Authors: Karen Kirst
“There’s something magical about this place,” she said, her voice hushed. “It’s so beautiful it almost defies description.”
With the onset of fall, the leaves were already beginning to thin out. “You should see it in spring and summer. The greenery is so thick you feel like you’re the only creature for miles around, save the birds and squirrels.”
Her gaze settled on his. “I’d like that.”
He hadn’t meant it as an invitation. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. Kate seemed nice enough. But she didn’t fit in here. And although the physical similarity wasn’t there, in his mind he’d never be able to separate her from Francesca and her heartless betrayal.
He pointed to the box. “What do you have there?”
“My camera.”
Crouching down, she flipped open the lid and lifted it out. Made of polished cherrywood with brass fittings, black accordion-like material in between the two ends, it appeared to be an expensive piece of equipment. “Would you mind if I took a photograph of you?”
“What? Now?” He wasn’t primped and primed for a portrait. Far from it.
“Yes, now.” She stood. “Not every photo has to be staged in a studio.”
“But I’m not dressed—”
“You look fine.” Her gaze flicked over his shirt and trousers. “Natural. I wouldn’t expect you to be fishing in a three-piece suit, and neither would anyone else.” She paused in sliding a piece of square coated glass into the camera. “If you’d rather not, I understand. I don’t want to make you uneasy.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Great.” Her wide smile elicited one of his own. “I’m going across.”
There was a natural bridge to the other side, a mound of earth and rocks she crossed without incident. When she was directly across from him, he said, “I thought photographers had to travel with portable darkrooms.” The stream wasn’t all that wide, so he didn’t have to raise his voice.
“Not with the invention of the dry plate.” She steadied the stand before placing the camera on top. “The image is fixed and doesn’t have to be processed right away.”
“I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“That’s because they’ve only recently been manufactured for widespread sale. Okay, look directly at me. And sit as still as possible.” Peering into the camera, she removed the cover and waited for a full minute before replacing it. Straightening, she seemed pleased. “That’s going to be a good one, I think.”
Crossing back over, she was replacing the camera in its box when he spoke.
“Tell me about Francesca’s husband.”
Her hands stilled. She looked uncertain.
“I don’t even know her married name,” he persisted.
“His name is Percy Johnson.”
“Francesca Johnson. I think Francesca O’Malley has a nicer ring to it, but that’s just my opinion.”
Her mouth flattened. “I’m sorry.”
“I know he’s not a common laborer, like me. What does he do? Or rather, what does his family do? He probably hasn’t worked a day in his life.” He couldn’t disguise the bitterness in his voice.
I’m sorry, God. I can’t help envying the guy. He got the girl, and I’m left here to pick up the pieces.
Indignation flashed in her eyes. “There’s nothing common about you. My sister chose flash and glamour over depth and substance. She made a foolish decision.”
Her words sparked an odd pang in his chest. He couldn’t figure out why she was defending him. She didn’t know him. Not really. Except, she
had
listened to his letters and glimpsed into his soul without his consent.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she hastened to add, “I love my sister. It’s just that we each have our own opinions of what’s important in life.”
He found that difficult to believe. They might disagree on specifics, but their outlook couldn’t be all that different. They shared the same upbringing, the same advantages.
Proposing marriage to a woman so far above his station had been a colossal mistake. He should’ve realized from the beginning that their worlds were too far apart.
“I just don’t get it,” he wondered aloud. “Why not break off the engagement the moment she decided to patch things up with him?”
She edged closer to the water, stepping on a smooth, slanted rock scattered with orange leaves. “I wish I had an answer for you. Her behavior is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”
“The two of you aren’t close?”
She frowned. “No.”
He wanted to question her further, to ask why her parents hadn’t invited her to join them in Europe, but it was none of his business. Soon she’d be gone and he wouldn’t have to spare another thought on the Morgan family.
She pointed to a rounded shell bobbing above the surface. “Do you know what kind of turtle that is?”
“Can’t rightly say, but there are a number of painted box turtles hereabouts.”
“A pity it moves too quickly for my camera.”
His eyes on the turtle, he hadn’t noticed her getting closer to the rock’s edge.
“Be careful,” he warned, holding out a hand. “Those rocks can be slippery—”
“All I want is a closer look.”
One moment she was standing, bent at the hip with hands braced against her knees. An instant later, she was facedown in the stream.
Dropping his pole, Josh strode through the thigh-deep water. Wrapping his arm around her, his hand curled around her waist, he helped her stand. “Are you hurt?”
A bubble of laughter escaped as she wiped the moisture from her eyes. Her mouth a breath away from his ear, the soft, husky sound shot liquid fire through his veins.
“I’m fine.” Taking stock of her sodden clothing, she grimaced. “My pride is a bit bruised, however. You did warn me, didn’t you?”
Josh couldn’t stop his smile. “Did you get that closer look you wanted?”
“No. I guess he didn’t want to stick around for all the excitement.”
A shiver coursed through her body. Though it was a warm September day, the water was cool. And she was wet from head to toe, the layers of clothing clinging to her petite yet womanly frame. Water dripped from her hair onto his shirt.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. What would it feel like—
Stiffening, he dropped his arm and stepped back, the water swirling around his legs.
Have you lost your mind? This is Francesca’s sister, remember?
“Let’s get you back to the cabin,” he muttered, avoiding her curious gaze.
Once he’d helped her to the bank, he was careful to keep his distance the entire walk home. Nor did he attempt conversation. If Kate wondered about his mood, she didn’t comment.
Leaning the tripod stand against the porch railing, he directed his gaze to the blue mountain ridges framed by the sky. Anything to keep from looking at her. “I’ll ask Ma to bring you a cup of tea.”
“That’s not necessary,” she countered in a subdued voice. “I’m certain she has more important things to do than wait on me.”
He clenched his fists. Of course she would be gracious. He couldn’t imagine that ever coming out of his ex’s mouth. From what he’d seen, Francesca had relished being waited on.
Again, his mind discharged a warning signal. This woman was dangerous.
“You’re our guest. She wants you to be comfortable here.”
“Yet I don’t make you comfortable, do I?”
He did look at her then. Even with her wet hair plastered to her face and head and her clothes disheveled, she was beautiful. The vulnerability he sensed in her touched a chord deep inside.
Setting his jaw, he hardened his heart. “You don’t affect me at all, Miss Morgan. Evenin’.” He tugged on his hat’s brim and, pivoting on his heel, left her staring after him.
Chapter Six
S
tung by his cool dismissal, Kate watched him stride away. He held himself stiffly erect, his broad shoulders taut with tension. Well, he’d certainly told her, hadn’t he? She’d been forward and assuming. What did she expect?
Josh was merely tolerating her presence. She was an interloper, a painful reminder of loss and betrayal.
She didn’t fit in at home, and she certainly didn’t fit here.
Shivering in the late-afternoon sunlight, she went inside to change. The quiet that greeted her inside the quaint space compounded her loneliness. At the estate, she was never completely alone. Butlers, footmen, housekeepers, ladies’ maids and manservants moved discreetly about, attending to their business, seeing to the day-to-day running of the expansive mansion and tending to the needs of its occupants.
Though New York was her home, she wasn’t happy there. And while she gained immense satisfaction from her photography work and her gardening, she lived with the knowledge that her presence wasn’t wanted or needed by anyone. She didn’t brighten anyone’s day or bring a smile to a loved one’s face. No one was eager to share secrets with her or give her a hug.
From the time she was a little girl, she’d known something was wrong with her. Her mother had never looked at her with pride and pleasure, as she had Francesca. Instead, whenever her gaze lit on Kate, her mouth would tighten and a wrinkle would form between her brows, as if puzzling out an impossible riddle.
The nightmare with Nanny Marie underscored her feelings of inadequacy.
By the time Wesley Farrington IV entered her life when she was seventeen, she’d been desperate to forge a connection with someone, anyone.
Seated on the edge of the bed combing out the tangles in her hair, her eyes drifted shut as she recalled their first meeting. Her parents were hosting an elaborate party, and everyone who was anyone in New York society had made an appearance. The ballroom glittered and sparkled like the contents of a jewelry box with its crystal and gold chandeliers, gilt-edged mirrors and jewel-toned carpets. The air was sweet with the fragrance of fresh flowers spilling from vases placed about the room, the sets of French doors thrown open to the balmy night.
While Kate had watched from the sidelines as gaily dressed couples swirled and dipped across the marble floors, Francesca had been surrounded by a bevy of admirers.
She’d noticed Wesley the instant he entered the room. Darkly handsome, with a smile that hinted of secrets and promises, the Oxford graduate had captured the attention of nearly every female under the age of sixty. Kate watched him charm each one, in turn, never dreaming he’d spare a word for her.
So when he’d appeared at her side not an hour later and requested a dance, she’d gaped at him. He laughed and repeated the request. They danced the next two dances, then escaped outside to stroll through the gardens. By the end of the night, she was certain she was in love.
Over the course of two months, he took her on carriage rides in Central Park and showered her with trinkets and roses and boxes of chocolates from Paris.
Kate had never been happier. Wesley treated her as if she were the most special girl in the world. He loved her. He hadn’t voiced the words, but she could see it in his eyes.
It was that assumption that had ultimately led her to make the worst decision of her life. One night of pleasure had cost her not only her virtue, but a future with him.
Wesley never explained why he left. For months afterward, she’d waited impatiently for correspondence from him. Surely he would apologize for leaving so abruptly, reveal his reasons for abandoning her. She waited in vain.
She concluded that she must’ve done something wrong. Or disappointed him somehow.
When her mother questioned her, Kate made the mistake of confiding in her.
Georgia had railed at her. She had risked the family’s reputation and ruined forever her chances of marrying a decent man. She was damaged goods.
A sharp rap on the door startled her, and the brush slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Was it him? Had he come back to apologize?
“J-just a minute,” she called, her fingers going to her neck to make sure the buttons of her china-red housecoat were buttoned. She wasn’t dressed to receive visitors, but this wasn’t the estate. There was no one else to open the door.
Pulling it open, she found Nathan standing on the other side with a tray in his hands.
“Hi. Josh told me about your dunking.” His smile was gentle. “He fixed a pot of tea and asked me to deliver it.”
With a grateful smile, she gave him room to enter. Josh had ignored her refusal and sent the tea anyway.
Nathan set the tray on the table, and the tangy scent of ginger filled the cabin. There was a rose-emblazoned teapot, a matching cup and saucer, honey and a dessert plate bearing four pillowlike cookies. Her mouth watered. What was he doing, sending her sweets?
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No.” Kate rested her hands on the top of the chair. “Thanks for bringing this over. Would you like to join me?”
“I wish I could, but I gotta check on the new calf.”
She lifted the dessert plate. “Take at least one of these with you.”
Grinning, he held up his hands. “There’s a dozen or more of those in the kitchen. I’ve already had my fair share.” He started for the door. “See you at supper.”
When he’d gone, she stared at the table, her gaze caught by the lone cup and saucer. Tears sprang up. It seemed she was destined to always be alone.
Seated at the end of the pew with Mary on her left, Kate admired the church’s stained-glass windows and ornately carved wooden podium. It was not a large building, by any means, but it was well-maintained and the pews gleamed in the muted, rainbow-colored light.
“What a lovely church,” Kate murmured.
Mary sat with her gloved hands folded primly in her lap. “Do you attend services back home?”
“Yes.” Kate pictured the grand, overstated auditorium and the fashionably dressed men and women who attended the services. The preacher there was nice enough, though she often left feeling dissatisfied. “I’m eager to hear Reverend Monroe.”
“He’s a good speaker.” She nodded. “I like his practical style. He’s humorous, too.”
“It was good of him and his wife to take in my driver and Mr. Crandall the other night. I’ll have to personally thank them.”
“I’ll introduce you after the service.”
“Thank you.”
Mary leaned close, her voice hushed. “You didn’t happen to see Joshua this morning, did you? He’s never late.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He wasn’t at supper last night. When no one remarked at his absence, she’d assumed he’d informed them of his whereabouts. When he hadn’t shown up for breakfast, Kate got the sinking feeling he was avoiding her. Why his behavior should bother her she hadn’t a clue. So what if Josh O’Malley didn’t like her? She wouldn’t be here forever.
Glancing over her shoulder, she became aware of several people watching her with interest. Pretending not to notice, she stared straight ahead once more. Of course, the townsfolk would wonder about her. By now everyone must know she was not Josh’s fiancée. She didn’t like being the center of attention, however.
Maybe that’s why Josh hadn’t come. How difficult it would be for him to face these people—his friends and acquaintances—and admit he’d been cast off!
Father, please comfort him. Ease his hurt and disappointment.
At last, the service began. With Mrs. Monroe at the piano, the reverend led the congregation in two familiar hymns. Its beauty was in its simplicity. Her spirit soared at the sound of the pure worship, voices lifted in praise to God.
When everyone was seated and the reverend opened his Bible, Kate sat unmoving, absorbing his every word.
Sitting in the very last row, two steps from the door, Josh couldn’t tear his gaze from Kate. He studied the sweet curve of her cheek, the pink tip of her ear, the slender slope of her neck.
He should be listening to the sermon, he knew, but her rapt expression—the vulnerability and wonder he saw there—captivated him. She’d indicated faith in God, so why did she look as if this was the very first time she’d heard God’s Word preached?
He tried to turn his attention to the reverend and failed. His conscience troubled him. He’d been callous and rude, and he was never rude. He prided himself on being a gentleman, yet look at how he’d treated Kate from the very moment he set eyes on her.
The fact was she scared the daylights out of him. Here he was supposed to be nursing a broken heart and instead he found himself intrigued by his former fiancée’s little sister.
His instinct told him to steer clear of her. But he didn’t want to hurt her. And avoiding her would not go unnoticed, not by her and certainly not by his family.
Remember, she won’t be here forever.
Fall was a busy season on the farm, anyway. Hog killings, apple peelings, corn shuckings. When he wasn’t helping his father and brothers, he’d be in his workshop, making furniture. The time would pass quickly.
Before he knew it, everyone was standing for the closing prayer. He’d missed the entire message because his mind had been filled with thoughts of her. Not good.
Wanting to skip the inevitable questions and looks of pity from the congregation, Josh ducked out the door and headed home ahead of his family. He waited for Kate in the shade of her front porch.
She hesitated when she saw him. What was she thinking?
“Hi.” He stayed where he was, waiting for her to come to him. His parents and brothers waved but continued toward the house.
“Hello.”
Kate appeared every inch the sophisticated heiress.
She was meticulously dressed, as usual, in a light brown linen suit with cutouts and dark cocoa piping on the sleeves. Her gloves and bonnet were also dark brown. With the help of his mother, she’d styled her hair differently today—the top half caught up in ribbons while the mass of dark waves tumbled about her shoulders. Sunlight glinted in the strands with each movement of her head.
“What did you think of the service?” Arms folded, he leaned back against the railing.
She climbed the three steps and stopped, her hands folded primly at her waist. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
That surprised him. “Francesca said your family attends church every Sunday.”
“That’s true. Our pastor’s sermons are mostly about helping the less fortunate. Not once have I left there feeling as I do now, convicted yet encouraged.”
Interesting. “Your sister didn’t care to discuss her faith. I realize it’s a private topic for some people, but now I’m wondering if she didn’t have a foundation to draw from.”
“A couple of years ago, a friend of mine walked me through the Scriptures, showing me how to become a follower of Jesus Christ. I shared this with both my parents and Francesca.” She bowed her head, her fingers now clamped tight. “They weren’t interested.”
A slow hiss escaped his lips. “I’m sorry.”
And he was. Sorry for them, because they were missing out on a precious relationship with the God of the universe. Sorry for Kate. He, too, had loved ones who didn’t know Christ and didn’t care to know Him. It was tough. And he was sorry for himself. In his longing for a family of his own, he’d neglected to discover the important things about his future bride. As hurtful as it was, he was beginning to think Francesca had done him a favor.
“Me, too. I hold on to hope, however, that one day they will change their minds.”
“I’ll pray for that.”
“Thanks, Josh. That means a lot.”
In her eyes he saw sadness and something more, an emotion he himself struggled with. Loneliness. But how could
she
be lonely?
Kate was the member of a prominent, influential New York City family. Certainly she mingled with other socialites her age. Francesca had written in detail about the grand gatherings they attended each week.
Another thought struck him with the full force of a sledgehammer. Not only was Kate lovely and sweeter than pecan pie, she was the eligible daughter of oil magnate Patrick Morgan. Single men must be lining up to court her. The image soured his stomach.
He hadn’t asked if she had a steady beau, and he didn’t plan to. He was
not
interested in Kate’s love life.
Pushing away from the railing, he moved toward her. “Are you joining us for lunch?”
His mother and aunt had planned a picnic.
“Yes, I’m just going inside to choose a couple of books for Megan.”
When he drew near, she stepped aside to let him pass. He didn’t. He inhaled her citrusy scent. “Romance is her favorite.”
Her long lashes swept down to hide her eyes. “I remember.”
“And what is yours?”
“I prefer science and nature books.”
“You surprise me, Kate.”
“Why?” Her gaze shot to his. “Because socialites as a rule must only be interested in the latest fashions? Learning cross-stitch and backgammon?”