Excerpt, THE WIDOW OF PALE HARBOR by Hester Fox
They slid easily into the dance, Mrs. Carver gently leading the way. “Mr. Stone,” she said, “you are a dreadful liar.” “I am?” She nodded, eyes sparkling. “You said you could not dance.” “I think,” he said, “it has more to do with my partner than anything else.” But she just pursed her lips and looked over his shoulder. When they spun, he saw that she had been looking at Miss Wiggins, who was seething with a glass of punch in her hands as she watched them from across the room. “Poor Harriet,” Mrs. Carver said. “She’s been waiting for an eligible man to come to this town for years. Just her luck that the first one to move here is a minister who lacks all social graces and has two left feet.” He pinched her waist in retribution, and she let out an unbridled laugh, musical and warm that shot straight through him. When the music stopped there was polite applause from the onlookers, and the couples bowed to each other. He loathed to let her go, but he stood back and gave her a little bow. Laughing, she swept a low curtsy. “I can’t remember the last time I danced, other than with Helen, of course.” He prickled with jealousy. How quickly territorial feelings sprang up though he had no claim on her. Leading her away from the hostile stares and whispers, he stationed her next to the punch bowl while he ladled them out a cup each of sparkling pink liquid. They drank in silence until Mrs. Carver asked, “Have you given any more thought to the connections between the…incidents…to Mr. Poe? Try as I might, I cannot understand the correlation.” It took Gabriel a moment to realize what she was talking about. He felt a pang of shame that he had actually given very little thought to the strange connection to Poe they had uncovered since that night. Things had seemed quieter since Garrett’s death, with no new threats against Mrs. Carver, nor strange occurrences in town. “No, I’m afraid not.” “But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To pry into the matters of the town?” Her gaze held his, hard, and he had the feeling that perhaps she knew more about him than he would care for her to. “I’m here to minister to Pale Harbor,” he said carefully. She gave a dismissive shrug, as if she not only didn’t believe him, but didn’t care what his true motives might be. The musicians were tuning up again, and soon a waltz started. Gabriel looked around at the small crowd. There was no one else he wanted to talk to. He didn’t want to dance with Harriet Wiggins, or suffer through a lecture from Mr. Marshall. He stepped in closer to Mrs. Carver, her rosewater scent intoxicating him more than the strongest punch. “Will you dance again?” But she didn’t seem to hear him. She had gone very pale. “Do you know what song this is?” Frowning, he listened, trying to pick out the melody. “No, but I don’t really know any—” She gave an impatient shake of her head. “It’s The Merry Widow Waltz.”
Oh, Christ. His fist clenched at his side. “Wait here. I’ll go talk to them and—” “No.” She stopped him with a hand to his sleeve. “I want to dance it, with you.” Her eyes were serious, searching his face for affirmation. She was just as anxious as he was. Without another word, he took her by the hand and led her back out to the middle of the room. This time there was no laughing over missed steps, no quick smiles when they took a particularly daring turn. This dance was something different entirely. This dance was a question and an answer.
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