to see anyone. She was fond of Joel; he had become a little brother to her. Impulsively she bent and swept him into her arms, hard. “Hart is very angry with me,” she whispered before releasing him.
“You stood him up. Of course he’s mad, but he loves you and he’ll forgive you.” His dark eyes were huge in his pale face.
Out of the mouths of babes, she thought, praying he was right.
“You’re all scratched an’ cut. What happened?”
“We have a case, Joel. Can you help me tonight?”
He nodded, remaining wide-eyed with concern, not surprise. “Do we need the flies? You missed the c’mish. He was here an hour ago—helpin’ look fer you.”
She smiled just a little, then. “Of course I need Bragg.”
In that moment, she had never needed him more.
“PETER,” LEIGH ANNE said softly, “would you mind getting me a brandy? I’m afraid my leg is bothering me right now.” She wondered if he would refuse her.
But the big manservant, who towered over almost everyone at six foot five or six, did not say a word. If he knew that she had already had a bit of brandy in her tea, she could not tell. His poker face did not change expression as he left the small, dully furnished dining room where Leigh Anne was sharing a light meal with Katie and Dot.
Katie had been eating, but barely. Now, she laid her fork down and looked at her with worry in her dark eyes. Leigh Anne wished she hadn’t said anything in front of her. She reached out and covered her hand with hers. “Darling, I am fine, really, it is just a tiny twinge,” she lied. She did not know why her right leg—her good leg, the leg with feeling—bothered her so much. But that was nothing compared to the unbearable lump of anguish in her chest, which simply never went away. She woke up with it, lived with it and went to bed with it. She did not know what she would do without the brandy and the laudanum.
The first thing she had done upon returning home from the wedding was to take her tea. It was always liberally laced with brandy.
Leigh Anne did not want to think about the wedding that hadn’t taken place. But it was hard to keep the unpleasant recollection from swimming in her mind. She had expected a life of balls and parties—a life of luxury—when she married into the Bragg family. Instead, they had leased a miserable flat while Rick worked night and day to represent indigent clients as a public defender. Feeling betrayed and abandoned, she had gone to Europe. She had thought he might chase her down and beg her forgiveness—but he had not. She had eventually adjusted to the fact that their separation would be permanent. Life on the Continent was glamorous, and she decided to forget her foolish debutante’s dreams. She soon moved freely in the best circles, and she was frequently pursued by ambitious financiers and dashing noblemen.
She had only returned to the States upon hearing how ill her father was. When she had learned that Rick was in love with another woman, she had been shocked—and she had given in to the immediate instinct for self-preservation. She had no wish to be humiliated by a love affair, or worse, ruined by divorce. She had immediately left Boston for New York, to claim her husband and her marriage.
At first, he had been furious with her return, but she had been determined. In a way, she had bribed him into the reconciliation. She had told him that if he lived with her as man and wife for six months and still wanted a divorce after that, she would give it to him. She had been very confident of his political aspirations, which a divorce would destroy, and even more certain of her powers of seduction. And she had been right.
But their marriage had been unhappy anyway. He refused to forgive her for the years of separation. And he had changed so much. He was a powerful man now, whom she respected and admired. She had realized that she still loved him. But then she’d been struck down by a runaway coach, and she had permanently lost the use of her legs.
Leigh Anne felt the black despair claim her then. She had been so close to attaining the life she had dreamed of as a young woman. Briefly, she had loved being Rick’s wife again, in spite of his rage. She had been certain he would love and admire her in return, in time. He was such a catch now—he came from a good family, he was a gentleman and his political star was on the rise. He received more invitations than he could ever accept. She had loved poring over the cards, deciding whose function to attend—and whose invitation she would reject. She had been shocked to realize the power a single rejection could have. And she had dreamed of the future they would have—they’d adopt the two girls and have more children of their own, while he became a state senator, and then a United States senator. They would move to Washington, the most exciting city in the world, where power and ambition ran riot amongst glamour and wealth…
She wanted to cry. Now, she dreaded his walking in the door. The despair was consuming. She hated being crippled and ugly; she hated her life now!
She had always taken for granted her ability to walk into a room and be the most beautiful woman there. No more. It had been awful entering the church today in her damn wheeled chair. Everyone had looked at her, and she had known what they were all thinking. There had been so much pity in the sidelong glances cast her way, in the whispers behind her back.
What was left for her, other than the two little girls?
Peter placed the glass of brandy before her, his timing perfection.
She inhaled, finding sudden composure, and blinked a tear back. She smiled at him, thanking him the way a lady should. Then she drank the brandy, closing her eyes as it burned its way into her belly, awaiting the release the alcohol would bring her.
The only thing left for her was being a good mother. She looked at the nearly empty glass of brandy. She was afraid to continue with her thoughts. Then she heard the front door. She tensed.
“Mama?” Katie whispered anxiously. “Do you want to read us a story?”
“Story, story!” Dot beamed, clapping her hands. Mrs. Flowers, the nanny, had just wiped them free of apple-sauce.
Before Leigh Anne could agree—she loved reading bedtime stories to the girls—she heard Rick’s footfall approaching. She froze, filled with dread.
He appeared on the threshold of the olive-green-and-gold dining room. He smiled tiredly at her, then went to kiss Katie and Dot on the forehead. He did not approach her, and she was relieved. He was terribly concerned about Francesca’s disappearance, she thought. But of course he was. He was loyal to a fault, and he would always care about Francesca. Then she wondered if she truly believed her foolish thoughts. They would always be more to one another than mere friends.
“Did you find her?” Leigh Anne asked. She hadn’t decided if she should be thrilled or dismayed that Francesca and Hart hadn’t married. Just a few months ago, Rick had been in love with her.
Rick straightened, but as he spoke, his gaze went to her brandy glass. “No. I am very worried. Her disappearance is now an official police matter.” He turned to the nanny. “Could you take the girls upstairs and get them ready for bed?”
Katie stood, looking pleadingly at Leigh Anne. Dot cried, “Bed story!” Mrs. Flowers took her out of the high chair and set her down on the floor.
“I will be up in a moment or two,” Leigh Anne promised.
Bragg didn’t move until the two girls and their nanny had left. She slowly looked at him as he sat down at the table, across from her. “I cannot
