The Charm School by Susan Wiggs

drawing him forward. He bent first over Sophia’s fingers, then Isadora’s. She thanked heaven for the black moleskin finger less mitts she wore, for there was something searingly intimate about the gesture, and at least the fabric protected her from direct contact with his lips.
    When Captain Calhoun looked up at her, his face was full of cruel-edged mockery. Isadora forced herself to hold her gaze steady.
    He was not going to make this easy for her. Very well. She would endure him.
    She felt a familiar tickle at the back of her nose. Taking out a handkerchief with the lightning speed of a cavalier drawing a rapier, she stopped the sneeze in time.
    Lily smiled at her.
    “Bless you, my dear.”
    She said “Mah dee-ah” in the nicest way. As if she actually meant it.
    Isadora sensed she’d find an ally in Lily Calhoun.
    Once they were all settled on the burgundy-striped chaise, the settee and the wing chairs before the hearth, Thankful served strong coffee laced with cream, and tea cakes heavy with honey and hazelnuts.
    “And what is the name of your place in Virginia again?” Sophia asked sweetly.
    Isadora held herself very still and secretly bit her tongue. Her mother knew more about the Calhoun family than Lily herself, no doubt.
    A number of not-so- discreet inquiries had informed her about the lavish plantation on Mockjack Bay, Virginia. Once it was established that the Calhoun family possessed only slightly less social status than the Lord Above, Sophia decided they were the right sort of people.
    ‘ “Our place is called Albion. When my husband died, his elder son Hunter inherited it. Hunter is my stepson, and Ryan’s half brother.”
    Isadora watched Ryan’s face carefully. A half brother. Did the two get along? Probably not, she decided, recalling Lily’s anecdote about Ryan disgracing himself by choosing Harvard over Virginia tradition.
    He winked at her. Winked.
    Heavens be, what was he up to now?
    She pursed her lips and stared straight ahead, fighting a blush. Her mother and sisters were famous wits in conversation, but Isadora had never acquired the knack. She had no idea what to say to a man who winked at her. When she spoke her mind, she was considered offensive. When she echoed someone else’s opinion, she was denounced as boring. So whenever possible, she held her tongue and let her mind wander.
    She knew she shouldn’t succumb to fantasy, but the murmurs of conversation lulled her, and before she knew it, she was a Southern belle at a place called Albion, where the sun always shone and the workers sang glad praises to the sky and the air was filled with birdsong and the scent of magnolias.
    Dressed in tulle flounces from a Paris couturier, she waited on the verandah while her favorite suitor galloped up on a white horse.
    “Hello, Chad,” she would greet him demurely. except the man on the horse wasn’t Chad. He had flame-colored hair, a crooked grin, a provocative wink and. heavens be. What was Ryan Calhoun doing in the middle of her fantasy?
    “wouldn’t you say so, Isadora?” her mother was asking.
    Jolted out of her reverie, Isadora nodded vigorously, having no idea what she was agreeing to.
    “Indeed I would. Mother.”
    Ryan scowled at her.
    “That is,” she hastened to add, “except that I also wouldn’t.”
    Ryan rolled his eyes. What a hen-wit he must think her. She said, “And what do you think, Mr. Calhoun?”
    “I think that sea voyages are dangerously unhealthy, particularly for a lady of delicate constitution,” he said. “If I may be permitted to agree with my hostess,” he added gallantly, inclining his head toward Sophia.
    Isadora sent him a dagger glare. Didn’t he remember what Mr. Easterbrook’s letter said? Either he took Isadora along, or his position would be downgraded from skipper to second mate.
    “I have been touring the Continent for years,” Lily said.
    “I’ve sailed from Gibraltar to Athens and suffered absolutely no ill health at all other