Читать книгу The Mistaken Widow - Cheryl St.John - Страница 9

Nicholas experienced a measure of guilt for thinking that Claire wasn’t predictably like Stephen’s previous acquaintances. The girl was obviously under a great deal of stress and physical discomfort and could hardly be expected to keep up a steady flow of chatter. Her withdrawn manner and silence since they’d left the hospital that morning didn’t necessarily reflect her personality. Or…perhaps she wanted him to believe she was grieving over Stephen’s death.

He cast her another sidelong glance. After the noon meal they’d settled themselves in for the long ride, and she’d removed the hat. Good Lord. Her hair, precariously gathered up and invisibly secured on her head, caught his attention immediately. The tresses radiated a fascinating blend of wheat tones, some dark like honey, some as light as corn silk, some nearly white, with brassy threads of gold woven into the springy curls. One coil hung against the translucent skin of her temple, and another graced the column of her neck. The spirals looked as though he could tug them and watch them spring back.

He decided immediately that it was not a wise idea to look at her hair and have such absurd notions, so he watched the spring countryside blend into the freshly plowed farmlands of Pennsylvania. From time to time, as she closed her eyelids and rested, he studied the sweep of her golden lashes against her fair cheek, the interesting fullness of her upper lip and the tiny lines beside her mouth that showed she had smiled. He wondered at whom. Stephen?

Even her ears appeared delicate, with a single pearl dangling from each lobe. Her eyebrows were the same color as the dark undertones in her hair, narrow slashes above eyes that he’d noticed right off were a pale, somber shade of blue. Everything about her was somber, from her expressions, to her voice, to the way she focused her vigilant attention on the infant in the basket beside her.

He just couldn’t ignore the gnawing fact that she didn’t fit the picture of the woman Stephen had written them about. Stephen hadn’t gone into any detail, except about her wit and charm and vivacious personality. The material facts had come after Nicholas had investigated her background.

Her gaze lifted and she caught him studying her.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

She nodded and her earbobs swayed.

“You’re getting tired. We’ll stop for dinner and the night. He’ll be waking again soon, no doubt.”

A blush tinged her neck and pale cheeks. He hadn’t imagined her a woman easily embarrassed by feeding her child or the calls of nature. If he didn’t know better, he’d think her a gently bred young lady. Each time the baby woke, he’d had the driver halt the carriage, and he’d waited outside. Once they had stopped to use the facilities at a way station, and he’d been glad he’d purchased a pair of crutches, because she had insisted on being left alone.

The baby made tiny mewling sounds, and she leaned over the basket.

“There’s a town just ahead.” He unlatched the leather shade and called instructions to his driver, Gruver.

Claire once again placed her hat over her hair, worked the pin through and picked up her gloves.

“Where’s your wedding ring?” he asked, noting the absence of that particular piece of jewelry.

Her clear blue gaze rose to his face, and quickly, she averted her eyes. “My fingers were swollen,” she said softly, and pulled the gloves over her slender fingers. The perfect lady.

Or a hell of a good actress. Time would tell.

The carriage slowed and stopped before a two-story wooden structure with Hotel painted in black letters on a weathered sign that swung in the breeze. He raised the shade and studied the building. “Doesn’t look like much. We can go on.”

Her earnest gaze dismissed the building and turned back to him. “I’m sure the accommodations will do fine, Mr. Halliday.”

“Call me Nicholas. After all, we’re family.”

Immediately, her gaze dropped to her gloved hands.

The door opened and Gruver, his dark-haired driver, a man in his early thirties, lowered the step. Nicholas stepped out of the carriage and strode to the rear where he unstrapped the wooden wheelchair, wiped the road dust from it himself and rolled it to the bottom of the steps. As she had when they’d stopped earlier, Claire accepted his hand hesitantly and lowered herself into the chair.

He placed the basket containing the now fussing baby on her lap and pushed her forward. It took both him and Gruver to lift the chair up several wooden stairs to the broad boardwalk, and the driver went back for their luggage.

Nicholas signed the register and received room keys. “Up the stairs and to the right for twenty-four,” the desk clerk said. “Twenty-seven’s a little farther and to the left and twenty-eight’s across from it.”

“Don’t you have something on this floor? Mrs. Halliday can’t walk.”

“Nope. Kitchen, dining room, and private quarters only on this floor.” The man scratched his pencil-thin nose and blinked at them.

Nicholas turned to Claire. Her complexion had grown paler and dark smudges had appeared under her eyes. He couldn’t ask her to go any farther tonight. This would have to do. “Very well, then. I’ll be right back.”

He took the baby, basket and all, from her lap, climbed the stairs and located the first room. He left the now wailing infant on the bed and thundered back down the stairs.

Claire wore a wide-eyed look of surprise as he approached her. Gruver had entered the tiny lobby with their luggage. Nicholas motioned him over and handed him a key. “Carry Mrs. Halliday’s chair, please.”

Nicholas bent toward her. “Lean forward.”

Her eyes widened, but she did as he asked. He slid one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees, somehow managing her voluminous skirts in the process, and raised her effortlessly, being careful of her injured leg. She didn’t weigh much, but she was an armful, nonetheless. His head bumped her hat, sending it askew, and she caught it before it fell. Her hair tumbled, the soft springy curls grazing his neck and chin, the sweet fragrance touching him somewhere more elemental.

She grasped him around the neck, her hat bouncing off his back, her full breasts pressed against his jacket. He cursed his immediate and unexpected physical reaction, but reined in his distressing response and concentrated on the stairs, one at a time, until they reached the top.

The baby’s cries carried down the corridor, and Claire sucked in a breath, which Nicholas felt to the tips of his toes.

Sarah’s heart beat so swiftly, he must have felt it through their layers of clothing. Against her breast his chest was broad and hard, as hard as the arms banding her back and secured behind her knees. She could smell the starch in his shirt, and the faint smell of shaving soap that lingered about his chin and jaw, masculine features that were close enough to scrape her cheek should she be foolish enough to turn her head.

Her son’s plaintive wails had released a tingling in her breasts, accompanied by a seeping wetness she feared would soak through her clothing to Nicholas’s.

He carried her into the room and paused. Her heart raced as his driver maneuvered her chair through the doorway. The man placed her hat on the seat of a rocker and excused himself.

Gently, Nicholas lowered her into the chair. “May I help you with your jacket?” he asked above the baby’s cries.

“No!” She glanced down, relieved to see her jacket still dry and covering her. “I mean, no thank you. I can see to myself now.”

He straightened and cast a helpless look at the basket “Can I send a servant to help you?”

She nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

He backed up a step, then turned and left, pulling the door shut. Sarah struggled with the jacket, an awkward situation because of the chair arms, but she finally removed it and unbuttoned her blouse.

The baby rooted for a there second before latching on to her breast and suckling noisily. She had to laugh softly. “You don’t care where we are or what’s happening, do you?”

He’d finished eating by the time a young girl with a dark coronet of braids wrapped around her head brought water and towels. “The gentleman paid me handsomely to help you with the baby, ma’am. I have five brothers and sisters, and I’ve taken care of all of them. Can I bathe him for you? Rock him maybe, so you can rest?”

Nicholas’s thoughtfulness touched Sarah. Gratefully, she allowed the girl, who told her her name was Minna, to change and wash the baby while she raised her throbbing leg on a pillow and leaned back into the mattress.

“He’s a pretty one, Miz Halliday. What’s his name?”

Sarah had been dozing, her thoughts drifting from the stern-faced Nicholas to their mysterious destination, and she opened her eyes, an odd feeling of shame curling in her chest. How could she have overlooked something as basic as giving her baby a name? “Why, I—I haven’t thought of a name for him yet.”

Minna looked at her curiously, but turned back to her task.

“I was in an accident and just came around a few days ago,” she said, by way of explaining her lack of thought.

“Oh. That’s what happened to your leg?”

Sarah nodded.

“Your husband takes fine care of you. I’m sure you’ll be better in no time.”

“Mr. Halliday is not my husband.”

The girl didn’t turn around, but Sarah knew what she must be thinking, and cursed herself for opening her mouth on the subject. “He’s—my brother-in-law,” she said, using the first and easiest explanation that had come to mind. She cringed inwardly and waited for a lightning bolt or the rumble of an earthquake, but the only sound was the gentle lapping of water as Minna rinsed the baby.

A knock sounded at the door. Minna glanced toward it, but her hands were occupied.

“Who’s there?” Sarah called.

“Nicholas.”

“Come in.”

He appeared in the doorway, wearing a fresh shirt beneath his dark jacket. He glanced from Sarah to the girl and back. “Would you care to join me downstairs for dinner, or shall I have something sent up?”

“I’ll stay here with the baby,” Minna offered immediately.

Sarah imagined him carrying her down those stairs and back up again, and thought it would be a whole lot safer to eat in her room. “My head hurts terribly,” she said in excuse. “May I just stay here?”

“Of course. I’ll see that you get a powder for your headache.”

“You’re very kind.”

He gave her a brief nod and closed the door.

“Is Mr. Halliday married?” Minna asked.

Sarah stared at the door, a speculative question forming in her own mind now that the girl had brought it up. She knew nothing of this man or his family. “I don’t know.”

Minna placed the towel-wrapped infant on the bed and dried his flailing arms and legs.

Sarah captured her son’s tiny hand in hers, and watched as the girl skillfully diapered and dressed him. Her own attempts at changing him had been slow and clumsy. Surely she would gain more confidence soon. Thank goodness Nicholas had provided help immediately.

I will learn, little one, she intoned silently. I will be the best mother a little boy ever had.

“He’s a nice man,” the girl went on. “Handsome, too.”

Nicholas Halliday did seem like an admirable man. A man who deserved better than deceit. She hadn’t asked for luxuries, however, hadn’t expected the man to provide elegant new clothing and servants to help her. She looked at the new luggage beside the door, at all the items it took to care for the baby, even at the clothes she wore, and knew at this rate it would take a long while to repay him.

She had no more means to make it on her own today than she had the day her father had turned her out. By leaving with Nicholas, she’d made a decision. Now she had to be Claire Halliday until they reached their destination.

The morning dawned as clear and crisp as winter, though it was early April. The scent of spring floated on the air: freshly turned earth and garden flowers. Nicholas admonished himself to enjoy the scenery and not to regret the working hours he’d lost by not taking the train. He could count on Milos Switzer to handle anything that came up in his absence. The work would be there when he returned.

Relief surged through him that Claire looked a little better today, her face not as pale or as drawn. The long stopover the night before must have done her good. She wore a freshly pressed blouse beneath her traveling suit. And her hat—he noticed when a stiff breeze caught them as they’d stopped for the noon meal—had been safely secured.

He’d paid the proprietor of the eatery to allow Claire to use their private quarters to see to her and the baby’s needs.

They would need to stop one more night before they reached Mahoning Valley. The stamina of the horses was no concern, and Gruver had driven nonstop day and night many a time. No, Claire was the one giving him concern. She was far more delicate than he’d imagined, more refined, and obviously not accustomed to long travel or hardship. She said nothing, neither in complaint nor observation, and he wished he had access to the thoughts in her curly blond head.

“Stephen said you met last fall,” he said at last.

Sarah’s heart leaped, and her mind raced, searching for a way to avoid any questions she would be forced to answer with lies.

“Where is Stephen’s body?” she asked.

His expression became even more grim. “I had it sent ahead. He’s buried in the family cemetery. We will have a memorial service when you’re well enough.”

What about his beloved Claire? she wanted to ask. They would have wanted to be together. If there had been a way to tell him…an opportunity…she would have. Certainly, she would have. She studied him warily. If he was as strict and unyielding as her father, he would cast her to the side of the road. She couldn’t take that chance; she’d have to wait.

He stretched his long legs to the side, one knee cracking. Claire wondered how old he was. More than thirty probably. She wanted to ask him the question that Minna had lodged in her mind the night before. She studied the landscape for a few minutes, her thoughts streaking forward with uncertainty.

“Where are we going?” she dared to ask finally.

He looked at her as if she’d asked what color the sky was. “You don’t know?” he replied, that resonant voice a low rumble.

Sarah cringed inwardly, regretting her haste. Claire would have known where she and Stephen had been headed. “I only knew his mother lived in Ohio,” she said quickly.

“Mahoning Valley,” he said. “Our forges, factory and home are near Youngstown.”

“Who lives there?” she asked a minute later. “In the house?”

“Mother and I. A few servants.”

He didn’t mention a wife. Why did she care?

“It’s a big house,” he went on. “There’s plenty of room for the two of you.”

She hadn’t been concerned about that. She’d only wondered how many people would be expecting Claire to show up. The fewer she had to face, the better.

They made another afternoon rest stop, then rode as far as St. Petersburg, near the Allegheny River. They could have made it the rest of the way that night, Sarah overheard Nicholas say to the driver, but he didn’t want to push too hard. Meaning her, she knew. The rest of them were holding up beautifully. Even the baby. He ate and slept, oblivious to what was going on around him.

The St. Petersburg Hotel had a cable elevator, sparing them a repeat of the previous night’s encounter. Sarah wondered if Nicholas had known about the elevator and chosen their stop accordingly.

He settled her in her room. “Dinner sent up again?” he asked.

“Please.”

“We’ll arrive at the house tomorrow. I’m wiring ahead to have the local doctor call in the afternoon. The doctor in New York said you have bandages on that leg that will need to be changed, and we haven’t tended to that.” He started to close the door.

“Mr. Halliday?”

“Nicholas,” he corrected, pausing.

“Nicholas,” she managed. “You’ve been very considerate. Thank you.”

His dark gaze flickered momentarily, but his expression didn’t change. “What else would I do for my brother’s wife?”

She didn’t reply. The inflection in his tone was almost…acerbic. Her heart skipped a tiny beat.

But then he wished her a polite good evening, pulled the door closed, and she wondered if she’d really heard it.

Something told her he was skeptical. He treated her politely and provided more than she could ask for, but it was there, lurking behind his eyes and beneath his words. Doubt.

And tomorrow, she would have to face Stephen’s mother and tell her the truth.

Again and again, while picking at her dinner, while feeding the baby and settling him down for the night, she went over her pitiful options. And each time, she came to the conclusion that she had no choice. She would plead her case with Stephen Halliday’s mother and hope for the best.

What was the worst thing that could happen?

Mahoning Valley, Ohio

Leda Halliday, garbed in black, her eyelids swollen, greeted Sarah with welcoming arms. And Sarah knew, in some deep recess of her heart as she pulled herself to stand on her good leg and let the sobbing woman embrace her, that this was the worst thing that could have happened.

The small-statured woman smelled of violets and faintly of camphor. Her ample bosom shook against Sarah’s waist as she cried openly. To her surprise, responding tears came to Sarah’s eyes, and she accepted the violet-scented hankie the maid pressed into her fingers.

Leda pulled away, dabbing at her nose, and let Sarah sit back down but didn’t release her hand. “You are just as beautiful as Stephen wrote us,” she said on a sob. Her fleshy face crumpled, and Nicholas was there to take her in his arms and hold her against his broad chest. When he raised his face from his mother’s silver-streaked dark hair, there were tears on his dark lashes.

Sarah’s heart ached for them both. A pang of guilt shot through her chest like a sword of cold steel. She couldn’t meet Nicholas’s eyes. How was she going to say the words? If only Nicholas would leave them alone.

Finally Leda pulled away from her towering son and glanced toward the door. The driver stood in the opening, the basket firmly in his grasp. “Well, bring him here, Gruver, bring him here,” she said, motioning the man forward.

Her expression held anticipation, as well as curiosity. When she caught sight of the baby, she covered her trembling lips with her fingers for several long seconds. Sarah saw how badly she wanted to see her son in this tiny child, and regret yawned in her chest.

“He’s just beautiful,” she said at last, her voice thick with emotion. “What’s his name?”

Embarrassed, Sarah edged her gaze away from Nicholas and looked directly into Leda’s gray eyes. “I haven’t named him yet,” she said, knowing the older woman would think that as strange as Minna had.

Instead Leda glowed as though she’d been gifted with a king’s ransom. “We can do it together.”

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed, but Sarah wouldn’t lock gazes.

“Your rooms are ready,” Leda announced. “I think you’ll find everything in order, but you need only ask.”

Sarah glanced at the grand curving marble staircase that led to an open hallway above. She met Nicholas’s dark eyes.

“They’re upstairs,” Leda said, and then as if just now realizing, turned back. “Oh dear.”

“Not to worry, Mother,” Nicholas said. “Claire and I have perfected this transportation problem. Gruver, if you’ll just carry the little fellow up, you’ll be dismissed for the rest of the day. Take tomorrow off, too. I’m sure you’ve missed your family.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Nicholas swooped forward and waited for Sarah to reach for his neck. She did so, and he slid his arm beneath her legs, brought her against his chest, and turned to his mother. “See, Mother? All those peas and carrots paid off in the long run.”

“I told you so.” The woman chuckled and followed them up, her skirts rustling. Her small laugh eased some of Sarah’s discomfort, and Sarah was strangely grateful to Nicholas for making his mother smile.

This time Sarah didn’t fight the sensations his nearness created. His interaction with his mother and his treatment of his driver said more than a million words could have. He was a good man. A sincere man. A respected, decent man.

And she was still taking advantage of him.

She rested in the security of his arms for just these few minutes. Enjoyed his strength, the masculine scent of his hair and the crisp, fresh smell of his clothing. And wondered just how long she had before she was truly, deeply, impossibly past the point of turning back.

Leda had hired a nursemaid to care for the baby. The woman, a tallish, gray-haired widow who called herself Mrs. Trent, took him while Nicholas and Leda made Sarah comfortable. Sarah sighed in relief when Nicholas finally excused himself and left the room.

“Mrs. Halliday…” Sarah began.

“Leda, dear. Please.” The older woman patted the counterpane into place over Sarah’s good right leg and made sure the other one was settled on a pillow.

“Leda. I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you.”

“I know, darling. We’re going to have plenty of time together. You’re going to be the daughter I never had. And this little man…”

Leda took Sarah’s son from Mrs. Trent and held him to her cushioned breast. Tears ran down her cheeks openly. “This little man is going to keep me from dying of a broken heart.”

At the woman’s anguish, a great suffocating weight burgeoned in Sarah’s chest. “I’m not who you think I am,” she choked out.

“I don’t care who you are,” Leda said on a half sob. “If I hadn’t had you and the baby to look forward to these past few days, I couldn’t have borne the sorrow. A mother should never have to lose her child. Never,” she said fiercely. “You’re what I need to go on living now. You and him.” She nuzzled the infant’s downy head, and Sarah choked on the confession that welled in her soul.

But she didn’t have the courage to say the words that would destroy the woman who’d already lost her son. All her good intentions fled like dry leaves before a storm, and the secret cowered in a shadowy corner of her heart.

Not now. Not just now. She could wait. Until Leda had a chance to get over Stephen. By then Sarah’s leg would be better, and she’d be able to leave. Until then…how much harm would it cause to let the woman think they were her family for just a little longer?

Sarah prayed she wouldn’t have to know the answer to that.

The spectacled Mrs. Trent did as she was bidden, taking care of the baby’s laundry, bathing and changing him with efficiency, but never getting in the way when Sarah wanted to perform the tasks herself. In fact, she was more than pleased to share her knowledge, answer Sarah’s questions and assist her in learning to do what she could herself.

Leda visited Sarah and the baby often, but Sarah didn’t see Nicholas for the next few days. The portly middle-aged doctor called twice, proclaiming her leg better, but still not well enough to put her weight on. He checked her head, asked about the baby’s eating habits, looked him over and wished her a good day.

Sarah and her son slept and ate and grew stronger. At times, beneath Leda’s doting concern, Sarah didn’t feel so alone—until she remembered the gracious woman believed she was someone else. Her identity was a secret she bore alone. A burden she carried each day and each night, its weight squeezing her heart and her conscience.

Late one afternoon Leda came to her suite, and soon after tea was served. “I thought we might decide today,” the woman said, a note of hopefulness in her voice.

“On what, Mrs. Halliday?”

“Leda, please. On the baby’s name, of course.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Tell me, did you and Stephen have any names you particularly wanted to use? Your father’s perhaps?”

Sarah didn’t know Claire’s father’s name, so she shied away from that idea. Her own father’s name would only remind her of his hurtful rejection. She shook her head. “I like Thomas. Or Victor. Peter is nice, too. Did you have any you particularly like?” Sarah asked, knowing full well she must.

“Well.” She settled her cup in its saucer and patted her lip with a linen napkin. “My father’s name was Horatio. Stephen’s father’s name was Templeton.”

Sarah hoped the woman had some relatives with acceptable names. Sarah had, after all, suggested she needed help choosing.

“My grandfather was William—”

“William is quite nice,” Sarah cut in quickly.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. I like it a lot.”

“He needs a middle name,” Leda commented.

Sarah nodded, grudgingly.

“How about Stephen?”

Sarah thought about the kind young man who had taken her in out of the rain and given her his bed for the night. If he’d been in that bunk, he would probably be alive right now. Naming her son after him wouldn’t make up for the debt, but it would be appropriate. “I think Stephen is more than suitable.”

Leda clapped her hands together in almost childlike excitement. “William Stephen Halliday! Isn’t it a grand name?”

Guilt fell on Sarah like a cold Boston fog and dampened her spirits. But seeing Leda this happy made her unwilling to change anything that she’d said or done. “It is indeed. It’s a wonderful name.”

“Nicholas will come and get you for dinner tonight,” Leda said, rising. “We’ll tell him then.” She bustled from the room.

Sarah wheeled her chair over to the alcove where the ornate iron crib Leda had purchased nestled beneath a brightly painted, sloping ceiling. She touched her son’s downy hair and patted his flannel-wrapped bottom lovingly. “William,” she whispered. “Sweet William.”

A trapped sensation gripped Sarah. What had she done? Doubt and shame clawed their way to the surface, and she was forced to admit to her part in this deception. She hadn’t told Nicholas the truth. She hadn’t told his mother the truth. Too much time had passed for them to understand now.

And she had just let Nicholas’s mother name the baby after her grandfather. A Halliday!

Sarah bit her lip, hating the self-reproach lying on her heart like a lead weight, and knew she had just passed the point of no return.

Sarah met with a problem in choosing a dress for dinner. Claire’s trunks had been delivered, and Leda’s personal maid told her she’d pressed the dresses and hung them in the armoires.

She opened the double-doored cabinet and stared at the collection of clothing. Satins and silks, vivid colors with plunging necklines and daringly visible underskirts lined the rod. What outlandish taste Claire had! Sarah rifled through her belongings, finding nothing suitable for mourning. Nothing suitable, period! Finally, she discovered a black silk gown with a lace insert from the bodice to a collar piece, and asked Mrs. Trent to help her with it. Thank goodness the bust was roomy enough for Sarah’s new full figure.

She was supposed to be a widow, after all, so black was an appropriate choice. The color washed her out, however, so she pinched her cheeks and applied a dab of lip rouge she found in her dressing table drawer. Claire had possessed an astonishing assortment of face tints and decanters. Sarah sniffed one of the perfumes and replaced the stopper with a grimace, feeling funny about using Claire’s personal items.

Nicholas appeared on schedule. Mrs. Trent stayed with William while Nicholas scooped up Sarah and carried her downstairs.

“My chair,” she questioned, looking back over his shoulder.

“You won’t have need for it,” he replied, his voice vibrating against her breast. He wore a linen shirt and lightweight jacket, and Sarah felt every sinewy muscle pressed against her body. “You won’t need to go anywhere that I can’t take you.”

His words and his voice spawned a quavery shiver along her spine, and her reaction to his nearness abashed her.

She concentrated on the house he carried her through. The furnishings and decor were as lovely as—no, lovelier than—her Boston home had been, more costly, yet more understated. The dining room they arrived in was paneled in rich walnut, with two sideboards and built-in china cabinets. Gilt-framed paintings of hunting scenes and meandering rivers lined the walls.

Leda waited impatiently for them. “Good evening, darlings!”

Nicholas placed Sarah in a chair at the corner of the table, across from Leda, and seated himself at the head. The older woman’s glance took in the dress.

“I have nothing appropriate for mourning,” Sarah said softly.

“Of course you don’t, and we didn’t think of it, did we, Nicholas?”

He shook his head and paused with a raised brow as he poured wine. “Claire?”

“None for me, thank you.”

He placed a stemmed crystal glass in front of his mother.

“I’ll send for the dressmaker tomorrow,” she said.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Sarah objected.

“Of course it’s necessary. You’re a widow, after all. And a Halliday. You mustn’t be seen in public without proper dress.”

It was true, she couldn’t possibly wear any of those dresses that had been Claire’s. Whatever had the woman been thinking of to buy them? What kind of person had Claire been?

Nicholas had been looking at her oddly for several minutes. “Your accent sounds more like Boston than New York,” he said finally.

“Does it?” She took a sip from her water glass and tried to appear unconcerned. “I think we tend to imitate the people we’re around, and many of my friends are from Boston.”

“Are they now?”

She nodded.

He appeared unconvinced, and she knew she’d have to be more careful of her speech. She was getting in deep now.

“You had an announcement?” Nicholas queried his mother over the top of his wineglass.

“Yes,” Leda replied with a broad smile. “We wanted to surprise you tonight, darling. Claire has chosen a name for the baby.”

His expression revealed neither surprise nor curiosity. Calmly, he took a sip.

“William Stephen Halliday,” Leda declared proudly. “Isn’t that a fine name?”

Nicholas’s knuckles tensed on the glass. “William was—”

“My grandfather’s name,” his mother finished for him.

Looking as if he knew he was expected to say something, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

“And he’ll carry on Stephen’s name,” Leda added softly.

A maid came through the doorway, platter in hand, and served dinner. Nicholas watched Sarah select her portions and pick up her fork. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Did Stephen have any plans for work?” he asked.

Sarah’s bite of braised beef paused on its way to her mouth. “Work?”

“Taking a position here? Going back to the coast? All his wire said was that he was bringing you home to meet us. He failed to mention whether or not he intended to stay this time. Perhaps he only meant to leave you off to have the baby while he continued his pursuit of folly in the East.”

“Nicholas!” his mother admonished.

“Well, it’s true he never took any interest in our family’s business affairs. And very little interest in our family, for that matter.”

“Nicholas, please,” his mother scolded. “Your brother is dead. Can’t you let this rest? You’ve spoiled Claire’s dinner.”

“No,” Sarah denied. He was testing her. And Lord, save her from herself, she resented it. That was crazy. “He hasn’t spoiled my dinner,” she said to Leda, then turned her gaze on Nicholas. “I’m quite aware that you and Stephen differed on many subjects. I don’t know if he had any plans for involving himself in the business. I do know he wouldn’t have left his wife here to have the baby and have gone on his own way.”

“How can you be so sure?” Nicholas asked. “You only knew him a few months.”

Sarah remembered the loving way Stephen spoke to Claire, the way he touched her as though he needed that contact for his very sustenance. “I may not have known him a long time, but I recognize love when I see it.”

“Of course you do, darling. My son is just too old and stuffy for his years, and he thinks everyone should be just like him. Don’t you dare upset our Claire, Nicholas. I’ll not accept your rude behavior.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry, Claire,” he included her in the apology with a curt nod. “Why don’t you tell us all about your whirlwind courtship with my brother? So we’ll better understand, of course.”

A sarcastic undercurrent ran close to the surface, but Leda seemed not to notice.

Sarah placed her fork on the edge of her plate and nervously wrapped her fingers in her napkin. “I will tell you this. Your brother was one of the kindest, most generous people I’ve ever met in my life. He was accepting and caring and considerate. He laughed out loud and he loved deeply. And I can tell you he probably has a lot fewer regrets now than most people will when their lives are over.”

Nicholas chewed slowly and swallowed before meeting her unyielding gaze. “Have you finished putting me properly in my place?” he asked.

Her heart hammered. She didn’t know what to make of him, of his questions. Was it his brother he resented, or just her?

“Come now, children, we have important things to discuss,” Leda said. “We have plans to make.”

“What plans are those?” Nicholas turned his attention to his mother, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stephen’s memorial service. Now that our Claire’s feeling better, we can get things settled.”

A dark expression clouded Nicholas’s face. His lips flattened into a hard line.

“We can see to it, darling,” his mother said, reaching over and placing her age-spotted hand over his large hair-dusted one. “You’ve done quite enough already, handling the affairs in New York.”

He turned over his hand and encased hers. “I didn’t mind, Mother. And I won’t mind helping with the service.”

“I think we need to do this,” his mother said, and looked to Sarah for verification.

Sarah recognized Leda’s desire to do this thing for Stephen on her own, and to spare her remaining son another unpleasant task in the process. “Yes,” she agreed softly. “I’d like to do it.”

“Of course.” Nicholas gave in, and studied Sarah with a guarded expression, as if gauging her reaction.

She hadn’t tasted most of the meal, and her stomach rebelled against placing any more food in it. She sipped her water, and tried to calm her fluttering nerves. A memorial service! How would she ever manage to play the part of Stephen’s wife in this scenario? What would be expected of her? How many people would she have to see?

“A Saturday afternoon would be most appropriate, don’t you think?” Leda asked.

A Saturday afternoon. Only one afternoon. She could get through that She nodded and gave Leda what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Nicholas folded his napkin and stood abruptly. “If you ladies will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

“There’s dessert,” his mother called after him, but he was gone. “We’ll eat his share,” Leda said with a brave smile.

Sarah wished she could bolt from the room as Nicholas had. But she’d gotten herself into this situation. Now she’d have to see it through. She observed Leda’s determined expression and resigned herself. The least she could do was assist the woman and be as much help and support as she could. She owed them that much. And more.

After all, how long could a memorial service take?