Chapter 29
“Ah! There you are Miss Jones!” Henry came limping toward her leaning on his cane.
Those not dancing were crowded around the dance floor. Libby reached out to steady Henry as he was jostled. She looped her arm in his letting him lean slightly on her. He nodded his thanks.
She knew it wasn’t considered proper, as they had only been introduced that evening but, there was something about the frail man that stirred a protectiveness in her she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was that despite his condition he was still a cheerful soul, and such people in Libby’s opinion needed to be looked after.
“But why are you not dancing my dear?” he asked.
She showed him her dance card and the blank space next to the first waltz.
“If I was well enough, I would be out there with my Helen, she’s a wonderful dancer,” he said, as his wife and her partner for the dance swirled by. “Next year, I vow to be rid of this malady and will dance my wife off her feet.”
She gave his arm a squeeze. “I don’t doubt it in the slightest, Mr. Taylor,” Libby told him.
“Henry, please,” he said. “I greatly admired your uncle. He was a man of impeccable character.”
“Thank you, Henry, that means so much,” she said. “And I would be pleased if you could call me Liberty.”
Henry nodded his smile wide. “Liberty Jones!” he laughed. “Now that’s a name fit for a heroine in a novel.”
Libby was laughing along with him when a voice spoke up from behind her.
“A novel filled with many incredible adventures, no doubt!”
Libby froze. She knew that voice. The scent of cedar cologne teased her nose.
“Ah! There you are!” Henry said to the person behind her. “Miss Jones, may I introduce my cousin?”
She had no choice but to turn around.
“Liberty Jones,” Henry continued. “This is my cousin. Mr. Edward Taylor.”
It was him. Edward. Edward from the train. Edward the thief.
Dressed in an exquisitely cut evening suit, his waistcoat was a bronze and gold silk paisley Jacquard. He’d had a haircut since she’d seen him last. He no longer sported the floppy waves of the twenty-first century. His golden locks were shorter, more in keeping with the style of this era, parted to the side, and gleaming with pomade.
She barely heard a word Henry was saying above the roar of blood in her ears as she fought to control her impulse to punch him in his gorgeous face. Instead, she lifted her hand for him, mumbling something incoherent.
“Enchnaté Mademoiselle,” he said, brushing his lips over her gloved knuckles.
Annoyingly, tingles proceeded to skip up her arm at his touch, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping aloud.
“Oh Eddie!” Henry chuckled. “Do stop, you’re enthralling poor Miss Jones!” Henry patted her on the arm. “He’s been spellbinding Helen’s friends with his continental manners all week!”
Willing herself to snap out of it she drew herself taller and tipped her head narrowing her eyes. “Continental?” she asked. “I take it you’ve been traveling then, Mr. Taylor?”
Amusement kindled in his eyes, but it was Henry who answered her question. “Eddie was raised in France by his mother’s relations after my dear Uncle Phillip and Aunt Sylvia passed away, tragic, they both succumbed to fever just two weeks apart.”
Edward’s acting skills were excellent; his lowered gaze and small sigh conveyed a hint of long-suffering sadness convincingly. “This is my first time back in, what is it…?” he turned to Henry who finished for him.
“I’d say at least ten years,” Henry told him. “Why we hardly recognized him when he showed up at the house in New York.”
“A much overdue visit,” Edward nodded.
“Ten years is a long time.” Libby lowered her voice and leaned toward Henry. “Are you positive it’s him, Henry? Are you sure he’s not some crafty imposter, bent on mischief?” she gasped dramatically, “or worse!”
Edward’s eyes flared briefly, the only sign that Libby’s “jest” had hit the mark before he joined Henry in tossing his head back with laughter.
Edward stepped closer. “A beautiful woman with a wicked wit is a dangerous combination.”
“Indeed, cousin, quite right!” Henry’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “And you are in luck,” he continued, nodding to the dance card dangling from Libby’s wrist. “There are a few spots left, should you dare to dance with this dangerous woman.”
“Oh! I really don’t…” Libby started, but Edward had already plucked the card up dangling from her wrist and began to write his name next to every blank space left on her card. She felt herself begin to perspire. He’d claimed every waltz, and the last quadrille.
“Very brave, cousin!” Henry laughed.
“I hope I survive the night!” Edward told him with a wink.
Libby’s smile was sharp as razors as she hissed under her breath, “Don’t count on it.”
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Kathleen Rear 