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“Yes, this is Miss Abbott, the one my family told you about. Miss Abbott, this is Mr. William Blackwell, from London.” Greta sounded irritated, I loosened my hold on her. What had the McCloudes said about me, I wondered?
“If you ladies will excuse me, I find myself quite parched.” Mr. Blackwell still held my gaze as he bowed again, swirling his half empty glass. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat and turned around to walk away that I could think straight once more. My teeth sunk into my lower lip, still unsteady from the experience.
Greta pinched my arm, growling under her breath.
“Oh! Rosemary! I hate you!” she whispered with vehement. I stared at her, aghast.
“What did I do for you to hate me?”
“I was just getting him to like me and then you saunter up as if we are the best of friends! Ha! Now he will surely never be interested in me. Ugh!”
Amazed, I gaped at her. “Greta, from the way that man was looking at you, I would say he was already disinterested. And from the way he is talking to Mr. Ferris now, I would say he is more interested in business than anything else this evening. Instead of chatting it up with old men, he could be engaging any one of us young ladies.”
“You think you know everything, Rosemary, but you do not, surely. Mr. Blackwell is a prominent businessman in New York, making business connections is something he does at social gatherings. And anyway, he’s promised to dance with me after dinner and I intend for him to do such. No sense in him dancing with me if he is uninterested, hmm?” She seemed as though she believed she was one step ahead of me. I laughed quietly.
“He is not interested, dear.” Emboldened by some insane rush to claim him, I walked toward the two men. Mr. Blackwell peered out of the corner of his eye, and I swore the edge of his mouth twitched a bit. Mr. Ferris noticed my approach and introduced us once more.
“Most lovely young woman in the county, this one is, Mr. Blackwell. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!” he said happily, wrapping his arm around my waist. I laughed him off, taking the arm from around me and putting it by his side while he gulped more of his liquor.
“Mr. Ferris, you are far too kind,” I muttered. The man was too handsy, my skin crawled at the mere proximity.
“Am I? Ask any man here, Mr. Blackwell, and they will tell you that Rosemary Abbott is the one to get. Smart, pretty, and kind she is!” I looked at this stranger as Mr. Ferris spoke and watched a small smile spread on his full lips. “Not to mention her family’s fortune.” He nudged Mr. Blackwell with his elbow.
“Mr. Blackwell,” I started, “I am afraid I do not know of you, which is disappointing, as I do try my best to know everyone here.” His head inclined toward me, eyebrow raised.
“Well, Miss Abbott, I work in the same department as Mr. McCloude in the city, lumber in some cases, cotton in others. I was orphaned young and have been obliged to learn to make it on my own.”
“And making it you are!” laughed Mr. Ferris, slapping Mr. Blackwell on his back.
“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Blackwell,” I softly said, brushing my fingers over his arm. He frowned deeply; a rush of skirts encroached. Katherine Harold, a woman of reputation, scurried beside me.
“Rosemary! Haven’t you taken the attention of enough gentlemen in the greater Boston area? Must you ensnare poor Greta’s escort as well?” she proclaimed loudly. I gasped, blushing, watching the play of emotions on Mr. Blackwell’s face.
“I am not, Katherine, please behave!” I hissed with urgency. She had already been in the wine, though, breathing it onto my face with a cheeky smile.
“Mr. Blackwell, would a fine young man of your import do me so kind a favor as joining me for a dance?” Katherine implored, grasping his forearm, taking the glass filled with amber liquid from his hands and placing it in my own.
He protested immediately. “No, thank you, Miss Harold. I am afraid I will have to decline the invitation of a dance, I have more important business matters to attend to this evening.”
“Business, darling? It’s Thanksgiving! One would imagine—"
The dinner bell rang, pure chaos of excited county members broke apart our conversation.
I quickly followed the flow of hungry guests into the dining room. All the attendees took their seats, each chair so close to the next to barely allow for arm room on either side. Everyone eagerly dove into the food, and I could not stop watching, as many other girls, as Mr. Blackwell ate nothing beyond his brandy and peered at the man who engaged him.
Every now and then, though, our eyes would meet, and I would force a sheepish smile as I’d glance down at my plate to play coy as Mother taught. Though, there was a genuine shyness on my part. I was truly intimidated by his appearance and supposed accomplished income. Being so typically detached from men and society in general, this surprised me.
But, by the end of the evening, we’d only talked once, Mr. Blackwell and I. We’d made eye contact several times, and he did indeed fulfill his promise to dance with Greta. She was, needless to say, heart broken when he refused her another; but honestly, I was, too. Watching him dance was mesmerizing, he was born of the music himself.
Outside with Mother and Father after the hustle and bustle of goodbyes, Samuel pulled the carriage to the front steps. Rain began to pellet us, the smell of the autumn air much needed after the stuffy house. I realized then I had forgotten to say goodbye to Ursula, letting mother know I would return after doing so.
“Of course, dear, “ Mother urged me toward the house.
Taking two at a time, I flew up the steps into the bright hall filled with coated men and women, shuffling through a few couples until I broke the throng. I tripped on the hem of my skirt, falling face first into a wall.
A wall which wrapped around me.
I stayed still a moment, waiting for the embarrassment to subside before I looked up.
