“Yes. He wanted to be home for Christmas.”
“Have you heard from Reggie?”
I sighed, thinking about the husband I had not seen in almost five months. “I did not receive his weekly letter, though the post might be slow because of the war.” Reggie’s letters had come every Monday since we were separated in London. Until now.
“Any news on the war?”
“Daily, but all anyone is talking about now is the raid. Everyone is angry that the Germans were successful. There is an investigation into how the Royal Navy missed the advance notice. The number of deaths is now one hundred and thirty.”
“I’m very sorry you’ve had to endure such a thing.” Mamatook my hand in hers. “But God has placed you there for His purposes, and you have done a fine job.”
Torches lit the drive up the Palace Green. My heart raced at the knowledge that I would soon be in Henry’s company again. It had been much too long.
We entered the palace and were announced by the footmen, who were dressed in pale blue livery. Governor Dunmore and Lady Dunmore were near the door, greeting their guests. Their eldest daughter, Lady Catherine, was with them.
Her presence surprised me. She was not quite fifteen. Had they chosen to present her to society so soon?
“Good evening, Mistress Conant,” Governor Dunmore said to Mama as she curtsied before him.
“It’s a pleasure to be here, Governor Dunmore,” Mama replied. “Thank you for the invitation, and congratulations on your recent victory at Point Pleasant. Your treaty with Chief Cornstalk will ensure peace among the settlers and the Shawnee for years to come.”
Governor Dunmore’s chest puffed out at Mama’s compliment. Over the summer and fall months, the governor had been leading an effort to secure lands in the west for Virginia and had recently negotiated a treaty with a Shawnee chief to protect the settlers in that area.
“And this is your daughter Libby?” he asked.
I curtsied before him and noticed the deep cleft in his chin. It was the most prominent feature on his otherwise plain face. “Good evening.”
“I’ve heard much about you in recent months,” Governor Dunmore said as he studied me. His wife turned from the people she had been speaking to, and the governor introduced us to her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Lady Dunmore said.
“The pleasure is ours,” Mama responded, curtsying.
What had the governor heard about me? And who wasspeaking to him? I longed to ask him, but he turned to the next guests who entered.
“Do you think Lieutenant Addison is talking to him about me?” I whispered as Mama and I moved deeper into the palace.
“What could he have said? You’ve done little else but work.”
“But it’s the work we’ve been doing that he might be sharing.”
We walked through the entry hall and into a smaller hall that led to the ballroom. The orchestra was playing a lively tune, though no one was dancing yet. They would wait until the governor and Lady Dunmore opened the ball with the minuet. Instead, people milled about the long, narrow ballroom, visiting, laughing, and indulging in festive drinks.
Mama joined a conversation with a group of women, but I did not engage beyond a simple greeting. I scanned the room and almost immediately met Henry’s clear, blue-eyed gaze. He smiled, and the months melted away. He was standing with several of the local burgesses, including Mister Peyton Randolph, who had been the president of the recent Continental Congress. While the men around him talked, Henry did not remove his gaze from me, and I could not hide the grin that lit my face.
I had missed him so.
He broke away from the burgesses and walked across the ballroom toward me. I held my breath at his approach, wishing we were alone in the sitting room or at the end of the torch-lit lane. Then we could be open with each other, not worrying about what others heard us say. And there were so many things I wanted to say to him.
It was strange how much had happened in my life while we were parted—both here and in 1914. I felt different after living on the coastal moors these past five months. Yet how could I ever convey that to him?
His smile was for me alone as he wove between the other guests. He looked as if he had much to tell me, too—but thenGovernor Dunmore arrived in the ballroom with his wife and daughter.
Henry was stopped by the governor, who said something I could not hear. There was a short pause as Henry turned to Lady Catherine, spoke to her, and then offered his arm.
The orchestra changed its tune, and the master of ceremony announced the opening minuet. Henry offered me an apologetic glance no one else would have noticed before leading Lady Catherine to the middle of the ballroom.
My disappointment was acute. I felt pushed aside, though not of Henry’s choosing. I watched as he and Lady Catherine stood next to her parents, who would dance at the top of the minuet as the couple with the highest social standing. They were joined by several others in descending order of importance.
