Читать книгу: «The Bridal Swap», страница 2

With great reluctance he pivoted back, squinting in the afternoon sunshine. She edged forward, her face shadowed by the hat’s brim. Loosening the ribbons of her reticule, she withdrew a long parchment envelope and held it out to him.

“I have a letter for you. From Francesca.”

He stared at the letter, not sure he wanted to read it. “What does it say?”

Her lips parted, and dark lashes swept down to hide her eyes. Pink washed her cheeks. “I don’t know. She didn’t share the contents with me and, to be honest, I’m glad she didn’t.”

Tucking the letter in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Josh nodded in silent farewell and left her standing on the porch. If he didn’t get alone soon, he was going to come undone. What he wanted to do was hunt down the man who’d stolen his future and plant a facer on him. Then he’d confront Francesca and force her to confess her perfidy to his face.

But that wasn’t an option. Not today, anyway.

With effort, he ruthlessly tamped down the emotions clawing at his insides.

Ignoring the letter burning the lining of his suit, he gathered his clothes and books from his home, not stopping to linger and mourn his loss. To his relief, his mom was showing Kate the kitchen when he went inside the main house, so he was able to put his things away, change clothes and duck back outside without being seen.

During the entire trip to town and back to retrieve her luggage, the letter and what it might say dominated his thoughts. Why hadn’t Francesca had the decency to face him herself? Why put it off on her little sister?

Finally, when the wondering became too great, he pulled the envelope from his pocket and sank onto the top step of his porch.

Heart thumping against his rib cage so hard it hurt, he unfolded the paper and, holding it to his nose, inhaled her flowery scent. He felt achy all over.

Dearest Josh,

I am not sure what to write, for I know nothing I say will change your low opinion of me. Katerina was adamant that I give you some explanation, and I admit she was right. You must know that I care for you, but you and I together for a lifetime never would have worked. Percy can provide the type of life I need to be happy.

Sincerely,

Francesca Morgan

Stunned, Josh flipped the paper over and found the other side blank.

There was no apology. She’d basically admitted to wedding this man for material gain.

Francesca’s nonchalant attitude, her utter lack of remorse, stung. Anger boiled up once again, threatening to overwhelm him.

Once again, he was facing a lonely future.

In the shade of the back porch, Kate leaned against the wooden railing and stared out at the idyllic scene. Gently rolling fields of green, knee-high stalks waving in the breeze, gave way to rounded mountain peaks rising in all directions in a patchwork display of burnished reds, golds and greens. God’s magnificent handiwork for all to see and savor.

She was eager to explore, to seek out potential images for her book.

But first she had to find Josh, as Mary requested. Supper awaited.

Above the lowing of cattle, she heard the insistent pounding of an ax.

Following the sound, she strolled across the yard toward the barn, casting a glance inside the shady interior as she passed by the open doors. Dust motes hung suspended in the dim light, the smell of hay and animals reminding her of the stables back home.

Rounding the corner, she came to an abrupt stop.

A flash of sunlight on glistening skin, sculpted muscles straining, stretching, Josh handled the ax with ease, slicing through the wood like butter. He’d exchanged his neat suit for a pair of dark denim trousers and sturdy brown work boots. His sleeveless undershirt gave her a clear view of molded shoulders, thick biceps and corded forearms.

She gulped. Oh, dear.

Glancing away, she saw the high stacks of kindling by the barn wall. Surely they didn’t need more. Then it struck her. He wasn’t doing this out of necessity. He was venting.

Compassion for his plight brought moisture to her eyes. She blinked hard. She couldn’t let him see her tears. He’d assume she was feeling pity for him, and she had a feeling he wouldn’t like that.

When she moved into his line of vision, he wedged the ax into the stump, turned his back and, retrieving his white shirt, shrugged into it. Still working the buttons, he faced her, brows raised in question.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she ventured. “Your mother sent me to tell you the meal is ready.”

“Just a minute.”

She stood by quietly, fingers toying with the lace peeking out of her sleeves as he quickly stacked the wood before joining her. He was a rumpled mess, his short hair mussed and shirt untucked, the sweat-dampened material sticking to his frame. It only added to his appeal.

“Have my parents kept you entertained this afternoon?”

“Your parents have been welcoming and friendly.”

Strangers who were more attentive than her own parents.

Walking beside him, she sensed the coiled tension in him. Had he read the letter? She wondered what it had said, feared Fran’s words had inflicted further pain. Her sister wasn’t known for her tact.

He stopped at the pump to clean his hands and douse his face. When he’d wiped off the excess moisture and tucked the cloth into his back pocket, he startled her by taking hold of her hand.

“What are you—”

Carefully, he slid her sleeve back, revealing the purple marks marring her pale skin. His eyes darkened. “Matthews did this?”

The scent of pine clung to him. Kate couldn’t think with him standing so near, his strong, warm hands cradling hers with such tenderness. Back home in Francesca’s room, gazing at his portrait and committing his face to memory, she couldn’t have guessed the impact of his physical presence.

She dragged in a breath. “I’m fine, really.”

“Steer clear of him, Kate. He’s unpredictable.”

It was his first use of her name. She had to admit it sounded good on his lips.

“Kate?” he prompted impatiently.

“You don’t have to worry. I won’t go near the man.”

“Hey, Josh!”

Two men were headed in their direction. Josh’s brothers?

Releasing her, he crossed his arms and waited. Their attention didn’t waver from her as they approached. Feeling like a specimen underneath a microscope, she fought the urge to squirm.

“Kate Morgan, these are my brothers, Nathan and Caleb.”

Nathan shot a startled glance at Josh, but he quickly masked his confusion. His eyes were kind as he welcomed her. “It’s nice to meet you.” Two years younger than Josh, he was twenty-two.

Twenty-year-old Caleb scowled and said nothing. Josh had mentioned in his letters that his youngest brother didn’t like to be around people, something to do with a scar he’d gotten from a recent accident. She didn’t see evidence of one, but she noticed he kept his face turned to one side.

“Where’s Francesca?” Nathan asked.

Josh stiffened, his voice flat. “She isn’t coming, after all.”

“Did something happen?” Nathan asked quietly.

“Yes.” Josh’s voice held an edge. “She decided to marry someone else.” At Caleb’s intake of breath, Josh held up a staying hand. “Kate is her sister. She’s staying with us for the time being.”

He didn’t seem pleased with the turn of events. And why should he be? Her sister should’ve been standing here meeting his family, not her.

Mary pushed open the door. “Supper’s ready.”

She didn’t miss the flash of relief on Josh’s face. No doubt he was growing weary of explaining her presence to everyone.

* * *

Sitting at the far end of the table, Josh listened to the ebb and flow of conversation without contributing to it. This was the last place he wanted to be, surrounded by people pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending he hadn’t just been cast off.

Suppertime in the O’Malley household was typically loud and lively, and tonight was no exception. His father and brothers made sure of that. One glance at Kate Morgan’s mystified expression suggested family dinners at the Morgan estate were a much more sedate affair.

Her regal bearing and expensive clothing set her apart from everyone else at the table. She’d removed her hat, gloves and jacket. Beneath her brocade vest of matching material, she wore a filmy cream-colored blouse with lace at her neck. The color of her eyes matched the peridot earrings dangling from her ears, the vivid green gems flashing with every turn of her head.

Watching her, Josh realized he’d been a fool to think Francesca could ever be satisfied with his way of life. The Morgans lived a life of luxury. Nothing was out of their reach.

He lived simply. He worked hard to carve out a life for himself, yet he had no complaints. He loved these mountains, this land. And he wanted someone to share his life with.

God, I don’t understand Your ways. Nothing is turning out the way I thought, and it’s hard. So hard.

“Time for dessert.” His mother placed a warm pecan pie in the middle of the table.

Standing, Josh brought his empty plate to the counter. “I’ll pass tonight.”

“But it’s your favorite,” Mary protested, carrying dishes into the kitchen.

He squeezed her shoulder. “Save me a piece for tomorrow?”

Kate approached, her plate still half full. “You are a marvelous cook, Mary. However, I’m afraid I couldn’t finish it all.” She smothered a yawn.

“Oh, my. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, dear?” Mary said. “Joshua, will you walk Kate out to the cabin?”

His and Kate’s gazes clashed. Then her lashes swept downward, her expression neutral.

What could he say? No, I don’t want to spend even a second alone with her? This woman reminds me of Francesca’s treachery and my glaring failure.

He swept out his arm. “After you.”

Chapter Three

With her hat in one hand and her skirts in the other, Kate swept past him onto the narrow porch, her shoulder brushing against his chest and a stray chocolate curl caressing her cheek. The creamy skin of her nape glowed alabaster in the moonlight. Her fresh, citrusy scent, carried on the gentle breeze, filled his nostrils and stirred his blood.

Closing the door behind him, Josh inhaled the cool, pine-scented air in an effort to displace her scent. Kate was a lovely woman, and he was a man craving comfort. Disgusted with himself for even noticing, he gave her a wide berth and started across the lawn.

“Mr. O’Malley?”

She hadn’t moved an inch. From the soft golden glow spilling through the windows, he saw her hesitation and retraced his steps.

“It’s Josh. What’s wrong? Did you forget something inside?”

“No. I, um—It’s pitch-black out there.” Her voice faltered. “Back home, gas streetlamps line the streets and give off quite a bit of light.”

He held the kerosene lamp aloft. “This will light our way.”

An owl hooted. Kate’s gaze darted to the dense woods. “What about wild beasts? I’ve read a few books about this area. There were accounts of black bears attacking people.”

He suppressed a smile. “While it’s true there are bears in these parts, they normally stay in higher elevations. Bear attacks are rare and most likely the result of someone coming too close to a momma bear and her cubs.”

He approached and held out his arm, but she didn’t immediately take it.

“So you’ve never seen a bear anywhere near here?”

“I didn’t say that. But mostly they keep to themselves.”

Her slender hand curled around his biceps, the warmth of her light touch seeping through his shirt. “I’m safe out here then?”

He guided her across the yard. “I can pretty much guarantee a bear isn’t going to break into the cabin while you sleep. You should watch out for snakes, though, especially rattlers and copperheads.”

Her nails dug into his skin. “Snakes?”

“And spiders,” he added, disregarding the twinge of his conscience. He was only telling her the truth. “Black widows and brown recluses are the ones to watch out for. Nasty bites. You could lose a limb.”

“Oh, dear.” She shuddered. “My books didn’t mention any of that.”

“Just be careful around tall grass. And don’t reach into dark corners and crevices where crawling insects like to hide.” He pulled away from her. “Here we are.”

Opening the door for her, his gaze fell on the burst of color in the corner of the room. More wildflowers. He’d borrowed his mother’s only crystal vase and placed the arrangement on the dining table as a small token for his wife-to-be.

He frowned. This night was supposed to have played out much differently. He’d imagined Francesca’s reaction to the home he’d built for her, had hoped she’d be pleased.

Instead, a stranger stood beside him.

Moving forward, her skirts whispering in the silence, Kate’s gaze assessed the airy, open space that made up the seating area and kitchen.

“You built this yourself?”

He nodded. “With help from my father and brothers.”

“You did a great job.” The admiration shining in her eyes was a soothing balm to his battered soul.

“Thanks.”

In the kitchen, she trailed her fingers along the gleaming walnut tabletop. Her gaze shot to his, a small wrinkle between her brows.

“This is similar to the one at your parents’, only smaller.”

It was one of his most recent pieces, carved with his own hands. For some reason he couldn’t identify, he was reluctant to tell her about his furniture business. Not even Francesca knew.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he asked casually, “Do you like it?”

She stepped back to study it. “It’s sturdy, solid. Simple lines. But here—” she traced a fingertip along the carved edge “—this is truly magnificent. The detail of the leaves and flowers is amazing. Was it done by a local craftsman?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Does he live nearby?”

Closer than you think. “Yes. Very near.”

“You should tell him his furniture would sell extremely well back East.” Her praise brought a rush of pleasure, especially considering her family’s estate was most likely furnished with the finest money could buy.

“I’ll do that.”

She smothered another yawn. Time to go. He wasn’t sure why he’d lingered anyway.

“Good night, Kate.” He paused. “Lock the door. You’ll feel safer.”

Kate stared at the closed door a full minute before crossing the room to slide the wooden bar in place. His woodsy scent lingered in the silent room. He’d been stiff, watchful, his blue eyes revealing his misery. Oh, Fran. How could you?

Her heart ached for the pain he was enduring.

Turning, she relaxed against the rough wood and stared at the home intended for her sister. Prestige and money were everything to Fran. If she were here, she would scorn this rough-hewn dwelling, no larger than her private bathroom. She would not appreciate its charm, the love and care poured into it. Everywhere she looked, Kate saw little touches meant to cheer.

The bouquet on the table. The floral-print high-backed chair beneath the curtained window. A rainbow-striped rug in front of the stone fireplace. A painting of a waterfall on the wall behind the sofa.

Josh obviously loved her sister. What would it feel like, she wondered, to be loved like that? Sadness pressed in on her. She couldn’t recall hearing the words I love you a single time.

Her parents weren’t given to displays of affection.

That was for the lower classes, her mother had said when Kate questioned her.

She recalled walking through the park with her nanny, envious of the children holding hands with their mothers, the little boys balanced on their father’s shoulders looking happy as could be. The longing for love and affection had only grown with time.

God loves you, a small, still voice told Kate. Her eyes smarted with unshed tears. Help me remember, Father, that You love me even when I’m unlovable.

The stillness reminded her that she was alone. For the first time in her life, there were no ladies’ maids waiting behind the scenes to help her undress or fetch her a soothing cup of tea. The realization was both heady and daunting. What would it be like to be an independent woman?

Exhausted from days of travel, not to mention emotionally drained, Kate decided to deal with unpacking later. Instead, she began the tedious process of undressing. First the skirt, then the underskirt. Bustle. Corset cover. Petticoat.

The ivory satin corset presented a problem. Without assistance, it was next to impossible to undo the tight stays. Huffing and grunting, arms twisting every which way, she was at last able to free herself from the rigid contraption. She resisted the unladylike urge to toss it across the room.

Tucking the despised article beneath her arm, she went to investigate the bedroom. Covering the wide bed was a handmade quilt similar to the one on the sofa, this one in pale blues and pinks done in the pattern of interlocking rings. She thought of the thick, luxurious silk coverlet on her own bed. Beautiful, yes, and expensive, but not unique. Before she left, she would ask Mary if she’d be willing to sell her one of hers.

Locating her satchel, she changed into her night rail. Next to the bed was a waist-high table where the oil lamp stood. Extinguishing the flame, the room was plunged into inky darkness.

Kate froze. The blackness closed in on her. Images from her childhood flashed through her mind. Her nanny’s contorted, angry face. The dark closet. Musty-smelling coats, piles of boxes and broken, discarded toys distorted by the shadows. Her lungs struggled to draw in air.

How she hated the dark!

This room was small, the ceiling low. And there were no windows to open, as in her spacious, airy bedroom at the estate. No gentle light from the row of streetlamps to ease her fear, or the occasional sound of horses clomping down the lane to comfort her.

No. I mustn’t give in to the memories.

But they came anyway … of another time, another place. The wine cellar. A man she’d adored. The extinguished candle. Her panic. His calm reassurances and mesmerizing touch. She’d felt so loved …

No! Reining in her thoughts before the shame consumed her, she scrambled beneath the covers and tugged them up to her chin.

Father God, I need You. I don’t want to remember.

He will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee. She repeated the verse until her muscles relaxed and she drifted off to sleep.

Dressed to go visiting Saturday morning, Mary placed fresh-baked loaves of sourdough bread into the basket on the counter. “How are you holding up? I know it must be difficult having Kate around. I could ask Betty if she’d mind her staying over there.”

Leaning back in his chair, Josh toyed with the handle of his coffee mug. A dear friend of his mother’s, Betty Stanley would welcome Kate into her home. He didn’t doubt she’d treat her with kindness. On the downside, she had five sons. All single. And a touch wild. Sending a delicate beauty like Kate over there would be like throwing a rabbit to a pack of hungry wolves. He couldn’t do it.

Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep out in the cabin. All alone. With nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

“No. I’m fine, Ma.” At the questioning arch of her brow, he added, “Honest.”

“If you change your mind, let me know. I’m sure Kate would understand.”

“I’ll do that.”

“What are your plans for the day?”

“I’m working on Mr. Wilcox’s dining table. He’s anxious to have it before his in-laws arrive next weekend.”

She paused in her preparations. “Could you put it off for a couple of hours? I need someone to keep Kate company while I deliver this.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she tacked on, “I wouldn’t ask, except Nathan has been up all night with Bess. I took his breakfast out to the barn about an hour ago, and the calf still hasn’t made an appearance. And your father and Caleb are milking the cows.”

He didn’t want to play babysitter for Francesca’s little sister, but what choice did he have? His mother went out of her way to make life comfortable for him and his brothers, so whenever she asked a favor, he did his best to comply.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

“Don’t tell anybody.”

Amid her soft laughter, there came a light knock on the front door.

“That’s probably her. Do you mind, dear?”

Swallowing a sigh, he went to greet their guest. At the sight of her, the greeting on his lips fell flat. Her clothing, fancier even than the previous day’s, was utterly out of place here.

Her silk brocade ensemble put him in mind of the eggplant growing in his ma’s garden—deep, luxurious purple. The slim jacket had sleeves that bloomed out at the shoulders and tightened at the elbow on down to the wrists. A beribboned V emphasized her trim waist, erupting into a six-inch ruffle. The straight skirt below had slits revealing pleated skirts underneath. Corded rosettes adorned both the jacket and skirt, and frothy white fringe peeked out of the wrists.

Her elegant look was spoiled by the mass of chocolate waves tumbling past her shoulders. My goodness, she looked all of sixteen with her hair down. Young and vulnerable. Sweet.

Nope. He took a step back. He refused to be drawn in by her beauty. If anything, Francesca had taught him outward beauty, no matter how innocent-looking, didn’t guarantee a beautiful heart.

“Good morning, Josh.” Her cheeks were a becoming pink. “Might I speak with your mother, please?”

“She’s in the kitchen.”

With a stately nod, she walked past him. He remained where he was, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form. She moved with grace and poise, head high and spine straight as an arrow, like a queen before her royal subjects.

Frowning, he shook his head. How many hours of practice had it taken to perfect such posture? Time better suited to more productive pursuits.

Bits and pieces of their conversation drifted out to the living room.

He heard the self-deprecating humor in Kate’s voice as she asked for help with her hair. “It appears I’m helpless without my staff.”

“Don’t worry, dear. Let’s go up to my room and see what we can do.”

“Since I’ll be on my own for a while, maybe you can give me some pointers.”

Josh stuffed his hands in his pockets, finding it odd that a young lady would need help fixing her hair.

As the pair ascended the stairs, he wondered how Francesca would’ve coped without servants to do her bidding. He hadn’t given it a thought before this moment, all the changes he’d expected her to make. Instead of being waited on hand and foot, she would’ve had to do everything herself. While he’d been blinded by love, she’d obviously been thinking of more practical things.

In less than ten minutes, Kate and his mother were making their way back downstairs. His mother reached the bottom steps first. “Will you make Kate a cup of hot tea? Her breakfast is on the stove.”

To Kate, she said, “I’m sorry to run off, but Laney Hedrick has been ill. The ladies in our sewing circle are taking turns delivering meals, and today happens to be mine. Would you mind spending the morning with Joshua? He’s agreed to show you around.”

Pausing on the last step, Kate’s fingers tightened on the banister. Her gaze shot to his face, then away.

“I’d like that.”

His gaze narrowed. Kate Morgan’s perfect manners couldn’t conceal her wariness. Was it him? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did she think he’d lash out in anger at her because of what Francesca had done? Or was she simply a timid young lady?

Their temporary guest was a stranger to him. Francesca had spoken at length of her parents but when it came to her sister, she’d been strangely reticent. He wondered why that was. Was theirs a strained relationship?

“I’ll be back in time to fix supper, I hope. If not, there’s smoked ham and bread for sandwiches.”

“Don’t rush, Ma. We’ll rustle up something if you’re late.”

The back door clicked shut. Silence hung thick in the air. Kate avoided his gaze, staring with great interest at the white pine floorboards.

Clearing his throat, he headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get your breakfast.”

While he set the water to boiling and retrieved a teacup and saucer from the cabinet, she stood gazing out the windows overlooking the front yard. He wondered what she was thinking. Why the forlorn expression? Did she miss the big city already?

At the sight of the heaping portion of eggs, bacon and biscuits, her eyes widened and she pressed a hand against her midsection. “I can’t possibly eat all that.”

Swallowing his irritation, he gripped the top rung of the chair in front of him. “You want me to make something else?” Your Royal Highness?

She looked doubtful. “I normally have a bowl of oatmeal or a slice of toast with marmalade.”

He thought back to the few weeks in March he’d spent with Francesca. “Your sister has quite the appetite.”

Hurt flashed across her face, which she quickly masked. “My sister can eat anything she likes and it doesn’t affect her figure.”

Josh stood mute. What had he said to cause her pain? His heart beat out a warning. He’d known Kate Morgan less than twenty-four hours, and already she was getting under his skin.

“Well, you certainly don’t look as if you need to worry about that,” he said brusquely. “I’ll check if we have oatmeal.”

Her eyes flared with surprise. “Wait. Please don’t go to the trouble.” Lowering herself into the chair, she indicated the plate. “This smells delicious.”

At least she wasn’t sulking. Francesca would have.

He retrieved her tea from the kitchen and set it on the table, along with a crock of honey, then sank into the chair across the table. He watched her eat, thinking he’d never seen such refined manners. She ate carefully, her jaw barely moving as she chewed, dabbing her mouth with her crisp napkin.

“What would you like to do today?”

“I’d like to scout out some possible sites for photographs. Can you suggest any particularly interesting spots?”

“First I need to know what you’re interested in photographing. What kind of book is this going to be?”

“A sort of travel guide. I’d like pictures of the mountains, of course.” Her eyes sparkled as she warmed to her topic. “Churches make interesting photos. Barns. Wagons. Everyday scenes of life on a farm. Would you show me your farm?”

“Sure.”

“I also like to take portraits of people. I noticed the one of your family on the fireplace mantel. Perhaps I can take another one and give your mother a print.”

“She’d like that, I’m sure. That was taken many years ago.” He sipped the stout, black brew. “As to possible sites, I’ll have to give it some thought.”

“Thank you.”

“How long will it take you to gather all the photographs you need?” In other words, how long before you leave?

“I’m not certain. But I’m not in any hurry to go back. My parents are touring Europe for the next two months. Francesca is on her honeymoon—” She broke off, her gaze shooting to his. Flustered, she rushed ahead. “Anyway, I didn’t like the idea of rattling around the estate with only staff for company.”

“I’m curious why you didn’t go with your parents. Surely Europe is a more interesting subject than our mountains.”

“Simple. They didn’t ask. My parents prefer to take their vacations alone.”

“I see.” Taken aback by her candid response, he said, “Well, I imagine you’ll soon be bored here.”

“If that happens, then I will know it’s time to go home.”

“Don’t you have fancy parties to attend? Shopping to do? I’m sure you noticed our one and only general store.”

Her eyes dulled. “If my presence here is inconvenient, I will leave immediately.”

Now he felt like a heel. He’d been insensitive. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

Lashes lowered, she sipped her tea. Her fingers were elegant, nails trim and shiny, skin like satin. One gold filigree ring adorned the fourth finger of her right hand. They were the hands of a privileged lady, unblemished by hard work.

How would he handle the strain of seeing Francesca’s sister every day? Reminding him of all he’d lost. And the gossip her presence would stir up …

Undoubtedly, he was going to be the subject of a lot of talk. That’s simply the way things worked in small towns. Wasn’t every day a man’s fiancée up and married someone else.

“Are you ready for that tour?” He pushed back his chair.

She hesitated. “If you have something you’d rather do, I can entertain myself. I brought quite a collection of books with me, as well as my harp. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“You brought your harp?” Who traveled with musical instruments? He’d never understand the whims of the wealthy.

“It’s a Celtic harp, small enough to hold on my lap. I’ve played for many years. The music soothes me.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, surprised they had something in common. “About the soothing part. I play the fiddle.”

“Oh?” Interest stirred in her expression. “I would like to hear you play sometime. Fran didn’t mention that you played an instrument.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell her.”

One pitfall of relationships conducted at a distance was that important details were often overlooked or left out entirely. In Francesca’s case, details like another suitor. Thoughts of her with another man churned up unpleasant emotions. The betrayal affected him deeply. If and when he ever decided to court another lady, he’d be certain to keep things simple.

And the lady sitting across from him was anything but.