consider the most unnerving possibility—that Jeff, with his legendary way with women, had seduced Fancy.
He drew the buggy to a halt at the barn door, jumped down, and helped Amelie to alight. The turn his thoughts had just taken made him wonder how the devil he was going to last a full month until the wedding.
The steady thwack-thwack of Jeff’s hammer ceased. Both he and Fancy had been kneeling on the grass, one on each side of whatever they were building, but they rose together, their faces watchful, wary.
Oh, no, thought Keith with real despair.
Jeff’s eyes met his brother’s squarely and held, though his words were directed to Amelie. “We have a guest,” he said, unnecessarily.
Keith was diverted by the mention of the woman he loved, probably because he wanted to be. He felt a familiar thrill as her small, gloved hand slid through the crook of his arm and squeezed. She was a vision with her bright green eyes, her dark, glistening hair, her slight but womanly figure.
“It’s so good to see you out and about, Captain,” she said sweetly, her gaze touching Fancy and then dismissing her. “I do hope you’re feeling better.”
Jeff flung one look at Fancy—a look Keith knew as well as he knew the twenty-third Psalm—and then answered, “Much better.”
Fancy’s furious blush told Keith all he needed to know. “I’d like to talk to you inside,” he told his brother, in a tightly controlled voice.
Jeff agreed with a nod and dropped the hammer to the ground. “Anything you say,” he replied, with biting good humor.
* * *
Fancy stood nervously, taking in the compact beauty of the woman Keith had abandoned on the lawn. She was a wonder—her dark ringlets gleamed in the sun, her skin was flawness, her teeth were small and white and even.
“That Keith!” the vision trilled, as Alva flung her one unseen and inscrutable look on the way into the house. “He was rude not to introduce us!” She extended one immaculately gloved hand and stepped toward Fancy. “My name is Amelie Rogers.”
“Frances Gordon,” replied Fancy, accepting the offered hand and squeezing it firmly.
Amelie’s frown was pensive. “I thought Keith said your name was—Fancy.”
Fancy blushed. “That’s my nickname.”
“It’s really so—colorful.”
Fancy did not know whether to thank the woman or be offended. Because of that quandary, she said nothing at all.
Amelie caught her arm and ushered her along toward the house. Though her smile never waned, there was a certain challenge in its bright sparkle. “I hope that you and I can be friends, Fancy, but—”
“But, what?” demanded Fancy, stopping cold in her tracks.
Amelie had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Well, you are living here, with two unmarried men, and there is—well, there is some talk. Your being an actress—”
Considering what had gone on in the barn and then on the parlor couch, Fancy had a degree of difficulty maintaining her righteous indignation. “I am not an actress. Furthermore, Mrs. Thompkins shares this house also!”
Amelie bit her lower lip, regarding Fancy’s flushed face squarely. “I’ve made a miserable mess of this,” she murmured, after several moments of silence. A becoming blush moved up over her high, finely shaped cheekbones. “Oh, there’s nothing for it—I’ll just have to say what’s on my mind! I love Keith Corbin very much and we’re to be married next month and it’s obvious that he likes you—”
Fancy was both annoyed and relieved. “I’ve nodesigns on your intended, Miss Rogers.” Your future brother-in-law, she added in rueful silence, is, unfortunately, another matter entirely.
Amelie heaved a delicate sigh of relief and, not for the first time, Fancy wondered why women always saw her as a threat to their romantic interests. Not until that very morning had she ever behaved in any way that could have been called wanton. “We shall be friends, then—very good friends. Tell
He drew the buggy to a halt at the barn door, jumped down, and helped Amelie to alight. The turn his thoughts had just taken made him wonder how the devil he was going to last a full month until the wedding.
The steady thwack-thwack of Jeff’s hammer ceased. Both he and Fancy had been kneeling on the grass, one on each side of whatever they were building, but they rose together, their faces watchful, wary.
Oh, no, thought Keith with real despair.
Jeff’s eyes met his brother’s squarely and held, though his words were directed to Amelie. “We have a guest,” he said, unnecessarily.
Keith was diverted by the mention of the woman he loved, probably because he wanted to be. He felt a familiar thrill as her small, gloved hand slid through the crook of his arm and squeezed. She was a vision with her bright green eyes, her dark, glistening hair, her slight but womanly figure.
“It’s so good to see you out and about, Captain,” she said sweetly, her gaze touching Fancy and then dismissing her. “I do hope you’re feeling better.”
Jeff flung one look at Fancy—a look Keith knew as well as he knew the twenty-third Psalm—and then answered, “Much better.”
Fancy’s furious blush told Keith all he needed to know. “I’d like to talk to you inside,” he told his brother, in a tightly controlled voice.
Jeff agreed with a nod and dropped the hammer to the ground. “Anything you say,” he replied, with biting good humor.
* * *
Fancy stood nervously, taking in the compact beauty of the woman Keith had abandoned on the lawn. She was a wonder—her dark ringlets gleamed in the sun, her skin was flawness, her teeth were small and white and even.
“That Keith!” the vision trilled, as Alva flung her one unseen and inscrutable look on the way into the house. “He was rude not to introduce us!” She extended one immaculately gloved hand and stepped toward Fancy. “My name is Amelie Rogers.”
“Frances Gordon,” replied Fancy, accepting the offered hand and squeezing it firmly.
Amelie’s frown was pensive. “I thought Keith said your name was—Fancy.”
Fancy blushed. “That’s my nickname.”
“It’s really so—colorful.”
Fancy did not know whether to thank the woman or be offended. Because of that quandary, she said nothing at all.
Amelie caught her arm and ushered her along toward the house. Though her smile never waned, there was a certain challenge in its bright sparkle. “I hope that you and I can be friends, Fancy, but—”
“But, what?” demanded Fancy, stopping cold in her tracks.
Amelie had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Well, you are living here, with two unmarried men, and there is—well, there is some talk. Your being an actress—”
Considering what had gone on in the barn and then on the parlor couch, Fancy had a degree of difficulty maintaining her righteous indignation. “I am not an actress. Furthermore, Mrs. Thompkins shares this house also!”
Amelie bit her lower lip, regarding Fancy’s flushed face squarely. “I’ve made a miserable mess of this,” she murmured, after several moments of silence. A becoming blush moved up over her high, finely shaped cheekbones. “Oh, there’s nothing for it—I’ll just have to say what’s on my mind! I love Keith Corbin very much and we’re to be married next month and it’s obvious that he likes you—”
Fancy was both annoyed and relieved. “I’ve nodesigns on your intended, Miss Rogers.” Your future brother-in-law, she added in rueful silence, is, unfortunately, another matter entirely.
Amelie heaved a delicate sigh of relief and, not for the first time, Fancy wondered why women always saw her as a threat to their romantic interests. Not until that very morning had she ever behaved in any way that could have been called wanton. “We shall be friends, then—very good friends. Tell
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