Page 18 of A Stormy Season

When had she become such a romantic? And why did she think she could read this man’s thoughts?

But she was enjoying this—the dance, the way he was looking at her, the gentle but firm touch of his hand. In the back of her mind, she knew the other guests were probably watching them, jealous and whispering about Jane, the spinster who prided herself on never making her feelings for a man plain, and Luke, the wealthy young widower.

But why should she care? Those people had nothing to do with her happiness. Henry and Penelope would be watching them with completely different feelings. They wanted Jane to be happy, and they probably hoped she and Luke would make a match. Jane did not have to let that affect her feelings either, but she was genuinely captivated by Luke Watley’s eyes, his handsome features, and she would not be ashamed of enjoying dancing with him.

“You look very pretty tonight,” he said, as they drew near, then moved away, obeying the music and the movements of the dance.

“I thank you,” she said, smiling.

Gentlemen often complimented her appearance, so she was surprised at how his words seemed to fill up her lungs until she was floating across the floor.

She never knew she could feel this way. It was a bit overwhelming.

When the dance ended, Mr. Watley offered his arm and walked her to where Penelope and Henry were talking with newly-arrived guests. He leaned down and said quietly, “I wanted to apologize for parting from you so abruptly at your shop earlier today. I have no excuse except that I was being assaulted by a bad memory. I am afraid that happens to me rather frequently these days. Forgive me for my rudeness.”

“There is nothing to forgive. Politeness, especially the extreme rules of politeness, can be a burden sometimes. Truly, there is nothing to forgive.”

He looked surprised, his mouth open, his eyes squinting slightly at her. “I’ve never heard anyone say anything like that before, but you are right. The forced politeness can be a bit of a burden. But I think you would agree that a society without politeness would also be a burden.”

“Of course. Rudeness is bad, but we should all give each other more grace and stop trying to adhere to so many rules that make little sense.”

He looked as if he might actually laugh. Then he shook his head and said, “You are a breath of fresh air, Miss Gilchrist.”

Again her heart felt buoyed by his words. She wanted to return his compliment and say something kind about him, but she found she was almost afraid to speak. Would she say too much, something she would regret later? Besides, at the moment the only thing she could think of was, “You are terribly handsome.” So she held her tongue and simply gazed up at him.

“I believe the second dance is about to start,” he said. “Shall we?”

She placed her hand on his as he formally led her back to the middle of the dance floor.

She had a distinct feeling that she could only compare to how she’d felt her first season, when she was only sixteen and dancing at her first ball—the sudden rush of excitement as the music began to play, knowing that her hair was lovely, that her dress was pretty and fashionable, and that her partner was the handsomest man in the room.

Mr. Watley seemed more relaxed for their second dance, but he was just as attentive. Was he enjoying dancing with her as much as she was enjoying him?

A quite different feeling crept up on her. She always danced with multiple partners at balls. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d danced more than once with the same gentleman, especially two dances in a row. After this dance she must separate herself from Mr. Watley or everyone would say she was just like all the other ladies, in love and vying to be the next Mrs. Watley. And she couldn’t bear that. She wasn’t like those other ladies.

But Luke Watley’s gaze captured hers again until she could think of nothing but how much she enjoyed dancing with him. And about how his shoulders were just broad enough without being too broad. And his jawline was perfectly masculine without being too square. And his clothing was fashionable but without the look of a dandy.

When the dance was over, Jane said, sounding a bit breathless, “I think I shall go find something to drink.”

“Allow me to fetch it. Negus? Lemonade?”

“Lemonade, thank you.”

As she watched him go, her cheeks heated. Was that from the dance? Or her emotions?

Her thoughts were back and forth, even to the point of scolding herself—first for caring what others might say about her, and then for feeling too much for Mr. Watley.

This was not like her at all. She didn’t allow men to addle her like this.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Penelope was smiling as she gently squeezed her arm.

“I am. But I feel as though every woman is looking daggers at me.”

Indeed, when she finally glanced about the room, she saw more than one young lady sending baleful or even angry looks her way.

“You were dancing with a very eligible gentleman. I suppose some ladies will look at you that way. But don’t think of them.”

“Oh, I won’t. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I was only dancing with Luke Watley to avoid dancing with Mr. Showalter.”