I saw the interest in Kate’s gaze. “Welcome to our home, Mr. Cooper. We hope you’ll make yourself comfortable.”
Mr. Cooper offered her one of his charming smiles. “Thank you. I hope I’ll have a chance to dance with you this evening.”
“Of course,” she said. “I look forward to it.”
Mr. Chase addressed Mr. Cooper. “How have you found Washington?”
Mr. Cooper glanced at me. “I have found it to be surprising.”
“How mysterious,” Kate said with a silvery laugh. “You must sit beside me at supper tonight, Mr. Cooper. I shall have so much fun talking with you.”
Another couple entered the foyer behind us, forcing Papa, Mr. Cooper, and me to move into the large front parlor, where the dancing was already in progress. The furniture had been removed from the room, allowing ample space for the twirling couples.
There were at least three dozen people here, and I knew many of them. Two who immediately caught my eye were Mrs. Rose Greenhow and Senator Henry Wilson of Massachusetts. Rose was a widow from Maryland who had become a socialite in the city, moving between northerners and southerners alike. She lived on Lafayette Square, not far from our home. She was a notorious flirt, and she was standing awfully close to Senator Wilson even now, though the senator was married.
Papa excused himself and went to Mrs. Greenhow’s side to greet her.
Leaving Mr. Cooper and me alone.
“You didn’t need to throw yourself at me, Miss Wakefield,” Mr. Cooper said for my ears alone. “I would have happily asked you to dance with me, if you had given me a few more minutes.”
“You’re insufferable,” I said, allowing myself to smile at his teasing. “And for that, I will insist you dance with me now.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He offered me his hand, and I took it, trying not to notice the awareness that always seemed to hum between us.
The orchestra began a new waltz, “Tales of the Ball” by Johann Strauss. It was a lively song, full of energy, teasing the listener and drawing them into the tune.
We faced each other, and my full skirts pressed against his legs. He looked down at me, his brown eyes taking in my gown, my hair, my face. And for the first time, his gaze wasn’t teasing.
My breath stilled. I loved the way he looked at me. There were several other women in the room who might have caught his eye, but I had his full attention. It was a powerful feeling.
We began to dance, spinning around the room in time to the music. He was a magnificent dancer. Strong, confident, and sure of himself. He didn’t speak as he studied me, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen me at the Capitol. Apprehension stirred in my chest—until I realized that I had also seen him. If he admitted that he’d seen me, then he’d be admitting that he was also there.
A slow smile tilted his lips. I matched it with one of my own.
“How goes your work with Clara Barton?” he asked, his voice low, questioning and challenging. Was he trying to get me to admit I had been at the Capitol with her?
“Are you a friend of Miss Barton?” I asked, playing his game.
“We are acquainted. She’s been to the War Department, petitioning for help.”
“Why do you assume I work with her?”
He was quiet for a moment, and I could see he was weighing his words. “You were at the train station helping the men from the Baltimore riot. Since she was there that day, doing the same, I assumed you were working together. Perhaps it’s not a fair assumption?”
“I am acquainted with Miss Barton,” I told him. “And I hopeto do all I can to help her cause. What about you? Is the War Department sending you all over Washington?”
I wanted him to know that I saw him at the Capitol—and that I was watching his movements. If he was a Southern sympathizer, I would find out.
“I do see a great deal of Washington,” he said with a lazy smile. “For instance, I was at the White House today, and then I went to the Capitol, checking on the status of the soldiers bivouacked there.”
He was admitting he was there, but was it as simple as that? Was he just doing his job?
“I was not aware that Mr. Cameron’s aide was in charge of checking on the status of common soldiers. One would think you had more important matters to attend to.”
“And one would think the daughter of a senator would be planning and hosting lavish parties instead of tending to the wounds of a young soldier. I’m surprised your father would allow you to be at the Capitol with all those men. Unless he doesn’t know ... Maggie Hollingsworth.”
My pulse thumped. How did he know my name from 1941? “Where did you hear that name?”
