Spring Blossom by Jill Metcalf

her pretty lips. “Florence, darling, shouldn’t you be dressing
for supper?”
    After a moment of indecision, the younger
girl turned toward the door. “You will be nice tonight, won’t you,
Maggie?”
    Margaret forced herself to take the comment
calmly. “Of course, Florence. Mr. Maguire is an old friend and
shall be treated accordingly.”
    Alone again, Margaret poured water into the
floral-patterned ceramic bowl on the washstand and, dampening a
soft cloth, let the cooling effect of the water on her face ease
some of the tension within her.
    It was time to take herself in hand and
collect her thoughts. Past experience had taught her that she
always gained control and felt better after the sickness had
passed. She would be prepared to meet Hunter Maguire, just as she
had been prepared to meet every other man who had set foot inside
her home in the past year.
    Yes, she would be prepared, and she would
deal with him quite nicely.
    After all, she possessed more than one
attribute that would keep him at bay.
    *
    Freshly bathed and dressed in a crisp,
high-collared white shirt, beige trousers and a royal blue coat,
Hunter stepped to the entrance of the parlor. He was not surprised
that he was actually looking forward to this meeting now that he
was here. He had been gravely concerned when he had been told that
Maggie had been injured, and in such a vague way, when Alastair had
spoken. But he was as eager to see her again as he had been through
all the years of waiting. He had been slightly annoyed at
Alastair’s reluctance to explain the circumstances of her accident,
but upon reflection, he knew it would take much more than a scar to
change his opinion of the light-hearted, fun-loving girl who had
captivated him in her youth.
    Stepping into the room he was immediately,
if distantly, aware of the presence of several people, but his
attention was immediately drawn to a young woman standing in front
of the fireplace. He raised his eyes briefly to the portrait above
her and then allowed his gaze to fall again. If he had not known
that Downing’s wife had died…
    She was standing almost in profile to him as
she spoke with another young woman who was seated before her. When
she became aware of his presence, she raised her eyes and turned
slightly to offer him a subtle, almost shy smile.
    Hunter was entranced. It was as if the woman
in the portrait had stepped down off the wall, intending to join
them for supper. Here was a living, breathing replica of that
exquisite beauty he knew had been his friend’s wife. This was the
charming child grown up, the elder Margaret Downing’s daughter, and
such a legacy to leave the world!
    The cascading silvery hair waved softly back
from her face and over her bare shoulders, a perfect foil for the
ice blue satin gown she wore. He had only a glimpse of her eyes
before delicate ivory lids flutter over them, but that glimpse was
enough to identify the large, pale blue eyes that had reminded him
of the winter ice that could be found around the edge of a clear
pond.
    With some disappointment, Hunter saw his
host approaching.
    “Hunter, come and meet my daughters again
after all these years.” Alastair clamped a warm hand briefly on his
guest’s shoulder while leading him to one of the sofas in the
center of the room. The two girls seated there came to their feet
as the men approached.
    “You are already reacquainted with Florence,
I understand.”
    Hunter smiled as he stood in front of her
and when she straightened from a shallow curtsy he bowed, taking
her hand, bringing it briefly to his lips. “I had the distinct
pleasure of meeting and conversing with Florence upon my arrival.”
And then he smiled in sympathy as the shy girl blushed
profusely.
    “And this is Jennifer. You may remember her
as the baby of the family…although she’s nine now, so I suppose I
should stop introducing her that way.”
    “I’m almost ten, Papa!” Jennifer informed
him in a stage whisper that made