Clayton’s eyes met hers and moved instantly to take in the man at her side whose hand now rested on her lower back. Clayton nodded at her somewhat remotely and spoke to a few people who had quickly surrounded him. He was clothed in the dress uniform of the Confederacy, minus the hat, and his black hair shone beneath the glow of the chandelier. How handsome he was—and how well every woman near him knew it! Catherine stared indignantly at a trio of girls about her own age who stood by flirting with him, bracelets tinkling as they jiggled their wrists, earbobs dancing as they tossed their heads, necklaces glittering on overexposed bosoms. The unmarried girls were not permitted to nurse the wounded men but ran errands for convalescing soldiers. Catherine did not know these young women but had seen them at the hospital. She wanted to slap them. She saw Clayton make an almost imperceptible gesture with his head toward a uniformed man nearby. The man turned and looked at Catherine, and after a moment he began making his way toward her, stopping once in a while to speak to someone else.
