Becca clutched the handle of her basket containing food, focused on the front entrance of her home, and walked in a dignified manner straight toward it.
“I heard Micah’s courtin’ Susanna now,” another hissed in a voice loud enough to be heard a block away.
She wished Sissy or Naomi were nearby so she could say, “Poor Susanna,” with enough vigor to dispel any myth that she cared what Micah did. Instead, she smiled in a most unaffected manner and nodded toward them. Narrowed eyes were her reward. She stepped through her front door before the catty women could make new observations.
“Becca!” Several of her siblings ran to greet her. Though they shared a deep love that could never be broken, the food she carried held its own appeal. The amount of leftovers didn’t fool Becca. It was an open secret at the Abercrombie residence that Cook had been told by Nash to prepare more food than needed so Becca’s family could enjoy plenty.
Mother greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “We sure been eatin’ good since ya hooked up with that man o’ your’n.”
Becca had to concentrate on her speech when among her family. Listening to them made it all too easy for her to fall back into old patterns. “I am glad you enjoy the food I present to you, Mother. Cook is quite generous to prepare extra provisions for us.”
Father entered from the back bedroom. “I thought I heard me a hoity-toity miss out here. Who do ya think ya are, talkin’ like that? Think ye’re better’n us? Yer own family?”
Such questioning would have left her quaking in the past, but Nash’s love gave her strength. “No, sir. Please realize that I must speak in this manner if I am to please Nash. I thought you wanted me to please him.”
Father’s gaze shot, unashamed, to the ruby ring on Becca’s left ring finger. “Any more trinkets?”
“No, sir. He has been spending considerable resources and effort training me to become a lady.”
“Time and resources? Ya can tell me all about it while we eat. That food ya brung smells mighty good.”
❧
“The morning mail has arrived, sir.” Harrod entered the study carrying several letters. “This is a certain indication your friends have discovered you’re home.”
Nash swallowed. He’d relished his time alone with Becca. Never had he rushed home from his office every day at lunch and each evening with such determination, but since she spent each day there, he was eager to return to his residence. Becca’s poise and polish deemed her ready to meet his friends, but he wasn’t ready to share her with anyone, no matter how innocent the capacity. He’d told Becca the ladies would be jealous of her, omitting that men would envy him. If only he and Becca could stay in their dream world untouched by outsiders forever.
Harrod’s voice broke into his musings. “It is past time you resumed ‘at home’ hours, in my view. You have been devoting entirely too much time to business, and since your engagement, you have almost become a recluse. A popular man such as yourself needs to socialize with his friends.”
“I’ll get out and about soon enough. Winter is a good time to keep to oneself. Furthermore, I haven’t been encouraging visitors yet for Becca’s sake.”
“The moment of truth is upon us. I hope she is ready.”
“I think she is. Haven’t you noticed her progress?”
“Yes. She has done very well. But is she ready to face Miss Caldwell and Mrs. Gill?”
“Let’s hope so. For all our sakes.”
Without further observation, Harrod excused himself. His mention of Hazel and her sister was not a good sign.
Nash shuffled through the mail, looking for any missive appearing to be from Hazel. His body slumped when he saw his reward—a note written in a fine hand on cream-colored stationery. Hazel’s hand. The note he dreaded.
He broke the seal of gold wax embossed with the letter C so he could read the message:
Nash,
I trust you are well. I am in hopes your entire house has not come to ruin in my absence with no one to help you oversee the staff.
My visit with my aunt here in Hartford is drawing to a close. I shall arrive in Providence on Tuesday and expect to see you promptly at seven in the evening. Laurel says we must move forward with great haste to prepare for our wedding day. She believes an autumn wedding would be lovely, as do I.
Have Cook prepare lobster for our dinner, to be served promptly at eight thirty.
Yours,
Hazel
He set the letter aside and let out a heavy sigh. “Lord, I pray Becca will be ready.”
❧
Becca sliced her fork into the last bit of white cake with fig icing. She had filled out a tad since arriving at Nash’s, but not too much. Her assurance and ease at the dinner table made meals much more enjoyable than they had been when she first dined with him. Nash could relax, too, since he didn’t have to correct her. Now their conversations focused on matters of importance. Nash told her most men didn’t think women should bother themselves with business or politics, but he interspersed some tidbits about the world along with talk about interesting items appealing to the sensibilities of the fairer sex. She looked forward to their nightly chats.
After pleasant dinner talk, he turned serious. “Becca, I have something to tell you.”
She stiffened. “Yes?”
“You will be going home later tomorrow night than usual. Be sure to let your family know.”
A thread of excitement went through her. Perhaps he had something interesting planned. “Of course. You will be needing me here?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat and patted his mouth with his napkin. “Miss Hazel Caldwell will be arriving. I think it’s time the two of you met.”
Miss Hazel Caldwell. Witch Hazel. Becca shivered.
“You have nothing to fear,” Nash consoled her.
“You could tell what I was thinking. I must be an open book to you.”
“Your reaction is natural, considering our circumstances. I want you to know how proud I am of you. Your level of accomplishment is extraordinary. You are not the same person who knocked on my back door seeking a job.”
Becca contemplated what he said. True, she didn’t feel the same. Her speech sounded strange to her ears as she listened to well-formed words leave her lips, yet it sounded so much prettier and more refined. No one would ever hear her complain about her new wardrobe. The dresses had taken her from a sad gray mourning dove to a bright bird of paradise. She enjoyed wearing colors—colors that pleased her eye. Judging by the way Nash looked at her whenever she entered a room, she could see he found her new dresses pleasant to view as well. Then again, the kiss had changed so much. The new light in his eyes told her his expressed feelings remained true.
Time and time again, she relived his kiss in her mind, and the memory became fonder with each reliving. He’d made no move to kiss her again. The fact might have made her feel insecure except he radiated love for her each time they spoke or shared any achievement, big or small. While she yearned for him, she appreciated that he treated her with respect.
He took her hand in a brief motion of comfort, then let it go. “Go home tonight and sleep as well as you can. I’ll send Jack for you at three in the afternoon. When you arrive here, please have Bernice help you into your blue dress.”
“I know that’s your favorite. But. . .” She hesitated.
“What is it?”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but if we are to start seeing your friends now, won’t I need more dresses? Not that I mind wearing the same ones every day, but you said—”
“Yes, I know. And considering how I’ve spoken to you so often about wearing a variety of dresses, you don’t sound ungrateful—you sound right. I’ll contact Dawn and ask her to move faster on our latest order.”
“Thank you.” That matter settled, a sudden panic filled her about a different concern. “I won’t have to sing, will I?”
He laughed, though in a kind rather than mocking manner. “Of course not. T
his isn’t an evening soiree, but a dinner with an acquaintance.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “If it makes you feel better, she won’t be singing for you, either. You’ll be missing a poor performance delivered with much more confidence than warranted, I assure you.”
Whether he exaggerated to make her feel better or if he spoke the truth didn’t matter; his levity encouraged her. She giggled, then turned serious. “I’m really not ready to sing for your friends.”
“I don’t expect you to be ready yet. But sometimes I arrive home early enough from the office to hear the very end of your lesson. I must say, you sound identical to a songbird.” He nodded to the maid, granting her permission to pour him a cup of coffee.
Under normal circumstances Becca would have protested his use of such hyperbole, but her embarrassment superseded modest objections. “You hear me sing?” She gasped, chagrined at the thought of entertaining an unseen but important audience.
“I don’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s just that when I hear you, I can’t help but stop and listen. Neither can the servants. Even Harrod has complimented your voice to me.”
“Even Harrod? Oh my, I must be putting on quite a show for the entire household.” Becca felt a mixture of discomfiture and satisfaction in learning she had earned such high praise but hid her emotions as she shook her head at the maid to decline the caffeinated beverage.
“Mrs. James is pleased by your progress.” He stirred two lumps of sugar into his coffee.
“She is?” Her voice reflected her genuine shock.
He poured cream into his drink, transforming the liquid to a mellow brown. “That’s what she tells me.”
Becca recalled her teacher’s chilly instructions, never laced with approval. “I wish that’s what she would tell me.”
“Oh, she’s a bit taciturn. The fact she praised you without my prodding is remarkable indeed.” He drank from his coffee cup.
“Indeed.”
“Yes.” He set down the cup. “My dream is that we can perform together sometime soon.”
The idea sounded like a fantasy. To sing a duet with him? No love song written could express how she felt about him. “Together? So you’re a vocalist?”
“I wish I had such talent. No, I merely strum an occasional guitar.”
“I learn something new about you every day. Perhaps after this visit with Miss Caldwell”—she shuddered—“you can play a few songs for me?”
“If she doesn’t depart too late.” A mischievous light glowed in his eyes. “I have a feeling she won’t be staying too long once she sees us together. So please try not to worry about tomorrow. I’ll be here as your biggest aficionado.”
She’d learned many new words in recent days, but “aficionado” stumped her. His teasing grin told her he wanted her to guess its meaning. Asking what words meant could give away her humble background, and for Nash’s sake she wanted to put on a flawless performance for Hazel. She made her best effort. “I’m glad you’ll be there to support me, Nash.”
“Perfect!” His smile grew wider. “See? I told you that you have no reason to fear Hazel.”
She could only hope tomorrow would prove him right.
Nine
The next day Becca noticed the appealing scent of beef roasting over the hearth. In anticipation of Hazel’s arrival, Cook had placed the meat in a pot with assorted vegetables. The aroma filled the house, making the place seem cozy and inviting despite cold spring rain falling outdoors. Any other time, Becca would have relished the thought of such a delectable treat and anticipated taking leftovers to her grateful family. But the arrival of the unwanted guest left her with no appetite, even this close to the dinner hour. Perhaps a lack of hunger would serve her well. Eating large portions would make her seem unladylike and subject her to possible ridicule from her rival.
Rival. That’s what Hazel symbolized to Becca, even though Nash had no interest in her. Still, she had a feeling Hazel would put up the fight of her life to keep Nash once she discovered Becca’s presence.
She said a silent prayer. Lord, please be with me. I wish Hazel no harm. Indeed, I want her to find a man who really loves her. And Nash doesn’t love her. Guide me. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Becca summoned her courage before she entered the study where Nash awaited. His glance touched her from the top of her head to the tips of her new shoes and back to her face. “I see Bernice styled your hair in the way I prefer. And your dress is perfect. I’m glad I spied you before the gentlemen of my acquaintance, or I would have risked losing you to a wave of competition.”
“Never.”
A knock on the front door rang all the way to the study.
“That’s her.” Nash confirmed Becca’s worst fears. “Now please don’t worry.” He rose, and Becca followed suit. Nash stopped her. “Please wait here until Harrod or the maid sends for you. I want to see Hazel by myself first.”
“Oh.” As much as she’d feared and dreaded this moment, now that Hazel waited for them in the parlor, she wished she could go with Nash and get the initial meeting out of the way.
“I won’t tarry. I promise.”
❧
“What took you so long, Nash? I was just getting ready to go upstairs to find you,” Hazel said as soon as his feet hit the bottom of the steps.
“Greetings to you, too, Hazel.” He couldn’t help but think about his lack of emotion. No yearning to touch her prodded him. Even wearing a stunning dress with not a hair out of place framing a face everyone in Providence considered beautiful, she held no appeal for him. Instead, the feeling of a cannonball in his gut made him realize all the more how right he had been to choose Becca.
Eyeing Laurel sitting beside Hazel on the sofa, Nash held back a sigh. He might have known Hazel would bring her financier to hurry along the nuptials that no one but they were planning. Out of courtesy, he nodded. “Laurel.”
“Nash,” she volleyed with the spirit of a catapulted rapier.
“I wasn’t expecting you. I’ll have the maid set an extra place.” He seated himself in the chair next to the fireplace.
“I thought I mentioned Laurel would be joining us,” Hazel said without any remorse coloring her voice. “There is enough food, isn’t there?” She turned to her sister. “I wouldn’t be so bold in front of society, but since we are alone, I’ll speak freely, Laurel. You know our Nash. Never wants to risk wasting so much as a drop of gravy. At least for once he has a decent fire lit.”
“You can’t expect a man to run a house properly,” Laurel said. “You know ours would fall apart overnight if Mitchell were forced to tend to the staff and other household affairs himself. Poor Nash. He needs you, Hazel, dear.”
“Indeed.” She crossed her arms.
Spotting Harrod from the corner of his eye, Nash sent him a quick nod, indicating he should retrieve Becca from the study.
Hazel sniffed. “What’s that I smell? Is that beef?”
“I do believe it is,” Laurel answered.
Hazel twisted her mouth in a way that irritated Nash. “I distinctly told you to have Cook prepare lobster for us tonight. What is wrong with your incompetent staff? The first thing I’ll do after we’re wed is fire the lot of them.”
Laurel placed a restraining hand on her sister’s arm. “Now, now, Hazel. I’m sure there was simply a misunderstanding.” She looked up at Nash. “Isn’t that true?”
“No, it is not true. I know you wanted lobster, Hazel, but I asked Cook for roast beef. And it’s a good thing, too,” he continued over her outraged gasp. “If I had ordered lobster, we would have been short because I wouldn’t have ordered extra for unexpected and uninvited guests.”
“Well!” Laurel, in usual circumstances the epitome of icy civility, appeared flummoxed.
“Nash, apologize this instant!” Hazel demanded.
“Since you have been frank in your speech about my wisdom, or lack thereof, in handling my household affairs, I thought I should show yo
u the same measure of respect.”
“That’s all right, Hazel,” Laurel said. “He’s clearly overwrought from the prospect of your impending nuptials. Grooms can get nervous just as brides become jittery. But you are the perfect couple, so a little tiff over an informal dinner that will be forgotten by tomorrow is no reason to remain angry. When there is a dinner to be hosted here that will count, Hazel will see to it that nothing is omitted. So for now, let’s forget our harsh words and enjoy our meal.”
“Wise counsel, I must say,” Nash agreed. “However, there is another guest who will be joining us.”
“Another guest?” The pitch of Hazel’s voice reminded Nash of a girl languishing in toddlerhood. “But I thought we would be planning our ceremony tonight. No stranger needs to be privy to our personal affairs.”
“Oh, but she is not a stranger. At least not to me.”
“She?” Hazel’s voice betrayed a mixture of horror and suspicion. Laurel’s eyes widened.
“Yes,” Nash answered. “Would you care to meet her now? She’s waiting upstairs in the study.”
Hazel froze, then tried and failed to put a pleasant expression on her face. “I suppose I have no choice.”
“Of course we would be glad to meet any relative you hold in high esteem,” Laurel managed with a bit more civility.
Harrod, displaying his uncanny knack for perfect timing, entered. “Miss Hanham, sir.”
❧
Becca panicked when she spied a familiar figure sitting on the sofa beside a woman she didn’t know. Mrs. Gill! What was she doing there?
There was no time to give him the courtesy of an explanation. “I can’t go in there,” she whispered to Harrod. “Please don’t make me.”
“But you must. He has already asked for you.”
“Make an excuse. Please,” she hissed.
Nash spotted Becca and called to them. “Is something the matter?”
“Not at all, sir.” Harrod gave Becca a puzzled look but without further ado escorted her in, and Nash, looking not the least bit vexed, introduced her to the two women. His identification of Mrs. Gill as Hazel’s sister cleared up the mystery. Still, Becca wondered why Mrs. Gill joined them. Nash hadn’t mentioned anyone but Hazel. Becca kept her composure, looking with reluctance at Mrs. Gill. Though the woman looked her up and down in the same manner she had during their interview, no flicker of recognition flashed over her features. She didn’t wonder why. Her hair and mode of dress rendered her almost unrecognizable. Becca breathed a sigh of relief and took a seat in the chair across from the women. Nash sat in the chair beside her with only a side table separating them. She could feel the comfort of his presence and was grateful for it.
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