Chapter Five
Joy smoothed down the front of her dress and took a deep breath before stepping into the parlor where her guests were mingling. They were doing a sale of donated artwork for the orphanage, and all of the city’s elite were there. She spent most days working for a charity, and many of her nights were filled with trying to raise money for different charities. It was certainly different than her life in Beckham, where she’d spent all her time in the fields.
“Ah, Mrs. Worthington!” a voice called from across the room. “You look positively…quaint this evening.”
“Quaint” was not quite the compliment she had hoped for, but Joy beamed regardless, turning to face Jennifer Collins. The other woman wore a gown that shimmered with every step she took, and her nose always seemed to be tilted upward.
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” Joy replied. “I do believe ‘quaint’ suits me just fine.”
“Indeed,” Jennifer said. “But tell me, darling, have you managed to master the art of the waltz since our last gathering? Or will you be sending all the other dancers running for the hills again?”
Joy’s jaw dropped a bit in shock that someone would be so outrightly rude to her, and she noticed then that many others were listening intently as they waited for her response.
“Mrs. Collins, you are too much,” chuckled a gentleman nearby.
“Simply observant, Mr. Harcourt,” Jennifer replied. “We all have our charms, but some, it seems, are more suited for runs through the parks than ballrooms.”
Joy felt her cheeks flush. She excused herself, weaving through the throng of guests, toward the quiet sanctuary of the balcony.
“Suitable for runs through the park indeed,” she muttered under her breath. “I wonder how she’d react if I challenged her to a foot race.” The mere thought of the older woman doing anything that even resembled running made her feel a bit better. She would certainly look a great deal more awkward than Joy did when she was trying to dance.
Her thoughts drifted to Thomas, who would no doubt chuckle at the absurdity of it all and whisk her away for a midnight stroll.
“Suitable for running,” she repeated, allowing herself a small, triumphant smile. “Perhaps I’ll have them all over for a scavenger hunt and a picnic in the back garden. I’m certain none of them have done anything so physical.”
Thomas Worthington did everything he could to stay calm as he approached Jennifer Collins. Thomas’s focus was sharp, his intent clear.
“Jennifer,” Thomas began. “Might I have a word?”
Jennifer turned, her expression one of practiced ease, a delicate eyebrow arching in curiosity. “Of course, Thomas. What is it?”
“It’s about my wife, Joy,” Thomas replied. “It has come to my attention that some of your comments were less than favorable.” He did his best to control his anger. This woman had no right to insult his Joy.
“Thomas,” Jennifer sighed, “I’m simply concerned for our social circle.”
“Concern is one thing,” Thomas retorted. “But disparaging my wife’s character? That’s quite another.”
“Disparaging?” Jennifer feigned shock, her fan fluttering like a startled bird. “Never! I merely commented on her…unique approach to dancing. If it can be called dancing that is.”
“Unique,” Thomas echoed. “Joy has many qualities that are more important than dancing. She brings life, laughter, and charm to every room she enters.”
“Charm, you say?” Jennifer asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “She may not know which spoon is which, but she knows how to bring happiness into the lives of everyone she meets. And that is worth more than all the silverware in Boston.”
A short while later, tucked away in the quiet corner of the Worthingtons’ library, Joy poured out her heart to Thomas in hushed tones.
“Thomas,” she whispered. “I overheard what Jennifer said. Am I really such a misfit? I’ve been trying so hard to fit in.”
“Joy,” Thomas said. “You are like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy drawing room. To me, you are perfect just the way you are.”
“Perfect?” Joy chuckled. “I can’t even manage a proper waltz without tripping over my feet.”
“Then we shall simply avoid waltzes,” Thomas said. “We’ll invent our own dance. We’ll bring square dances to the Boston elite! Much safer, I assure you.”
“Is that so?” Joy’s lips curled into a smile. The idea was absurd. “And what would high society say to that?”
“Let them say what they will!” Thomas proclaimed, pulling Joy into a gentle embrace. “We’ll be too busy enjoying our picnics and midnight strolls to hear them.”
