Red Roses Mean Love

Chapter 19

Stephen awoke the next morning-actually, early the next afternoon-with one of the worst hangovers he'd had in years. His head ached with an unrelenting throb that made thinking nearly impossible. He arose from bed and gingerly made his way to the windows, carefully drawing back the heavy curtains.

Big mistake.

The bright sunshine hit his eyes, and he staggered backward away from the offending light with a heartfelt groan. Abstinence was definitely not good for him. His stomach lurched and he groaned again. Come to think of it, brandy wasn't good for him either.

Swearing to drink nothing but tea for the rest of his natural days, he dressed slowly, every movement sending shafts of pain through his aching head. Dear God, he desperately needed one of those hateful concoctions Sigfried mixed up for him on the rare occasions he overimbibed.

When he was finally clothed, Stephen made his way down the stairs in desperate search of coffee. After peering into the dining room and finding it deserted, he made his way to the kitchen, where he found Pierre in the process of cleaning fish. The briny odor nearly buckled his knees.

"You look like you suffer from mal de mer, Monsieur Barrettson," Pierre said.

"I feel even worse, I assure you," Stephen replied, carefully sitting down on a straight-backed chair in front of a large wooden table. He dropped his aching head into his hands. "Could I trouble you for some coffee?"

Pierre put down his knife and wiped his hands on a towel. "Too much of zee captain's French brandy?" he asked with a knowing smile.

Stephen nodded, then wished he hadn't. And someone needed to tell the damn cat to stop stomping around.

"Pierre know just how to fix monsieur up. You'll feel better in no time."

Stephen didn't reply, he merely sat cradling his pounding head in his hands, and groaned.

Five minutes later Pierre placed a goblet in front of Stephen. Stephen raised his head and looked at it with bleary eyes.

"What is that?" he asked, not caring.

"Just drink," Pierre commanded in an imperious tone.

Stephen sniffed at the contents. "Phew! What the hell is this?"

"Secret recipe. Drink."

What the hell. If it doesn't cure me, perhaps it will kill me. Either way, I'll feel better. He tossed back the concoction and swallowed. It was easily the vilest tasting thing he'd ever drunk. He wondered if perhaps Pierre's plan really was to make him feel better by killing him off.

Pierre took the empty goblet and went back to his fish. "You will feel better very soon. Pierre is zee master."

Stephen sat perfectly still in the straight-backed chair, his eyes closed, his head resting on his palms. He hadn't drunk so much brandy since he'd been a callow youth. The Albrights were indeed going to be the very death of him. He felt like death right now.

But after a few minutes, he didn't feel quite so deathlike anymore. In fact, he felt better with each passing moment. After ten minutes, he actually felt quite human. He lifted his head, moving his neck experimentally. The throbbing ache was gone. He looked at Pierre in amazement.

"Feeling better, Monsieur Barrettson?" Pierre asked, never looking up from his fish-cleaning task.

"I feel quite the thing," Stephen said, amazed. Even Sigfried's elixir was inferior to Pierre's. "What on earth did you give me?"

"Secret family recipe. It is zee best, yes?"

"Zee best," Stephen agreed.

"I think you're hungry now," Pierre predicted with a sage nod.

"Starving, actually," Stephen said, surprised. Ten minutes ago, he'd thought he'd never eat again.

Without a word, Pierre prepared a light meal while Stephen sipped at a cup of strong coffee. He looked around the kitchen with interest, his eyes noting the huge fireplace and the dozens of pots, pans, and utensils hanging above Pierre's work area. It suddenly occurred to Stephen that this room was very warm, cozy and friendly. It also occurred to him that it was the first time in his life he'd ever been in a kitchen.

"Voilà!" Pierre said, placing a tray in front of Stephen. "You eat and you'll feel très bien for party tonight."

"Thank you," Stephen said, digging into the eggs with unaccustomed gusto. He ate every bite, then leaned back in his chair, feeling sated and better than he thought possible. He enjoyed another cup of coffee while watching Pierre clean fish after fish.

"I take it Andrew and Nathan went fishing this morning," Stephen remarked after a while.

"Oui. Whole family go. Bring home piles of fish. Pierrevery busy."

"Where are they now?"

Pierre shrugged. "I think at lake with zee dogs." A fierce frown settled on his face. "Those dogs! Quelle horreur! Make a big mess. Make a big stink. Pierre no like them in his kitchen."

"Perfectly understandable," Stephen murmured, shuddering to imagine the havoc those beasts could wreak in the kitchen. He rose and approached Pierre, watching with fascination how the small man cleaned the fish.

Pierre's blade swished back and forth with an economy of movement, and the pile of cleaned fish grew ever higher. After watching for several minutes, Stephen felt a sudden urge to try his hand at it.

"Mind if I help?" he asked casually.

Pierre stopped and eyed him for a moment before speaking. "You ever clean fish before?"

"No."

"Pierre teach." He handed Stephen a knife and a small fish. "First you cut off head," Pierre said, and proceeded to demonstrate. Stephen held the fish by the tail and copied Pierre's actions.

"Then you cut down here and get rid of zee insides."

Stephen mimicked Pierre, slicing down the fish's belly and scraping out the insides.

"Then hold here and scrape."

Stephen watched Pierre hold the fish by the tail and scale it by running the flat edge of the knife along the body.

"You cut off here and voilà, you are done." Pierre whacked off the tail and added the small fish to the pile of cleaned ones. "You do this and Pierre get his other work done."

Stephen handled the knife awkwardly at first and nearly cut his finger off once, but he eventually got the hang of it, although he could never match Pierre's speed and proficiency.

At first Stephen couldn't imagine what had possessed him to volunteer to help Pierre, other than some insane curiosity to learn an activity completely foreign to him. But he found, much to his surprise, he actually enjoyed cleaning the fish. He felt quite proud of himself when he finished and laid his knife aside.

Pierre examined his work and grunted. "You do good job. Now I show you how to cook."

Stephen spent the next hour in the kitchen with his mentor, learning the intricacies of preparing a midday meal for a family of hungry people. Side by side they fried the mound of fish, steamed a huge pot of vegetables, and baked several loaves of bread while Pierre entertained him with stories of his years serving as cook on Captain Albright's ship.

Listening to the amusing tales, a sense of belonging stole over Stephen-something he'd never experienced in his own home. It was accompanied by a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. Such simple tasks, cleaning fish and chopping vegetables, but they inspired a camaraderie he'd never known. Is this what his servants did? Chatted and laughed? Were they friends with each other? He shook his head. He had absolutely no idea, and the realization that he knew so little about the people who worked for him shamed him. They had lives and families, yet he'd never taken the time to know them. Of course, if the Marquess of Glenfield had ever offered to assist in his own kitchens, his staff would have fainted dead away.

Just before they carried the food into the dining room, Pierre set a plate of fish skins on the floor for Bertha the cat.

"I thought you hated that cat," Stephen remarked with a smile as he watched the cook fondly pat the feline's head as she wound herself in between his legs.

"Bertha is good. Keep mice away." He flashed a quick grin. "But don't tell Mademoiselle Hayley. It is our secret, oui?"

Stephen nodded his agreement, then helped Pierre bring the steaming platters of food into the dining room. They arrived just as the Albrights entered the room.

Hayley looked at Stephen in surprise when she saw his arms laden with a heavy platter, which he set in the center of the table.

Stephen caught her look and smiled. "I'll have you know I helped prepare our lunch," he stated, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

"You did?" Hayley looked at Pierre, who confirmed Stephen's words with a solemn nod.

"He good cook. Not très magnifique like Pierre, but good." He graced a beaming smile on Stephen. "You're welcome in Pierre's kitchen anytime."

Hayley gaped at the cook. "You don't allow anyone to help you in the kitchen."

Pierre frowned at Hayley, then turned to Stephen. "She cannot even heat zee water," he imparted to Stephen in a loud whisper.

Hayley frowned at Pierre, but Stephen saw her lips twitch. "I admit that I'm not a very good cook."

Pierre rolled his eyes. "Sacrebleu! She is very bad cook. When she cook, run from zee house."

Stephen laughed, imagining the Albrights dashing from the house en masse. He moved around the table and took his place at Hayley's right, with Callie on his other side. When they sat down, Stephen leaned over to Callie.

"How is Miss Josephine this morning?" he whispered.

Callie flashed him a wide, dimpling smile. "She feels quite well, thank you. She's resting now."

"I quite understand," he said solemnly. "She suffered a horrifying experience."

"But she's all right now. Thanks to you." Callie looked up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. "You're a hero, Mr. Barrettson."

Stephen's hands stilled in the process of lifting his fork to his mouth. A hero. If his throat hadn't tightened so, he would have laughed out loud at the absurdity of such a notion. Ah, the sweet things innocent children said.

If only they were true.

Hayley watched Stephen all through the midday meal, amazed by what she saw. He laughed openly at Nathan's and Andrew's antics, charmed Aunt Olivia until the woman was reduced to a stammering, blushing state of near incoherence, and even drew Grimsley and Winston into conversation about the merits of fishing. He conversed with Pamela about music, and quite often bent his head toward Callie, smiling at whatever the child said in his ear.

In fact, he spoke to, and utterly charmed, every member of the Albright family.

Except her.

At first Hayley thought she was imagining that Stephen was ignoring her, but when she touched his sleeve to gain his attention, he jerked his arm away, answered her question with a monosyllable, then turned his focus back to Andrew and Nathan.

He might as well have slapped her. Hot embarrassment suffused her, only to be pushed aside by a flush of anger. What on earth had she done to merit such dismissive behavior on his part? Good heavens, the man was utterly impossible. One minute he kissed her as if he never wanted to stop, and the next he avoided her as if she carried a deadly disease. He gave her expensive gifts, only to turn around and ignore her the next day. Was it because she was H. Tripp? He'd assured her that their conversation on that subject was forgotten. Had he lied?

The more Hayley thought about it, the angrier and more offended she became. She'd been hurt by a man once before, and she wasn't going to let it happen again. By the time the meal was finished, she was in a fine rage, her blood all but boiling. How on earth could she have imagined herself in love with such a man? Kind one minute, cold the next. He clearly couldn't make up his mind about anything.

"Are you going to sit there all day?"

Stephen's amused voice broke through her reverie. Glancing around, she noticed everyone had left the dining room.

"You've been sitting there for quite some time, staring off into space with a ferocious frown on your face," he remarked from the doorway.

Settling a glare on him, she arose with as much dignity as she could muster. "I cannot see what difference it makes to you whether I sit there all day or not."

Stephen's brows rose. He walked toward her, stopping when only a foot separated them, blocking her exit from the room.

"Kindly move yourself," she said stiffly, trying to maneuver around him.

He sidestepped and blocked her exit. "You're upset. Why?"

She prodded him in the chest and he grunted. "Ouch."

"Why would you care if I'm upset or not? It was clear during our meal you had nothing to say to me. Why this sudden show of concern?"

Stephen's gaze roamed her face, and a guilty flush crept over him. He had ignored her during lunch. Not with the intention of angering her or hurting her feelings, but for reasons of self-preservation. In his attempt to avoid temptation, he'd clearly hurt and angered her. A pang of remorse hit him squarely in the gut.

Cupping her face between his palms, he ran his thumbs over her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

He watched the anger ebb from her eyes, only to be replaced by a look of utter hurt confusion. "I thought we were getting along so well. What did I do wrong? Is it because of… who I am?"

Stephen laid a single finger over her lips. "No, Hayley. You did nothing wrong. I was simply trying to avoid temptation."

"Temptation?"

"You tempt me beyond all endurance, I'm afraid. I thought if I ignored you, I wouldn't be tempted by you." A sheepish smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "Not only was my plan a miserable failure, but I hurt you in the process." Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry. You deserve better." So much better than I can give you. He pulled away and studied her face. That rush of warm feeling she frequently inspired squeezed his heart. "Can you forgive me?"

She studied him for several seconds then smiled. "Of course."

Damn. Just another facet of her to admire. She grants forgiveness without a scene or coyness. He rubbed the sore spot on his chest where she'd jabbed him. "This is the second time I've seen you angry. To avoid further injury to my person, perhaps you should tell me what upsets you."

"You mean besides pigheaded men who are warm and kind one minute and cold and forbidding the next?"

"Yes. And I am not pigheaded."

"That is a matter of opinion," she said, her dimples winking.

"Perhaps. What else makes you angry?"

She pursed her lips and pondered the question for a moment. "Unkindness. Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies," she finally answered, her tone serious.

Her words washed over him, filling him with shame. Unkindness. Selfishness. Cruelty. Lies. He was guilty of everyone of those things. Especially lies, where she was concerned.

Forcing a light note into his voice, he said, "I shall endeavor not to engage in any of those activities." Too late, Stephen, his inner voice shouted.

"I have no fear you'd ever act unkindly, selfishly, or in a cruel or deceitful manner," she said softly, looking at him with her heart in her eyes.

Another wave of guilt swamped him, lying so heavily on his chest, he had to struggle to draw a breath. A frown formed between his brows. Tell her. Tell her now.

"Hayley. I'm not the paragon you seem to think I am. In fact, I…"His words died when she reached out and touched his hand.

"Yes, you are, Stephen." She raised shining eyes to his. "Yes, you are."

Groaning, he gathered her into his arms, clutching her to his pounding heart. He buried his face in her fragrant hair and closed his eyes against the shame eating at him. She'd just looked at him the same way Callie had the night before, with admiration shining from her wide aqua eyes. Admiration that made him feel, for the first time in his life, that maybe he wasn't such a bastard after all. And by God, he liked the feeling.

He liked it a great deal.

But he didn't deserve it.

Step away from her. Tell her you're leaving tomorrow.

Instead he held her close. He clasped her tight and tried to absorb some of her goodness into himself, knowing that tomorrow, after he was gone, the look of admiration would fade from her eyes. A sense of profound loss swept through him, and he hugged her closer, enjoying her sweetness for another fleeting moment.

After tomorrow it would all be gone.

"You look lovely, Miss Albright," Stephen said that evening to Pamela when she entered the drawing room. His gaze swept her from head to foot, taking in her pastel green gown and becoming chignon. "You're certain to turn every male head at the party."

A pink blush suffused her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Barrettson. You look exceptionally dashing yourself."

"Thank you…" Stephen's voice trailed off as he caught sight of Hayley standing in the doorway, a vision in the pale aqua gown. The dress exactly matched her luminous eyes. The low scooped bodice hugged her breasts, leaving an enticing amount of creamy flesh bare. Her chestnut tresses were gathered in an artful array of curls on top of her head, with shiny tendrils surrounding her face. A pale aqua ribbon wound through the soft strands.

God! The air left his lungs in a whoosh. She literally took his breath away. He walked toward her, his gaze fastened on her flushed face. When he reached her, he captured her hand and pressed a warm kiss against her gloved fingers.

"You're exquisite," he said softly. "Utterly exquisite."

Her blush heightened. "The gown is beautiful, Stephen."

"The woman wearing it is beautiful." Unable to stop himself, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

She gasped softly. "You don't think the bodice is a bit scandalous?"

Stephen's eyes drifted downward. The bodice was indeed low-cut, but not unfashionably so. In fact, it was modest when compared to the gowns the women of the ton wore. Hayley's creamy skin glowed above the pale aqua muslin, the swell of her breasts captivating his gaze. He longed to brush his fingers over those enticing curves, and only a great deal of determination kept him from touching her.

"It's perfect," he assured her, his voice husky with suppressed desire. "You look like an angel."

"I love the pansies. They're so elegant."

"Yes, well, 'you occupy my thoughts.'" As you have from the moment we met.

"Are we ready to leave?" Pamela asked from across the room

"Indeed we are," Stephen said, forcing his gaze away from Hayley. He held an elbow out for each woman, and led them out to the waiting gig. Grimsley held the reins while Stephen helped the ladies get seated. He settled himself between them and took the reins. The vehicle was really built for two, and the three of them were squashed together thigh to thigh. He'd never driven such a vehicle, and he hoped his ignorance wouldn't show. Setting the gig in motion, he hoped for the best.

Hayley entered Lorelei Smythe's elegant manor home, her heart pounding in anticipation. The way Stephen had looked at her-was still looking her, his green eyes dark and stormy, his gaze so warm and compelling, made it difficult to breathe.

She'd always dreaded parties. The few she'd attended had resulted in nothing but acute embarrassment. She was too tall, no one asked her to dance, and her clothes always seemed out of fashion.

But not tonight. Tonight she felt like a princess. Her dress was beautiful, and the handsomest, most wonderful man in the world was her escort.

"Hayley and Pamela," Lorelei gushed, extending her hands. "How nice to see you. And Mr. Barrettson. How divine you're here." She graced Pamela with a cursory nod, then her eyes settled on Hayley.

"Goodness! What a lovely gown, Hayley," she said, her sharp eyes taking in every aspect of Hayley's appearance. "I don't believe I've ever seen you quite so nicely attired." Snaking her arm through Stephen's with an unmistakably proprietary air, she continued, "Hayley usually dresses in drab brown and covers herself with lake water. It would be quite scandalous if everyone wasn't used to her … eccentricities. Now, you must allow me to introduce you to my other guests, Mr. Barrettson." She turned back to Pamela and Hayley. "Will you please excuse us?" Pressing herself close to Stephen's side, she led him into the house.

"I cannot tolerate the way that woman treats you," Pamela fumed in a hushed tone. "I'd like to smack that supercilious smug look right off her face. How dare she commandeer your Mr. Barrettson like that. Why she-"

"Pamela, he is not my Mr. Barrettson," Hayley whispered, trying to tamp down the jealousy flooding her. The sight of Lorelei's hands on Stephen made Hayley want to break something. Perhaps that gaudy porcelain shepherdess on that expensive cherrywood end table.

But she had Pamela to think about, and a scene would never do. Pulling herself together, she said, "Wipe that frown from your face, Pamela. Marshall just caught sight of us and is headed this way."

"Miss Hayley, Miss Pamela," Marshall said when he reached them. He bowed to Hayley. "You look lovely this evening, Miss Hayley."

"Thank you, Marshall."

Marshall turned to Pamela and Hayley watched him visibly swallow. "And you, Miss Pamela," he said in a reverent tone, "you look very beautiful." He bowed formally over her hand, then extended his arms to both of them. "May I escort you ladies into the party?"

"Perhaps Hayley would allow me the pleasure?" a deep voice behind them asked.

Hayley turned and found herself face-to-face with Jeremy Popplemore. He smiled in a friendly manner, and Hayley responded in kind. She bore Jeremy no ill feelings. If he wished to be friends, she harbored no objections.

"Good evening, Jeremy. That is very kind, but Marshall-"

"Has already escorted your sister into the drawing room, I'm afraid," Jeremy said wryly. He extended his elbow. "May I have the honor?"

Left with little choice, Hayley lightly rested her gloved hand on Jeremy's sleeve and allowed him to escort her into the well-appointed drawing room. Axminster carpets dotted the polished marble floors, and tasteful cherrywood and mahogany tables accented the half dozen brocade sofas. Perhaps forty people roamed the large room, standing about in small groups, sipping Madeira or punch served by footmen.

"You look lovely this evening, Hayley," Jeremy said, his eyes sliding over her, lingering on her décolletage. "Very lovely indeed."

Hayley couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her. "Thank you, Jeremy, although I must say, everyone who says that to me has the most astounded look on their face. I must look quite dreadful most of the time."

Jeremy threw back his head and laughed. "Not at all, my dear," he assured her, his eyes once again sweeping over her. "Not at all."

On the other side of the room, Stephen heard Jeremy Poppleport's laugh. He'd covertly observed the other man escort Hayley into the drawing room and then watched his eyes travel over her with a look Stephen recognized all too well. It was the look of a man who liked what he saw. The look of a man who wanted what he saw.

Stephen's fingers tightened on the stem of his wineglass. He fought hard to banish the overpowering desire to pummel Poppledink into dust. And to make matters worse, Lorelei Smythe was once again plastered to Stephen's side, and angling him to a private corner of the room. Because he was distracted and didn't wish to be rude to the people Hayley and her family had to socialize with, he allowed himself to be led. But he'd already decided he was going to give this annoying woman exactly two more minutes of his time, then depart her bothersome company.

"How do you like my home, Mr. Barrettson?" Lorelei asked when they stood in relative privacy near the windows.

He couldn't even say what color the room was. "It's lovely, Mrs. Smythe."

"You must call me Lorelei. My husband, may he rest in peace, bought me the house several years before his untimely death."

"My condolences on your loss," Stephen murmured, his attention fixed on the couple across the room.

"Oh, it was two years ago now," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm quite out of mourning now."

Stephen forced himself to look directly at her. She was undeniably attractive, with light brown hair and knowing hazel eyes filled with sexual promise. Her body was lush, a fact attested to by the voluptuous breast pressed against his arm, and the eye-stopping amount of cleavage showing above her bodice. There once was a time, not very long ago, when he probably would have returned her interest, and the evening would have culminated in a mutually satisfying sexual encounter.

But not anymore.

He looked at Lorelei Smythe with a dispassionate gaze, experiencing nothing but mild annoyance at her cloying attention. He felt tense and bothered, and wanted nothing more than to stalk across the room and fling Jeremy Popplepuss out the window. The damn man was practically disrobing Hayley with his eyes.

Stephen's eyes narrowed to slits when he observed Jeremy lean over to say something in Hayley's ear. Whatever he said, a becoming blush bloomed on her cheeks. Poppledop was definitely going out the window. Headfirst.

"They make an interesting couple, do they not?" Lorelei murmured.

"Who?"

"Jeremy and Hayley, of course, although I must say, I'm a bit surprised at Jeremy. I would have thought Pamela a better match for him. She is much more suited to him than Hayley."

Stephen turned to her. "Indeed? In what way?"

A breathy laugh escaped her. "Well, Hayley is so… I don't quite know how to say it. So gangly and unladylike. Pamela is much more a young lady, but it appears her heart is engaged elsewhere." Her gaze wandered to Pamela and Marshall, who stood conversing near the fireplace.

"If indeed Jeremy is interested in Hayley again," Lorelei continued, "she'd be foolish to turn down his suit. She's quite long in the tooth and I cannot imagine any other man courting her." She eyed Stephen. "You are aware that Hayley and Jeremy were once … close?"

"Yes, but I was under the impression that Popplepart objected to taking on Miss Albright's entire family." The man is clearly an idiot.

"Popplemore. Jeremy has confided in me that since Pamela will probably soon wed, and the children aren't quite so young anymore, he believes he can convince Hayley to relinquish their care to Pamela part of the time."

"Does he indeed?" Stephen asked in a deceptively quiet tone. If Poppledart entertained the idea that Hayley would give up her family, the man was a bigger fool than Stephen had originally thought. An overpowering urge to grab the bastard around the neck and shake him until his teeth rattled swamped Stephen. As he contemplated doing just that, his pesky inner voice interrupted. Leave her be. She deserves to be happy, and if Popplepuss is the man to do it, don't interfere. You're leaving Halstead tomorrow. You'll never see her again. Don't ruin what might be her last and only chance for happiness.

Stephen took a deep breath and forced his body to relax, to let go of the hot rush of jealousy washing over him at the thought of Hayley with another man. She wasn't his. He had no right to deny her being with someone else. In fact, the kindest thing he could do for her would be to urge her in Jeremy's direction. The very thought cramped his insides. Bloody hell, I don't think I'm capable of being that kind.

"Would you mind getting me another glass of wine?" Lorelei asked in husky voice.

Stephen jerked his attention back to her. There was no mistaking the look of warm invitation in her eyes. The best way to encourage Hayley to spend the evening with Poppledart would be for Stephen to occupy himself elsewhere.

"A glass of wine. Of course." He headed across the room toward the decanters, glad to divert his attention from his torturous thoughts.

Hayley smiled on the outside all during dinner, but on the inside she was positively seething. Lorelei sat at the head of the table, with Jeremy on her right and Stephen on her left. Sitting next to Jeremy and across from Stephen, Hayley watched in an agony of misery as Lorelei flirted outrageously with him all through dinner, her eyes smiling at him, her cleavage pressing against his arm.

But what hurt more, Stephen flirted right back. His slow, devastating smile slid over Lorelei, his green eyes assessing her with a warm, admiring look that made Hayley want to scream.

She tried to deny it, but she was jealous. Totally, absolutely, disgustingly green with jealousy. Every time Lorelei's throaty laugh reached Hayley's ears, and every time the intimate rumble of Stephen's voice washed over her, Hayley wanted to throw something. She'd never felt so miserable and out of place in her life.

In desperation, she turned her attention to Jeremy, unable to listen to or watch Stephen and Lorelei any longer. Jeremy was amusing, solicitous, and very complimentary all through dinner. Hayley spoke briefly to Marshall, but Pamela sat on Marshall's other side, so the doctor's attention was riveted elsewhere.

Hayley tried to enjoy the sumptuous meal of roast pheasant, creamed peas, and an assortment of fish, but every bite tasted like ashes. For the sake of her pride, she did her best to converse with Jeremy, but her heart was not in it. Peeking across the table, she watched Lorelei trail a lazy fingertip down Stephen's sleeve. He answered the gesture by touching his wineglass to hers.

No, Hayley's heart was definitely not in it. Her heart was breaking.

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