O'hara's Choice - Leon Uris [23]
“Ah, so we meet again, Private . . . ,” Horace said.
“O’Hara, sir.”
Then Horace caught his wife’s rather dazed expression. Holy Christ, what is this?
“My mother, Daisy Blanton Kerr,” Amanda said.
“Mrs. Kerr, thank you for having me.”
“For a moment I didn’t think you would get here,” Amanda said.
“I, uh, waited till everyone else went in.”
“How thoughtful,” Daisy said.
As Amanda linked arms with Zachary and they entered the great hall, all eyes were on them.
“What a handsome young man,” Daisy said.
Horace Kerr growled.
“Miss Amanda,” Zachary said, “could I check my sword? I don’t think I could manage a polka wearing it.”
A polka they did, a wild polka, and the circle grew around them and broke into cheers. It was the most giddy moment of her life, with a partner so perfect, so graceful, so manly. They caught their breath to applause as Amanda took a place near a sagging buffet filled with foods Zachary had never before seen. A line of couples drifted to them for an introduction.
Several plump young maidens allowed as how they had openings on their dance cards, to the discomfort of their escorts.
Thank God he’s not a captain, Horace thought as he chomped and chomped from a bottomless bowl of caviar.
After the first blast of Inverness, Private O’Hara gained quick control of himself. He was polite and at ease and so softly charming to the she-wolf pack.
Amanda, who had supposed he would be all thumbs, was having the tables turned on her in her own territory.
Amanda sorted out a few dances with Zach for her closest friends while their escorts sniffed. She more than made up for their discomfort by giving each of them a whirl with her and soon it all settled down to “great fun,” really great fun.
Amanda had insisted—no, demanded that her father hire a second orchestra, a band of black musicians who could banjo and blow out the new ragtime craze. It was not quite proper for a high social affair, but Horace Kerr’s daughter was not a run-of-the-mill debutante.
When the final waltz, gavotte, quadrille, and polka wound down, the black band took over and soon “Lisa Jane” and “Oh Them Golden Slippers” and “Baby Mine” reverberated off those sacred walls.
By midball, the revelers needed a break while loaded platters refilled the buffet. Horace Kerr was delighted by the thought that the ragtime dancing would be the talk of the town for weeks to come. Actually, he was rather pleased that Private O’Hara had brought out a flair in his daughter. She may have picked a fight she will not win with him. Ah, to be able to listen to their verbal duel, he thought.
Amanda led Zachary through the French doors.
“Time for a stroll in the garden,” she said.
They made their way down the broad stairs to the veranda, then down again to the most profound fountain in Maryland.
They passed benches of pecking puppy lovers and moved on into a dark part of the garden. There was still sufficient light reflected to really study the white silk flow of her gown. She was sleek and fine and different from the hoopskirted girls with buckets of tight, hanging curls. Their show of junior cleavage was poor stuff alongside Amanda. Amanda was quite freely dressed and Zachary could see the press of her nipples, right up to the point of impropriety.
Her hair flowed easily, commanded by her slightest movement. Zach knew this girl’s eyes concealed a vast trove of wisdom and strength.
“Well, how does it feel to be the ‘belle’ of the ball?” she asked.
“I’m not quite sure,” Zachary said. “You’ve been the belle of the ball all your life, how does it feel, Miss Amanda?”
“Please call me Amanda.”
“Thank you, Miss Amanda. I’d like to know what whim passed through you to have me here in Inverness.”
“Well,” she started, “I was sitting in the waiting room of Secretary Culpeper’s office waiting for Father. I could see you in the foyer but you couldn’t see me. My book was very dull and one naturally looks about when one is just sitting there and waiting for one’s father. He had completely forgotten I was even there.