Regency Scandals. Sophia James

landscaping. She’d planted other peoples’ yards from D.C. to Boston for the past five years. But without a degree, she couldn’t command the kind of pay a qualified landscape designer could.

      “Clair? Why are you sitting out here?” Mrs. Franklin had come out of nowhere—or at least from the shadows behind her desk. She set her mouth. “You’re upset because you saw the house.”

      Clair didn’t feel comfortable enough with Selina yet to share what had just happened between herself and Nick. She attempted a smile that trembled uncomfortably on her lips. “The judge met me at the door.”

      Selina smiled knowingly. “I thought he’d drop by. He’s glad you’re home.”

      Home? Clair wasn’t sure yet. She changed the subject, lifting the paper. “Still published twice a week?” The pages rustled in her shaking hands. She flattened the paper on her lap.

      “Thursday’s edition still carries the classifieds.”

      Clair understood Mrs. Franklin’s message. “I haven’t said anything about looking for a job here.”

      “But you’d like to stay? You feel strong ties. The house wouldn’t have bothered you if you could just leave.”

      “You make it sound as if I can turn my life around overnight.” But hadn’t she already decided to stay? The moment she’d received Mrs. Franklin’s invitation? Hadn’t she decided then?

      Mrs. Franklin came around the desk, ushering Clair before her into the breakfast room. “At least think about staying.”

      “I’m thinking I can’t buy my house back.”

      “What kind of work do you do?”

      Clair stopped beside a small round table that glittered with crystal and china, and reminded her of the table her mother used to set. “Where do you want me to sit?”

      “Wherever you like. You didn’t answer me.”

      She hadn’t because Mrs. Franklin’s eagerness, after twelve years of silence, put her off. “Most recently I worked for a landscaper. I notice there’s a landscaping business on the square.” She pulled out a chair and sat while the older woman brought a coffee carafe from the sideboard and poured her a cup. She left the carafe on the table.

      “Paul Sayers owns Fairlove Lovelies. Do you remember him? No, you wouldn’t. He moved here about four years ago. Still new in town.”

      “Nearly a stranger.”

      Mrs. Franklin smiled. “We have a new subdivision going in by Lake Stedmore. The development company hired Paul to maintain the common areas. Why don’t I call him?”

      “Why don’t I think about it first?”

      “I’m crowding you.” The older woman’s cheeks flushed. “You were part of my life, as much as I could keep you in sight without alerting Jeff Dylan. I care about you, and I guess I’m trying to make up for those years.”

      Touched, Clair let down her guard. “You have nothing to make up. I’ve made my own decisions for a long time.” She grimaced, remembering some of them, a love affair with a professor that had, however unfairly, ended her college career, the jobs and towns she’d left because she hadn’t belonged. She could have made herself a home in any one of those places. “I’d like to stay, but I’d have to find a job and I’d have to face the fact that I’ll never live in my house again.”

      “Do you love The Oaks more than the town? People who care about you, people who hold your history in their memories live in Fairlove, and we want you back now that it’s safe for you.”

      Clair wanted to believe. “I’m not sure I can stay when I’m afraid I’d be letting Mom and Dad down if I don’t try to get the house back.”

      “I’ll ask Paul Sayers to come over. You just talk to him. You don’t have to decide now.”

      Agreeing to meet him meant she’d made a decision. Clair knew herself well enough to realize she’d accept a job if the landscaper offered it. She wanted to be sure before she took action, but she heard herself answering, “I’ll call him if you’ll give me the number.”

      Mrs. Franklin pursed her lips. “Let me do this one thing for you, and then I’ll lay off.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, do you want the continental breakfast, or can I make you bacon and eggs and home fries like your mama used to make?”

      Clair set the menu aside, hungry after such an exhausting morning. “No contest. I’ll take the bacon and eggs, thank you.”

      Mrs. Franklin turned smartly for the kitchen and Clair opened the paper. A man and woman came into the dining room so completely engrossed in each other she couldn’t help watching them. She envied the couple their intimacy.

      As they took the corner table, she tried to return her attention to the newspaper. The dry cleaners had an advertisement that promised they’d clean six shirts for a low, low price. So Nick Dylan had found himself a bargain.

      “All right, I talked to Paul.”

      Clair jumped. “I didn’t see you come back, Mrs. Franklin.”

      She set a plate on the mat in front of Clair. “Better start on this. Paul’s coming over. He had some free time, and he said he wanted to talk to an experienced worker.”

      Clair felt a bit nauseous, but she picked up her fork. “This is a huge decision. I still think I should take some time to make it.”

      “Talk to Paul. Then think.” Mrs. Franklin straightened the knife at Clair’s right hand. Her gaze made Clair uncomfortable. “You look so much like your mother.”

      “I think you’ve confused me with her. That’s why you’re so glad to see me.”

      “Maybe partly. I’m ashamed I couldn’t do more for you, but maybe I want to know you better, too. And you have a right to live in the town where you were born. Fairlove can be a good place to live.”

      “If your name isn’t Atherton and you don’t attract the hatred of a Dylan.”

      “Jeff Dylan loved your mother once.”

      “Then he hated her, and he hated my father and me.”

      “I don’t think Nick Dylan is like his father. If you can stand seeing him around town, you’ll like living here again. Leota stays up at the house. She hardly ever comes down to town, and she won’t have anything to do with the likes of you or me.”

      “You?” Clair was surprised. “You’re a judge’s wife. You’re just the kind of people Leota Dylan liked.”

      “She likes most judges’ wives.” Mrs. Franklin turned away, and this time she was clearly hiding her thoughts. “We’ll talk about Leota later. My other guests will think I’m ignoring them.”

      Clair welcomed time on her own to put her meeting with Nick Dylan behind her and think about her impromptu interview with Paul Sayers. About whether she should even consider talking to this man about a job in a town where Nick Dylan looked at her as if she’d risen from the dead.

      Her breakfast went untouched as she stared at the newspaper whose ink she’d smeared, but not read. Did she have enough courage to try to make a life in Fairlove?

      “Excuse me. Are you Clair Atherton?”

      She looked up. A tall man towered over her table, his jeans clean but stained, his belly a gentle protrusion above his wide leather belt. He pried a Braves baseball cap off wild brown curls sprinkled with gray and threaded his fingers through them.

      “You must be Paul Sayers.”

      He nodded. “Selina tells me you have experience and you might be looking for work. I could use another pair of hands.”

      Folding the paper away, Clair pointed at the other chair. “Do you want to sit down?”