She followed her mother as Mrs. Davenport graciously accepted congratulations from Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Davis, and the family doctor. At the edge of the celebration, Mrs. Davenport asked, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Olivia’s mouth instantly dried. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Why hadn’t she grabbed a flute of champagne?

Mrs. Davenport leaned close. “I didn’t want to distract you from your work, and it wasn’t until a few moments ago when I saw you dancing that I became concerned.” Olivia followed her mother’s gaze, knowing before she found her target whom her mother spied. “If I’m not mistaken, that young man is not the gentleman courting you.”

“Mama, we were dancing. This is a party—” Olivia began.

“You stepped out last night. It didn’t go unnoticed and—no,” she said as Olivia tried to interject, “I don’t care to hear about it.” Mrs. Davenport’s eyes softened. Her hand was warm on Olivia’s bare shoulder. “You and Mr. Lawrence,” she sighed. “You have a wonderful opportunity at happiness. I don’t want to see you throw it away on a whim. So, I will ask once more: Is there something you want to tell me?”

Olivia took a breath. “Jacob Lawrence is a wonderful man. I hope to be as lucky in love as you and Daddy.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Happy anniversary.” Her smile felt brittle, but it put her mother at ease, the tension she released sparking a twinge of guilt in Olivia.

“Good,” she said, and tucked her arm around her daughter. “Helen is impossible to rein in and your brother can’t keep his eyes off the maid.” Her mother was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Olivia stiffen at her side. Sure enough, John was tracking Amy-Rose’s movements on the fringe of the crowd. “It’s a relief to know we don’t have to worry about you.”

Olivia nodded numbly at her mother’s side.





CHAPTER 24


    Helen



Helen hated parties. They were even worse when they were hosted by your parents, in your own home. There was nowhere to hide.

The day started early. A long soak in rose-scented water, hours of nearly getting her ears burnt off by the hot comb, and then a corset! It wasn’t her fault that the files John brought home were an unorganized nightmare that had kept her up all night, only to have her nodding off while Amy-Rose tried to make her look presentable. She much preferred a quick unscented bath and simply styled hair, plaits or twists she could easily tie away from her face.

Once at the party, Helen was beside herself with the customs of being a good hostess. Her hawk-eyed chaperone, Mrs. Milford, appeared at her elbow anytime she saw a means of escape. Like a lion tamer at the zoo corralling her charge. At least at parties held elsewhere, she could sneak away, but as a hostess, she was expected to smile and greet everyone who walked through the door.

Including Jacob Lawrence. She’d be lying if she claimed the reason she couldn’t sleep was completely business related. Sometimes, in the quiet, her thoughts wandered to the British man who’d arrived in Chicago. He was an outsider in all the ways that made her feel less misunderstood, in her world where her last name and relatives seemed to overshadow her wants and desires. Helen liked that he knew she’d rather be in the garage, and the fact that she didn’t have to pretend that it wasn’t true. She realized he was the only person she cared to see.

And he was attached to her sister.

Even as Olivia graciously danced with other gentlemen, Mr. Lawrence was never far. He watched politely as her sister suffered a dance with Mr. Greenfield and then spoke with a young lawyer Helen didn’t recognize, an upstart, if the rumors were to be believed. Olivia danced with the lawyer as well, her expressions dynamic, moving from animated to solemn over the course of the song. They stayed in each other’s arms after the band had switched tunes, until her mother interrupted them.

And once again, Jacob Lawrence was at Olivia’s side. He played the part of doting suitor perfectly. The whole thing made her sick to her stomach. She knew without a doubt that the awful yet wonderful unnamed feelings she experienced around him were real. The way he watched Olivia, danced with her, was so perfect. How could she compete? Annoyed, Helen angled for an escape. She was content to leave the party, preferably unnoticed. Frustrated, she said to her minder, “I have to powder my nose. May I be excused?”