Dove's Way by Linda Francis Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

pressed her eyes closed for a fleeting second, then seemed to pull herself up. “I know he plans to travel out to Worcester next Friday to look at some property.”
    “Then the following Friday.”
    She nodded her head. “All right. I’ll tell him. I’m sure he’ll send word when he returns this afternoon.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Here’s the bracelet.”
    He sliced her a grim look, took the piece of jewelry, and slipped it into his pocket. Leaning down, he brushed a quick kiss on her cheek.
    “I will expect you tonight for Sunday dinner,” she added.
    He made a noncommittal sound, then turned to depart.
    “Aren’t you at least going to say hello to Mary before you leave?”
    Matthew stiffened. He didn’t want to see Mary, he told himself firmly. But a pang of yearning wrenched his heart. He cursed himself for a fool. He knew what would happen, but still he couldn’t bring himself to walk out that door without at least trying. Maybe this time would be different.
    “She’s in her room.”
    Carefully he took the wide curving staircase that led to the upper regions of the house. Walking down the long, spacious hall, he passed his brothers’ childhood rooms, nearly stopping when he came to his own. But he forced himself to continue on, down two more doors, where he knocked.
    “Come in.”
    Sweet and gentle Mary.
    His heart surged as he turned the knob and found her sitting in the window seat. Lace curtains framed her tiny little-girl’s body, making her look like a cherished princess. Her dress was full and ruffled, as she liked, her hair curled and pinned back. She had white-blond hair and huge blue eyes. A beauty already. For a moment he forgot the past, forgot that everything had changed, and he started toward her.
    But when she turned and saw him, her sweet angel’s face tensed, first with surprise, then with fear. He stopped dead in his tracks. She hadn’t been able to look at him without crying since the accident.
    His heart plunged and naked despair snaked through him. But he blocked it out. “Hello, Mary,” he said softly, his voice steady by sheer force of will. He turned his face just so, in a way that minimized the sight of his scar.
    But it did little good. The look in her eyes grew distant, and she started to hum, quietly, with determination, stroking her doll as if soothing it. He wanted to cross the room and pull her into his arms. He wanted to bury his face in her soft shoulder, hold her close, tell her everything was going to be all right.
    But everything wasn’t going to be all right. He couldn’t erase the scar. And as weak as he was today, he doubted he could even hold her close.
    His heart turned to stone, and it was all he could do to contain himself. He held on by a thread, focusing as he left, shutting the door with a barely controlled violence. At the bottom of the stairs he stopped in front of his mother. “One of these days you’re going to accept that I do more harm than good.”
    He slammed out of the house, white dots dancing before his eyes when he hurtled into his carriage. He jerked up the reins, taking to the streets as if he were back in Africa, heedless of the mammoth dray wagons carrying their heavy loads. He threaded in and out of traffic, snowflakes the size of silver dollars catching in his hair. He barely missed light posts and granite curbs as the wheels of the two-seater skidded, then caught, then skidded again, slipping along over the cobblestone street as he turned left off Beacon Street onto Arlington toward the Winslet home on Commonwealth Avenue.
    Rage and despair ticked like a clock inside him. He moved on the seat, and the bracelet bit into his leg.
    Finnea.
    His heart beat oddly at the thought of her—this strange woman who had come into his life so unexpectedly, twice now. He wanted to see her. Just look, as if by doing so it would give him some clue as to why unwanted thoughts of her circled in his mind.
    But he tamped down the desire. He knew he was