Love, Come to Me(99)

“I’ve been fine.” She started to smile at him, when a nearby movement caught her eye, and she turned with words of welcome poised on her lips. There was a tall blond girl, slender, attractive, and unassuming. Amy. Her face was much softer than Heath’s, but there were similarities in the shape of the eyes and mouth. She was looking at Lucy with shyness and uncertainty.

There was also another woman. Lucy knew immediately who she was.

But how could it be? How could it be?

Helpless fury, hurt, outrage—that would all come later. For now, Lucy was too stunned to feel anything. She could feel her face turn pale, clean, and stark as she succumbed to numbness. That was better than anger, and far better than fear. The less Raine could see on her face, the better.

“I apologize for the lack of advance warning,” Heath said with studied casualness. “We had a last-minute addition to our entourage. Lucy, I would like you to meet Amy, my sister, and my sister-in-law, Mrs. Laraine Price.”

“Amy . . . Mrs. Price . . . I’m pleased to meet you. I am sorry for your loss,” Lucy murmured automatically, and Raine moved forward to her, her steps so smooth that the hem of her skirts seemed to glide over the floor. Slim, extraordinarily beautiful, Raine had the kind of looks and grace that made all other women feel clumsy and awkward. Her eyes were misty gray, framed with long, curling lashes that cast shadows over the gleaming purity of her skin. Light brown hair was arranged in long ringlets that brushed her shoulders. She was of medium height, but her willowy slenderness made her seem much taller.

“Heath’s wife . . .” She took Lucy’s hand in her own cool, pale one and pressed it gently. “He didn’t tell us how pretty you are. Please call me Raine, won’t you?” Lucy was surprised to feel that the other woman’s hand was trembling. Apparently Raine was nervous, or upset, or both; but she showed no other sign of it except that betraying tremor. Her face was untroubled, her smile sweet and lovely. She didn’t look anything like the woman that Amy had described in those letters to Heath. “Amy,” Raine continued, letting go of Lucy’s hand and turning to the silent girl behind her, “don’t be afraid of your new sister. Come here and thank her for her hospitality.”

Obediently Amy approached Lucy, her eyes downcast, her hands twisted together in front of her. It seemed that she was afraid of strangers, or perhaps just of Lucy. It was also obvious that she was debating on how friendly she had to be to her brother’s Yankee wife.

Suddenly Lucy forgot all about Raine, and Heath, and her own jealousy as she looked at the tall, shy girl. She felt immense sympathy for her. Amy had just gone through the loss of her brother and the desertion of her mother, and she was in a land of strangers—of Northerners. She looks very lonely. She looks afraid. I wouldn’t want to have to coo and simper over a stranger, if I were her.

“I imagine you must be very tired,” Lucy said matter-of-factly, and Amy looked up with a wary glance. Her eyes were the same shade of blue-green as Heath’s, not quite as deep-set or darkly lashed as his, but striking in their own way.

“Yes. I don’t like to travel.”

“I don’t either,” Lucy replied, while Amy’s eyes encompassed every detail of her stylish clothes. Lucy couldn’t help but notice that both Amy and Raine wore dresses that were clean and well kept, but had the look of being turned.

“Heath said you were a little thing,” Amy commented. “He said you wear slippers with heels on them all the time.”

“Amy!” The personal remark earned a reprimand from Raine.

“I do wear heeled slippers.” Lucy smiled. “All the time.”

“She is little,” Amy said to Heath, and he grinned at her.

“I told you.”

“I’m sorry,” Raine apologized to Lucy, her gray eyes touched with something akin to embarrassment. “She’s such a child.”

“I wouldn’t dare call anyone who is taller than me a child,” Lucy said, conscious of Amy’s tentative smile.

Lucy’s mind was in such turmoil that she never quite remembered what happened during the next several minutes. She remained calm and polite, and even managed another smile or two as the guests were settled in their rooms. Heath disappeared to wash up and change his clothes, and Lucy tried desperately to collect her thoughts before going to their room to talk with him. As she passed by Amy’s room, she saw through the open doorway that the girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blindly at the Rosebank print on the walls.

“Amy?” Lucy was struck by her perfect stillness. “Would you like something? Some hot tea or—”

“No. Thank you.” The girl looked at her guardedly. “This is a pretty room.” It was done in a shade of soft, pale yellow, ornamented with pastel flowers.

“I’m glad it pleases you.” Slowly Lucy walked into the room and over to the window, wondering if Amy welcomed her company or thought of it as an intrusion. “I hope it isn’t too warm in here for you . . . Heath prefers every room in the house overheated and stuffy. If you’d like some fresh air, the window—”

“No. This is fine,” Amy said with a little shiver. “It’s cold in Massachusetts.”

“You’ll like it more in the springtime.”

“Heath says he’s going to find a school for me up here.”