vulnerability, rather amusement—as if she found the scene secretly amusing. Stephen set his jaw. She was laughing at him.
Louisa cleared her throat and giggled nervously, before she reached out and took Belle's hand in her own. "It's time we go in for dinner. Adam, why don't you escort Belle to the dining room? I've placed her between you and Stephen."
***************************************************************************************
They were seated at ten round tables of eight instead of one long table as Belle had expected. And true enough, Belle found herself seated between her neighbors, with the remaining seats taken up by an older
Blue Waltz 89
woman, the widow Roberta Hathaway; a Reverend and Mrs. Paul Fielding; and a Mr. and Mrs. William Smythe.
"So tell me, Mrs. Braxton . . ." Adam began.
"Call me Belle, please."
"Well then, Belle, tell me how you're finding Boston?"
Everyone at the table turned to her, clearly waiting for her response. Seven sets of eyes, staring. Sounds faded until all was quiet in her head, the scene looking more like a frozen daguerreotype than real life.
"Belle?"
She turned to Adam with a start. "Fine. I like it fine enough. Though it isn't at all what I expected."
"So very different from Wrenville?" Josephine Fielding asked.
Belle stiffened and tilted her head. "No secrets here, I see."
Everyone sat still. Adam looked on with a smile. Stephen simply looked on. No one said anything until the Widow Hathaway leaned forward on the other side of Stephen and peered at Belle. "Not a secret to be had, my dear. Not a one. People all living close together, everyone knowing everyone else's business. It's tiresome I tell you," she said, banging the table with her hand, making the silverware jump. "But such is life."
Belle liked her instantly. "And probably not so very different from Wrenville in that respect." She looked at Mrs. Fielding. "You simply surprised me. I haven't told a soul where I came from. To find that everyone knows anyway is disconcerting."
Josephine shifted in her seat and seemed to search through her mind trying to find something appropriate to say.
90Linda Francis Lee
Belle didn't wait; she turned to Stephen. "So tell me, Mr. St. James, what happened to all your parties?"
Stephen rested casually against the chair back, the stark black sling holding his arm tight against his chest. "What parties?"
"You're teasing." She gave him a reprimanding look.
"No, I'm—"
"Stephen," Adam interjected, his voice low and embarrassed, "the parties," he said with emphasis.
It took a moment, but eventually Stephen understood. "Oh yes, the parties, Adam's parties. I was out of town. And I assure you there will be no more such affairs in the future."
Belle laughed at this and glanced at Adam. "I should have known. I was having a difficult time reconciling your perfectly respectable brother with raucous parties."
"You know him?" Adam demanded. "I thought you just met."
The question surprised her. Her eyes met Stephen's. Yes, they had met. More than met. This dark, dangerous pirate-man had saved her from the cold.
After a moment, she looked away and forced a laugh just as several pigeon-breasted footmen placed steaming bowls of soup before them.
"This looks delicious," Belle answered instead.
"You've met?" Adam persisted, ignoring the soup.
Stephen still stared at Belle as if he too waited for her response.
"Briefly," she murmured, just before she sipped the soup. "What is this? It's delicious."
Everyone looked down at their bowls at the same time. "Well, I believe it is some sort of consomme," Mrs. Smythe offered hesitantly.
Blue Waltz91
Mrs. Fielding took a sip. "Brunoise. Consomme Bru-noise, I think."
"How do you know that?" Belle asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Mrs. Fielding sat back. "Well, I don't know, really. I guess it's the turnip and chervil that distinguishes it from other consommes."
"I wish I could cook like this," Belle said.
Josephine's eyes
Louisa cleared her throat and giggled nervously, before she reached out and took Belle's hand in her own. "It's time we go in for dinner. Adam, why don't you escort Belle to the dining room? I've placed her between you and Stephen."
***************************************************************************************
They were seated at ten round tables of eight instead of one long table as Belle had expected. And true enough, Belle found herself seated between her neighbors, with the remaining seats taken up by an older
Blue Waltz 89
woman, the widow Roberta Hathaway; a Reverend and Mrs. Paul Fielding; and a Mr. and Mrs. William Smythe.
"So tell me, Mrs. Braxton . . ." Adam began.
"Call me Belle, please."
"Well then, Belle, tell me how you're finding Boston?"
Everyone at the table turned to her, clearly waiting for her response. Seven sets of eyes, staring. Sounds faded until all was quiet in her head, the scene looking more like a frozen daguerreotype than real life.
"Belle?"
She turned to Adam with a start. "Fine. I like it fine enough. Though it isn't at all what I expected."
"So very different from Wrenville?" Josephine Fielding asked.
Belle stiffened and tilted her head. "No secrets here, I see."
Everyone sat still. Adam looked on with a smile. Stephen simply looked on. No one said anything until the Widow Hathaway leaned forward on the other side of Stephen and peered at Belle. "Not a secret to be had, my dear. Not a one. People all living close together, everyone knowing everyone else's business. It's tiresome I tell you," she said, banging the table with her hand, making the silverware jump. "But such is life."
Belle liked her instantly. "And probably not so very different from Wrenville in that respect." She looked at Mrs. Fielding. "You simply surprised me. I haven't told a soul where I came from. To find that everyone knows anyway is disconcerting."
Josephine shifted in her seat and seemed to search through her mind trying to find something appropriate to say.
90Linda Francis Lee
Belle didn't wait; she turned to Stephen. "So tell me, Mr. St. James, what happened to all your parties?"
Stephen rested casually against the chair back, the stark black sling holding his arm tight against his chest. "What parties?"
"You're teasing." She gave him a reprimanding look.
"No, I'm—"
"Stephen," Adam interjected, his voice low and embarrassed, "the parties," he said with emphasis.
It took a moment, but eventually Stephen understood. "Oh yes, the parties, Adam's parties. I was out of town. And I assure you there will be no more such affairs in the future."
Belle laughed at this and glanced at Adam. "I should have known. I was having a difficult time reconciling your perfectly respectable brother with raucous parties."
"You know him?" Adam demanded. "I thought you just met."
The question surprised her. Her eyes met Stephen's. Yes, they had met. More than met. This dark, dangerous pirate-man had saved her from the cold.
After a moment, she looked away and forced a laugh just as several pigeon-breasted footmen placed steaming bowls of soup before them.
"This looks delicious," Belle answered instead.
"You've met?" Adam persisted, ignoring the soup.
Stephen still stared at Belle as if he too waited for her response.
"Briefly," she murmured, just before she sipped the soup. "What is this? It's delicious."
Everyone looked down at their bowls at the same time. "Well, I believe it is some sort of consomme," Mrs. Smythe offered hesitantly.
Blue Waltz91
Mrs. Fielding took a sip. "Brunoise. Consomme Bru-noise, I think."
"How do you know that?" Belle asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Mrs. Fielding sat back. "Well, I don't know, really. I guess it's the turnip and chervil that distinguishes it from other consommes."
"I wish I could cook like this," Belle said.
Josephine's eyes
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