“I wonder if there will be soldiers,” said Anne in her breathy voice when the house came into view.
“Pilots. Many, many pilots,” said Ruth with the sort of determination that almost made Beth feel sorry for the men.
She smiled at her usually sullen roommate. It was hard not to be caught up in the excitement. The dance was a proper one, with decorations pulled from the house’s huge attics and a band from the local air base. Rumor had it that Mrs. Symonds had opened up the wine cellar, although Stella had told Beth she would believe it when she saw it.
And the best part of all was that a man she liked was waiting for her.
Maybe she should feel a bit more guilty. Just that morning, another letter from Colin had arrived in the post. She’d read it and tucked it into the box by her bedside to deal with later.
She couldn’t continue this way. She’d said yes to being his girl because she hadn’t known how to say no, but their correspondence had never sat comfortably with her. Now that her world had grown, she was another person from that girl he’d telephoned before shipping out. Now his letters were not enough.
Petunia squeezed her hand as they approached Highbury House’s front door. “Are you excited to see your captain?”
“I am,” she said, brightness glowing past her guilt.
“Then let’s go find him.”
The entryway was already heaving with men and women in a mix of uniforms and civilian clothes. The dance would start at six o’clock to take advantage of the lengthening late-spring days and to avoid violating the blackout. No one here cared that six would have been unthinkably early in peacetime. They would all squeeze as much joy out of the night as they could.
Beth floated through the brightly lit entryway toward the French doors thrown open to the veranda and the sound of “I’ll Be Seeing You.” Sister Wharton collected their tickets, and they handed off their coats to Dorothy, a maid who looked desperate to be asked to dance.
Fighting her niggling fears, Beth’s eyes swept the crowded dance floor as she looked for Graeme. What if he’d fallen ill? Or perhaps he’d been discharged earlier than he thought, and he couldn’t get word to her. Or maybe he’d changed his mind about her.
“There you are.”
She spun on her heel with a smile of relief. There he stood, tall in his dress uniform, a spray of orchids in his right hand.
“You look beautiful,” he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.
She pressed a hand to her chest, still not used to its flutter every time he drew that close. “Thank you.”
He held up the flowers. “For you.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said, smelling them. A pin secured the ribbon wrapping the stems: a corsage. The man had managed to find her a corsage in the middle of rural Warwickshire during a war.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she pinned the orchids to her navy dress.
“Shall we dance?” he asked, gesturing to the floor.
She realized then that he wasn’t wearing his sling. “It’s gone!”
“The doctor changed his mind about surgery. He told me I could remove it just this morning. I’ve been warned every way from Sunday that I can’t do much with it, but he didn’t disapprove of the idea of me leading a beautiful woman around on the dance floor, so long as the song is slow.”
“Then we should dance to celebrate,” she said, taking his hand.
They pushed into the crowd of RAF men, army officers, WAAFs, land girls, nurses, and doctors. When they found a patch of dance floor, Graeme slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. “Here we go,” he said.
“Where did you find orchids?” she asked.
“I have my methods,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. When she laughed, he added, “Highbury House isn’t the only big house in the area. I happen across Lord Walford of Braembreidge Manor walking his dogs from time to time. His house was requisitioned for a school, but he refused to leave because he has a prizewinning collection of orchids. When I explained the situation, he gave me a few.”
“He gave you his prizewinning orchids?” she asked.
He grinned down at her. “I told him that they would be worn by the most beautiful woman in the world tonight. Lord Walford is a bit of an old romantic underneath it all.”
He pulled her closer to him, and it seemed the most natural thing to rest her head lightly against his shoulder.
“This isn’t hurting you, is it?” she asked, glancing up at him.
“Not even the littlest bit,” he said.