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.
