âMy dance, I believe?â
âAre you sure youâve danced with every other female in town, from the oldest to the youngest?â Sarah asked archly.
He raised a brow, and in that moment she knew sheâd made a mistake.
âAh, so you were watching,â he said, grinning.
âI most certainly was not,â Sarah insisted. âI never sat down myself, except when the musicians took a break. I only just realized that you hadnât made good your threat to claim a dance.â
ââThreat?ââ he echoed. âI believe I only requested a dance, as proof of your goodwill. And I was waiting for a waltz, Miss Matthews.â
âOh? Why?â she asked. Was this girl asking the daring questions really her?
Again, the raised brow. âIf you have to ask that, Miss Sarah Matthews, then itâs no wonder the South lost the war.â
âYou look very lovely today, Miss Matthews,â said the voice in an accent that was as far from the usual drawl Sarah heard around her as Maine was from Texas. She stiffened, schooling herself to assume a polite expression as she looked up into the blue eyes of Dr. Nolan Walker.
A lady, she reminded herself sternly, did not make a scene in public, and most certainly not while standing in the receiving line at the wedding of her sister. Even if the speaker was a Yankee outsider who had no business being here.
âThank you, sir,â she replied in a carefully neutral voice, and did not quite meet his gaze. âMay I present Lord Edward Brookfield, Viscount Greyshaw, the groomâs eldest brother, come all the way from En gland?â She watched out of the corner of her eye as the Yankee doctor shook hands with the English nobleman next to her.
The men exchanged greetings.
âAnd may I also presentââ she began, intent on passing the Yankee on down the line away from her.
Nolan interrupted her. âMiss Matthews, I was wondering if we might sit together while enjoying the refreshments?â He nodded toward the punch bowl and the magnificent quadruple-tiered wedding cake that Sarah considered the crowning achievement of her baking career. âIâ¦Iâd really like to get to know you better.â He had dropped the âgâ on âwondering,â while âtogetherâ and âbetterâ came out âtogethahâ and âbettah,â and yet his accent was wholly unlike a Southern drawl.
The utter effrontery of the man! Hadnât she already made it clear back in October, when heâd come to town to meet her that she Was Not Interested in being courted by a Yankee and a liar? Heâd written her a handful of letters telling all about himself, except for the one fact that made him Unacceptableâthat he was Yankee. Sheâd only found out when heâd come to meet her on Foundersâ Dayâright before the Comanche attack.
âIâm afraid thatâs impossible,â she said crisply. âIâll be busy helping to serve the cake and the punch. Nowââ
âPerhaps a dance, then? I understand thereâll be dancing later.â
She glared at him. âOut of the question,â she snapped. âNow, if I may be permitted to continue, youâre acquainted with Miss Caroline Wallace, arenât you, the brideâs best friend?â She gestured to the bridesmaid standing next to her.
She didnât miss the surprised look Lord Greyshaw gave her, nor the sympathetic one he bestowed on the Yankee. Perhaps there would be a chance later, after the wedding, to explain to Nickâs eldest brother why a properly brought up young lady of the South did not encourage familiarity with pushy northern interlopers?
Mercifully, the doctor now allowed himself to be handed on down the line. The next person to approach was Mrs. Detwiler, an elderly widow, resplendent today in deep purple bombazine. Sarah hoped the woman had not heard what had passed between her and the Yankee doctor, for Mrs. Detwiler was sure to have an opinion on it, likely one contrary to Sarahâs.