Dove's Way by Linda Francis Lee Page A

to the woman she had come clear across the world to see, to love, and her determination to confide faltered. She couldn’t utter the words that would confirm that indeed she was lacking in the finer points of American society. More than once since Finnea had arrived, Hannah Grable had made it clear that she had thought little of William Winslet before he left for Africa, and thought even less of him now after meeting the daughter he had raised.
    Pride and protectiveness surged. She would prove them wrong. But the only way to do so was to learn the ways of this town inside and out. Which meant she needed Matthew to teach her. Or was that just an excuse? To be seen. To be touched by him again, she thought suddenly. So she wouldn’t be lost.
    Her mouth was swollen and dry. Matthew gently rubbed water from a rustic pouch over her lips, slowly, with infinite patience, then dripping water onto her tongue.
    She was propped between his legs, her back to his chest, his knees up on either side of her. Protecting her.
    “I can’t swallow,” she choked.
    “Yes you can.”
    He tilted the sack so the water came out, but she turned away, the flow washing down over her throat, soaking into the tattered remnants of her hunter’s shirt. He jerked the bag up so as not to lose more.
    “You are going to drink, Finnea. I will not let you die. You are going to survive this.”
    Her head was still turned so that her cheek was against his chest, the water on her face mixing with sudden tears. “But I don’t want to be saved.”
    He was quiet for a long time. “Sometimes we are saved whether we want to be or not.”
    “What is this you’re wearing?”
    Finnea nearly jumped when she found Hannah standing so close, her plain gray eyes surveying Finnea’s gown.
    Finnea glanced down at the beautiful dress of vibrant red velvet.
    “I think you look fine, Finnea,” Leticia said quickly.
    Hannah Grable let a long, disapproving minute reverberate through the silence before she smiled tightly. “Fine, Leticia? Of course. Who am I to turn up my nose at leftovers from a thrift shop meant for paupers? What do I care if Grace Baldwin or perhaps even Adwina Raines notices Finnea wearing one of their New Year’s masquerade castoffs?”
    “Really, Mother,” Leticia said uncomfortably, “you don’t mean that.”
    “I mean what I say, daughter,” Hannah stated with a crystalline smile. “Now come along. Breakfast is being served.”
     
    Nester was already at the table when they entered the dining room. Finnea was surprised to find Jeffrey Upton there as well. The men were huddled over a series of papers. Her brother looked irritated, Mr. Upton looked impatient. The minute they entered, though, the older man stood and smiled.
    “Good morning, ladies.”
    The night he escorted the Winslet women home from the Hawthornes’ dinner party, he had asked Finnea to call him Jeffrey. Her mother had made it clear to her that this man would make a fine husband.
    In truth, he would make a fine husband. He was older, a widower. Refined and proper. Kind and respectable. A man who already had full-grown children. A man who wouldn’t need more.
    Beyond that, she liked him. She could trust him. And she knew that was worth a lot.
    Jeffrey was what her mother wanted for her. Finnea knew it was the ideal solution. She could please her mother and gain a new life—a safe life. No more uncertainty. No more emotions that threatened to burn her up with intensity and fill her body with heart-racing desire.
    She pulled her shoulders back. Exactly, she thought. No more feelings she couldn’t afford. This was just the sort of thing she wanted. Though she couldn’t quite shake the emptiness that came over her at the thought.
    Jeffrey took Hannah’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Good morning, Mrs. Grable.” He nodded to Leticia, then turned to Finnea, and a kind and gentle smile pulled across his face. “Good morning, Finnea.”
    “Good morning,” she answered,