softly—very, very softly—started to hum.
She didn't hear the others comment on the painting. She only heard the tune as it spun in her head, around and around, dipping and swaying, tangling with her thoughts.
"One of these days," Stephen began, his tone deep and low, "I'm going to put a name to that song."
His voice startled her. Her heart lurched, but when she glanced at him and their eyes met, it calmed. He had
94 Linda Francis Lee
a look on his face that would have been deep and brooding to most, but Belle saw that his dark eyes flickered, however slightly, with gratitude. He wasn't angry, she realized, relief washing over her much as his tension had earlier. He was grateful and pleased, and she started to reach out to him.
"What song is that, Stephen?" Mr. Fielding wanted to know.
With a blush of color, Belle dropped her hand away.
Looking at Belle rather than the reverend, Stephen said, "Just a song I seem to hear everywhere I go these days."
"Really? Hum a few bars. Maybe I can help."
Everyone waited, all apparently eager to hear the tune. Stephen sensed that at any second Belle was going to flee, panicked, much as she had last night. Without regard for those who were around them, he started to place his hand over hers. But he never got much further than the thought when her distress magically evaporated like a tiny spill of water on a blistering hot day and she clasped her hands together.
"It could be like a game, really," she chimed. "A game where a person hums a tune and everyone else tries to guess the title. We could call it the Humming Game."
Stephen sat nonplussed as did everyone else, until Adam threw back his head and laughed.
"You are priceless, Belle Braxton," he said, taking her hand much as Stephen had wanted to do. "In fact, I think we should play right now. I'll go first."
The Fieldings and the Smythes shifted uncomfortably. But Roberta smiled. "No, dear boy, I'll go first." And indeed she did.
It seemed beyond belief. But there was no denying the fact that woven into the fabric of near silence at their
Blue Waltz95
table and the murmur of conversation at the tables around them, was the deep baritone of the Widow Roberta Hathaway's tune.
At first no one said anything, and Stephen thought for certain that they were going to lock Roberta away any second, with Belle close behind her, maybe even Adam for good measure. But he couldn't have been any more surprised when Josephine—Josephine Fielding, the president of the Women's League—leaned forward in her chair and called, "The Merry Wives of Windsor!"
"Just so!" Roberta exclaimed.
And before long the entire table was involved, with the exception of Stephen, who sat back and watched in amazement. The table became so lively, in fact, that they began to attract attention. But Stephen was hardly aware of the attention, he only watched Belle. He was alternately intrigued and bemused by someone so outrageous.
Belle had guessed Josephine's tune, then promptly launched into a song of her own, unrelated to the tune she had hummed earlier. She actually used her hands to conduct herself with delicate fingers dipping and swaying in the air, eyeing each person at the table with blue eyes sparkling excitedly. Her excitement was contagious, and when the tunes had ceased with the arrival of subsequent courses, and conversation spun off into a million different directions, Stephen watched as if studying a curious phenomenon.
Belle was direct, impulsive, original, and had a droll wit. She said unconventional things which others thought but dared not speak, and amazingly, she said them well. Suddenly, he wondered if that was why people said she was crazy. He wondered, too, if it wasn't perhaps true. But as he sat back in his chair, the meat she had cut for him gone, he found it difficult to remain indifferent. He
96 Linda Francis Lee
felt some nameless something infiltrate his mind. It wasn't the lust or even sorrow he had felt the night before. It
She didn't hear the others comment on the painting. She only heard the tune as it spun in her head, around and around, dipping and swaying, tangling with her thoughts.
"One of these days," Stephen began, his tone deep and low, "I'm going to put a name to that song."
His voice startled her. Her heart lurched, but when she glanced at him and their eyes met, it calmed. He had
94 Linda Francis Lee
a look on his face that would have been deep and brooding to most, but Belle saw that his dark eyes flickered, however slightly, with gratitude. He wasn't angry, she realized, relief washing over her much as his tension had earlier. He was grateful and pleased, and she started to reach out to him.
"What song is that, Stephen?" Mr. Fielding wanted to know.
With a blush of color, Belle dropped her hand away.
Looking at Belle rather than the reverend, Stephen said, "Just a song I seem to hear everywhere I go these days."
"Really? Hum a few bars. Maybe I can help."
Everyone waited, all apparently eager to hear the tune. Stephen sensed that at any second Belle was going to flee, panicked, much as she had last night. Without regard for those who were around them, he started to place his hand over hers. But he never got much further than the thought when her distress magically evaporated like a tiny spill of water on a blistering hot day and she clasped her hands together.
"It could be like a game, really," she chimed. "A game where a person hums a tune and everyone else tries to guess the title. We could call it the Humming Game."
Stephen sat nonplussed as did everyone else, until Adam threw back his head and laughed.
"You are priceless, Belle Braxton," he said, taking her hand much as Stephen had wanted to do. "In fact, I think we should play right now. I'll go first."
The Fieldings and the Smythes shifted uncomfortably. But Roberta smiled. "No, dear boy, I'll go first." And indeed she did.
It seemed beyond belief. But there was no denying the fact that woven into the fabric of near silence at their
Blue Waltz95
table and the murmur of conversation at the tables around them, was the deep baritone of the Widow Roberta Hathaway's tune.
At first no one said anything, and Stephen thought for certain that they were going to lock Roberta away any second, with Belle close behind her, maybe even Adam for good measure. But he couldn't have been any more surprised when Josephine—Josephine Fielding, the president of the Women's League—leaned forward in her chair and called, "The Merry Wives of Windsor!"
"Just so!" Roberta exclaimed.
And before long the entire table was involved, with the exception of Stephen, who sat back and watched in amazement. The table became so lively, in fact, that they began to attract attention. But Stephen was hardly aware of the attention, he only watched Belle. He was alternately intrigued and bemused by someone so outrageous.
Belle had guessed Josephine's tune, then promptly launched into a song of her own, unrelated to the tune she had hummed earlier. She actually used her hands to conduct herself with delicate fingers dipping and swaying in the air, eyeing each person at the table with blue eyes sparkling excitedly. Her excitement was contagious, and when the tunes had ceased with the arrival of subsequent courses, and conversation spun off into a million different directions, Stephen watched as if studying a curious phenomenon.
Belle was direct, impulsive, original, and had a droll wit. She said unconventional things which others thought but dared not speak, and amazingly, she said them well. Suddenly, he wondered if that was why people said she was crazy. He wondered, too, if it wasn't perhaps true. But as he sat back in his chair, the meat she had cut for him gone, he found it difficult to remain indifferent. He
96 Linda Francis Lee
felt some nameless something infiltrate his mind. It wasn't the lust or even sorrow he had felt the night before. It
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