Reclaimed Love: Banished Saga, Book Two by Ramona Flightner Page A

Smythe retained her focus and reached for the letter. I realized her intent too late and pulled it away from her just as she grabbed it, causing it to tear in two. She held onto the larger portion of the letter, including the corner with the return address.
    “No!” I yelled. “No!”
    “You are so naive, Clarissa,” Mrs. Smythe simpered with a triumphant smile. She waddled into the parlor, no pain evident in her movements. I rushed after her, determined to retrieve that portion of the letter to piece it together, only to watch her throw it in the smoldering grate of the fire.
    I collapsed onto a settee. I sat near her, in her favorite section of the parlor near the door. The furniture was newer, freshly upholstered in gaudy gold satin. I looked toward the distant part of the parlor, envisioning my evenings last summer with Gabriel as we sat by the piano or next to each other by the window, on the settee far from Mrs. Smythe.
    “Why?” I asked, though I knew it was a futile question. She did not like me, loathed Gabriel and would do anything to keep us separated. I should have suspected she would do something like this.
    I heard the commotion at the front door and sat mesmerized by the sight of Mrs. Smythe transforming herself into an injured woman. She leaned into her favorite lady’s chair and began to moan and twitch as though she were in paroxysms of agony. Tendrils of her previously tidy dyed-blond hair stuck to her forehead and trailed down her arm as her chignon came loose. She wiped at her forehead as though at sweat, and her small frame looked even smaller as she curled into her chair, clutching her belly. I watched the doctor’s solicitude, his concern for the baby and his abject disapproval of me.
    “I would think, young lady,” Dr. Mitchelson said with a fierce frown, “you would have more common sense than to rile your stepmother at this late stage of her delicate condition.”
    “She landed on top of me, and I think I provided a good cushion for the baby,” I said.
    “There should have been no need for her to fall,” the doctor said. “I am sure your father will have quite a bit to say.”
    ***
    THAT EVENING, after a scathing lecture from Da over treating Mrs. Smythe with the respect she was owed as my stepmother, I escaped to my bedroom to weep in private. Da seemed much less concerned that she had been intercepting my post and had in fact destroyed one of my letters in front of me.
    I lay curled on my bed, crying, imagining what Gabriel would have written me when a loud knock sounded on my door.
    “Rissa, come to the parlor,” Colin, my middle brother, commanded.
    “Go away, Col,” I called back. I sniffled but hoped he didn’t hear it.
    “I think you will be sorely disappointed if you don’t come down, Rissa,” he said with a hint of the old humor in his voice.
    I sighed, rose from my bed and washed my face. I studied myself in the mirror in my mama’s vanity and was thankful I had not wept for long and that the aftereffects of my crying jag were not overly evident. My topaz-blue eyes showed very little red, and I had no swelling under my eyes to indicate my recent tears. I repinned my waist-length chestnut hair into a simple bun, brushed down my pale blue skirts and took a calming breath at the thought of having to spend time in the presence of Mrs. Smythe.
    Upon entering the parlor, I saw Richard McLeod, one of Gabriel’s brothers, sitting companionably beside Colin on the medallion-style sofa near the fire discussing their blacksmithing projects. “Richard!” I exclaimed with delight.
    “Hello, Miss Sullivan,” he said with the open warmness he had always shown me. “It is nice to see you.” He stood to his full height, nearly as tall as Gabriel at over six feet. His icy-blue eyes lit with warmth and concern as he studied me.
    I blushed, hoping he would be unable to discern that I had been crying.
    I sat in a chair near them. “Have you heard from Gabriel?” I asked,