“But it would have been far more pleasurable if I could have been dancing with you,” he whispered, bringing his lips close to her ear.
Eliza’s heart skipped a beat and her foot came down atop his. The two of them tripped together sideways, bumping right into Alice and Jeff.
“My, my. Aren’t we graceful?” Alice joked before turning away.
Eliza dropped Harrison’s hand and took a step back, her face burning as she stared at the floor. But to Eliza’s surprise, he grabbed it back and pressed his thumb lightly into her palm. She looked up into his eyes.
“Eliza, I . . .”
She swallowed hard and glanced around. Miss Almay was talking to a pair of instructors near the windows, but her gaze was cast sidelong at Eliza. Theresa stood near one of the tables with Jane and Viola, and all of them were staring right at her and Harrison—staring and judging.
“Mr. Knox, we mustn’t—,” she began.
“Eliza, I just wish we could go someplace and talk,” he said quietly. “Ever since that first night . . . you’re all I can think about.”
Eliza’s heart expanded like a flower in the sun. But then she saw something move out of the corner of her eyes: Theresa, her arms crossed over her chest, was making her way toward them.
At that moment, the sound of a crystal goblet crashing against the floor cut through the room.
“Oh, my—! What . . . what’s happening?”
Everyone turned to see Cooper Coolidge, shards of broken glass at his feet, backing away from Marilyn DeMeers. He held his hands up, his eyes wide with horror. Eliza covered her mouth in surprise. Several nasty, yellow boils had popped up on Cooper’s palms.
Girls pressed themselves to the walls as one of the Easton teachers lurched forward to escort a whimpering Cooper from the room. Marilyn, however, simply stood by, a superior smirk on her face. Eliza saw her tuck a small bottle into her evening bag. It seemed Cooper had gotten a bit fresh for Marilyn’s tastes and she’d slipped the boil potion into his drink.
Once the door shut behind Cooper, the room erupted in speculative conversation. Theresa grabbed Catherine by the hands and let out a whooping laugh.
“What was that?” Harrison said, stunned.
A useful distraction, Eliza thought, resolving to thank Marilyn for saving her from Theresa’s wrath.
Headmistress Almay clapped her hands. “Students! This is no time for gossip! Mr. Coolidge will be fine. Let’s get on with our evening!” she shouted.
“We should keep dancing,” Eliza said. She stepped back into Harrison’s arms, but made sure to keep a good, respectable distance this time.
“But about . . . what I said?” Harrison asked.
Eliza pressed her lips together for a moment, her heart at war with her conscience. She hadn’t come to Billings to meet a boy. And she certainly hadn’t come to Billings to steal a boy who was betrothed to another. But somehow she couldn’t stop herself from looking deep into his eyes and saying, “We will find a way.”
The Weather
“I am going to marry Jeffrey Whittaker!” Alice announced, jogging to catch up with Eliza and Catherine, who were walking arm in arm on their way back to Crenshaw House. Marilyn and Genevieve were several paces behind, going over the events of the night in rapid French, while Jane, Lavender, and Clarissa had clumped together for some sort of intense conversation peppered with random giggles. Only Theresa walked along untouched by any of the other girls, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her skirts whipping about her legs as she went.
“Mrs. Jeffrey Whittaker!”Alice gushed. “Doesn’t it have such a dignified air to it? ‘May I present Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Whittaker?’ Oh, I just adore the way it sounds.”
“Do you love him, then, Alice?” Bia asked, her wide eyes innocent as she walked alongside her sister.
“You know, Bia, I think I do!” Alice replied enthusiastically. “Even if I don’t, I know that I can. Especially if it means being called Mrs. Jeffrey Whittaker!”
The other girls laughed as Alice executed a wide-armed twirl under the stars.
“Alice Ainsworth! If you continue to conduct yourself in such a silly manner, no man will ever ask you to be his wife,” Miss Almay scolded from behind.
“Oh, larynx infectus,” Theresa muttered under her breath, holding a hand out at her side, palm toward Miss Almay.
A snapping sound filled the air. Miss Almay and Mrs. Hodge paused, looking up at the sky.
“Was that thunder?” Mrs. Hodge asked.