“You learned enough back then. Put your little-girl faces away, and don’t let them treat you as if you were still a child. Parents love to keep their children as children. It helps them to feel younger, remember?”

They both looked stunned. It was as if they were listening to a woman years and years older, with the wisdom of the ages on the tip of her tongue.

I turned slowly to look at the guests and noted one man was staring in my direction with a slight grin on his face. I was sure he was looking directly at me. He was wearing a custom-fit gray suit that looked more modern than any suit the other men wore, including my father. I shifted my gaze as if he held no interest, but then I was unable to continue ignoring him. When I glanced back, he was still looking at me with that same tantalizing grin. I imagined him to be at least six foot one and could see he was broad-shouldered, quite trim, and athletic-looking. If I ventured a guess about his age, it would be somewhere in the mid-twenties.

Now aware of how I was caught staring back at him, I suddenly felt very nervous. It was not how I usually reacted when it came to how a man looked at me, but there was something unique about this man that caused me to suddenly feel insecure. He widened his smile, obviously laughing at me. Had my hair fallen? Was I standing awkwardly? Did I look ridiculous with Emma and Elsie beside me? Could he tell we were the same age? Was I holding the champagne glass wrong?

“We’re going to talk to the Howard twins,” Elsie said. “Even though they’re twins, I think Jesse is better-looking. Emma and I have a bet whether or not you would think so.”

“At this moment,” I said, “I can think of nothing less interesting to think about.”

I turned and walked away from them, heading in the direction of my parents, who were talking to people who hadn’t seen me yet, including the Franklins. I was looking forward to their reactions. Halfway across the ballroom, I heard a man ask, “Where have you been all my life?”

I paused and looked to my right. It was the man who had been staring at me.

“Excuse me?” I said. “Were you addressing me, sir?”

His laughing smile reappeared, which seemed to light up his deep-blue eyes. “Addressing? Yes, I think so,” he said.

There was delicious danger in the way he looked at me, so clearly undressing me with his eyes and his imagination that it brought a blush up from my neck and through my face.

I glanced quickly at my mother, who at the moment was in an intense conversation with Margret Elliot, the wife of my father’s bank’s chief fiscal officer, Leroy Elliot.

“Let me properly introduce myself,” the gentleman said, stepping closer. “Garland Neal Foxworth.”