immediate attention. His voice boomed like cannon fire in the shocked stillness of the entrance hall. All eyes turned from Persia and Zack to the tall servant.
Europa fumed silently. She had been on the verge of maneuvering Zachariah away from the others so that they would be automatically paired as dinner partners when Persia had made her entrance and spoiled it all. Now he was on the steps with her, even at this moment tucking her hand into his elbow to escort her to the table.
The dark-haired beauty’s eyes flashed a warning, and the smallest of smiles touched her rose-petal lips. The day wasn’t over yet, and neither was this battle of wills with her sister. Persia had yet to win out against her. Europa certainly didn’t mean for this to be the first time.
Persia, oblivious to her sister’s hard gaze, had eyes only for the man beside her. She had thought Zack was wonderful—witty, devastatingly masculine, and decidedly passionate—last night. But how much more of all of these he was by daylight, decked out in his fashionable clothes and best company manners. And he seemed just as taken with her. She never even considered the thought that he might have intended to escort Europa into the dining room. After all, Zack was hers\
Europa, deciding to make the best of a nearly hopeless situation, moved toward her own beau, the ever-present, ever-reticent Mr. Holloway. She would concentrate on using Seton to make Zack jealous. But she had wasted too much time indulging her anger.
“My dear.” The captain offered him arm to his wife.
“Oh, please, sir,” Europa’s lawyer beau broke in. “Allow me. Mrs. Whiddington, may I escort you?”
“That’s dear of you, Seton. Thank you.”
So, Europa was ushered in on her father’s arm, her cheeks flaming with indignation and her mind calculating revenge.
The three couples moved through the wide doorway into the dining room. Suddenly Persia was aware that the room, her mother’s decorating pifece de resistance, had captured Zack’s full attention. He paused in midstep and gave a quiet gasp.
“I never saw anything like it.”
“And probably you never will again,” Persia told him. “Mother hired an itinerate artist to paint the walls.”
It was, indeed, a striking room. Victoria Whiddington had given the traveling artist specific instructions, and he had carried them out to the letter, even adding a few imaginative flourishes of his own. The walls depicted the shipbuilding yards at Quoddy Cove, with tall ships riding at anchor beyond in the water. Another section featured the exotic ports Captain Whiddington had visited in his travels—the West Indies with Carib indians in their canoes, fishing the palm-sheltered waters of a turquoise lagoon; the Cape of Good Hope with a storm tossing a square-rigged ship; Madagascar, Bombay, Tahiti, Shanghai. And finally, there was Gay Street, showing in every vivid detail the white, Federal-style house with its porticoed front and widow’s walk high above. A woman and two girls stood in the yard, welcoming a sea captain home, while a black-and-white-spotted dog—Persia’s own contribution to the mural—yapped and cavorted beside the girl with burnt-sienna hair.
The long table gleamed with white lace, brilliant blue Chinese export dinnerware of the finest grade, crystal from Ireland, and the company best pearl-handled silver flatware. Mrs. Whiddington was not one to let anything go lacking when it came time to entertain, especially if her guests were possible husbands for her daughters.
As they all took their places, she glanced at the two young men before her. Seton Holloway was everything she wanted in a son-in-law. He was learned, mannerly, attentive at all times to Europa, and best of all, he possessed no longing to go to sea. The absence of such a desire was a unique quality in down-east men, and one to be much sought after in Victoria’s opinion.
She loved her husband dearly. She had from the first moment she’d
Europa fumed silently. She had been on the verge of maneuvering Zachariah away from the others so that they would be automatically paired as dinner partners when Persia had made her entrance and spoiled it all. Now he was on the steps with her, even at this moment tucking her hand into his elbow to escort her to the table.
The dark-haired beauty’s eyes flashed a warning, and the smallest of smiles touched her rose-petal lips. The day wasn’t over yet, and neither was this battle of wills with her sister. Persia had yet to win out against her. Europa certainly didn’t mean for this to be the first time.
Persia, oblivious to her sister’s hard gaze, had eyes only for the man beside her. She had thought Zack was wonderful—witty, devastatingly masculine, and decidedly passionate—last night. But how much more of all of these he was by daylight, decked out in his fashionable clothes and best company manners. And he seemed just as taken with her. She never even considered the thought that he might have intended to escort Europa into the dining room. After all, Zack was hers\
Europa, deciding to make the best of a nearly hopeless situation, moved toward her own beau, the ever-present, ever-reticent Mr. Holloway. She would concentrate on using Seton to make Zack jealous. But she had wasted too much time indulging her anger.
“My dear.” The captain offered him arm to his wife.
“Oh, please, sir,” Europa’s lawyer beau broke in. “Allow me. Mrs. Whiddington, may I escort you?”
“That’s dear of you, Seton. Thank you.”
So, Europa was ushered in on her father’s arm, her cheeks flaming with indignation and her mind calculating revenge.
The three couples moved through the wide doorway into the dining room. Suddenly Persia was aware that the room, her mother’s decorating pifece de resistance, had captured Zack’s full attention. He paused in midstep and gave a quiet gasp.
“I never saw anything like it.”
“And probably you never will again,” Persia told him. “Mother hired an itinerate artist to paint the walls.”
It was, indeed, a striking room. Victoria Whiddington had given the traveling artist specific instructions, and he had carried them out to the letter, even adding a few imaginative flourishes of his own. The walls depicted the shipbuilding yards at Quoddy Cove, with tall ships riding at anchor beyond in the water. Another section featured the exotic ports Captain Whiddington had visited in his travels—the West Indies with Carib indians in their canoes, fishing the palm-sheltered waters of a turquoise lagoon; the Cape of Good Hope with a storm tossing a square-rigged ship; Madagascar, Bombay, Tahiti, Shanghai. And finally, there was Gay Street, showing in every vivid detail the white, Federal-style house with its porticoed front and widow’s walk high above. A woman and two girls stood in the yard, welcoming a sea captain home, while a black-and-white-spotted dog—Persia’s own contribution to the mural—yapped and cavorted beside the girl with burnt-sienna hair.
The long table gleamed with white lace, brilliant blue Chinese export dinnerware of the finest grade, crystal from Ireland, and the company best pearl-handled silver flatware. Mrs. Whiddington was not one to let anything go lacking when it came time to entertain, especially if her guests were possible husbands for her daughters.
As they all took their places, she glanced at the two young men before her. Seton Holloway was everything she wanted in a son-in-law. He was learned, mannerly, attentive at all times to Europa, and best of all, he possessed no longing to go to sea. The absence of such a desire was a unique quality in down-east men, and one to be much sought after in Victoria’s opinion.
She loved her husband dearly. She had from the first moment she’d
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