Ask a Shadow to Dance by Linda George Page B

had suggested they meet. Aunt Portia sat down at a nearby table, glancing around the room with a troubled expression on her face. Lisette joined her.
    “What’s wrong, Aunt Portia?”
    “I don’t know. Something about this place doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it more than that.”
    “Surely you’ve been here before.”
    “Child, I’ve been in this lobby more times than I could count. Jacob used to meet business associates here. I suggested bringing them to the house, but he said the Peabody was a neutral place where they could talk without being distracted by what he called domestic interference. Most of the time he would come alone, but occasionally he’d want me along. Why, I don’t know. I’ve spent many an hour sitting in this lobby, waiting for your father to conclude a business deal.”
    “And today?”
    “Something isn’t right.” She hugged herself, as though suddenly cold, casting around for the cause of the odd feeling. “Tell me about this doctor you’ve come to meet. Is he handsome?”
    “Yes. He’s traveled all the way to California, just as I’ve always wanted to do. In fact …” She hesitated, wondering if Aunt Portia would find her frivolous if she admitted what had transpired between herself and the doctor.
    “What, child? You know you can tell me anything.”
    Lisette knew it was the truth. It always had been. “He said he would take me anywhere in the world I wanted to go.”
    Aunt Portia’s expression surprised her. Instead of disapproving of the forward remark, she appeared fascinated and touched. “He said that to you? How long had you known him?”
    “Hardly an hour. I know it sounds improper for a man to say such a thing to a woman he hardly knows.”
    “Yet there seemed to be something between you, am I right? Something special?”
    She could hardly believe how Aunt Portia expressed the situation so completely in only a few words. “Yes, exactly. But, a woman in mourning has no business—”
    Portia gripped Lisette’s hand. “You’ve suffered enough during the past eight years, having to put up with Andrew. You miss James. No one doubts that.”
    Lisette didn’t correct her. There was no need for her to know James’s death had been an enormous relief, and she would never miss him.
    “No one doubts you mourned his passing. But did you ever love him?”
    Lisette thought about it a moment. Should she admit the truth? She couldn’t lie to Aunt Portia any longer. “No. Never.”
    “Just as I suspected. Although you never said an ill word against him, any man who could raise a son like Andrew would not have been as kind as you indicated in your letters.”
    She started to say something, but Portia held up one hand and wouldn’t let her reply.
    “I read more in those sad letters than you thought I would. It’s best buried with James. In truth, you’ve been mourning for eight years—mourning the life you lost when Jacob forfeited your future and your well-being in a game of poker in this very room.” Her eyes misted with tears. “Jacob never forgave himself for what he’d done. And I have to admit, I never forgave him either, until you walked through that front door last night.”
    Lisette’s throat tightened. It must have been the hardest thing Aunt Portia had ever done to write cheery letters and never let on she’d guessed what Lisette had not been able to admit.
    “It’s time for you to stop mourning, time for you to find some happiness. Do you think you might find it with this Doctor Stewart?”
    Lisette thought about it for a moment. “I have no idea what his intentions are. To assume, after speaking to him only three times, that he is serious about pursuing a future with me would be presumptuous. He did ask to call on me, though.”
    “Well, there you are.” Aunt Portia smiled and patted her hand tenderly. “If you should find a man with whom you can share the rest of your life—a man who will treat you with respect and kindness—don’t