by Sherry Lewis
“Everything, beginning with my marriage to Zacharias.” Shelby turned back and smiled at her. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on around here, Meg. I wish someone would tell me why Zacharias and I are estranged, why he left me alone here and built Winterhill for Mordechai and Andrew, why his mother hates me so.”
Meg’s expression changed subtly. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke. “Victoria Logan is a vicious woman.”
“So I gathered when I spoke with her the other day.”
“You spoke with her?” Meg’s face paled. “When? Did she dare to come here?”
“No. I saw her when I went to Winterhill.”
“I knew that was a mistake,” Meg said under her breath. “What did she say to you?”
Shelby held back her pleased smile at the sign that Meg was starting to relax a bit. She picked up the silver-handled brush and began to run it through her hair. “She warned me not to attempt a reconciliation with Zacharias. So . . . ? Why does she dislike me so much?”
Meg spent a moment or two hanging gowns, then gave a resigned sigh. “She dislikes you, Madame, because you are so much like her.”
“Like her?” Shelby made a face. “Yuk.”
Meg laughed softly. “I think she dislikes strong-willed people because she can’t boss them around. And you, Madame, are quite strong-willed.”
“I must be if I can stay cooped up alone all the time.” She caught Meg’s gaze in the mirror and smiled. “And Zacharias? Is he strong-willed?”
“Very much so, Madame.”
“He doesn’t seem strong-willed when it comes to his mother.”
“Oh, but he is in his own way,” Meg said with a secretive smile. “He married you, didn’t he?”
Shelby lowered the brush to the table. “She opposed our marriage?”
“Vehemently.”
“But he married me, anyway?”
“Yes.”
The strangest sensation of joy darted through Shelby, almost as if they were really talking about her instead of Agatha. “Then he must have loved me once.”
“Indeed he did, Madame.”
Shelby turned in her seat to face Meg. “Tell me the truth, Meg. Do you think there’s hope? Do you think I can win his love again?”
Meg’s eyes sparkled. “I do, Madame.”
Yes! The first hint of encouragement she’d had yet. “Will you help me?”
Meg nodded slowly. “Yes, Madame.”
“Great! Then, let’s get started. I want you to tell me everything you know about him, about me, about his obnoxious mother . . . and about Patricia Starling.”
The sparkle in Meg’s eyes died. “Patricia Starling? I—”
Shelby cut off the protest she sensed coming. “If I’m to win back Zacharias’s heart, I need to know my competition.”
Meg’s lips curved slightly. “Yes, Madame.”
“So, tell me everything. Tell me what kind of woman she is, what Zacharias sees in her, and what she gives him that I don’t.”
Meg folded away the last of the gowns. “She is a rather self-centered woman, I think. I have always believed she sees Zacharias as the means to a fortune.”
Great. A gold-digger. Still, that would be easier to fight than a woman honestly in love with him. “And how do you think I see him?”
Meg closed the trunk and latched it. “I think, Madame, you have always seen him as the means to respectability.”
“Ugh.” Shelby shook her head slowly. “Do you think I loved him?”
“Love?” Meg tilted her head to one side and gave that some thought. “I think you loved him as much as it’s possible for you to love anyone.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising,” Shelby said with a grimace. “Why aren’t I capable of loving?”
“You are. . . ” Meg hesitated, then blurted, “You are uncomfortable with physical affection.”
“Not exactly cuddly, eh?” Shelby couldn’t say that surprised her. Cuddly women didn’t lock themselves away from other people for years at a time.
Meg went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “And Mr. Logan has, if I may say so, a very passionate nature.”
Shelby glanced at her quickly, but told herself she shouldn’t be surprised that Meg knew about that. It was impossible to live in the same house and not pick up on the vibrations between people, even if they never said a word. “I see. And I was uncomfortable with his nature?”
“Quite, Madame.”
“I didn’t welcome his affection?”
“You preferred to maintain separate bedchambers.”
Good grief! How could Agatha live with him, be the object of his affection, and not share a bedroom with him? Not only was he devastatingly handsome, but Shelby suspected he was actually quite nice—if she could believe the rare glimpses of the man she’d caught behind the anger.
She scowled slightly. “I take it he didn’t like that.”
“No, he didn’t. Though he did tolerate it for several years. I believe he thought he could win you over. He certainly tried everything he knew of to do it. But after that last time, he gave up.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “What happened that last time?”
“I believe, Madame, you called him a rutting pig.”
Shelby could just imagine how Zacharias had reacted to that. “Did he tell you that, or did I?”
“No one told us, Madame. Colin and I could hear quite clearly. You were in the parlor, Madame, on Christmas Day. He presented you with a diamond and emerald necklace and matching earbobs, and then attempted to kiss your cheek.”
“I called him a pig because he tried to kiss my cheek?”
“A rutting pig, Madame.”
Shelby leaned her head against the bedpost and tried to imagine anyone being that frigid. Poor Agatha. Poor frustrated Zacharias. His male ego must have taken a terrible bashing. “Do I still have the necklace and earbobs?”
“I believe so, Madame, but you have never worn them.”
“Well, maybe it’s time I did.” Shelby stood quickly and paced toward the mirror. “First, I’ll get a new dress made in emerald green, and then I’ll stroll over to Winterhill so that Zacharias can see me wearing his gift. Maybe that will convince him that I’ve changed.”
“I certainly hope so.” Meg hurried to the closet, disappeared inside, and reappeared a few seconds later holding a heavy wooden box. “I know it’s not my place to say so, but I would love to see you give Patricia Starling some competition.”
“Competition?” Shelby laughed. “I’m going to blow her right out of the water. Do you think one of the seamstresses from town would come here? I don’t want Patricia or Victoria Logan to guess what I’m up to.”
Meg beamed. “I do, indeed. And I know just the dressmaker we can trust. I’ll send Colin after her. But first—” She opened the box and held it out toward Shelby.
Shelby peeked inside and sucked in a surprised breath when she saw the magnificent necklace and earrings inside. Two ropes of glittering diamonds were held together by three evenly spaced, very large emeralds rimmed with even more diamonds. She’d never seen anything so incredible in her life, and she couldn’t imagine being loved enough to warrant such an amazing gift.
Holding her breath, she touched one emerald almost reverently. “It’s beautiful.”
“He did love you very much,” Meg said softly. “And he will again.”
“I hope you’re right.” Shelby lifted the necklace carefully and let it drape across one hand. It wasn’t the price of the gift that awed her, but the realization that Zacharias would give Agatha something so beautiful after repeatedly being turned away. It spoke volumes about the depth of his love for her.
“I am right,” Meg said firmly. “You’ll see. I’ll send Colin to town at once.”
Shelby waited until she’d disappeared again, then returned the necklace to its velvet bed. She cast another glance at the reflection in the mirror and whispered, “I’m sorry to do this to you, old girl, but you
really do need to start acting like a normal woman.”
A flash of light answered her, and slowly, unbelievably, her own image formed like a hologram. Blue eyes, curly blonde hair, stupid ski-jump nose.
Heart pounding, Shelby shot to her feet so quickly she knocked over her chair. But she couldn’t tear her gaze from the glass. Her throat constricted, her heart set up an erratic pulse, and her limbs grew weak and limp.
“No!” She backed away, nearly tripping over the toppled chair. “No. Not yet!”
The image pulsed for a moment and static electricity charged the air around her. Then, miraculously, it faded away almost as quickly as it had formed.
Weak with relief, Shelby turned away from the mirror and reached for the bedpost to steady herself. But she couldn’t shake the sense of urgency that hummed through her veins.
Did Agatha want her life back? Could she come back if she wanted to? And where was she? If prudish Agatha had been tossed into the sexually unrepressed future, it was no wonder she wanted to come back.
But Shelby wasn’t finished here. She couldn’t go back. She didn’t want to go back.
She gripped the bedpost tighter and fought a rush of panic she didn’t completely understand. If Agatha came back now, she’d die. According to the calendar, she had less than a month to live. Shelby had to prevent this poor, misguided woman from dying a miserable, lonely, untimely death. She had to save her marriage to Zacharias. She had to reunite those two innocent boys with their mother.
But she’d have to work fast. Time was running out.
Hoping to get away before his mother could stop him, Zacharias strode quickly toward the stables. His mind raced with possibilities about his new venture as Philip’s business partner. He’d listened to his mother’s dour predictions and tolerated her sour mood for four long days. He’d put up with her attempts to secure his future with Patricia. He’d even resisted the never-ending urge to confront Agatha about her odd behavior—all because he wanted to keep a clear head for this morning.
This was the beginning of a new life for him. Exactly the kind of change he’d been needing for a long time. Let his mother rant and rave to her heart’s content. Let her throw Patricia at him if she wanted. Let Patricia scowl and pout. Let Agatha creep around in gardens or revert to her old, cold self. Today, he didn’t care.
If he could teach his sons nothing else, he’d teach them pride. Pride in themselves and their accomplishments. Pride in their ability to do something important. Pride in their family name and in their father. He couldn’t think of a better gift to give them, and he wouldn’t let anything distract him from it.
“Zacharias.”
The whisper of his name, so unexpected in the silence of the early morning, brought him up short. He glanced around quickly, but the path stood empty on either side of him. Convinced it had been nothing more than the breeze whispering through the trees, he started on his way again.
“Zacharias.” The voice came louder this time.
And this time, he recognized it. “Agatha?”
She stepped out from behind a flowering dogwood wearing a gown of such vivid green it made his breath catch. He hadn’t seen her looking so . . . so womanly . . . in a long time. If ever.
She moved toward him, compellingly soft and feminine, forcing him to remember why he wanted to stay away from her. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said. “But I need to talk to you.”
“Talk?” His voice came out gruff, but not entirely with anger. There was, he admitted reluctantly, a measure of longing in it, as well. He tried valiantly to hide it. “I thought we’d established that we have nothing to discuss.”
“You established that.” She moved closer, close enough for the deep brown of her eyes to hold him captivated. “But I don’t agree.”
“Nevertheless—” His voice caught in his throat.
“Please, Zacharias.”
He scowled darkly, his best sort of scowl, the kind that should have made her think twice. “Forgive me if I’m wary, Madame, but you have refused to acknowledge my existence for the past five years. I find it hard to believe we suddenly have so much to talk about.”
“You have every right to be wary.” Her hand flickered to her throat and drew his attention to the necklace that encircled her neck and lay gleaming against her pale skin in the sunlight. It was most inappropriate for the middle of the morning, yet seeing it there touched him deeply.
To hide his reaction, he stiffened his shoulders and turned away from her. “Why have you suddenly taken to skulking about Winterhill’s gardens?”
She bit her lip and her eyes rounded slightly as if she worried that he might have seen her the other night. In the next breath, she pulled herself together and tossed a question back at him. “Where else am I going to find you?”
The pleading in her eyes, the glitter of emeralds and diamonds at her throat, the soft curve of her lips all took their toll on him. “Very well. Pray, Madame, tell me what you wish to talk about.”
“First, I’d like you to stop calling me Madame and start calling me by my name.”
He could feel the shock revealing itself on his face, his brows arching with surprise. That was a change of heart. “Very well,” he said again. “What else?”
“I’d like to know more about you. About your likes and dislikes, your hopes and dreams—all the things a wife should know about her husband.”
He resisted the pull of her soft voice. “Now I know this is a trap. Since when have you cared a jot about what I like or dislike?”
She actually looked sad. “Have I really been so unkind?”
“Unkind is perhaps too gentle a word.” He stepped away but kept his gaze riveted on hers, trying to decipher any signs of trickery.
“Then, please, accept my apology.”
She sounded earnest, but he still didn’t want to trust her. “I shall note your apology, Madame. Whether or not I can accept it remains to be seen. Perhaps in time. . . ”
She sighed softly, a mere whisper of sound. “Unfortunately, time is one luxury I don’t have.”
“Really?” He quirked his brows a bit further. “And why not?”
“I can’t explain,” she said hesitantly. “I wish I could. It would make everything so much easier.”
“Undoubtedly.” He tipped his hat and made to step around her. “If you will excuse me, I must be on my way.”
Her smile faded. “You’re going somewhere?” He could think of no reason to hide the truth from her other than to avoid a repeat of the arguments he’d had with his mother. Still, some rebellious part of him wanted to test her reaction. “Actually, I’ve started a new business venture with Philip.”
“Philip?” Her brows knit as if she was struggling to remember. To his surprise, he didn’t see the flash of distaste he’d expected.
“Clayton,” Zacharias supplied, baiting her. “You remember him, certainly.”
She gave that some more thought, then nodded slowly. “The name sounds vaguely familiar. Is he a friend of ours?”
“Of ours?” Zacharias laughed outright. “No, Agatha. Not of ours. He has been a friend of mine since we were boys. You find him coarse and ill-bred.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head to one side. “Do I have any friends?”
Odd question. One the old Agatha would have never asked. Zacharias felt another doubt crumble. “I believe you feel no use for friends.”
She made a face, but he had the distinct impression it was directed at herself. She fingered the necklace for a moment while she thought some more. “Philip Clayton. Is he, by chance, connected with a saw mill?”
“As a matter of fact, he is. And, as of today, so am I.”
“You’ve become his partner.”
The accuracy of her guess set Zacharias back a step. “As usual, news travels fast, I see. But pray tell me, Madame. Where did you hear of it?”
She flicked her gaze to his, then looked away again without answering the question. Instead she countere
d with one of her own. “Why have you decided to do this? Are you in need of money?”
“Most assuredly not.” He sent her a deep frown to show how much he disliked that suggestion. “I’ve simply had enough of spending my days in frivolous pursuits.”
“So, it’s just something to occupy your time?”
“Indeed.”
“And is it something that interests you?”
“Lumber?” He studied her carefully. Could it really be that she didn’t remember how much he’d enjoyed the building of Summervale or her objections to his involvement? Could her memory loss be that complete? Apparently so. And her reaction—or perhaps he should say her complete lack of reaction—robbed him of the satisfaction he’d expected to get from making the announcement. “You have no argument against my decision?”
“It’s something you want to do?”
“It is.”
“Well, then, why should I argue?”
Disconcerted, he sat on the stone bench, but he tried like hell to look casual and unaffected. “You might argue that I’m a gentleman and that, as such, my pursuing an occupation would bring embarrassment to you.”
“But I won’t. If it will make you happy, then do it.”
He tried desperately to keep his scowl in place. “You might argue that I have no skills.”
“And I might also argue that you can learn some.”
“You might argue—” he began.
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “The point is, Zacharias, I’m not going to argue.” She smiled teasingly, and his heart skipped a beat. “For heaven’s sake, the idea of an able-bodied man like you sitting around here and twiddling your thumbs while you watch your money pile up is silly.” She sat beside him on the bench, just close enough to make him nervous.
He resisted the urge to move away. “Am I to understand that you approve of me pursuing an occupation?”
“One hundred percent.” She brushed her hand against his knee, so softly he knew it must have been accidental, but it sent a flash of longing through him that left him distinctly uneasy.
“You had a purpose for seeking me out,” he said. “What was it?”
“You know what it is. I want to put an end to our estrangement. I want you to believe that I’ve changed.”