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She frowned as if she hadn’t heard him. “Poor man. But now I am here, and we all are having such a marvelous time despite the Patriots causing trouble.” She grinned, glass in hand, and glanced down the table. “Captain Higley, you are most quiet.”
Higley halted with a bite halfway to his mouth. “Madam?”
Her attention pinned to Hannah. “’Tis a shame you are being courted, my dear, because I must say, our Higley is quite a catch.”
Higley chuckled politely, dotting a cloth to his mouth. He offered Hannah a comforting look before turning to the woman who seemed intent on knowing the details of everyone’s romantic entanglements—in fact, creating some.
“You flatter me, Mrs. Pitman. I assure you, I am well pleased with my work in His Majesty’s Army. I haven’t time for female companionship at present.”
“Nonsense. Every man has time for that.” She turned again to Hannah. “If you were not already spoken for, I would insist that Higley accompany you to the ball we are having this Saturday.”
Ball? She offered Dottie a slight smile and forced a bite into her mouth, despite the way her stomach churned. How had their conversation taken such a frightful turn?
The woman kept on. “Mrs. Bates has offered me her home for hosting, as I cannot be thought to host at the inn of all places—and I must say her home rivals any I have seen in the colonies. They’ve a ballroom near as large as the one at Blenheim.”
Pitman eyed her suspiciously, and she scoffed. “Well, perhaps not quite that large, but wait until you see it.” She looked again to Hannah, undeterred. “I must insist you come, my dear.”
“Oh…well…” Hannah’s chair became increasingly uncomfortable, and she squirmed, though from the reactions of her several companions, everyone seemed to be suffering the same malady—shifting in their seats, reaching for glasses, filling their mouths with food.
Dottie seemed the only one who could talk. “’Tis settled.” Tilting her head forward, as if to be sure Higley would look at her, she grinned, showing all her teeth. “And I must insist that as Higley will be most available, you—”
“If she attends with anyone, she shall attend with me.”
Stockton’s full voice froze everyone at the table. Hannah’s insides spun into a nauseous storm, stealing the last thread of comfort that clung on the cliff of her emotions. She turned to Joseph, who offered her a pointed sideways look.
Facing her, Stockton tossed her a smile with a kind of sickening rescue to it, as if she’d hoped he would speak out all along. “Miss Young, if you are inclined, I would be honored if you would accompany me as my guest.” He darted a hard stare to Higley, who nodded submissively in response.
Hannah’s palms moistened, and her neck and ears scalded as she struggled for an answer.
Dottie swallowed the rest of her drink, shaking her head, blessedly speaking before Hannah. “But she cannot accept, Ezra. Another man is courting—”
“He is at sea and not expected home for some time.”
He paused, his eyes on her, but she could not look at him. Instead she rearranged the food on her plate as he continued.
“I would not expect him to believe Hannah would refrain from enjoying herself in his absence. What say you, Miss Young?”
A quick glance to Joseph assured Hannah of what she feared. Jaw set, mouth firm, she could see his masked glare, almost daring her to accept. He must know she hadn’t any other choice.
“’Twould be an honor, sir.” The weak thread that came out sounded nothing like her usual voice. She cleared her throat. “I shall look forward to it.”
“Marvelous!” Dottie sat back and clasped her hands. “I can hardly wait. Have you a gown?”
This time, her voice wouldn’t work at all. She could only nod, her voice no doubt mute from the secretive look Joseph hurled from across the table.
“I…uh…” Even another polite cough couldn’t produce any response.
As if a blessing from Providence himself, Stockton took charge of the conversation.
He leaned back in his chair, his arm outstretched. “We are fortunate indeed, Aldor, to have both Mr. Young and his cousin here. As he is offering his efforts for the cause, so is Miss Young.”
He looked to her, and suddenly the blood drained from her head.
“She has graciously consented to be my scribe.”
The slow, downward tick of Joseph’s brow, the nary imperceptible tightening of his lips clenched around her throat. Her shoulders went taut. Blessed heaven. How could she have forgotten to tell him that as well?
“Is that so?” ’Twas Mr. Pitman who now spoke, his timbre taut with suspicion. “Have you done such work before, Miss Young?”
