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  And seen her hands in Stephen's.

  "Don't let me interrupt this charming tableau," he said, his words clear and distinct.

  Alexandra's face flamed with discomfort yet still Stephen held her hands in his. She tried to pull away but he held her fast. Stephen looked up at McKenna and the challenge was in his eyes.

  "How much did you hear?" he asked.

  McKenna poured himself some coffee and shrugged. His massive hands dwarfed the fragile china cup and saucer and an unaccountable heat spread through Alexandra's limbs.

  "Enough to know you're leaving town," he said, lifting his cup in salute. "Bon voyage."

  Stephen finally loosened his hold on Alexandra and she withdrew her hands and placed them on her lap.

  "You'll know all soon enough," he said to McKenna. "I sail for Europe on Friday." He flashed Alexandra a quick smile. "I am leaving Alexandra in charge of Andrew's medication."

  McKenna brushed his words aside. "Dayla and I will see to his needs."

  "You weren't paying attention, McKenna. Alexandra will take care of his medication."

  McKenna's blue-green eyes narrowed dangerously. "And you were paying attention to me, Lowell. We will take care of him."

  Stephen turned to Alexandra who, once again, wished she were anywhere else. "I shall leave the key to the medicine chest with you along with instructions for dispensing the powders and pills."

  She lifted her eyes to McKenna who was leaning in the doorway. This isn't my idea, Matthew. Can't you see that?

  "You'll have no trouble from me," he said as if reading her mind. "Do your job, Miss Glenn."

  With that he turned and left the room and the level of tension in the great house went up yet another degree.

  After a few moments Stephen pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, Alexandra, I think I'd best get upstairs to speak with Uncle Andrew before your portrait session. I would rather he hear about my European trip from me than our friend McKenna."

  With a courtly bow he left, consigning her to yet another solitary breakfast.

  She rose from the table and headed toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Janine was her only true friend at Sea View. She'd rather share coffee and a sweet roll with the redhaired maid on the back porch than sit alone in this velvet and gilt prison.

  Unfortunately Janine was nowhere to be seen and for that matter neither was Cook.

  Alexandra hurried through the kitchen and into the pantry where Arthur was busy polishing the silver service.

  "Good morning, Arthur. Is Janine available?"

  He made to tip his hat then, remembering he wasn't wearing one, nodded respectfully. "Janine and Cook have gone into town to do the marketing, Miss Glenn. If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate."

  Even though Janine wasn't there, it felt wonderful to settle in the kitchen by the big window and sip the rest of her tea. Sitting around the round maple table with Gabrielle and Luc and the baby had been one of her greatest joys back in Provence. How she missed the luxury of someone to talk to.

  A breeze stirred the kitchen curtains and she breathed in the scent of the ocean. Gulls cried mournfully as they circled the beach, occasionally swooping down to pluck a fish from the waves.

  "How peaceful it is."

  Alexandra started at the sound of the gentle voice and turned toward the door. She put her cup down on the windowsill. "Oh, dear! Am I late for my session with Mr. Lowell?"

  "He sleeps yet." Dayla glided into the room, her simple white gown rustling with the movement. "I came to tell you we wait until afternoon."

  Alexandra stood up, smoothing her Nile green skirt of bengaline cloth. "Thank you for informing me," she said politely. "I'll work in the carriage house this morning."

  She moved toward the back door but Dayla laid a gentle hand upon her arm. "A moment, please?"

  Alexandra stopped and looked down at the petite woman. "Is there something I can do for you?"

  Dayla shook her head, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I wish to thank you," she said, her eyes warm with friendship—a friendship Alexandra didn't know if she wanted. "Your presence has done much for him. He has a reason to awaken each morning."

  For a brief and ridiculous moment, Alexandra entertained the notion that Dayla meant Matthew but then reason took hold and she realized it was Andrew Lowell the woman spoke about and not the volatile Mr. McKenna.

  "I have done little save sit before a window while he paints," she said, oddly touched by Dayla's words. "That isn't so very much."

  "To him it is," Dayla said simply. She squeezed Alexandra's forearm affectionately. "And to me."

  Was there to be no end to the confusion in her heart? Alexandra headed off across the yard toward the carriage house, her mind ablaze with questions for which no answers were forthcoming.

  Alexandra had often watched Andrew's face when the tiny and exotic woman entered his studio and the look of affection and admiration in his eyes made her wonder if she could ever be capable of engendering such depth of feeling in another living person.

  Even Matthew, who evidently found Dayla quite pleasing in a romantic sense, treated the woman with a tenderness and respect that Alexandra at times found difficult to behold.

  How easy her life would be if she could dismiss Dayla as a woman of loose morals, a woman to be looked down upon. Perhaps then she could get on with her work and not lie awake each night wondering if Matthew held the tiny woman in his muscular arms and whispered the same words he had whispered to her that night on the beach.

  "Enough!" she cried as she entered the carriage house. No more of this dangerous conjecture or she would surely lose her mind before Stephen had a chance to leave for France.

  Climbing the stairs to the attic and her work, she vowed to leave everything else behind.

  #

  "I daresay you don't look very surprised, Uncle," said Stephen as he sat on the window ledge in Andrew's bedroom a few hours later.

  Andrew stared impassively at his handsome nephew. "And I say it is about time. The European market has gone neglected this last few months."

  "What would you have me do," Stephen asked, "trot around the Paris galleries or be here to help you?"

  "The galleries," said Andrew. "I am in need of no help here."

  Stephen's snort of derision was out-of-character for the smooth, Ivy League-educated man. "Tell it to that drunk McKenna," he spat. "He shows no signs of packing his bags and leaving."

  "You overstep your boundaries, Stephen. Matthew is here at my invitation."

  Stephen stood up and faced him, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his trousers. "Meaning what?"

  Andrew kept his gaze leveled on his nephew. "Meaning you are to mind your own business or answer to me."

  Stephen bowed low and had he the strength Andrew would have relished knocking that arrogant smirk off the young pup's countenance. As it was, he could but wield what power he had: the power of the Almighty dollar.

  "Have a pleasant morning, Uncle," said Stephen. "I will see you tomorrow before I leave."

  No sooner had the door closed behind his nephew than Andrew's gaunt face was split by a smile of gargantuan proportions. It couldn't be more perfect. Matthew had told him about Evangeline Ames and her request that he buy tickets for the Silver Lake Quartette's appearance tomorrow. Dayla had heard that the town was so excited about the upcoming musicale that Friday had been declared a holiday, affording the school children an opportunity to attend the early show.

  There was his social standing to consider—something he'd not paid heed to in a very long time. He had been toying with the idea of at least buying tickets for the show and perhaps begging off at the last moment and sending two of the servants instead, simply to keep peace.

  Now, however, a much more interesting plan was taking shape inside his brain. Stephen would be on his way to Europe but Matthew would be right here in East Hampton and so would the lovely Alexa
ndra.

  Andrew had never been shy about seeing to it that his commands were obeyed and he wouldn't be shy now.

  Matthew and Alexandra would go to the musicale together tomorrow night or he would know the reason why.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alexandra awoke early the next morning, eager to work and even more eager for one of the big country breakfasts that had made Cook famous from one end of East Hampton to another. She dressed quickly then hurried downstairs where to her surprise, Matthew intercepted her at the entrance to the dining room.

  He looked a trifle rumpled and he had yet to shave, but it was instantly obvious he was sober and she found his disarray strangely appealing. He'd barely spoken to her since their interlude near the gazebo two nights ago and if it weren't for the miniature locked safely away in her armoire, the whole thing might have been a dream.

  "I'm going into town after breakfast," he said without preamble. "Dayla usually picks up the art supplies for Andrew but this time, we thought that..." His voice trailed off and she found herself staring up at him.

  "Are you asking me to come into town with you?" she asked, unable to mask her amazement.

  He met her eyes briefly then looked away. "Dayla thought you would better understand Andrew's needs than any of us."

  An art store, she thought, her mind racing. Shelf after shelf of pastels and charcoals, oils and canvas and beautiful sable brushes with tips softer than a baby's kiss.

  "I would love to," she said. "When shall I be ready?"

  Was she going mad or was there a decided glimmer of pleasure in his blue-green eyes? "Half past the hour," he said. "If you're not there, I go without you."

  He wheeled and headed down the hallway, all male bluster and beauty, and suddenly breakfast no longer had the power to entice her.

  "Matthew!" she called out. "I believe I am ready now."

  #

  "Mr. McKenna!" Evangeline Ames beamed up at Matthew as he entered the post office Thursday morning. "How wonderful to see you."

  "Good morning, Mrs. Ames." It was impossible not to smile at the cherubic woman with the rosy apple cheeks who always greeted him with such enthusiasm that he could almost convince himself he deserved it. "Beautiful day, is it not?"

  "Ah, yes, indeed it is. The lilacs are near to blooming all around town. In another two weeks it will be a veritable paradise."

  Lucky Evangeline Ames to have a life that allowed time to enjoy such simple pleasures. When had he last noticed anything as simple as a lilac bush in bloom?

  "Any mail for Sea View today?"

  Evangeline nodded and bustled into the back room of the tiny country post office, emerging with a stack of envelopes.

  "Afternoon mail isn't in yet," she said, handing the mail to him across the oak counter. "It's arriving on the Sag Harbor train again. I do wish they'd throw it off at Bridgehampton the way they used to do." A pale blue envelope slid from the stack and fluttered to the floor near her feet. "Well, will you look at this!" she exclaimed as she retrieved it. "I declare, I've never seen such a pretty stamp in all my days. France!" Her big brown eyes widened comically. "You have visitors out there at the house, do you?"

  "Andrew Lowell has a new assistant," Matthew said, taking the perfume-scented letter from the woman. "I believe she grew up in France."

  "Well, well. I would certainly love to meet her one day. My sister Hester taught me a little French when I was a girl."

  Matthew was at a loss as to how to respond to that. Alexandra had ridden into town with him and was currently across the street in Osborne & Hand, purchasing the local newspaper and sundry items. Somehow he didn't think it prudent to whisk her over to meet Evangeline Ames, the town crier.

  Evangeline, however, had another topic to pursue. "You cannot know how pleased we are that Mr. Andrew Lowell will be attending the musicale tonight. The Ladies' Auxiliary is in an absolute tizzy of excitement over it."

  Matthew's jaw dropped open. "Andrew is coming into town tonight?"

  "Of course he is," Evangeline said, looking at him as if he were a backward boy. "He sent Emmy Dwyer in to purchase two tickets for him the day before yesterday."

  Andrew sent Cook into town to buy tickets to see the Silver Lake Quartette? It didn't sound credible. More than likely Cook and Johnny were going to take advantage of their evening off and enjoy the musicale themselves but rather than get into a discussion with the garrulous older woman, Matthew wished her a good day then strode off back to the trap to read his mail and await Alexandra.

  Another letter from Edward Strawbridge glared up at him from the pile and he tossed it on the seat next to him with letters and bills for Andrew. He didn't need reminding that his life was going all to hell back there in San Francisco; Edward's last missive had done a damn good job of telling him exactly how bad things with Madolyn were.

  Besides, Stephen was taking the afternoon train out and that alone was enough to make him feel better than he had in a very long time. He'd seen Alexandra's face each time he and Lowell sniped at one another; God knew he didn't want to bring that frightened look to her eyes but—damn it! Each time he was around that dandified excuse for a man, he couldn't help himself.

  It was nothing less than a miracle that his fist had yet to connect with Stephen's jaw and he had the feeling that if the younger Lowell were to remain in East Hampton much longer, it would take much more than a miracle to prevent that from happening.

  Strawbridge's letter stared up at him until he could almost hear Edward's voice berating him.

  Muttering low, he ripped open the envelope and began to read.

  #

  Osborne & Hand was the most fascinating emporium Alexandra had ever seen and time quickly slipped away from her. The sign painted on the window in cheery red letters said, "Purveyors of Pure Drugs and Medicines," but she had found a great deal more on their shelves than Ayer's Sarsaparilla and Marshmallow Lotion for the Hands. Eager to learn more about her new home, she purchased the East Hampton Star, a weekly newspaper, and placed down the unconscionable sum of twenty-five cents for a glossy magazine called Cosmopolitan that promised to tell her what the elegant ladies in New York were wearing that season.

  How wonderful it felt to be away from Sea View for a little while, reveling in the art supplies store, mingling with the townspeople, strolling along the wide tree-lined street and peering into the shop windows as she passed. Gentlemen in white flannel trousers and dark jackets with shiny brass buttons tipped their hats as they walked by and she couldn't contain her answering smile. Ladies in walking dresses that barely touched the ground in the front, exposing soft kid boots with tiny heels, laughed and chatted their way up Main Street as if they had not a care in the world.

  What would it be like to be one of those ladies, Alexandra wondered as she made her way back to the trap. How would it feel to have nothing more pressing on her mind than purchasing a new settee at Van Scoy & Dayton's or lunching on watercress sandwiches and strawberry ice cream at Lawrence's.

  She doubted if these fine ladies with their ostrich-feathered hats had ever burned with the need to capture an autumn sunset with their hands or make the sound of the ocean visible on canvas, and she wondered if her ambition could ever be compatible with their fancy lives. But, no matter. A fancy life was not in the cards for her and that was fine.

  She had her place at Sea View and she accepted it. Finally—finally!—she had made her peace with the fact that Provence and her old life were lost to her as surely as if it had never been. She had posted a letter to Gabrielle her first week in America but truly did not expect an answer. Gabrielle had a husband and a daughter and another baby on the way. What time would she have for writing letters to a childhood friend who had somehow become a threat?

  Let it go, she whispered silently as she approached the trap where McKenna sat waiting for her. Let it all go and build a new life.

  "I am sorry," she said as he jumped down to help her climb into the vehicle. "I hope I haven't inconvenienc
ed you in any way."

  She held out her hand, expecting him to provide leverage as she mounted the step and took her seat. To her surprise, he ignored her hand and, placing a hand on either side of her waist, swept her up into the air and placed her down squarely on the bench. Her heart lifted in response to his quick smile.

  How handsome he was! The late morning sun caught the light blonde strands that mingled so appealingly with the deeper chestnut tones of his thick and shaggy hair. For the first time she noticed how long and lush his eyelashes were with their tips bleached the color of pale wheat. Fine lines crisscrossed the outer corners of his eyes and she wondered if some of the sun-bleached strands were not prematurely silver.

  Stephen possessed the ideal of male beauty portrayed on the cover of Cosmopolitan as drawn by Mr. Gibson: the short hair parted to the side with the neatly-trimmed moustache and look of wide-eyed boyish charm. But there was nothing boyish about Matthew McKenna as he easily jumped back into the cart and took his seat next to her on the narrow red leather bench. He needed no moustache to proclaim his masculinity, no tailored suit and tie to proclaim his position in life. Dressed in his black trousers and sparkling white cambric shirt, he seemed to Alexandra to be all a man could be.

  Dangerous thoughts for a spring day.

  "Have you been waiting long?" she repeated as Matthew took the reins and they headed back toward Sea View.

  "Not terribly," he said, eyes straight forward.

  She sighed. She searched for the glimmer of good humor that had been present in him on the drive into town but it had vanished. Certainly nothing about his demeanor suggested that this trip into town had been anything but a burden to him.

  How could she have been so foolish as to think otherwise?

  She tried again: "The apothecary store was a marvel! I have never seen so many items in one place before in my life." Her trips to London and Vienna with Marisa had been restricted to modiste shops and museums. "Did you fare well on your errands?"