“Miss Wentworth, might you do me the honor of this dance?”
“I’ve never danced this way before,” I said.
“I’m here to help.”
As Chester Livingstone continued to call the moves, ladies to one side and men to the other, Matthew gestured to where I should stand and how I should turn and how to balance. He laughed, his handsome face lit by the glowing campfires, and I don’t remember being happier. Perhaps I should have turned away, or looked demure, but I felt as if sparklers were lighting me up from the inside and I couldn’t hide my joy. When it was our turn to join hands I held onto him as if he were the only other person in the world. There was a pop of static between us, but it didn’t surprise me.
“Like fireworks on the Fourth of July,” Matthew whispered in my ear. He nodded toward the
