To Whisper Her Name by Tamera Alexander Page B

still sneaking looks.
    A gradual blush crept into Selene’s cheeks. She gently laid her spoon aside and looked down the table at her father. “His name is General William Hicks Jackson, as you well know, Father.” A smile bloomed on the young woman’s face, as telling as any declaration could be.
    “Ah, yes.” General Harding scooped a bite of syllabub into his mouth and, judging by his expression, savored the taste. “I believe I’ve heard of this gentleman before. But I wanted to know how my daughter felt about him.” His gaze grew endearing. “One can always tell how a woman truly feels about a man when she speaks his name. She either does it with affection, stemming from pride. Or with hesitance … born of shame.”
    The table fell silent, and Olivia went still, her lungs expunged of air. She kept her focus on her bowl, needing to take a breath but not daring to for fear she would gasp.
    “And I can tell,” the general continued, “that you are most proud of your General William Hicks Jackson.”
    Parting her lips, Olivia drew in a slow, silent breath, her lungs and eyes burning.
    Selene chuckled. “He’s not
my
general, Father.”
    “Not yet, perhaps,” the general countered. “But I have a hunch he’d certainly like to be. And why should he not, with you as the prize? Of course” — his laughter was curt and telling — “in order for that to happen, he’ll have to win me over first.”
    Finally breathing again, Olivia glanced down the table and found Selene’s smile ever bright and hopeful, while Mary discreetly brushed something from her cheek.

    Following dessert, General Harding rose from his seat at the head of the table and conversation fell to a hush. “Before we depart the tablethis evening, I’d like to make a toast, ladies … if you could somehow bring yourselves to cease jabbering to each other for two minutes straight.”
    Elizabeth and the others laughed at the feigned sternness in his tone, but Olivia thought of Charles again and couldn’t.
    The general raised his water glass. “To Miss Lizzie Hoover, the fair daughter of my first cousin, who has most graciously agreed to coordinate this busy household and keep it operating as it should.” He looked at the opposite end of the table. “You will no doubt help to ease the weight that my dear wife has had resting on her delicate shoulders for far too long.”
    Elizabeth’s pleasant countenance faltered for an instant, shadowed by a frown. Then quickly smoothed.
    “I’m grateful to you, Lizzie,” the general continued, “for coming here not only to serve as our head housekeeper, but to be a part of our family as well. Cheers, everyone!”
    Crystal stemware
tinked
together amidst the harmony of laughter and whispered welcomes, and Olivia smiled until it almost hurt.
    “And now …” The general turned. “A second toast.”
    Her face grew warm.
    “To Olivia, the daughter of my wife’s dearest friend in the world —”
    And wife of a traitor to the Confederacy whose last name I cannot bring myself to utter
, Olivia heard him say in her mind, half certain she read it in his eyes.
    “God rest her dear soul,” the general added softly. “Olivia, we welcome you to Belle Meade … and offer our condolences for your loss and for all you’ve been through in recent days.”
    Olivia’s grip tightened on her glass.
Thank you
, she mouthed.
    “And looking toward what I hope will be a brighter future, I trust you’ll find yourself settled in most quickly here and that you’ll soon come to enjoy the benefits of living in such a lovely — and lively — setting.” Smiling, he lifted his glass, though not nearly as heartily as he’d done the first time. “Cheers!”
    Crystal stemware
tinked
again, and they all sipped their water, the sound of servants in the next room drifting toward them.
    Elizabeth reached over and squeezed Olivia’s arm. “Livvy, we’re all so glad you’re here.” Elizabeth’s gaze swept the table,