The Davenports: More Than This

Now in paperback, the anticipated sequel to the instant New York Times bestseller featuring a wealthy Black family in 1910s Chicago

Like the blazing Chicago sun, the drama is heating up for the Davenports and their social set. Before the summer of 1910 drops its last petal, the lives—and loves—of these four young women will change in ways they never could have imagined:

Newly engaged Ruby Tremaine is eagerly planning her wedding to the love of her life when a nasty rumor threatens her reputation and her marriage. Olivia Davenport has committed to social justice and secretly hopes she’ll be reunited with dashing lawyer Washington DeWight—until her parents decide she’s to marry someone else. Amy-Rose Shepherd is making her lifelong wish of owning a salon come true, but when an incident forces her to return to Freeport Manor, she’s back in the path of John Davenport, who still holds her heart. Helen Davenport is determined to get over her own heartbreak and bring the Davenport Carriage Company into the new century, even if it means teaming up with a thrill-seeking racecar driver who just loves to get under her skin.

Inspired by the real-life story of the Patterson family, More Than This is the second book in the critically adored Davenports series, following four empowered and passionate young Black women as they navigate a rapidly changing society and discover the courage to steer their own paths in life—and love. | Praise for The Davenports: More Than This

“The Davenport universe, which has history, humor, and heart baked into it, maintains its continuity in this volume, and Marquis will satisfy fans with the characters’ expanding narratives. The breezy and fluid prose supports the love-filled merry-go-round of will-they-won’t-they storylines. An enjoyable sequel in a well-oiled coming-of-age series.” —Kirkus Reviews

“Marquis’s [second] novel richly portrays the complexities of early 20th century Black society and the determination of young women redefining their futures.” —School Library Journal

“The Davenport sisters and their friends Amy-Rose and Ruby are back for more romance and intrigue. [And] the politics and high society of Black Chicago in the early 1900s are as interesting and juicy as ever.” —Booklist

Praise and Accolades for The Davenports

* A New York Times Bestseller *
* A Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Year *
* A #1 Indie Next Pick *
* Black Caucus of the American Library Association (BCALA) Award Winner *
* Heartland Booksellers Award Winner *
* African Americans On The Move Book Club (AAMBC) Award Winner *

"The perfect read for fans of escapist historical fiction.” —NBC’s TODAY

"The Davenports has it all: romance, heartbreak, courage." —Ebony

"A fresh, utterly enchanting read.” —Ayana Gray, New York Times bestselling author of the Beasts of Prey trilogy

"Deftly written . . . A dazzling debut." —Kirkus (starred review)

"Stunningly wrought . . . Presents a cast of take-charge women." —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"[Combines] the compulsive readability of Gossip Girl [with] a celebration of Black entrepreneurship [in a] a tale of ambitious young women forging their own paths." —Booklist (starred review)

"Compelling . . . distinct and satisfying." —BCCB

"Leaves readers anticipating the next chapter each time. This is a well-written novel, sure to please fans of historical fiction, romance, and Chicago history [for] young adults and adults alike . . . Recommended." —School Library Journal

"If this whole series existed right now, I’d tear through it to the exclusion of everything else in my life." —Teen Librarian Toolbox | Krystal Marquis is the New York Times bestselling author of The Davenports, her debut novel. Krystal happily spends most of her time in libraries and used bookstores. She studied biology at Boston College and University of Connecticut and now works as an environmental, health, and safety manager for an online retailer. When not writing or planning trips to the Book Barn to discover her next favorite romance, Krystal enjoys hiking, expanding her shoe collection, and plotting ways to create her own Jurassic Park. | Chicago, 1910
Summer

Chapter 1
Ruby


Ruby Tremaine stretched up on her toes to get a better look at the crowd. She clasped her signature necklace in her hand and hummed to the music played by the band in the corner of the Tremaines’ famous garden. Behind it, the maze entertained her guests, the soft sound of the fountain at the center filling the space between songs. The patio served as a dance floor, shaded by the large tent raised to shield them from the hot summer sun. Though the current heat wave was one for the record books, it was a nice day, if a little humid. And all the parents are getting along, she thought.
Harrison Barton slid to her side, slipping his arm around her and curling her body into his.
“Harrison!” she exclaimed, surprised, a little breathless.
“What?” he asked, face bright. “Everyone’s here to celebrate our engagement. I think they know we dance.” He moved her to the music, and she slipped into rhythm, holding his gaze, his eyes a pale brown like coffee with rich, rich cream, and fringed with green. It had been three weeks since the masquerade ball the Davenports had thrown for her father’s campaign. The black-tie affair was certainly a night to remember. Attended by the city’s elite, wealthy and influential white and Black scions of business and politics had rubbed elbows, offered their dedication and dollars, and toasted her father’s ambition to become Chicago’s first Black mayor.
It was all anyone had talked about for weeks before and after. The night was etched in Ruby’s mind too, though for other reasons—Harrison’s face when he realized their coupling had begun as a scheme, the look in his eyes. It still haunted her. And yet, incredibly, Harrison was her fiancé!
“Your father is calling you,” she said to him.
He twirled her. His energy was infectious and dispelled her awful memories of that night, filling her instead with a joy that spread like sunshine.
He pulled her close and gave her a quick peck on her cheek. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, before walking to where his family stood.
Ah! She loved the sound of it. Fiancé. His laugh floated over to her. The sound of her family, the chatter of her friends—all of them gathered around to celebrate her. It made Ruby’s face hurt from smiling. She was going to savor every moment of this party. For a few hours, she could avoid the disappointed looks from her parents, masked now for their guests, and simply exist, a happy bride-to-be.
“It’s beautiful,” said Olivia.
Ruby turned to her best friend, the elder of the two Davenport sisters, and took the glass of champagne Olivia offered. Olivia’s yellow gown offset her rich brown skin, and the warmth in her almond-shaped eyes deepened now with the reassuring look she gave Ruby.
“It is, isn’t it?” Ruby took in the fresh-cut flowers cascading from three-foot vases. The linen-covered tables held delicate rose arrangements of fragrant petals ranging from dark red to white, with every shade of pink between. Ruby’s parents had swallowed their pride and allowed Harrison to help pay for the decorations and the staff, who now waited on the one hundred or so guests. She took a quick sip of champagne and let the chilled, fizzy drink melt through her like an ice cube in hot tea.
Mr. Barton, Harrison’s father, was easy to spot, not just because he was one of the few white gentlemen, but because he stood a foot taller than most of the men there. He and Harrison were the same height and both quick to smile. Mr. Barton’s hair showed streaks of white, his eyes a watery gray. Harrison’s brother was nearly as tall, his skin the same shade as Harrison’s, and eyes a deep brown like their mother’s. Mrs. Barton, too, was tall. Her hair had been woven into an intricate braid on the crown of her head. She stood straight-backed and smiled easily. The lines at the corners of her eyes suggested a life of laughter.
“I fear my sister has frightened Harrison’s back to her mother’s skirts,” said Olivia.
Sure enough, the youngest Barton sibling stood at her mother’s elbow, looking like Anna Barton’s miniature double, their mahogany skin smooth and glistening in the heat. “What has Helen done?” Ruby laughed.
“I only attempted to warn her of the perils of parties like this, and the cunning of gentleman suitors.” Helen Davenport appeared at Ruby’s other side, staring fiercely at the entrance of the maze.
Ruby considered the decisions that had brought her to this moment. She’d played Harrison Barton and John Davenport off each other to win John’s affections. Her plan had been flawless—except that she’d fallen for Harrison in the course of it. The plan had not worked, thankfully. Though the memory of the ruse left her feeling sour. “Gentlewomen can be just as cunning,” Ruby said now.
Helen chewed her lip. Her focus dropped to the sweating glass of sweet tea in her hand. Ruby gave the younger Davenport sister a comforting squeeze around the waist.
“If only we could see what was around the bend,” Olivia said. “You’ll recall that I entertained a fake courtship, trying to appease Mama and Daddy.”
Helen smiled ruefully. Ruby let out a sigh. “I know better than most,” she said, “what one will do to please one’s parents.”
Ruby saw Olivia’s gaze drift to where Ruby’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine, stood, her father, large and imposing, and her mother, who looked like she could easily pass for Ruby’s sister. “Have things improved at all?” Olivia asked.
“No,” Ruby huffed. “They’re overly polite to Harrison and his family. Well, most of the time. And when it’s just the four of us, the silence is heavy enough to crush us all.”
“When the next set of campaign results are announced,” Olivia said, “it’ll smooth things over. The group I meet with are very enthusiastic about your father’s chances and”—she paused, a firm set to her lips—“to have a Black mayor would do wonders for the change we’re trying to champion. Just look at all Mr. Armstrong has done in Boley, Oklahoma.”
“You’ve never been to Boley, Oklahoma,” Ruby and Helen said at the same time.
“Neither have you,” Olivia replied, ignoring her sister and bumping Ruby with her hip. “It’s thriving under the care of a Black mayor, so much so that its reputation precedes it.”
Ruby looked at her parents, lifting her chin. “I certainly hope you’re right.” She smoothed the front of her dress, a pink so pale, it appeared white against her russet-brown skin. She’d chosen it especially for this occasion. Harrison Barton, whom she loved, was smart, caring, and understanding. Her scheming hadn’t scared him off. He’d seen the real her despite it. And Ruby wasn’t about to let anything stand in the way of this day or her happiness. “I’m to marry the love of my life,” she murmured. The wedding date had been set for late August, two months from now.
Olivia nearly squealed. “I can’t wait to start the real planning,” she said over Helen’s noncommittal grunt.
Ruby blinked, realizing she’d spoken aloud, and smiled.
“How is Harrison? Does he have any preferences?” Olivia asked.
“He’s taking everything in stride. He wants something small—an intimate affair.” Ruby’s smile grew. “Here he comes now.”
Olivia laughed. “I’m so happy for you, my friend, though I wonder if he knows how much thought you’ve already put into the day.” She squeezed Ruby’s hand.
“I think that’s an understatement,” said Helen into her glass of sweet tea.
Olivia threw her sister a look before turning her smile back to Ruby.
When they were younger, Ruby and Olivia had spent afternoons planning their wedding days. They would be grand affairs, attended by Chicago’s elite. Ruby had imagined Olivet Baptist Church filled to bursting, and a reception that kept her the envy of every girl for the rest of the season.
“Your gown will have a train as long as the aisle,” Olivia recited now, “flowers spilling over the pews—”
“As if I walked through a sunlit meadow,” finished Ruby with a smile. On her father’s arm, she would shine—so beautiful, her mother would need to keep a handkerchief pressed to tear-streaked cheeks.
“Yes!” Olivia sighed. “All eyes on you.”
Perhaps Olivia was still right. But Ruby’s eyes would be on Harrison. He stopped beside her now and leaned in to place a soft kiss along Ruby’s jaw. She felt the heat from his touch blossom and blaze a trail down her neck. The sunshine filling her turned molten and delicious. She shivered despite the heat.
Harrison nodded to Olivia and Helen, eyes smiling. “Hello, Miss Davenport. Miss Davenport. I heard you played an important part in ensuring this day went smoothly. Thank you.”
“Yes, well, most of the details were decided ahead of time,” Olivia said, giving Ruby a knowing look.
“Hush!” Ruby teased, pulling out her fan and whipping up the air around her. Her mother and Mrs. Barton were making their way over now, and were nearly upon them before Ruby had time to compose herself.
“I’m going to get some cake,” Helen announced, having heard their wedding dreams countless times.
“Harrison,” Olivia started, pulling her gaze from her sister, “will you continue with the summer league? We know how you enjoy playing.”
“I’ve retired from baseball.” He looked at Ruby. “I’ve found a more enjoyable pastime, but I do like watching the occasional game. The Leland Giants look impressive this year. Rube Foster sure knows how to put a team together . . .” He trailed off, grinning at the politely blank look on Olivia’s face. Ruby tried to contain her giggle, turning to bring her mother and Anna Barton into the conversation.
“You will make a lovely bride,” said Mrs. Tremaine, stepping into the conversation as if with two left feet. Her fan was the same shade of dove-gray as her dress.
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Barton, “a beautiful bride.” She smiled at Ruby in a warm but guarded way that made Ruby’s stomach flip.
“Thank you,” Ruby said. She hugged her soon-to-be mother-in-law, welcoming the smell of powder and freesia.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know you better,” Mrs. Barton continued. “All of you. I understand that now is a hectic time in the Tremaine household, but a dinner is in order.”
“If things go according to plan, Mr. Tremaine will be far busier than he is now,” Mrs. Tremaine said, standing straighter, her attempt to soften her words with a smile dampened by the arch of her brows. She ignored Ruby’s stare.
“Of course, we will all soon be family,” Ruby said, closing her fan. She placed her free hand gently on Mrs. Barton’s forearm and said, “We always make time for family.” Ruby eyed her mother, who eventually nodded a response.
Ruby sensed Harrison shift beside her and wished they could vanish into a quiet corner. Maybe we should elope? she thought. Disappear into marital bliss. A girl could dream.
Mrs. Barton reached for Harrison’s tie and adjusted it. “We could host it at your house,” she said to him.
Ruby had only been in the foyer of Harrison’s town house, but she knew it to be smaller than her parents’ home. And she could see this was not lost on her mother either. Mrs. Tremaine was about to step in when the band changed pace and played a jaunty tune.
“Shall we?” Harrison asked, holding his hand out to her.
Before Ruby could answer, Olivia had plucked the champagne flute from Ruby’s hand and begun asking Mrs. Barton about her trip from South Carolina.
“Excuse us,” Harrison said to their mothers, and whisked Ruby to the center of the patio that doubled as a dance floor. He spun her around, her skirt swaying at her ankles. The music was loud and joyous.
“Thank you,” she said.
He held her close. “No need to thank me. We’re in this together.”
“Do you think they’ll ever get along?”
“Eventually. I hope.” He pulled back enough to see her face and studied her expression. “Hey, you and me.”
“Yes.” Ruby nodded. “You and me.” She dropped her head to his shoulder, and even though the song was fast, they swayed to a rhythm all their own.
When the song finished, they made their way back to the refreshments.
Barton!”
Ruby and Harrison turned.
Striding toward them was a tall, handsome gentleman with neat waves in his hair and an impeccably tailored suit. Its light color complemented his umber-brown skin. He had brown eyes that sparkled and a grin that suggested he was always on the make, looking for the next young lady to charm. Harrison embraced the newcomer, laughing as the young man loudly clapped his back.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Harrison. “I wasn’t sure you’d make the long journey.”
“And miss your prenuptials party? You’re the brother I never had. The trouble we could have caused if the cards fell differently. Still.” He lowered his gaze as it passed over Ruby and shook his head. “Ain’t no way I was missing this.” He pressed a handkerchief to his brow. “There’s no better way to end the summer than with a wedding.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Harrison turned to Ruby, his hand reaching for hers. “Ruby, this is—”
“Carter, Edgar Carter. I am Barton’s oldest friend, and keeper of all his secrets.”
Ruby eyed her fiancé. “Keeper of secrets, you say?” The two men laughed, a sweet harmony. “I think we should set aside some time to talk, Mr. Carter.”
“Just Carter, if you don’t mind, Miss Tremaine. All my friends call me Carter.”
Ruby hesitated. An encouraging look from Harrison settled her nerves. “All right, Carter.”
Carter took Ruby’s hand and pressed the back of it to his lips. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance. And once my sister is done catching up with her new friends, I’d be happy to introduce you to her as well.”
Harrison straightened and looked around the garden. “Odette is here?”
“I am.”
Behind them stood a young woman, as beautiful as her brother was handsome. Her catlike eyes and tiny bow of a mouth captured Ruby’s attention, and her brown skin seemed to glow from within. Odette Carter wore an empire-waist dress, a shade darker than Ruby’s. Its lace hem was dangerously short, and she pulled at the long string of pearls layered around her bare neck. It was daring and borderline scandalous. And Ruby loved it. Unfortunately, Odette was flanked by Bertha Wallace and Agatha Leary. Agatha had pursued not only John Davenport but also Harrison last spring. Ruby held her composure and refocused on Odette, surprised to find the young woman’s eyes on her.
With her fingers still tangled in her pearls, Odette said, “You must be the bride!” Then she threw her arms wide and embraced Ruby, enveloping her in a cloud of perfume. “Let’s be friends.”
Agatha and Bertha whispered to each other, their smiles wide. Ruby felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Odette pulled back and held Ruby at arm’s length. “Love your dress!” Beside Ruby, Harrison laughed at something Carter had said.
“Thank you,” Ruby replied, pulling her gaze from Carter and the other two women.
Harrison beamed. “Ruby has quite the eye.” He slipped his hand into hers, threading their fingers together and gently pulling her to his side. His presence smoothed the sliver of unease that had pricked her. She looked from him to the new quartet and back to her groom.
Her fiancé.
Her future.

Chapter 2
Olivia

Olivia Elise Davenport, smile wide, watched her best friend greet the other guests. The centerpieces were shades of red roses—splashes of Ruby’s signature color everywhere. She will be someone’s wife! Olivia shook her head. This was the desired outcome after all they’d learned from their mothers and governesses. Of course, it had been their parents’ wish that the Tremaines and Davenports be united through marriage. And at one time, it had been Olivia’s too. But to see the joy radiating from her friend—and to know her own heart too—Olivia understood that such things did not come from planning or plotting.
Her own course had been unexpected, yes, but Olivia knew her day would come. Just not yet.
From her spot under the tent, among the blooming pink flowers and neatly trimmed hedges, she watched the couple and allowed an image of Washington DeWight to fill her mind. His strong jaw, honey-colored eyes, and high cheekbones. She was transported back to their evening on the restaurant rooftop, not long before he left Chicago. The air had been filled with the savory steam of food cooking below, and music from a nearby bar wafted on the crisp spring breeze. As the sun set, it filled the Chicago skyline with bright oranges and golds. He’d held her close, his cheek pressed against hers, as they’d danced to the faint rhythm. She recalled the heat that had bloomed under the palm of his hand, splayed across her back.
Her memory painted a clear picture, and his letters—the passion in them, each one ending with some declaration of his affection for her—convinced her the distance between them only existed in the physical sense. He signed them, Until we dance again, WDW, which always made her smile, recalling their first dance together—the glint in his eye, his mischief. How much their relationship had changed since they’d first met. She wondered if he kept her own letters.
“So strange,” said Helen.
Olivia gasped. “Don’t frighten me like that. Helen! How are you so quiet? I thought you went to get cake.”
“The table is too crowded,” Helen said, eyeing their parents, who had gathered around the desserts. Then her face split into a grin. “I’m quite like a cat. How else do you think I sneak off to the garage undetected?”
Olivia snorted. They both knew she’d been caught more than once.
Helen’s eyes flitted across the spectacle. “To think—this was almost you, Livy. Good thing you have such discerning taste.” She pretended to ignore Olivia’s look. “Though I expect Mama and Daddy would have turned your engagement party into a circus.” She sipped her sweet tea.
Olivia stared at the sweating glass, her own throat dry. It was still hot, even as the sun lowered. And the crowd was large, consisting of Chicago’s prominent families, all of them known to Mr. Tremaine in his efforts to run for mayor, and to the Davenports in their efforts to support him. All these people—at what might have been her wedding.
Olivia agreed with her sister about the circus part, but said, “I think they would have held mine at Freeport if I’d asked. In the ballroom. Maybe made it a more intimate affair.”
“And forgo your own long-planned spectacle?” Helen handed Olivia her cold glass of tea. Olivia took a sip, grateful, and handed it back.
The idea of her childhood dreams made Olivia smile.
She glanced at her sister quickly. At one point she and Helen had shared an affection for the same gentleman—Jacob Lawrence, he of the neat mustache and London family fortune. Or so he’d led them to believe. Olivia’s engagement to him had been expected, but she had moved on from Mr. Lawrence before the truth came out. She’d found the right person for her in Washington DeWight. The outspoken Southern lawyer surprised her, challenged her, from their very first meeting at Samson House when he’d passionately addressed the crowd. It was there that she’d begun working with Chicago’s growing group of civil rights activists. But like she’d told Washington in her letters, she hadn’t quite mustered the courage to take the stage as he did. For now, she followed the lead of others, and volunteered when she could at the community center. It was something.
Just not enough.
“Are you planning to leave now that Ruby is getting married? To join Mr. DeWight in Washington, DC?” Helen’s eyes had softened, but her gaze was steady.
Olivia took in her sister, who looked so much like their father—same proud nose and perceptive brown eyes. “No, not yet. He’s only just arrived in Philadelphia, and my reasons for staying are still my reasons. Chicago is our home. There’s so much work to be done and I want to be a part of it.” Though Chicago was not segregated like the South, there were spaces where the color line was evident, where citizens’ prejudice bled into her everyday life. Like when simply shopping for fabric.
“Life can’t be just about work, Livy. What about love?”
The question from her sister surprised Olivia, with Helen’s own heart so recently broken.
Olivia thought about this city that had given her parents a second chance, the opportunity for her and her siblings to thrive—the booming downtown, the arts and culture. “Who said my decision wasn’t for love?”
Before Helen could respond, Olivia saw John detach himself from a rowdy group of friends, his bearing serious. Gone were his easy smile and the dimple that set girls’ hearts fluttering. “I’m ready to leave,” he told his sisters. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His eyes searched the garden, looking for someone they all knew was not there.
“Thank goodness,” said Helen, tipping back the last of her sweet tea.
“Don’t you think you should stay?” he teased.
“If you leave me here, John, I’ll—”
“This is a party!” Olivia interrupted. “You are allowed to enjoy yourselves. You’re both being rude.”
John held up his hands. “How am I being rude?”
Helen smirked and answered first. “Because you’re an eligible young man who hasn’t danced with a single girl here. All the mamas in the room are having fits!”
“My sincerest apologies to all the mamas, but I need to get out of here and back to the garage.” He looked toward the door.
Though they would not admit it, Olivia knew her brother and sister were throwing themselves into their interests instead of their feelings. A family trait, it would seem.
“And the sooner the better. Livy, enjoy yourself. Don’t forget to dance with your date.”
They all looked to Everett Stone, a Davenport Carriage Company lawyer, who now spoke with their parents at the desserts table. Olivia felt her face pinch. She wasn’t sure if Mr. Stone himself knew the strings her parents attempted to pull behind the scenes. His face was sharp, square angles—a chiseled sculpture of a young man who garnered almost as much attention in public as she did. And that was the last thing she wanted—more attention. But the challenge in her siblings’ eyes felt like a pebble in her shoe.
“You’re right,” said Olivia, smoothing her features and her pale yellow dress. “It would be rude not to.” With a pointed look to her brother, she walked to where Mr. Stone stood. He wore wire-framed eyeglasses and tracked her movements with a curious gaze under thick, powerful brows. Despite Mr. Everett Stone’s quiet appeal and striking good looks, her parents’ attempt at matchmaking hindered Olivia’s plans: Not only was she not enticed—and her mother knew it—but she’d thought she’d have more time to volunteer at the community center. Now she found herself at square one—entertaining in the family parlor under her mother’s watchful gaze, which fell on her now.
Olivia felt rather than saw Mr. Stone rustle beside her. His arm brushed hers, warm and solid. She caught a whiff of mint. It was a calm and soothing scent. Despite her parents’ relaxed demeanor, goose bumps rose on Olivia’s arms. Nearly as soon as Mr. Lawrence’s letter had arrived for her family, excusing himself for the rest of the summer for an emergency back home in London, Everett Stone had appeared at the place setting next to hers at the Davenport dinner table.
Olivia suspected her mother took her choice to stay in Chicago as a sign that she and the Alabama lawyer, Mr. DeWight, were through, as thoroughly as she and Mr. Lawrence were through. But to Olivia, Washington’s train pulling away was not the end of their story. She didn’t know what the future held for them but . . . she knew her day would come, and she hoped when it did, it would be with Washington DeWight.
She folded her arms against her chest now, seeing the way her parents studied her and her new suitor. The first thing she’d noticed that initial evening at dinner was how deliberately Mr. Stone held his knife and fork. She later realized that he did everything this way. He was not impulsive or animated. He was a lawyer, like Washington; unlike Washington, he was a lawyer for the carriage company and other Black small business owners. Worthy work. But compared to Mr. DeWight, The complete opposite, she thought.
She again pictured Washington, his disarming smile, smooth laugh, that Southern lilt that kept her and everyone entranced. Crowds had flocked to Samson House or the steps of the courthouse to hear him speak, and to stand at his side to demonstrate their allegiance in discontent. Olivia had been one of them. In the days after he’d left, she had been inundated with letters from other activists who’d stayed in the city rather than traveling with Mr. DeWight to Philadelphia, and then on to Washington, DC. They had asked the same question she did: What’s next?
Now, just as she settled beside her mother, Mr. Stone offered his hand. “Would you like to dance, Miss Davenport?” She glanced at her parents, who did a poor job at looking engrossed in conversation.
“I’d like that.” She tried to sound convincing as she took his warm hand awkwardly in hers. They joined the other couples, including Ruby and Mr. Barton. Mr. Stone put a hand on her back and drew her into the gentle cloud of mint that enveloped him. His touch