Free The Bride Wore Feathers by Sharon Ihle Page B

something wrong, Hazel?"
    The widow held a finger against a mouth that was cracked and dry from thirty-seven hard years of life and said under her breath, "I have some sage advice. Your behavior is not becoming to a lady of your breeding, and it's definitely unbecoming to a young woman with the Custer name in her background, especially here on an army post."
    Dominique blushed, not sure exactly what she'd done, aware only of the vivid memories of her captivity. "I don't really know what I've done. I feel as if I've been sleeping or something."
    Hazel pressed her fingertips against her waist and took several shallow breaths. A tight corset strained to harness the extra helpings of potatoes and pie she'd eaten to combat loneliness over the past six years, but still she felt bloated and uncomely, and more than a little faint. Her fingertips moved to her brow as she scolded her young charge. "You were much too close to the private while you were dancing. That was bad enough, but when the song was over, instead of taking your leave like any proper lady, you remained in his arms, staring up at him like a lovesick cow. It won't do, Dominique. It simply isn't proper behavior."
    "Oh, Hazel, I'm sorry." Dominique assumed a repentant posture and murmured, "Maybe I'm still feeling the effects of the drugs I was forced to take. I had no idea I was making a display of myself. I'm sorry I got you all upset."
    "Oh, don't worry about me, dear." Hazel wiped her brow with the back of her hand and took another breath. "I'm all right, really I am. I think I may have let Mary lace me up too tight."
    "Is it all right if I stay and dance some more, then?" Dominique's eyes, bright and full of life, had regained their natural sparkle.
    Hazel worked to press her lips together in a show of disapproval, but a smile filtered through in spite of the effort. Envious of the girl's youth and spirited nature, for she had lost her zest for life when her spirit was broken along with her husband's back during a violent storm on Lake Erie, she gave in and said, "Of course you can. Just make sure you choose your partners wisely and dance with them modestly. There are plenty of officers waiting in line for a chance to take a turn with you. Mrs. Custer said you are not to waste any more of your time on common soldiers."
    "Oh?" Dominique pursed her lips and glanced around the room. She spotted her aunt chatting with a few of the better-dressed ladies and surmised they were officer's wives. As sweet and lovely as she was, Libbie Custer had definite ideas about the rung she occupied on the social ladder. In her short stay at Fort Lincoln, Dominique had learned that the divisions between rank were clear and on several distinct levels. But why did they have to extend to her, an outsider, a visitor?
    Dominique frowned and turned back to Hazel. "Please tell Aunt Libbie you informed me of my breach of protocol and that I will do the best I can to behave from here on out. I will make sure to dance with a wide variety of Uncle Armstrong's men."
    Hazel studied her young charge's expression, taking special interest in the mischievous glint in her dark brown eyes. "Dominique," she warned, "have a good time, but do remember your manners. I will be making weekly reports to your father, you know."
    "Yes, ma'am," she said, properly contrite as she noticed a tall, gaunt soldier approaching them. "Oh, excuse me, Hazel, here comes a suitable partner for me. An officer, if I don't miss my guess. Shall I ask him to dance?"
    The older woman looked over her shoulder, then quickly snapped her head around. "Why, ah, yes, he is an officer. I suppose Libbie couldn't object to him."
    "What about you?" Dominique's grin was scampish, secretive. "Won't you mind? Or did you think I hadn't noticed you clinging to this particular officer like a spit curl on a lady's brow?"
    "Dominique. Your language." Hazel's amber eyes widened, as much with shock as with the realization that Barney Woodhouse was