Waiting for Spring by Amanda Cabot Page B

had taken their cloaks directed Charlotte and Gwen toward the parlor. They stood in the doorway for a moment before anyone noticed their presence. Charlotte wasn’t surprised, for although there were little more than a dozen people, all of them seemed engrossed in their conversations.
    Mr. Duncan spotted them first and, disengaging himself from Miriam’s parents, hurried toward the doorway. “I’m glad you could come.” The direction of his smile left no doubt that he was speaking to Gwen. “I asked Barrett to seat you next to me at dinner. I want to continue the conversation we began at the opera house.”
    For all the attention he paid to her, Charlotte might have been invisible. It wasn’t the first time she had been ignored, but though it was undeniably rude, that wasn’t what bothered her. She could slough off uncouth behavior. What bothered her was that she couldn’t pinpoint the cause of her uneasiness. All she knew was that she felt uncomfortable around Warren Duncan. Perhaps it was foolish, for he seemed the personification of courtesy when he was with Gwen, but Charlotte could not dismiss her concerns.
    She left Gwen and Mr. Duncan conversing in the doorway and moved toward a cluster of chairs, intending to sit there until dinner was served. But before she was halfway across the room, Barrett appeared at her side.
    â€œI’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you when you arrived.” As he had been the night at the opera, he was dressed in formal clothing. It was not difficult to imagine this man walking the halls of Congress and helping to lead the nation.
    Barrett wrinkled his nose and spoke softly. “This is my first dinner party, and I’m still learning.” When Charlotte raised a questioning eyebrow, he explained. “Richard and Warren have told me it’s time I started entertaining, and Harrison’s visit seemed like a good excuse.” Barrett nodded almost imperceptibly toward the man who had taken Charlotte’s cape. “Mr. Bradley is in his element. You wouldn’t know he started life as a gold miner, would you?”
    Charlotte studied Barrett’s butler. “I can picture him as a miner.” He had the well-developed arms and shoulders of a man who had wielded a pick and ax for many years, though the somewhat haughty expression he had adopted would not have fared well in a mine shaft.
    Barrett appeared startled. “What gave him away?”
    â€œHis shoulders. They’re even more muscular than yours.” Charlotte felt a flush rise to her cheeks. Mama would have been appalled if she’d heard Charlotte’s remark. It was positively unseemly to have noticed Barrett’s musculature, far worse to have admitted it.
    Barrett must not have noticed her discomfort, for his voice was even as he said, “I hope you won’t tell anyone about Mr. Bradley’s past. I doubt he’d want that to become common knowledge.”
    Relieved that her faux pas had gone undetected, Charlotte nodded. “I’m good at keeping secrets, but I am curious. How did he learn to be a butler?”
    â€œHe claims he read a book.” Barrett looked around the room, as if assuring himself that his other guests were occupied. Miriam and a young woman Charlotte did not recognize were deep in conversation with Harrison Landry and Richard Eberhardt, while the elder Taggerts appeared to be entertaining one of the city’s prominent bankers and his wife. Smiling, Barrett added, “It’s amazing what you can find in books, isn’t it?”
    Though she read few books now other than those devoted to fashion, Charlotte nodded. “When I was a child, I was ill for a long time and had to spend my days in bed. Books were my best friends then. They helped me pass the time while Abigail and Elizabeth were at school. Unfortunately, since David was born, I haven’t had much time to read.”
    â€œBut surely you