The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After by Abigail Gordon

Author:Abigail Gordon
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

When he knocked on her door at exactly half past eight, Harry took a step back when she opened it to him. The dress that had graced a few cocktail parties in its time was of apricot silk and fitted her like a glove.

She’d taken her hair up and piled it in shining brown braids, revealing the slender stem of her neck and the smooth lines of her shoulders. She would be the most beautiful woman there, he thought achingly.

He wasn’t the only one to be taken aback. As she took in the vision he presented in the doorway, Phoebe thought that some men looked good in a dinner jacket and black tie, some average, and the appearance of a few was heart-stopping. The man observing her with a cool hazel gaze was one of those and she couldn’t believe that he had come to take her to the ball.

‘I thought you had nothing to wear,’ he teased as she stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her. ‘The dress is amazing and so are you.’

‘It belongs to another age, a time that I don’t want to be reminded of,’ she replied. ‘A time of wine and poses.’

‘I’m not with you,’ Harry said over his shoulder as he preceded her down the stairs.

‘It means wining, dining, pretending—things that to some are as natural as breathing, but not me. When the chance came I got out of it, gave birth to my son in a place where he was well away from all of that and safe from psuedos. I’m happy in this new life I’ve chosen in Bluebell Cove, and hope that you will be too.’

He was holding out his hand to help her down the last step and when they were both on the same level he said, ‘I’m working on it. For instance, it is ages since I’ve been anywhere socially.’

He would have preferred them to have stayed upstairs in her apartment, to give him the chance to hear anything further that Phoebe might want to tell him about her life before Bluebell Cove. But, as he’d just said, it was a social occasion, and he wasn’t ready to tell her about his past, which might be what she would expect in return.

Still holding her hand, he said, ‘So let’s go, Phoebe. Let’s head for Wheatlands Farm and the Valentine Ball.’ She nodded and lifted the hem of her dress so that she wouldn’t trip over it in the dark, and, with the high heels of her strappy gold sandals clicking on the hard surface of the practice forecourt, they walked hand in hand to where Harry’s car was parked.

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