Still, she had no right to dim everyone else’s pleasure, so she put on a smile and allowed Austin to lead her upstairs.
Miss Spanner had done wonders. Garlands of ivy and mistletoe hung from every post, and the chandelier dripped with red bows and greenery.
Miss Spanner herself, resplendent in purple satin trimmed with black velvet, beamed, clutching the arm of Harley P. Burton, who had his hair slicked down and his best checked suit on. He looked bewildered, half-proud, half-terrified.
“She caught him at last,” Austin leaned in to whisper. “At least for this dance. He looks like he can’t decide whether to brag or bolt.”
The musicians began a reel, and couples lined up. Each Hart brother led his bride out onto the dance floor, with the exception of Hays and Emma. Emma sat along the wall, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, and Hays brought her a cup of punch. Emma accepted it, then nodded Elise’s way.
Hays walked over, a friendly smile on his face. “Would you care to dance? Emma can’t dance right now, and I’m itching to get out there.” His smile reminded her of Bowie’s—on the rare occasions he ever smiled—and she blinked hard and nodded. It would be better than standing on the sidelines all night, a reminder to everyone that her husband wasn’t here.
Hays was an excellent dancer, making it easy for her to match his steps. “A good crowd tonight. Should raise a lot of money for the cause.” He looked up at the banner over the refreshment table. “ ‘Confederate Widows and Orphans.’ Miss Spanner outdid herself this time.”
When the dance ended, Elise found herself not lacking for partners. The Hart men must’ve decided not to let her feel on the outside looking in. One after another, they claimed her for waltzes, reels, and two-steps. Between times, they danced with their wives and sisters-in-law, laughing and keeping the party lively.
Austin took Elise’s hand from Crockett’s, grinning, his dimples deep creases in his cheeks. Rebekah went into Crockett’s embrace as the strains of a waltz filled the room. “My dance?” Austin asked.
“I’ve been watching you. Where did you learn to dance so well? All of you Hart boys are good, but you and Hays are the best.” Elise looked up at him.
“We have our mother to thank. She insisted all her sons know how to dance with the ladies.” He pivoted her in a perfect circle, making her skirts belle. “We hated the lessons, but I think we’re all thankful now.”
“So Bowie had to learn to dance, too?”
Austin laughed. “And he was bad at it at first. All arms and legs, like a newborn colt. All I can say is my mother had a lot of patience.” He sobered. “I know it’s not my place to ask, but how are things between you and Bowie? Any better? I sure was hoping he’d change his mind about coming tonight.”
Elise swallowed against the lump in her throat and shook her head. “We’re fine.”
Her brother-in-law gave her a hug as the music ended. “You’re a good woman, Elise, but a pretty poor liar. Maybe Bowie just needs more time.”
He led her over to where GW sat. Soon they were surrounded by Harts, the men bringing punch for the ladies. GW patted the settee next to him, and Elise sat, grateful to be off her feet. “They’ll be serving supper soon.” He consulted his pocket watch. “Midnight’s coming. It will be Christmas Day in another quarter of an hour.”
Elise set her cup on a small table, loneliness sweeping over her, even in the midst of the crowd. Everyone around her was so happy, Hays and Emma and Houston and Coralee anticipating the births of their first children, Chisholm and Caro holding hands, Crockett brushing a quick kiss on Jane’s temple, and Travis whispering in Annie’s ear. Austin had his arm around Rebekah as if he never wanted to let her go.
She shouldn’t be envious, but she was. She should be happy for her new family, but she couldn’t muster any joy. She only felt empty inside.
Oh, Bowie, what are we going to do?
Bowie field-stripped his rifle, laying the pieces out on the low table he’d spread with newspapers and picking up the cleaning solvent. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly, and Stonewall snored softly on the rug in front of the fireplace.
His house was almost everything he’d dreamed it would be. Cozy, inviting, a safe haven away from the world. Elise had done all of this for him. His house lacked nothing, except it wasn’t a home.
The clock chimed, and he studied the bland face.
What was she doing now? Who was she dancing with?
He’d deliberately stayed in the barn late so he wouldn’t have to face her before her ride to the dance arrived. Coward that he was.
Since Austin’s talk with him that afternoon, Bowie had thought of little else. Had he been holding on to his bitterness so he didn’t get hurt? Was it possible that Elise could really love him? Not his name, not his protection, not his money, but him?