Page 32 of More Than This (The Davenports #2)

Chapter 32

Helen

Finally, thought Helen, the night has finally come.

Now I can get it over with .

And yet her eyes searched the ballroom, looking for one particular face. There was that free space on her dance card, where Amy-Rose had written her cover name, the short reprieve her friend promised should she need it.

He spoke to my parents! Jacob Lawrence had arrived, and declared his intentions to Mr.and Mrs.Davenport. A conversation that was almost as brief as their first dance together. Yes, she’d danced with Mr.Lawrence when he’d first arrived. But it hardly counted as a dance, now did it? It was a fast-paced number that required them to change partners—she’d danced with practically the entire room by the time it was done. Propriety demanded she keep to her card, true to the gentlemen—her guests—who had signed their name to secure her time.

Then there was Ransom Swift, who offered his arm and some stimulating conversation. It was her birthday, and if she couldn’t be in the garage tinkering, or the library reading, she could at least have a few moments alone in this sea of people to discuss horseless carriages with one of the few people who understood her.

Mr.Swift required no pleasantries and had no qualms discussing their work under crystal chandeliers while sweeping them across a parquet floor. “I really think with a few minor adjustments, it’ll be ready for consumers.”

“What’s wrong with my design?” she demanded.

Swift laughed. “I’m just teasing you.” He gave her the full-wattage of his smile. “Are you all business, all the time, Miss Helen? Because this is your party.” Before she could argue, Swift lifted her off her feet, holding her tight against him as he spun her briefly around. Her skirt fluttered around them and she giggled. Giggled! Sometimes she wondered if he was contrary just to provoke her.

When the song ended, some of the elation Helen felt dissipated. She and Swift broke apart, breathing fast. His eyes were bright and alert. The hint of his contagious smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Your handsome gentleman is waiting for his second dance.”

Jacob Lawrence was indeed waiting. She spotted him now, standing in front of the glittering windows to the back garden. What would Mrs.Milford say? “I shouldn’t. My card is full.”

“Your dance card? Toss it.” When the next song began, Swift walked her to where Mr.Lawrence stood and promptly dumped her at the other gentleman’s feet, slipping away with a grin on his face. Helen stumbled to a halt, and Jacob’s hands caught hers.

“I shouldn’t dance with you again,” she blurted.

Jacob Lawrence laughed. “And why is that?”

“There are rules.”

“Where are these rules written?”

Helen looked up at him. “It’s in the manual of politeness.”

Mr.Lawrence tilted his head. “I doubt that’s a manual you’ve read, though I know your fondness for them.”

Helen’s mouth puckered as she realized the game they had fallen into. “I can get the book from Mrs.Milford. She knows the exact page.”

“That won’t be necessary. I think,” he said, holding out his hand, “that if we perform this forbidden waltz, she will tell us.”

Helen laughed. There was every chance Mrs.Milford would find a quiet moment to remind her of her faux pas. “Very well.” She let him lead her to the center of the dance floor where the other couples parted for her, the birthday girl, the debutante. She walked into his embrace, aware of the many eyes on them. Unlike most of her other partners, with whom she found herself counting the steps, she floated across the floor in Jacob Lawrence’s arms. The steady pressure of his hand on her back arched her into the hard plane of his body. This is definitely not in the etiquette books. As if reading her mind, he relaxed. A chill skittered over her skin at the loss of the direct contact. She hid her disappointment by taking in the festivities around them.

Nearby, John and Amy-Rose continued to sway in each other’s arms, well within sight of her parents, who had now joined them on the dance floor. The Tremaines and the Bartons, Learys and Greenfields, Andrewses and Carters. It began to sink in that anyone who was anyone in Chicago high society was in attendance. And yet, the person she most wanted to celebrate with had found his way back to her.

“The business will come first,” she said.

“I have no doubt.”

“And we talk about the important things.”

“And the uncomfortable ones,” he added.

Helen nodded. “Good. This will be a long courtship.”

Jacob Lawrence dropped his head so his temple met hers. “It will be worth the wait.”