Dove's Way (34 page)

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Miss Finnea is having dinner, sir,” the man answered without having to be given a name. “But she is unavailable.”

“Sorry, Bertram, but that isn’t going to work this time.” Matthew pushed past him as the man’s long thin face pulled into sharp angles of surprise.

“Mr. Hawthorne, please!”

“What is going on out here?” Nester barked, stalking into the foyer with a square of white linen bunched in his hand as if he had gotten up from his seat so fast that he had forgotten to set his napkin aside.

At the sight of Matthew, his light green eyes narrowed angrily. “I demand you leave this instant!”

“Nice to see you, too, Nester,” Matthew responded with a forbidding smile as he strode further into the house undeterred, his boot heels ringing on the marble tiles, gold gilt and sparkling crystal surrounding them. “I’m here to see Finnea.”

“Don’t you get it? She won’t see you,” he gloated. “She doesn’t want to see you. So quit wasting our time and get the hell out of my house.”

With a few long strides Matthew crossed the distance until he came to stand before the smaller man. Nester backed up automatically until he must have realized what he was doing and stopped, his chin rising.

“I said leave, Hawthorne.”

“I’m afraid that is impossible. I’m going to see her, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

Nester’s white face flashed red, and a vein suddenly throbbed on his forehead. “Who do you think you are?”

“Her husband.”

“Not for long!” he spat triumphantly. “I am seeing to the annulment myself.”

Matthew felt as if he had taken a blow to the midsection. But close on the heels of that breath-sucking swell came cold, ruthless fury. He would not give her up. He would not lose her. Not again.

He took a step closer until he was only inches away from his brother-in-law. “If you see to anything, Winslet, you’ll regret the day you were born.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You bet. Now get out of my way.”

The commotion brought Leticia Winslet out through a set of double doors. At the sight of Matthew, something flashed across her face. Relief? Joy? Matthew narrowed his eyes. He must have imagined it. If he was asked yet again to leave, he would defy this woman as well.

But Leticia surprised him. She turned to her son. “Do as the man said and step aside, Nester. He is here to see his wife.” Turning her attention to Matthew, her gaze was intent. “My daughter is in the dining room. We were just about to have dinner.” Her eyes sparked. “I think you should join us.”

“What are you saying?” Nester cried.

“I’m saying that Mr. Hawthorne should join us for our meal.”

Nester sputtered and fumed, then marched through the double doors.

Matthew looked at Leticia, suspicion filling his mind.

It must have shown on his face because she clasped her hands together, delicate gold bracelets jangling on her wrist as she held tightly. “My daughter is unhappy, Mr. Hawthorne. And I hate to see her in such a state.”

This time Matthew was sure his suspicion showed. He felt his face harden ruthlessly at such an obvious lie. The woman had done everything but care about how her daughter felt.

“I know, I know,” Leticia said with a weary sigh, her pale skin growing even paler. “You have no reason to believe that I care. But please try to, for Finnea’s sake. And if nothing else, believe me when I say she is unhappy.” She gestured toward the formal doors. “Go to her. See for yourself.”

This time he was sure that genuine regret filled the woman’s eyes, and Matthew wondered suddenly why Leticia Winslet had left Africa and never returned. What mother could leave a child behind and truly forget her? Was Leticia that sort of woman? Suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

He extended his arm so Leticia would pass before him, after which he followed her into the dining room. The minute he stepped into the room he saw Finnea. The sight of her hit him hard. Her boldness, the vibrant life of her. After months of winter in Boston, the touch of gold in her skin had faded, leaving her features milk-white, made whiter by the intensity of her deep green eyes.

She wore a gown of dark blue velvet, simple but elegant, not Africa, but not entirely Boston either, as if she had found a style that was all her own. Looking at her, he was struck by how beautiful she was. And by how desperately he wanted her.

He took her in like a long, soothing sip of fine brandy. He watched as her lips fell open in a silent O at the sight of him, her eyes going wide with … something. But what? For one gratifying moment he was certain that she was glad to see him.

But then he caught sight of Jeffrey, sitting next to her at the table in his proper black coat. And the hard, tight fury he had felt before flashed through him.

Was that what she had wanted all along?

But as suddenly as the thought flitted through his head it was gone. She was many things, but she had never been afraid of the truth. She didn’t love Jeffrey Upton. And he would not let pride get in the way as it had when she left his house before. He would talk to her alone, show her the toy, and once and for all demand to know what had happened in Africa. If it was the last thing he did, he would talk to this woman, this woman that he loved.

Loved.

His spine straightened as the realization sank in. He loved her as he had never loved anyone in his life. He had known all along that he wanted her, that she filled the gaping hole in him somehow. But he had been too blind to see that it was more than that. Too afraid to believe it was more than that.

He had told her not to love him that night in the jungle because he didn’t believe he could be loved. Not any longer. And he had wanted no more lies in his life.

But she had loved him anyway. For himself, with his scar, with his anger. He had known for some time that she had seen him for who he was, had sought him for that person. But he hadn’t understood until now that she loved him—for him, not because he had saved her. Her feelings hadn’t faded with time. He realized the truth in an instant.

And with that realization came another. It didn’t matter what had happened in her past. He needed no explanation for the toys that had arrived in a broken crate on his floor. He loved her—just her, just as she was.

The force of understanding nearly drove him to his knees. He loved her. And he had never told her. He had never said the words that she needed to hear. More than that, he had tossed her love back in her face again and again.

His mind reeled at his stubborn refusal to accept the truth. He had come up with every excuse to explain away his behavior, when all the while he had behaved in that way he had because he loved her—but had pushed that love away.

Dear God, he had to tell her. Had to show her.

He addressed the group that was assembled around the table, but he only looked at Finnea. “I would like to speak to my wife.”

He could see her swallow, then clear her throat to talk. “But I don’t wish to speak to you,” she replied, making her mother gasp and Nester snicker.

Matthew didn’t care about anyone else. His gaze bored into Finnea, seeking the truth, seeking her soul. With an arrogant nod, he said, “Fine. You don’t have to speak to me, but you do have to suffer through my company for dinner.”

Her head swung around to her mother.

“Yes, dear, didn’t I tell you that I invited Mr. Hawthorne to join us?”

The woman didn’t actually lie; she had invited him. Matthew wanted to dance the woman around the floor.

Finnea’s head came back, and he saw something he was certain was fear race through her eyes.

“Get the hell out of here, Hawthorne,” Nester raged, “before I send for the police.”

“You’ll send for no one, Nester,” Leticia said crisply. “I will not have a dinner guest arrested in my home.”

With that, Leticia directed Matthew to a vacant seat directly across from Finnea. Then, with a discreet nod of her head, she ordered a servant to bring another place setting.

Finnea dropped her gaze to her lap and seemed to panic as a serving maid hurriedly set a place of crystal and silver.

Dinner was served and the meal progressed in painful, awkward silence as Matthew racked his brain for some way to penetrate the wall Finnea had erected around herself. Clearly, she wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Mary sends her regards,” he offered.

Finnea’s head came up with a start, her eyes hungry for news of his child. And Matthew was encouraged. “Yes, she’s doing well. In fact, today we made a cake.”

“You and Mary?” Finnea whispered.

“Yes, Mary and I made it.” He chuckled in memory. “Though it came out of the oven a tad lopsided. But we made it for you, and I told her that you would love it no matter how it looked.” His voice lowered gruffly. “You have a very special way of not caring about how something looks.”

Finnea dropped her gaze and concentrated on the bowl of thick, steaming soup set before her, making it clear she didn’t want to discuss it any further. But Matthew was determined. He would not give in.

He stared at her, his gaze steady on her bowed head. He willed her to look up.

Slowly she raised her head, her emerald eyes contused as if she didn’t understand the pull on her.

“The cake was Mary’s way of trying to win you back,” he said, ignoring Nester’s snort of disdain. “She said if we made it ourselves, with love, you would surely return.”

He saw tears spring to life in her eyes, and her hands trembled as she returned them to her lap. Matthew wouldn’t let up. He searched for a new approach. And that’s when it came to him.

“Mrs. Winslet,” he said casually to Leticia, “might I make a toast?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

Everyone grew uncomfortable; Finnea’s brow creased with confusion. Matthew looked directly at her, then reached out and with a steady and deliberate motion, picked up the delicate wineglass with his wounded hand.

Her eyes went wide when he didn’t shake or tremble, and he knew that she understood instantly. Her gaze shot to his face, and she took in the rapidly healing wounds over his scars.

“You had it done?” she breathed.

“Had what done?” Nester demanded.

But neither Matthew nor Finnea explained.

“Yes,” Matthew answered. “Dr. Sanderling said that I was a very fortunate man to have someone who so doggedly pursued what everyone else said was impossible.”

“Oh, Matthew! I’m thrilled!”

“Thrilled enough to come home?” he asked softly, as if no one else were in the room.

Her elation shrank away and her face darkened. “No!” she suddenly blurted. “I can’t go back. I told you I don’t belong there.”

She pushed up from her chair so abruptly that the chair tipped over with a crash. Her eyes were wild and she looked cornered. But when Matthew stood and started toward her, she fled.

“Good riddance,” Nester called after her, then turned to Matthew. “Now if you’ll leave, things will be perfect.”

Hannah started to reprimand Nester, but Leticia stopped her mother. She turned to her cherished son, no longer simply impatient but angry, and wiped off his smug expression with her words. “Enough, Nester. I’ve had enough of your jealousy and vindictiveness. It’s time you started acting your age.” She pushed up from her chair with dignity and grace. “It’s also time I had a long overdue talk with my daughter.”

Leticia found Finnea in her bedroom, staring out into the night. Finnea heard the footsteps, but she didn’t turn. She didn’t know how much more she could take. A family that barely tolerated her. A child who made cakes to win her heart. And a man whom she loved but couldn’t have.

A ship bound for Africa left in the morning. Her bags were packed. Ready except for a broken heart.

Her thoughts were interrupted when her mother started to speak. Finnea braced herself for a set-down.

“Stop being so angry,” Leticia stated.

Confusion shimmered through Finnea’s mind, and she looked back at her mother. “I’m not angry.”

“Of course you are,” Leticia replied, her normally smooth face lined with regret. “You’re angry with me for leaving you.”

Finnea turned back to the window abruptly.

“See, you are.” Leticia came into the room. “You blame me for not returning.” Her voice softened. “But it was your father who wouldn’t let me. I tried once. I know, it was much later, but I did try. By then he no longer wanted me.”

“That’s not true. He despaired that you left us.”

“Did he really say the words?”

Finnea’s mind raced with memories, and she realized that he had never actually said the words. But she was sure she was right. She had been devastated by her mother’s abandonment.

The thought hit her. Her abandonment.

She shook her head as if shaking cobwebs from her mind. Of course her father was devastated. His wife had left him and had taken his son. She would believe nothing else.

“After being apart for all those years, we were too different. There no longer seemed to be any common ground. And your father didn’t want me back.”

“You’re the one who broke your promise and didn’t return. You didn’t want me!” She sucked in her breath. “You didn’t want him,” she amended.

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yes.” He had said her mother had broken her promise.

“I should have known,” Leticia said on a sad sigh. She closed the distance that separated her from her child. “Look at me, Finnea.”

Reluctantly, Finnea turned.

Leticia took her hands. “I made mistakes, but so did your father. Once I realized I needed to go back, I should have fought harder to return. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. It only means I was weak.”

Leticia reached up and touched Finnea’s cheeks—a touch as soft and sweet as butter candy.

“I loved you then, Finnea, and I love you now. And it’s a crime that I haven’t shown you before. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but don’t let your anger at me, or your trouble with the past, stand in the way of a man who cares for you.”

Footsteps gained their attention, and they turned to find Matthew standing in the doorway. At the sight of the man, Leticia squeezed Finnea’s hand and returned to the dining room.