Chandeliers gleamed, reflecting off polished oak floors and the highly waxed bannister of the staircase. On a refectory table in the main hall, smaller lanterns glimmered into the depth of a crystal punch bowl of persimmon beer beside another of syllabub, a rich mixture of sweet cream and wine. Around the edges of the room, small Betty lamps highlighted the array of colorful silk gowns whose skirts were held aloft by whalebone hoops, making the women appear to glide as if on wheels.Dan had been taciturn and brooding all evening, ever since helping Laura lace her stays and hook her gown. He had looked up to find the whalebone corsets thrusting her breasts up higher than usual, helped along by the stiff boning that shaped the bodice of the dress itself. A sour look had overtaken his face and was still there.The dress front was modest, topped by a stiff yoke of narrow pleating which swept from the crest of one shoulder to the other with scarcely a dip at the center. When she’d bought the dress, Laura had laughingly said there was no escaping whaling on Nantucket, for she even looked like a whaleboat!
