The Hired Husband. Judith Stacy

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      “Fine,” Mitch said, though he hadn’t made as much progress as he’d expected to. But that was Rachel’s fault, thanks to his body’s reaction to his every thought of her.

      Rachel gave him another smile and he tapped his fingernail on the desk. Still, she made no sign of leaving.

      “Did you want to ask a question?” Mitch asked, coming to his senses and realizing that something troubled her.

      “Well…” She cleared her throat and looked at him. “Yes, just something small, really. Before Georgie left he mentioned a factory he was thinking of purchasing. I wondered if you knew whether or not he’d done that.”

      “A factory?”

      “The City Ceramic Works. A Mr. Prescott owned it.”

      Mitch’s gaze bounced around the room to the crates of documents he still had to review. “I haven’t seen anything about it. Not yet, anyway.”

      “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

      “But I’ll look for it,” he said quickly. “I’ll find out what’s going on with it and—”

      Mitch stopped as Chelsey swept into the room. She drew herself up and narrowed her gaze at Rachel.

      “I’m going out,” Chelsey declared, pushing her chin higher. “Trudy telephoned. She’s home for two days. She invited me over. And I’m going!”

      “Please give Trudy’s family my regards,” Rachel said.

      Chelsey shot her one final scathing look, whipped around and stomped out of the study.

      The girl had worn on Mitch’s nerves the first time he’d laid eyes on her. He didn’t know how Rachel managed.

      “Is there a reason she’s so unhappy?” Mitch asked. “Any reason at all?”

      “Chelsey wants to finish out the term at the Franklin Academy for Young Ladies. It’s in San Bernardino. She’s attended for two years,” Rachel said. “She misses her friends and her studies. I understand that.”

      “Then why isn’t she attending now?”

      “She hasn’t attended since Mother died.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because the family is in mourning. It simply isn’t done.” She spoke the words as if the reasoning should be obvious.

      “Does that have anything to do with the luncheon she spoke of at supper last night?” Mitch asked.

      The reserve Rachel seemed to wrap tightly around her a moment ago, slipped completely. Her shoulders sagged and she pressed her fingers to her forehead.

      “That luncheon…”

      Mitch jumped out of his chair at the distressed look that had overcome Rachel. He didn’t know how a luncheon could do that to a person, but he had to find out.

      “What about it?” he asked, the words coming out more harshly than he’d intended as he rounded the desk to stand next to her.

      With some effort, Rachel drew herself up. “It’s the La-La luncheon,” she said gravely.

      Mitch stopped. “What’s a la-la luncheon?”

      “The Ladies Association of Los Angeles,” she said. “The La-La’s, for short. It’s the premiere women’s organization in the city, and the upcoming luncheon is the single most important event on our annual calendar. The luncheon is always—always—hosted here, in our home.”

      So far, this didn’t seem like too big a problem to Mitch. “And…?”

      “Mrs. Aurora Chalmers—she runs everything in the city—expects me to host the event, as always.”

      “And…?”

      “And it’s really Mother’s event. She always plans it, arranges things and does a beautiful job. But this year—”

      “Your mother’s dead.”

      Rachel nodded, sadness causing her shoulders to droop farther.

      “And it’s too upsetting for you to do it this year,” he concluded.

      She nodded again.

      Mitch shrugged. “Then don’t host the luncheon.”

      Rachel came to life then. “I can’t back out. Good gracious, what will people think? What will they say?”

      “What difference does it make what people think or say?”

      She looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

      “It makes all the difference in the world,” Rachel declared. “What sort of reflection would that be on Mother, if I didn’t host the luncheon? What would people think of her? Of the family?”

      “Let me get this straight,” Mitch said. “Chelsey can’t return to school, but you can host a luncheon?”

      “These are two entirely different circumstances,” Rachel insisted. “There are parties, dances and outings at the school. This luncheon is for a service organization.”

      Mitch didn’t really see the distinction, but he let it go and said, “You don’t have to host the luncheon. Not if you don’t want to.”

      Rachel’s shoulders sagged again. “I’m afraid you simply don’t understand.”

      She left the study. Mitch’s heart ached watching her go. She was right. He didn’t understand.

       Chapter Seven

       R achel couldn’t muster enough of an appetite for supper, Chelsey hadn’t returned from her friend’s house and this was one of Noah’s days to lurk on the staircase, so Rachel told Cook what to prepare for Mitch and went into the rear garden.

      Evening shadows slid across the green grass as Rachel settled onto a bench surrounded by blooming shrubs. She looked at the tablet she’d brought outside with her. All afternoon she’d tried to work on the luncheon arrangements. She had yet to accomplish anything.

      Of course there were lots of other things on her mind. Her father, for one. Dr. Matthews had come by the house today, as he did several times each week. She’d pressed him for details but the doctor had said nothing new, nothing hopeful. It irritated Rachel that he was always so evasive.

      Though she hated to admit it to herself, she’d enjoyed the quiet of the afternoon, made possible by Chelsey’s absence. Her younger sister had no problem making her feelings known on each and every issue that crossed her path.

      Unlike Noah. Though she’d seen him several times today, skulking through the upstairs hallway, peering over the railing and dawdling on the staircase when he thought no one was looking, he hadn’t spoken to Rachel. She’d learned months ago to ignore СКАЧАТЬ