Page 23 of On a Midsummer Night
“It builds character,” her brother mumbled.
“And did the last ten minutes in conversation with our aunt strengthen your character?”
Oliver narrowed his blue eyes at her. “You’re a menace, Beth Dalton. It must be why you’re partnerless for this dance.”
“I’ll have you know that multiple gentlemen asked to dance this set with me,” Beth said, “but I declined so that I may dance with you.”
“Oh, you sweet talker, why didn’t you say so?” Without another word, he swept her into the line of dancers preparing for a quadrille.
They were silent as they drew close and moved apart in the dance steps, and Beth choked back laughs at the exaggerated faces her brother made. When they linked hands again, Oliver cleared his throat.
“Working on projects when you can?” When she nodded, he continued, “Has anyone suspected your extracurricular activities?”
“Lord no,” she exclaimed before pressing her lips together. When no one glanced in their direction, she added in a low tone, “This morning, I spied Aunt Meredith addressing one of my card designs to a friend.”
Oliver chuckled as he paced away. When he returned, he said, “That must have felt good considering how she treats you like Lucy’s governess.”
“Indeed.” She bit her lip. “I did, however, let Lucy know.”
“You did?” Oliver raised his brows in surprise as he spun a nearby lady around, and when he took her hand again, he leaned down to whisper, “What made you decide to share your secret profession with her?”
Beth shrugged, glancing to where their cousin was dancing with a young gentleman. “She longs to assert herself and stand up to Aunt Meredith’s overbearing edicts. She wants to discover who she is, not who her parents want her to be. I disclosed my art to describe my own path . . . of self-discovery.”
“‘Self-discovery’ sounds like a term I’d find in a self-help chapbook.” Oliver smirked as he stepped back. “Or from a charlatan trying to sell me a concoction he brewed in the back of his wooden cart.”
“I read it in the newspaper if you must know.” She squeezed his fingers when they came back together, but her mien turned serious. “As a man, you get to decide what to do with your life. I suppose you may be limited by a lack of fortune or connections, or even good health, but overall, your options are not limited by your sex.” Beth gestured to Lucy with her chin. “But young women are not granted the same privileges. I was blessed that Mother and Father let me not only break an engagement to a respectable man but explore my interests freely, with no concern for finding a husband. Lucy is not so lucky.”
Oliver’s expression darkened. “Silas Newell was a fool and not at all deserving of your hand. I’m glad you realized it before you married him.” He mock-shuddered. “I would have been stuck having to converse with him at Christmastime.”
“Oh, the horror,” Beth said, laughing.
Escorting her to the perimeter of the dance floor at the conclusion, Oliver stared down at her, his eyes abruptly somber.
“I’m very proud of you, Beth. You’ve become an exceptional woman, but I always knew you would.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “So make sure that when you give your heart away, it’s to a person who is worthy of it.”
Her brow crinkled. “Of course, I hope to—”
Beth felt his gaze then from across the room. It was electric and raw, and she glanced over her shoulder without thought. Denying Henry’s pull was impossible. She knew now that the chemistry that sparked and flared between them had been a beacon, always leading them to each other.
He approached wordlessly; his dark, fathomless eyes fixed on her face until he stopped in front of her. “Dalton,” he murmured, glancing briefly at Oliver before returning his gaze to her.
“The crowd parted before you as if you commanded it, didn’t it?” Her brother snorted. “For your sake, I hope Beth is not already engaged for this waltz, or else that was a waste of an entrance.”
Henry pivoted to face her. “Is your waltz spoken for?”
It wasn’t. Willoughby had asked for it when she’d arrived, but Beth had made her excuses. She had not known why she turned him down then, but staring into Henry’s eyes now revealed the answer.
Words fleeing her tongue, Beth shook her head.
“Will you dance with me?”
It was a simple request, but Beth suspected he was asking for more than a dance. She couldn’t be certain—in so many ways, this Henry was still an enigma to her—but something lurked in his dark eyes, and it was enough for her to extend her hand toward him.
* * *
The last time Henry had waltzed with Beth Dalton was the evening he had kissed her for the first time. When he had promised to speak with her mother and brother the next day to ask if he could court her.
And then everything in his world had crashed into pieces around him.
