as the flowers in spring,” Carlinda said, her forced smile for the child’s benefit apparently not lost on Nicholas.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll have to take this one step at a time. Right now, I think it would be unforgivable to keep Katie waiting. She likes to serve her meals hot.”
Carlinda’s feet were silent against the carpeted stairs and she slowed her pace, the better to observe the first floor below. Besides the parlor and dining room, two other doors led from the wide foyer, both of them open. As she moved downward, a desk was visible inside one room, probably Nicholas’s private retreat, she decided. The other appeared to be a small sitting room, a woman’s room by the looks of things. She was entranced by a glimpse of a delicately constructed sofa and chair, and late-afternoon sunshine pouring through a window.
“You have a lovely home.” The compliment was sincere, probably the first entirely honest thing she’d said or done today, she thought. And felt a pang of guilt as she considered her omission of all the facts.
“Thank you,” he answered gravely, although a smile flashed as he met her gaze. “I don’t often have an opportunity to offer my hospitality. I was amiss in not extending a welcome to you and Amanda when we first met today. I fear my thoughts were in a state of flux, and my mind did not function as well as it should have.”
“You were presented with a done deal, as they say, Mr. Garvey. I can’t blame you for being taken unaware and being less than welcoming.”
“Nonetheless,” he said with a shrug, and she looked up to catch a glimpse of heat in the depths of his blue eyes, a quickly masked impression. He’d looked at her as a man might who sought the interest of an available woman. For just a moment, she’d felt the warmth of masculine interest, and she stiffened against the lure of such a thing being cast in her direction.
Perhaps staying in this house was not a good beginning. He might think she was obtainable, a woman of loose virtue, should she agree too quickly to his hospitality. And yet, she could not in good conscience leave Amanda here without her. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she murmured, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I’m certain the hotel would do very well for us.” She looked up at him. “At least until you have an opportunity to check out the facts of this matter.”
“I won’t hear of it.” His tones were clipped, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion and she subsided, unwilling to argue in front of Amanda. As though he understood her position and agreed, he nodded at the open door of his study. “After supper, perhaps you’ll join me in here and we’ll discuss this at greater length.”
Carlinda nodded, and stepped up her pace to the dining room, where a long table was set with three places and, at one end, a tureen of soup sent up a steam of fragrance. She was seated with a courtly gesture, and she opened the linen napkin beside her plate, aware of Amanda’s copycat gesture as the child followed her example.
Nicholas served the soup, waving Katie’s offer of help aside as the woman brought a plate of fresh bread from the kitchen. It was delicious, a clear broth with traces of rice and bits of chicken adding flavor, providing a light beginning to the meal. It was followed by a roast, again served by Nicholas, who stood before his chair and offered thin slices of the meat to his guests. Small potatoes, cooked with the skins intact, were accompanied by whole green beans, redolent with the scent of bacon and onions.
It was a filling repast, and when Katie brought forth a tart for each of them, Carlinda was tempted to refuse. And then she caught sight of the dark, thick juice of purple berries that spread before the force of Nicholas’s fork as he cut into the dainty bit of pastry.
“I shouldn’t,” she sighed, even as she watched the tiny wisps of steam rise from the delicacy.
“It’s a specialty of Katie’s,” Nicholas said, coaxing her with a smile. “She’ll be insulted if you refuse a bite.”
“I fear I’ll eat the whole thing,” Carlinda said, tasting carefully of the hot offering. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she warned Amanda.
“I’ve got cream to put over it, if you like,” Katie said from the kitchen doorway, then approached with a small pitcher of golden liquid as Amanda nodded her agreement. “It tastes good this way,” she told the child, pouring a generous amount.
“I’ll take some, too,” Nicholas said, offering his dish.
“And you, miss?” Katie asked.
“If it tastes better that way, I suppose I should join the group,” Carlinda agreed.
The meal was long, Nicholas asking Amanda about the trip, skirting the topic of her parents and offering small glimpses of his life in this small Texas town. He delivered an occasional aside to Carlinda, but his attention was focused on the child who sat at his right hand.
The resemblance between the two of them was obvious to anyone who cared to look, Carlinda decided. Even Katie glanced back and forth between the man and the young girl who absorbed his interest, and before the end of the meal, she had shot a look of understanding at the other woman.
Nicholas pushed away from the table finally. “I believe I’ve eaten more than my share, Katie,” he said, watching as she cleared the plate from before him.
“You don’t usually eat enough,” she snipped. “About time you sat down and did my cooking justice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obligingly, looking suitably chagrined. And then he rose and spoke kindly to Amanda. “Would you like to sit on the porch for a while?” he asked. “Or perhaps look at the stereopticon in the parlor?”
“Stere—” Amanda halted halfway through the word, obviously puzzled at its meaning.
“A stereopticon is something you hold up to your eyes and then look at pictures with,” he said. “I have a whole box of prints you can see.” He took her by the hand and led her from the room, sending an apologetic look in Carlinda’s direction.
“In the parlor?” Amanda asked brightly, double-stepping to keep up with his long strides. “What kind of pictures do you have?”
“Some of Rome or Venice or even London,” he said. “And lots of New York City and other places here in America.”
“I’ve already been to New York,” the child told him flatly. “I’d rather see somewhere else.”
“How about Niagara Falls?” he asked. “Or maybe ships on the ocean?”
“Let’s steer clear of P-a-r-i-s,” Carlinda said quickly, spelling the city’s name in a rush of letters, lest Amanda get the drift of the word she attempted to avoid speaking.
“Is there some reason for that?” he asked in a muted tone as he stepped to a bookcase where the instrument lay. Amanda settled herself on a sofa, smoothing her dress over her legs with a practiced hand, anticipation alive in her blue eyes. He glanced back at her, and Carlinda detected a softening in his eyes, those eyes so like the child’s.
“The accident took place in Paris,” she murmured. “I try not to mention it. She was quite traumatized for days after we heard the news.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew her mother. You were with Amanda, even back then?”
Carlinda hesitated, then nodded briefly. “Shall we light a lamp, so she can see these better?” she asked, changing the subject deftly.
Yet, even as he acceded to her suggestion, she was aware that the issue would be raised again. And she prepared herself for a battery of questions.
Chapter Two
Nicholas’s study was a reflection of the man, the fittings surrounding him luxurious, yet masculine. An enormous desk, its surface glowing with the sheen of polished mahogany, took her gaze as Carlinda walked over the threshold. Sitting behind it, leaning back in his chair, Nicholas resembled a king surveying his domain,