“Ah, yes, the stupid war,” Garland said. “Many lost so much, but some exploited it. I’m ashamed to say my father was one. He was quite the clever importer.” He leaned in to whisper, “And sold to both sides discreetly.”

“Ashamed, you said. Did you give all the money to charity?” I teased.

He laughed. “Haven’t you heard? Charity begins at home.”

I smiled. It wasn’t something I didn’t believe; it was simply something I’d never say.

We started up the stairs. Before we reached the entrance, I let go of his hand. My mother could be just inside the doorway.

“About Charlottesville,” he said. “Any chance you’d visit your aunt in the near future?”

“Yes, I’m sure I will,” I said. “I am expecting an invitation from her any day now.”

“Please, then,” he said, reaching into his pocket to produce a card. “Do write to me to warn me so I can anticipate your coming. I’d very much enjoy taking you to lunch and perhaps, if your great-aunt permits, showing you my home, Foxworth Hall. She would come with us, of course.”

“Foxworth Hall? Sounds impressive.”

“Oh, it is. I promise you.”

“My great-aunt is quite old. She doesn’t venture about much, from what I understand. However, I might find a way to visit your home unchaperoned. It doesn’t have to be in the social columns.”

“I do avoid that quite well,” he said, maybe warned.

“Something I’d prefer, too,” I replied.

It was as if there were fireworks exploding. I saw light flashing in his eyes as they would reflect it. Had I turned him speechless?

I looked at the card. “We’ll see,” I said. “I don’t want to make promises and then disappoint you.”

“Not very possible,” he said.

“What?”

“Your disappointing me.”

I wanted to respond, but I thought I had already said too much. Primarily, I had no such invitation from Great-aunt Nettie Lloyd, not yet at least. I put my hand on his arm and leaned toward him to whisper.

“I’d better see to my parents,” I said. “Be sure my mother is having a good time. My father depends on me to help him with that burden.”

He glanced at my fingers lingering and then nodded as I rushed toward the ballroom. Had I gotten away with it all? Was my mother truly distracted enough to miss everything I had done?

I glanced back before I entered the party, but he wasn’t there. Did I commit a faux pas by not bringing him to meet my parents? Did he turn and go? Was his deep interest in me mostly in my imagination? How could he leave such a gala? Then again, I thought, maybe being with me was quite enough. No one else here interested him.

I scanned the ballroom and saw that my parents were at a table having coffee with the Elliots. As casually as I could, I approached their table.

“Where have you been?” my mother instantly asked.