She stopped first at her sister’s room down the hall to see if Charley might be with her.
Sharisse knocked once and didn’t wait to be invited in before opening the door. She took her younger sister by surprise, and Stephanie gave a start and quickly stuffed some papers into her desk drawer. She glared at her sister accusingly.
“You might have knocked,” Stephanie pointed out sharply.
“I did,” Sharisse replied calmly, a twinkle in her amethyst eyes. “Writing love letters, Steph? You don’t have to hide them from me, you know.”
Stephanie’s lovely pale complexion was suffused with color. “I wasn’t,” she said defensively. “But it’s none of your concern, anyway.”
Sharisse was taken aback. She didn’t know what to make of her little sister anymore. Ever since Stephanie had turned seventeen at the start of the year, her whole disposition had changed. It was as if she suddenly harbored resentments against everyone, and all for no reason. Sharisse, particularly, became the brunt of unexpected temper tantrums ending in bursts of tears and followed by no explanation at all. She had given up trying to find out what was bothering her sister.
What was so perplexing about it was that Stephanie had finally come into her own over this last year, turning into a stunning beauty who had beaux at her beck and call. With her full breasts and trim waist, her very petite build, and the added bonus of lovely blonde hair and blue eyes, hers was the beauty that happened to be at the height of fashion. She was envied by every woman who lacked even one of those attributes—including Sharisse, who lacked them all. She couldn’t help it, but she did so wish she looked like her sister. Sharisse hid her disappointment well, though, hid it under a guise of self-assuredness that fooled the most discerning. Some even thought her haughty.
Stephanie’s perplexing behavior was enough to try a saint. The only one she didn’t snap at was their father. But both girls knew better than to show a fit of temper in his presence. Their mother, who had died two years after Stephanie was born, had been the only one who’d dared to argue with Marcus Hammond. She’d had a fierce will, and their fights had been frequent and heated. When they were not fighting, they had loved just as fiercely.
Neither girl seemed like her parents. Their father believed both were biddable and sweet-natured. They were excellent performers.
“What do you want?” Stephanie asked peevishly.
“I was looking for Charley.”
“I haven’t seen him all day.”
Sharisse started to leave, but her curiosity was piqued. “What were you doing when I came in, Steph? We never used to keep secrets from each other.”
Stephanie looked hesitant, and, for a second, Sharisse thought she was weakening. But then she stared down at her hands and said childishly, “Maybe I was writing a love letter. Maybe I have a special beau.” Looking up, she said defiantly, “And maybe I’ll be getting married soon, too.”
Sharisse dismissed all of it as sulky nonsense. “I wish you would tell me what’s bothering you, Steph. I really would like to help.”
But Stephanie ignored her. “I see you’re dressed to go out.”
Sharisse sighed, giving up. “Joel suggested a ride through Central Park if the day turned out to be nice.”
“Oh.” Pain flashed through Stephanie’s eyes, but only for a second. Then she said airily, “Well, don’t let me keep you.”
“Would you care to come along?” Sharisse asked on a sudden impulse.
“No! I mean, I wouldn’t dream of intruding. And I have a letter to finish writing.”
Sharisse shrugged. “Suit yourself then. Well, I do want to find Charley before I leave. I’ll see you this evening.”
The moment the door closed, Stephanie’s face fell, and her eyes filled with tears. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t at all fair! Sharisse always got everything. Nothing but roses came her sister’s way. She had been the one to get their mother’s glorious copper hair and her unusual eyes that could be a deep, dark violet or a soft, sensuous amethyst. She was the one with poise and self-confidence, always their father’s favorite. Their governess, their tutors, even the servants looked to Sharisse for approval. Their Aunt Sophie preferred Sharisse because she reminded her of her dear departed sister. She was not fashionable, not at five feet seven with that vivid coloring, but she was the one to stand out in a crowd, fashionable or not, and she did it regally, as if it were her right to be the center of attention.
Stephanie had never begrudged Sharisse any of her good fortune. She loved Sharisse dearly. But now Sharisse would be getting what Stephanie wanted more than anything in the world—Joel Parrington. She ached with wanting him. She ached knowing she couldn’t have him. Her sister would have him, and it hurt more because Sharisse didn’t care one way or the other.
That was the bitterness she had to bear. Her sister didn’t love Joel. And he never looked at Sharisse the way he looked at Stephanie, with an admiration he couldn’t always hide. If he were given a choice, she had no doubt whom he would choose. But he had never had any choice. Neither had Sharisse. If only their father weren’t so heavy-handed when it came to controlling everyone.
If only Sharisse had married sooner! If only she weren’t already twenty and could be given more time to choose. If only she would fall in love with someone else. Sharisse could fight for herself if she had to. She could face Father and argue for her happiness. Hadn’t she fought to have Charley stay?
But what was the use of hoping for a miracle when the wedding was only two months away? Her heart was breaking, and there was no help for it. And if she was suffering so terribly now, before the event became an actuality, how would it be afterward? After the wedding, they planned to move into a house just down the street. How could she bear to see them so often, to know that they…She wouldn’t be able to bear it.
Stephanie opened the drawer in her desk and took out the papers she had stuffed inside. She had torn the strip of newspaper out ofThe New York Times’s advertisements for mail-order brides. If she couldn’t have Joel, she would marry someone who lived far away, where she would never have to see Joel again. She had written three different letters, two to men who had placed the notices themselves and one to an agency that handled such things.
Stephanie looked the letters over now. They were attempts to bolster herself by embellishing her good qualities and accomplishments. Why had she lied? There was nothing wrong with her. She would make some man a wonderful wife. Why shouldn’t she send at least one of the letters? To stay in New York would be to let her heart go on breaking.
Stephanie picked up the newspaper clipping again. There was a notice from a rancher in Arizona. She tried to remember her studies. Yes, the Arizona Territory was far away. And a rancher would do nicely. Maybe he was one of those cattle barons she had heard of.
She read the whole advertisement. She was one year short of the age requirement, but she could fib just a little and say she was eighteen. “Must be strong and healthy.” She was healthy, but she had never had any reason to find out if she was strong. “Must be able to work hard.” Well, she could if she had to, but she would have to insist on servants, half a dozen at the least. “Send picture.” Ah ha! So the man wanted to know what he was getting, and he was hoping for something better than a plain girl.
