Chapter 5 #2
“In that case, would you be my guest at my aunt’s party?”
Caroline blinked and rested her hand on a fence picket to steady herself. She’d expected another parlor visit, or perhaps a carriage ride, not a party invitation.
“You and a chaperone of your choice, of course,” he added, looking at her expectantly, the hope in his eyes dimming by the second. “If you’d rather–”
“I accept.”
Walsh’s face broke into a smile. “Very well. I’ll come to collect you and your chaperone at seven, if that’s agreeable.”
“It is.”
“Good night, Miss Bennet.”
“Good night.”
Caroline fastened on her cloak at the sound of a carriage coming up the drive then helped her friend on with hers.
“Thank you again for acting as my chaperone.” At twenty-four, Malvinia Teague was only four years her senior and single, but she was a shy lady who didn’t have a cunning bone in her body.
Her inability to lie convincingly had earned her the confidence of nervous parents everywhere.
“I’m happy to,” Malvinia replied in a tone that barely met the definition of the word. “My evening would otherwise have been spent mending by the fire.” An activity Malvinia often preferred over social events.
Caroline hid a smile. “If nothing else, it’ll give you something to talk about for at least a month. Mrs. Abernathy throws interesting parties.” She always managed to include some odd diversion.
“Oh, yes. I heard she had a trained monkey perform at one.”
“She did. And at another, a man who—for over an hour—whistled works by the great composers.” Caroline shook her head. Hopefully, with it being so close to Christmas, their hostess would settle for something more common, like a singer or a magician.
A knock echoed through the foyer as Caroline finished pulling on her gloves. “That must be Mr. Duffy.”
“I’ve yet to meet him, but I’ve wanted to,” Malvinia said in a near-whisper, “if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Of course, not.” Caroline opened the door to Walsh, all buttoned up in a long wool coat and smiling. “Good evening, Mr. Duffy.”
Walsh tipped his hat with black, gloved fingers—kid, by the look of it. “Good evening, Miss Bennet.” He backed up as the women stepped out onto the porch.
“Mr. Duffy,” Caroline said, “may I make known to you my friend, Malvinia Teague. Miss Teague, this is Mr. Walsh Duffy.”
He inclined his head to her. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Teague.”
Malvinia blushed and looked up at him without lifting her face. “I’m pleased to meet you, too.”
“I assumed one of Miss Bennet’s brothers would accompany her tonight,” he went on in a congenial tone. “Her choice is an unexpected delight.”
The color in Malvinia’s cheeks rose to match the red tip of her nose.
Walsh held his hat on his head and ducked his chin deeper into the collar of his overcoat when a cold gust of wind blew. “Shall we go?”
The ladies wrapped themselves tightly in their cloaks and followed him to the waiting carriage.
He handed them up to the rear bench, which provided some cover, then climbed onto the driver’s seat and took up the reins.
Frigid air chilled every sliver of exposed skin once he set the conveyance in motion, and clouds of white puffed from horses’ noses as they trotted down the road.
A quarter hour later, he guided them up the drive, toward his aunt’s house. The carriage’s lantern paled amid the many exterior gas lamps and light spilling from the windows.
After handing the reins off to a groom, Walsh helped them down and escorted them up the steps.
Warmth poured out of the foyer when he opened the door, along with sounds of music and conversation. The heat was so welcome Caroline hurried inside, all but dragging Malvinia with her. A silent prayer of thanks went up when Walsh sealed them in.
“Your dress is quite striking,” he said to Caroline as they removed their coats. “Is this the Christmas dress you spoke of?”
“It is,” she replied, smoothing her free hand, gloved in white silk, over ripples of deep red velvet that had been painstakingly adorned with golden thread. Walsh’s attire was notable, too—a three-piece ensemble made from upscale fabrics. “Did you commission your suit from Greenvale’s tailor?”
“The very one.” He looked down and splayed a gloved hand over the sapphire silk damask waistcoat peeking from beneath his jacket of fine black wool. “Hiring someone new was a bit unnerving, but I must say I’m impressed with his work.”
“You should be. Your suit is very flattering.” It truly was. The creation gave a nod to the current roomy trend without appearing baggy.
Walsh turned to Malvinia, who had chosen a copper silk dress she already owned and embellished it with black beads for the event. “Yours is lovely, as well.”
“Thank you, but–”
“I agree!” Caroline cut in before her friend could expose her outfit as one resurrected from a previous season. “It complements her hair. Don’t you think?”
“It most certainly does,” Walsh replied as Malvinia blushed and touched a black silk glove to her glossy ebony ringlets.
Mrs. Abernathy bustled up to them as they entered the parlor, bedecked in a showy gown of peacock blue and purple brocade. “Walsh, I thought that was you I heard. Come join the party. You, too, Miss Bennet. And Miss Teague, what an unexpected surprise. Welcome!”
Caroline noted a few raised brows as she walked deeper into the congested room with her companions.
“Would you look at that,” a woman remarked from behind her, in a volume approaching a stage whisper and a tone of unmistakable disdain. “I don’t know why she bothered with a chaperone.”
The voice sounded like that of Wyetta Hughes, the alderman’s daughter.
Malvinia slanted a sympathetic look in Caroline’s direction, but Walsh stiffened and drew a breath so sharp it was audible. He leaned down near her ear. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Please, don’t,” Caroline whispered back.
“But–”
“Please,” she entreated. Calling attention to the slight would only make more people aware of the insult. Their hushed conversation was already causing a scene of its own.
Walsh visibly relented, but he didn’t look happy.
He aimed a pointed stare at the busybody, then regained his pleasant demeanor and proceeded to mingle.
“If I have anything to say about it,” he murmured through his smile before they got within earshot of anyone, “that woman won’t be invited to my aunt’s home again. Certainly, never to mine.”
Caroline greeted the partygoers who didn’t snub her, which numbered in the majority, and introduced Walsh to those he hadn’t met.
He glanced around during a break in conversation. “Where is Miss Teague?”
“She likely went to find a quiet spot. She doesn’t enjoy crowds.”
“Really?”
“That’s the simple answer, yes. It isn’t so much that she doesn’t like them, as she has a limited capacity for the pressures of etiquette and the noise. Despite the novelty of outings such as these, the lot of it overwhelms her after a time.”
“Oh.”
“But it’s all right. Thanks to that same crowd, for the nonce, her services aren’t needed.”
“Yes, of course. My concern is not for us, but for her. Perhaps the three of us should escape to the library.”
“Miss Teague would treasure that kindness.”
“What about you?”
“I would–”
“Attention, everyone,” Mrs. Abernathy called over the din. “Come,” she said, waving and gesturing at a small round table in the center of the room.
Caroline shrugged and did as she was bid. Walsh followed.
“Who would like to try his hand at Snapdragon,” Mrs. Abernathy asked.
“Oh, my,” Caroline said, hiding a laugh behind her hand.
Walsh frowned and leaned in a bit. “What is Snapdragon?”
“You’ve never played?”
He shook his head.
“The object is to snatch brandy-soaked raisins out of a flaming bowl without getting burned.”
His brows shot past the top of his wire rims. “What does one do with them if one is successful?”
“Eat them.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not.” Caroline playfully bumped him with her elbow. “Stay and watch, at least. This game gets competitive.”
“And potentially ghastly, from the sound of it,” Walsh groused.
“Rarely,” she said with a giggle.
The door from the kitchen opened. Entering the room backside first, Mrs. Abernathy’s cook carried a large shallow bowl, its little brown lumps dancing back and forth with the shifting of the amber liquid, and made her way through the parting crush of bodies.
“Best take a step back,” she warned those closest to the table then set the bowl in the center of the cloth and took up a nearby candle.
Caroline had to rise up on her toes to see past the person in front of her, unlike Walsh, who’d have a clear line of sight no matter where he stood.
The cook held the candle closer and closer to the surface of the brandy until fire shot across it, lapping the air with tongues of deep blue flame.
She took up a pinch of salt from a salt cellar, closed her eyes as if in prayer, then tossed the salt onto the flames, causing a momentary flash of gold.
“May God be with ya,” she said and burrowed her way back through the oohing throng of people.
The first circle of guests closed in and poised themselves to begin plucking raisins from the bowl. “Your lace!” someone shouted just in time to warn a lady to hold back her cuff.
“Oh, dear,” Walsh murmured. “I’m not entirely sure I want to see this.”
Caroline hid a laugh behind her hand.
Some guests reached and hesitated, working up their courage to breach the flames, while the eager ones plucked raisin after raisin and popped them into their mouths.
“Doesn’t it hurt their tongues?” Walsh asked. “They’re not even waiting for the raisins to cool.”
“Brandy doesn’t burn very hot. So long as the flames are blue, the risk of injury is minimal.”
“Unless their garment catches fire.”
“True. But that’s what makes it such a challenge.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Call me a stick in the mud, but I refuse to jeopardize a new suit, much less my aunt’s home.”