Gray Ellen sat opposite Sam, and to her right was Father Christopher Dennen. Sam was alone on his side of the table. The soup was delicious—a white soup made with eggs and veal knuckle, one of Gabrielle’s own recipes. Sam complimented her.

She said only, “I’m very lucky to have Bessie in the kitchen.” Bessie, making the rounds with a water pitcher, beamed.

Gabrielle looked so lovely tonight that Sam had to make a conscious effort not to stare at her. Her black satin dress was cut low at the bodice and finished with sheer, gauzy lace that buttoned to her throat. The full rise of her breasts was apparent, even accented, under the bright chandelier. He thought it a daring dress to wear in such a close room. In a ballroom, among dancing, flirtatious women, it would have simply been part of the whirling elegance, drawing no more attention than a bathing dress on a beach. But here, it made her shine provocatively.

Her complexion glowed rose, her brown eyes caught the light, shimmering—even her hair shone. He admired the way she wore it swept up over her small ears, exposing the full curve of her neck. Her shapely hands were set off by small lace ruffles at the sleeves, and on her fingers glinted a polished yellow ivory cameo and a blue sapphire engagement ring, doubled onto the same finger as her wedding band.

Gray Ellen wore a plain black dress that revealed nothing.

Sam wore his old dark wool suit, newly brushed. The Colonel wore tails and a bow tie. His hair and goatee were oiled. Sam felt distinctly outclassed. He envied Father Dennen, with his careless red hair—he could wear the same cassock for all occasions.

“Father Dennen and I have an ongoing argument,” Colonel Waddell announced, after Bessie had served a main course of Spanish onions stuffed with ham, heavy cream, and breadcrumbs, along with a platter of St. Charles cornbread. “Regarding eternal punishment for the damned.”

Great, Sam thought—small talk.

Father Dennen buttered a slab of bread. “The Scriptures are quite clear. I don’t know why you persist.”

“If I may play the Jesuit,” Colonel Waddell said, and smiled foxily. “The Scriptures speak of eternal life, the resurrection of the body: ‘Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body.’ St. Paul to the Philippians.”

St. Paul, Gray Ellen thought—another true believer who had no use for women.

“Nicely quoted, as usual,” Father Dennen said.

“And St. John tells us, ‘Whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.’ ”

As he talked, Colonel Waddell sliced his entree into strips with quick, sure strokes of his knife.

“Right so far,” Father Dennen said, and bolted a slab of cornbread.

The women were talking low between themselves. “What a lovely dress,” Gabrielle said.

“It’s nothing,” Gray Ellen said, “compared to yours. So elegant.”