The Christmas Secret by Julia London Page B

was which of those ladies Mr. Canavan was admiring.
    The music changed; Henry recognized a reel.
    “Mr. Bristol!” Molly Hannigan said to him, jostling him from his study of Mr. Canavan. She extended her hand to him. “You cannot think to stand there all alone, aye?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “You must dance.”
    “I am not particularly skilled,” Henry warned her.
    “The best thing one might say of Irish dancing is that one does not need to be skilled.” She laughed as she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the mix of persons taking their places for a reel.
    The music began, and Molly linked her arm through his, twirling him about, then letting go. He was caught by the next woman, who had laughing brown eyes and ginger hair, and a monstrous ribbon on her crown. “How do you find Eirinn, then?” she asked over the music.
    Henry was taken aback by her question and felt himself flush. Had they noticed his interest in her? “I have been mostly in the company of her brother.”
    “I mean our little island country, Mr. Bristol,” the woman said as she let him go and twirled to the next dancer. “I mean Ireland !”
    Henry had no time to respond; the next partner had taken his arm. She was older, with fat gray curls framing her face. “You’d be a good match for Molly Hannigan, now wouldn’t you, laddie?” she asked jovially and laughed grandly when Henry blanched. He gathered it was a rhetorical question, as she blithely twirled around and went on to the next partner. He turned, too, and found himself facing Erin. A smile erupted from deep within him. “Thank the heavens,” he said, taking her arm.
    “It’s quite fast,” Erin said loudly as they twirled about, one arm in the air.
    “Do you think your school would approve?”
    “Certainly not!” she said cheerfully, and let go his arm.
    They went round again, the music going faster, the dancers twirling faster. When Henry caught Erin again, he was captivated by the gaiety in her eyes. He didn’t want to let go, but someone grabbed her and away she went, and Henry once more found himself with Molly Hannigan, whose cheeks were flushed and whose green eyes glistened.
    “I cannot breathe, Mr. Bristol! You must rescue me from this dance before I expire.”
    He was happy to lead her out of the small sea of dancers, just as the music came to an end and was wildly applauded. “There he is . . . Mr. Griffin!” she called out and was quickly on her way, having set her sights on a young man with a long neck.
    Henry refreshed his drink, and as he sipped liberally from the cup, he noticed Erin standing near the terrace door, taking deep breaths. She smiled when she saw him approaching.
    “You suffer from the perils of Irish dancing,” he said.
    She grinned as she gulped down another deep breath. “Mr. O’Shay’s interpretation of the reel is vigorous.”
    Henry laughed. “Perhaps some air would do you good. The rain has stopped.”
    “It does seem rather close in here,” she agreed, allowing him to escort her out onto the terrace.
    Outside, a few people were milling about, seeking the cool night air. Henry breathed deeply of the salt-tinged air, felt himself rejuvenated. It was too dark to see the sea that Christmas evening, but Henry could hear it lapping at the bottom of the cliffs.
    Erin walked to the edge of the terrace and wrapped her arms tightly around herself; she dropped her head back to breathe it in.
    “You’re cold,” Henry said and removed his coat, draping it across Erin’s shoulders.
    The garment swallowed her, but she pulled it tightly around her. “Thank you.” She smiled up at him, and in the moonlight that had begun to peek through the clouds, her blue eyes looked unusually bright, her skin pale as milk. “Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Bristol?”
    “Very much,” he said, his gaze still on her lips. “And I would enjoy myself all the more if you would call me Henry.”
    “Henry,” she said, as if she was testing