“All right, dear,” Agnes said. “You do what you feel you must. Take your cloak.” Agnes draped it over Clover’s shoulders.
Clover breathed a sigh of relief and hurried outside. She set down the lemonade, then took off the cloak, spread it on the step, and she sat down. Considering what she was about to do, it would be best if Mr. MacGregor could see her face and form clearly. She felt fairly confident that Ballard Alexander MacGregor would not place undue importance on the size of a woman’s dowry in his search for a wife.
She looked down at her very slim curves and grimaced. Even there she did not have as much to offer as Sarah Marsten. A man might easily think she was too slim, too boyish or childish in form. It would be mortifying if Mr. MacGregor took another look at her and still did not realize she was a fully grown woman. She quickly shook that thought aside. It would only make her back down, and she could not afford to do that. Mr. MacGregor might well be her last hope to save herself and her family.
She prayed that her father could not see what she had been brought to. He would be eaten up with guilt. The elder Clayton Sherwood had been tragically naive, trusting people far too easily. In the end it had cost him his fortune and then his life. Clover regretted that he had lacked the strength to pull himself out of his black despair. When he had put the bullet into his head he had deserted his family, left them alone to face whatever misery lay ahead.
For one brief moment she felt the sharpness of renewed grief over the loss of her father. He had beena good man. Their home had been a happy one. She would miss that happiness more than she would ever miss the money and the comforts it had bought.
It made Clover feel somewhat guilty, but she wished her mother were stronger. She loved her mother, thought she was a dear, sweet woman, but Agnes Sherwood had no idea how to take care of herself. Unfortunately, that was exactly what they all so desperately needed to know now. Clover prayed she could solve their difficulties before she began to resent her mother for her dependence on Clover, as she had depended on her husband.
Cursing softly, Clover suddenly wondered if she was any more independent than her mother. After all, she was busily trying to find a man to solve their problems. No, she decided, that was not exactly what she was going to do. She was not looking for a man to take over all her responsibilities, just someone to share them with her. What she sought was a partner, not a master.
Suddenly the heavy, ornately carved door of the Marsten house was flung open. Clover tensed and nervously smoothed the skirt of her blue gown. She tensed even more when an easily recognizable tall, lean man strode out onto the street. Picking up the glasses of lemonade, she quickly stood up, ready to stop his angry retreat. She found herself thinking that Sarah Marsten was an utter fool, then wondered why, for she did not know Ballard MacGregor at all.
“Mr. MacGregor,” she called as he marched past her house.
He stopped short and looked at her. “What are ye still doing outside, bonnie Clover?”
A little set back by his easy compliment, she heardher voice wobble as she asked, “Would you like some lemonade?” She held out the glass.
He hesitated only a moment before stepping up to accept the drink. “Ye were waiting for me.”
She sat down again as she nodded and patted the step next to her in a silent invitation. “I thought you might like some refreshment.”
“Ye kenned I wouldnae be staying long at Miss Sarah’s. Ye kenned that someone else was there, didnae ye,” he said as he sat down.
“Yes, I did. I considered saying something earlier, but”—she shrugged—“I could not think how to say it.”
He nodded in understanding and took a swallow even as his gaze ran down the length of her form, then quickly back up to her face. He nearly choked on the tart lemonade. Slowly, carefully, he looked her over again. He rested his gaze briefly on her high breasts. They were on the small side but not too small. She had a tiny waist and gently rounded hips. He narrowed his eyes slightly and carefully studied her dainty heart-shaped face. Wide periwinkle-blue eyes with long, dark lashes were set beneath delicately arched brows. A small straight nose led to a slightly full mouth that promised to be very kissable. He looked at her thick blond hair, which was in danger of escaping the neat style she had forced it into.
“Ye are no child,” he finally said. “Ye couldnae think of a way to tell me that either, could you?”
“Ah, well, I did not see that it mattered, as ours was to be a momentary meeting.”
She covertly watched him as he sipped his drink. He was a very handsome man, she decided. Some people might consider him too tall, too slim, or toodark, but she did not. It did not surprise her at all that Sarah Marsten had initially encouraged his attentions. His finely hewn features and deep, rich voice would attract many a woman. Clover had the feeling he was not fully aware of his good looks, however, or of how easily they could gain him, if not a wife, at least many a liaison. With a little education he could be quite the lothario, she mused.
His face fascinated her. Its lines were so cleanly drawn. A long straight nose cut its way between highboned cheeks to point to a nicely shaped mouth, the lips not too thin. Gently arched black brows topped his thickly lashed green eyes. He had a strong chin and a wide, intelligent forehead. His thick ebony hair was slowly easing free of its tidy queue. His looks perfectly suited the finery he wore, but she could see that he already found the clothes confining.
There was no denying that his appearance alone was probably responsible for putting her wild idea in her head, that and her desperate need, but she knew that was not all of it. Although she did not know him, she had already seen evidence of several positive aspects of his character in their brief but tumultuous first meeting. Ballard MacGregor could be gallant, rushing to the rescue of a woman he did not know. He could also be violent, yet if Big Jim had not attacked him, he would have been willing to avoid a battle. He could be teasing, sarcastic, and, she thought with an inner smile, he could sulk when he did not get what he wanted.
“Just how old are ye?” he asked abruptly.
“Nineteen,” she replied with a little smile.
“Ye certainly are a little bit of a thing, are nae ye?”
“Perhaps you are just oversized.”
He grinned. “I am a tall drink of water, but it doesnae change the fact that ye are a wee lass. That fellow I just met, has he been courting Miss Sarah for verra long?”
“Well, he was engaged until this morning, but he could have been calling on her before he was free.”
“What happened to the lass he was promised to?”
“She got poor, Mr. MacGregor,” she replied, fighting to keep her lingering bitterness out of her voice.
“That’s all?”
