Read Online To Mend a Dream by Tamera Alexander - Free Book Online Page A

his right wasn’t quite closed, and he spotted Miss Anderson, her back to him. But he couldn’t see Priscilla.
    â€œDo you know of an establishment in town that will take such pieces, Miss Anderson? Passé though they may be?”
    Miss Anderson glanced about the room as though taking inventory of its contents, and Aidan sensed her hesitance.
    â€œYes, Miss Sinclair. There’s a . . . Widows’ and Children’s Home in Nashville that might be able to make use of the furniture. I could speak with the home’s director, if you wish. But are you certain Mr. Bedford doesn’t wish to retain any of it?”
    Aidan’s appreciation for the young woman increased tenfold.
    â€œThere’s no need to mention any of this to Mr. Bedford, Miss Anderson. I’m still choosing the last of the pieces, but I’d prefer the new furniture be a surprise for him. Do you understand?”
    Aidan rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles taut. Oh, it would be a surprise all right. Or would’ve been. If she’d managed the purchase. Which she certainly wouldn’t now.
    Work in recent days had been unrelenting. Regardless of the personal grudge people in this town held against Northerners—to date, he’d been called arrogant, aggressive, and brutish—it appeared they desired those traits in an attorney. His desk was piled high with files, and his satchel bulged.
    He’d finally left the office a little early in hopes of getting some work done in his study this afternoon. He sighed. Returning home was supposed to be a man’s respite. But since Priscilla’s arrival, it had been anything but. Between his attempts to avoid Miss Anderson while also trying to spend time with Priscilla, he felt a little like a prisoner in his own home. When Miss Anderson was in a particular room, he tried to avoid going in, while doing his best not to make it look intentional.
    The young woman had done nothing wrong. It was his mistake. He was the one who had overstepped his bounds. Yet, if her behavior when he did see her was any indication, she seemed to have forgiven him completely, for which he was grateful.
    And also not.
    Because even as fleeting as those moments had been with her, and as silly as it sounded to him even now, he’d felt more of a connection with her in that brief space of time than he’d felt with Priscilla in months. Perhaps ever.
    Which left him feeling like an entirely different kind of prisoner.
    He glimpsed Priscilla briefly through the open doorway, her back to him. He’d told her she could redecorate, and it had seemed fitting since the house was going to be hers as well. But she was going far beyond anything he’d imagined. Replacing entire rooms of furniture? Furniture he liked?
    â€œI found a borne settee this morning,” Priscilla continued, her voice overly dramatic as though she might swoon. “Rococo Revival period with rich damask fabric. I bought it immediately, of course, and believe it will work best right over . . . there . What do you think, Miss Anderson?”
    The grandfather clock beside him ticked off the seconds.
    â€œA borne settee?” Miss Anderson finally answered, her tone polite but clearly questioning. “That’s a rather large and formal piece for a central parlor, Miss Sinclair.”
    â€œWhich is precisely why I bought it. This house is starved for elegance. My future husband is an attorney for now. But someday he’ll be a judge, and I want this house to—”
    Having heard enough—for his wallet, his respectability, and his patience—Aidan stepped back to the front door and opened and closed it again, louder this time.
    Shushed whispers came from the parlor. Seconds later Priscilla waltzed through the doorway, arms outstretched as though they’d been separated for seven years instead of seven hours. She clasped his hand and offered her cheek for a kiss. He obliged, aware of Miss