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Authors: Laurel McKee
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different, wasn’t mysterious. Yet for once she couldn’t find
any words. She just wanted to be away from him and how he made her feel.
“Dominic, you devil! Of course you would be monopolizing the most beautiful woman
in the room,” a man said.
Sophia turned, still holding on to Dominic’s arm, to find a tall, lanky young man
smiling at them. He looked a bit like Dominic might in a warped, wavery old mirror:
taller, thinner, with an untidy sweep of lighter brown hair falling over his brow.
He wore expensive, fashionable,black-and-white evening dress, but unlike Dominic’s casual, careless elegance, the
clothes hung on him somewhat awkwardly. But he had those same bright green eyes.
He had to be related to Dominic in some way. And she didn’t need another St. Claire
in her life, no matter how open and friendly his smile was.
“James, you know our hostess, of course,” Dominic said. “Mrs. Westman, may I present
my younger brother, James St. Claire? He is also an admirer of yours.”
A faint flush spread across James’s high cheekbones as Sophia slid her hand from Dominic’s
arm and held it out to him. “I do hope you’re enjoying your stay in Paris, Mr. St.
Claire?”
“Enormously, Mrs. Westman! It’s a beautiful city.”
“I would love to hear more about what you’ve seen while you’ve been here,” Sophia
said. “I’ve been so busy myself I’ve only had time for a bit of whirlwind sightseeing.”
“Would you care to dance, then?” James said eagerly. “We could talk there.”
Sophia laughed. “If we could hear each other above the music. But yes, I would love
to dance with you, Mr. St. Claire.”
James led her onto the dance floor just as the opening notes to a lively mazurka sounded.
He was not as skillful a dancer as his brother, but in his arms she felt none of the
heady confusion she had with Dominic. She could just enjoy the music and the easy,
pleasant conversation.
They chatted about the sights of Paris, the churches and museums, the people. As he
twirled her around in a turn, a thought struck Sophia.
“You know, I think we might share an ancestor,” shesaid, thinking this would be an amusing conversational tidbit.
“I don’t see how we could,” James said with a laugh. “I would surely have remembered
you
from a family gathering.”
“Well, it’s not a close connection. It was about two hundred years ago, and I don’t
think she had any children. But before I was Mrs. Westman, I was Lady Sophia Huntington,
and a woman named Mary St. Claire married a Huntington in the Restoration era. It’s
quite a fascinating tale. I have her diary, though I haven’t read it all yet.”
James’s face suddenly went white. His smile faded, and his hands tightened on her
shoulder and her wrist. She sensed he would have dropped her if sheer politeness hadn’t
held him still.
Sophia was surprised. She certainly hadn’t expected her trivial little conversational
gambit to earn such a reaction.
“Perhaps you already know something of her,” she said carefully.
“I—yes, I know something of her,” James answered. He still looked down at her, but
Sophia had the sense he saw something else entirely. “You say you are a Huntington?”
“I was once. But I haven’t seen my family since I married. They don’t exactly approve
of me. What have you heard about Mary?” Sophia said.
“Just old family fairy-tales,” he said. “I would like to read her diary one day.”
“It’s very old and fragile. I keep it locked away and only read a few pages at a time.”
Sophia found she didn’t want to share Mary’s diary. Somehow she felt protectiveof her. She had the distinct sense there was more to this than “family fairy-tales.”
The music wound to a close, and James escorted her to Camille’s group at the edge
of the room before he bowed and left her. As Sophia watched him, he made his way to
Dominic and spoke quietly in his
any words. She just wanted to be away from him and how he made her feel.
“Dominic, you devil! Of course you would be monopolizing the most beautiful woman
in the room,” a man said.
Sophia turned, still holding on to Dominic’s arm, to find a tall, lanky young man
smiling at them. He looked a bit like Dominic might in a warped, wavery old mirror:
taller, thinner, with an untidy sweep of lighter brown hair falling over his brow.
He wore expensive, fashionable,black-and-white evening dress, but unlike Dominic’s casual, careless elegance, the
clothes hung on him somewhat awkwardly. But he had those same bright green eyes.
He had to be related to Dominic in some way. And she didn’t need another St. Claire
in her life, no matter how open and friendly his smile was.
“James, you know our hostess, of course,” Dominic said. “Mrs. Westman, may I present
my younger brother, James St. Claire? He is also an admirer of yours.”
A faint flush spread across James’s high cheekbones as Sophia slid her hand from Dominic’s
arm and held it out to him. “I do hope you’re enjoying your stay in Paris, Mr. St.
Claire?”
“Enormously, Mrs. Westman! It’s a beautiful city.”
“I would love to hear more about what you’ve seen while you’ve been here,” Sophia
said. “I’ve been so busy myself I’ve only had time for a bit of whirlwind sightseeing.”
“Would you care to dance, then?” James said eagerly. “We could talk there.”
Sophia laughed. “If we could hear each other above the music. But yes, I would love
to dance with you, Mr. St. Claire.”
James led her onto the dance floor just as the opening notes to a lively mazurka sounded.
He was not as skillful a dancer as his brother, but in his arms she felt none of the
heady confusion she had with Dominic. She could just enjoy the music and the easy,
pleasant conversation.
They chatted about the sights of Paris, the churches and museums, the people. As he
twirled her around in a turn, a thought struck Sophia.
“You know, I think we might share an ancestor,” shesaid, thinking this would be an amusing conversational tidbit.
“I don’t see how we could,” James said with a laugh. “I would surely have remembered
you
from a family gathering.”
“Well, it’s not a close connection. It was about two hundred years ago, and I don’t
think she had any children. But before I was Mrs. Westman, I was Lady Sophia Huntington,
and a woman named Mary St. Claire married a Huntington in the Restoration era. It’s
quite a fascinating tale. I have her diary, though I haven’t read it all yet.”
James’s face suddenly went white. His smile faded, and his hands tightened on her
shoulder and her wrist. She sensed he would have dropped her if sheer politeness hadn’t
held him still.
Sophia was surprised. She certainly hadn’t expected her trivial little conversational
gambit to earn such a reaction.
“Perhaps you already know something of her,” she said carefully.
“I—yes, I know something of her,” James answered. He still looked down at her, but
Sophia had the sense he saw something else entirely. “You say you are a Huntington?”
“I was once. But I haven’t seen my family since I married. They don’t exactly approve
of me. What have you heard about Mary?” Sophia said.
“Just old family fairy-tales,” he said. “I would like to read her diary one day.”
“It’s very old and fragile. I keep it locked away and only read a few pages at a time.”
Sophia found she didn’t want to share Mary’s diary. Somehow she felt protectiveof her. She had the distinct sense there was more to this than “family fairy-tales.”
The music wound to a close, and James escorted her to Camille’s group at the edge
of the room before he bowed and left her. As Sophia watched him, he made his way to
Dominic and spoke quietly in his
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