Chapter 3
ABOUT FIFTEEN minutes later, the front doorbell rang. Neither Edna nor any of the other servants came to answer it, so Alex set Ivy on the floor and headed toward it. She froze. When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t noticed the small, round wall mirror next to the entrance. Alex normally didn’t take much concern for her reflection, but what she saw shocked her so sharply she couldn’t bring herself to look away: her crumpled dress, her wind-strewn hair that looked more like an auburn mop than a fashionable topknot, and especially the dark circles under her green eyes. Was this what happened to a woman who’d spent most of the last week on a train? Or—her stomach hardened—was this what happened to someone who’d lost both her daughter and her husband in one blow? No wonder Edna had suggested she freshen up.
Alex tugged the ribbon around her wrist.
The doorbell rang again.
Alex pinched her cheeks to give them a hint of color—it wouldn’t do for Fay to see her in such a forlorn state— gathered Ivy from the floor—at least she would cover some of the wrinkles in her dress—and opened the door.
Her smile disappeared. Her breath—her heart?—stopped. She stared up into the man’s hazel eyes, the color of a stormy Atlantic sea surrounded by long, thick lashes lightly tipped with the lightness of his wavy blonde hair. He was tall, straight, and wore the white tailcoat that had always accentuated the strength and breadth of his arms and shoulders. A man to be reckoned with. Richard Edward Dalton, her estranged husband.
“Hello, luv,” he said.
Alex clenched and unclenched the door handle. What is he doing here? “Rick.”
He quirked a tentative smile. “Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“I’ve been invited.”
Huh? Alex furrowed her brows. Who would invite Rick to the reading of her uncle’s will? Mr. Talbot? Certainly not her uncle. She’d told him about how it was Rick’s fault that the murderer had taken Mary, that she’d sent Rick out of her life. Besides, Richard Dalton was already a man of great wealth and prestige, even more so than Fay’s bank-owning husband would likely ever be. “I don’t see how that can be the case.”
“I wondered if you’d require proof.” Rick reached inside his gray vest pocket and pulled out a telegram.
Alex blinked hard. She stiffened her spine and hugged Ivy tighter against her chest. If Alex looked away from Rick, would he believe she felt absolutely nothing at his being there?
Edna bustled down the stairs. “Come in, Mr. Dalton,” she called. “He’s waiting.”
Rick stepped forward. Alex moved far enough to the side of the entrance that there was no way he could accidentally touch her when he walked through the front door. The front door. The last time Alex had seen Rick had been in the front doorway of their Southeastern Idaho home. She’d said things. He’d said things. But it wasn’t until she’d told him to leave that the color had drained from his face.
“Don’t do this, Alex,” he’d said. “If I leave, we’ll—you’ll never see me again.”
Alex pressed her hand against her chest and, clenching her blouse, willed her lips not to tremble. If he didn’t leave, how could she look at him without picturing their daughter in his arms? “Please go, Rick.”
His pained stare pierced Alex’s heart, but rather than reaching for him to comfort him as she once would have done, she dropped her gaze to the floor. He had to leave—for a while—otherwise she’d never learn to live with the grief.
She heard him catch his breath. She watched his feet storm past her and across their front yard to their carriage outside the front gate. But it wasn’t until she lifted her head and saw the carriage disappear from her sight that the foolishness of what she’d just done—said—sunk through her. Rick Dalton did not look back, and Rick Dalton was a man of his word; he would not return.
“Who’s waiting?” Alex said to Vera.
Rick stared at Alex for a long moment, his right eyebrow slightly cocked and his jaw set, before walking into the foyer. His hand wisped so quickly and so close to hers that they almost touched. Almost.
Alex stepped even farther away. “You aren’t surprised to see me,” she said.
The corners of his lips nudged upward, but his gaze, his incessant gaze, held hers. What could it mean? He’d never even looked at her like that when they were together. It was as if he—wanted something from her?
“I knew you’d be here,” he said simply.
Edna took Rick’s top hat and cane, set them in the corner next to the entry, and headed for the staircase. “The two of you will please follow me.”
Alex shifted Ivy to her other arm and hurried past Rick. She grabbed Edna’s elbow. “Shouldn’t we wait for Fay?”
“It’s good of you to concern yourself, my girl, but I have my instructions. This way, please.”
Alex’s chest tightened, but she obediently followed Edna up the staircase to the second floor. Rick stayed a few stairs behind her. What was going on?
Edna stopped in front of Fay’s old room, the one next to Alex’s. “This will be your room, Mr. Dalton. I can have one of the servants bring up your luggage if you’d like.”
Alex jolted. Her mouth tasted like sawdust. “He’s staying here! Whatever for?”
Ivy bristled against Alex’s too-tight embrace, and Alex relaxed her grip.
“For as long as he’s needed,” Edna said.
“Needed for what?”
Rick stepped in beside her and leaned close enough their elbows touched. “Patience, my—Alex. I believe we’ll find out soon enough.”
“You don’t know why you’re here, either?” Alex asked.
“I received a message, same as you.” He looked to Edna. “I left my suitcase outside on the front stairs.”
“Very good, sir.” Edna motioned for them to follow her down the hall. “This way, please.”
Alex clenched and unclenched her hands. She stepped quicker, hoping the heated feel of Rick’s presence—he’d moved behind her again—would dissipate, but instead, it grew stronger. Any minute now, Rick would be the self-assured man she’d always known him to be. The man who hated to be beholden to anyone. The man who wouldn’t want to be near her any more than she wanted to be near him and would therefore decline staying in her uncle’s house.
Alex stumbled—not enough to fall, but even so, Rick briefly clasped her upper arm, steadying her, and just as quickly released her.
She said nothing. He said nothing.
Edna knocked on Uncle Henry’s bedchamber door.
“We’re reading the will in here?” Alex said.
“It is Mr. Watson’s wish,” Edna replied.
***