MY EYES SWEPT OVER THE crowd until they met Kipling Reed’s. He gave me a gracious, deep bow from across the room. Smiling warmly, I wove through the guests toward him.

“Kipling!” I said, holding my arms wide in unfettered happiness.

“Willow, always the belle of the ball,” he said, leaning in to kiss my right cheek, then the other.

“I’m so delighted you could come.”

“My sister and her husband recently moved here and they invited me to visit for the holidays, so it works out perfectly.” He smiled cordially.

I was surprised at how swiftly we’d become close friends. We’d exchanged letters weekly from the time Father tried to marry me off to him. He’d become dear to my heart, and he understood me in a way most people did not.

“Let’s get some fresh air. What do you say?” he proposed, offering his arm, which I readily grasped.

Kipling ushered me out the side doors into a patio garden that was a magical fairytale land of wintergreen and holly illuminated by the glow of numerous small lanterns.

“You outdid yourself, Willow,” Kipling said, admiring the greenery and lanterns I’d meticulously hung from the beams sheltering the garden.

I was overjoyed at his appreciation. “You are too kind,” I gushed, as heat invaded my cheeks. I veered from his compliment. “How long are you in town?”

He grinned, recognizing what I’d done, but obliged me with an answer. “I head home in a few days.”

“That disheartens me. This means we’d better make this time count.”

“As if that matters to you, Willow Hendricks. You pinned me as a friend only from the moment I met you,” he teased.

I laughed and shrugged. “But we are better off friends, don’t you agree?”

He nodded, his wavering agreement making me wonder if he wished for more. I knew I would never view him in that light, and needed to be honest to avoid giving him a false impression. “Have you made up your mind yet on making the move to New York?”

He laughed, again aware of my steering the conversation. “Yes. I don’t share the views of my fellow politicians. With the help of my father, I purchased a printing shop in New York. I figure I can use the newspaper business as a stage to make progress in the world. The plan is to put the politics aside, maybe for future use.” His eyes were aglow with the excitement of his next venture.

“Progress? What kind of progress are you hoping to achieve?” Intrigued, I turned to him.

He stopped and regarded me intently. “I’m a good old Southern boy, Willow, but my heart isn’t in the South or the way things are done here.” He tilted his head, searching my face for a reaction.

I frowned, perplexed. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Did we share the same beliefs? “I’m not quite sure I understand what you are implying, Kip.”

He lowered his voice before he blurted out, “I’m an abolitionist.”

What? No! Never would I have guessed. He’d never revealed these views before. I’d been oblivious. Unlike my amateur attempts, he’d moved forward, applying his wisdom and insight to effect change skillfully and quietly. I should take a lesson or two from him.

My voice cracked as I said, “I don’t know what to say. You have taken me by surprise, Kip. I would never have known. I mean, after all this time. In the letters back and forth, you never said anything.”

His face became reserved. “Well, one can never be too safe. Besides, I wanted to explain to you in person. So, has your opinion of me changed?” His brow knitted in concern.

I laughed wildly. He grimaced, taking my laughter as rebuke. “Quite the contrary!” I said quickly. “Let me assure you, dear Kip, in this our hearts align.”

Now it was his turn to gape in puzzlement.

“What I am saying is, we share the same perspective on those matters.”

Relief softened in his face.

We spent a few more moments in hushed whispers, until guests began streaming into the garden. “I had better play hostess and make my rounds.” I gave him a wistful smile.

He took my hand and bowed to place a gentle kiss on my fingers. “Thanks for the lovely walk, my lady,” he said in a carrying voice.

I noticed guests watching us and doing some whispering of their own, most likely wondering if we were courting. “Kipling, you have people staring.”

“Mission accomplished,” he said with a mischievous chuckle.

“Quick on your toes. I like it,” I whispered through my teeth, then giggled like a silly schoolgirl. “I bid you good evening, Mr. Reed.”

Turning slightly to put his back to the other guests, he shot me a private wink. Shaking my head, I grinned and reentered the mansion to go in search of the ever-dazzling Whitney.

My heart soared. I’d found an ally in Kip. He had connections and had agreed to be our eyes and ears.

When I found Whitney at the refreshments table, she bombarded me with questions. “Who was that?” she asked, looking in the direction of Kipling, who stood talking with Father and a few of Father’s business associates.

“That’s Kipling, the man Father intended me to marry. The one I told you about.”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes gleamed with impishness. “Are you sure you aren’t interested in him? He seems like quite the charmer, and you two seem to get on so well.”

“No, I assure you we are only friends.”

“Well, Bowden seemed to be stirred up as he watched the two of you interact as if you were long-lost lovers.”

“Whitney!” I warned softly. “Stop.”

“I’m simply saying from the moment you left us, his eyes followed you around the room. Then his face grew serious when you greeted Kipling. When you left for the garden with young Kipling, Bowden excused himself and went out the front door.”

“Well, Bowden and I have only in recent months developed a friendship,” I retorted, but my heart picked up its pace, and tingles coursed through my body.

Ever strong-willed, Whitney pressed on. “I believe Bowden has been trying all these years to make right his past wrongs because he is in love with you.”

I squirmed with unease.

“I tried to question Knox on this, but he wouldn’t say a word,” she continued, throwing her hand up in frustration.

“Whitney, you need to keep your nose out of it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The last thing I need is more tension. We can finally, after all these years, stand in the same room with each other, and I intend to keep it this way.”

“Willow, I didn’t mean to make you mad. Honestly, I didn’t. Please accept my apology.” Remorse darkened her pretty face, and she grasped my hands.

I scowled at her before my face split with a wide grin. “I know you have my best interests at heart,” I said, and she beamed at my understanding. “But no more meddling. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” She lifted her chin, exposing her lovely long neck.

“By the way, you pull off that gown swimmingly,” I said, stepping back to admire her.

Whitney brushed off the compliment, embarrassment flushing her cheeks, but then she performed an awe-inspiring swirl of her classic black silk gown. The skirt of her gown was designed with layers of thin pleats; the bodice was modest, cut just below her collarbone. She had wisely chosen long, red silk gloves to give her a pop of color. She always had exquisite taste in fashion. Then it dawned on me that Whitney had coordinated her and Knox’s evening attire.

“Why, Whitney, I do believe you and Knox planned your outfits for my party,” I teased.

“What if we did?” She popped a dessert square into her mouth and wrinkled her nose at me.

“So, you two are courting. This proves it.” I savored reversing her earlier intrusiveness as she blushed.

“You could say we are officially courting. But I will hear no talk of marriage. So don’t even go there,” she replied sternly.

Try as she might to deny it, courting led to marriage. But she could tell herself whatever she wanted to. “How exciting,” I said.

“If you say so.” She gave my arm a tug and wandered off to speak to someone who’d caught her eye.

I regarded her as she walked away, and a smile pulled at my mouth. This was Whitney’s way of shutting down an uncomfortable topic.