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“I am not your husband,” the man said, but his tone was more amused than angry.
“Of a certain you are not,” the dark woman said as she swung out with her fist and hit Amy on the arm.
Amy fell back into the heavy covers and grabbed her arm. “That hurt!”
“It was meant to,” the woman said, never taking her eyes off the man. When she started to get out of bed, the man stepped back, obviously wanting to get out of the room.
“I will leave you to it, then,” the man said as he opened the door, then he was gone.
Amy sat where she was, still too stunned by the last few minutes to understand what had happened. She turned to the woman in the bed beside her. “My name is Amy Hanford and I seem to have…Actually, I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I need to find my husband and children. If you could—”
She didn’t say another word because the woman hit her in the face with her fist. Amy went sailing back into the bedcovers, and when she put her hand up, her nose was bleeding.
“You’re my stupid sister!” the woman yelled into her face. “You have no husband and no children. You have no men! You understand me? The men belong to me. And especially Lord Hawthorne. He’s mine and not yours, so don’t go followin’ after him to try to get him in bed with you. You understand me?”
“Perfectly,” Amy said. She was looking for a box of tissues, but saw none. As blood ran down her arm, she grabbed a gray piece of cloth and held it to her nose.
“You’re washin’ that, not me,” the woman said.
Amy realized she was holding a corner of the sheet. “I’m sure I’ll be the first,” she said, but was glad that her stuffed nose kept her from being understood. She didn’t want to be hit again.
The woman blew out the candle. “Now let me get some sleep.”
“Happily,” Amy muttered, then lay down in the bed beside the woman. By now she’d decided that she was at home and dreaming and the faster she went back to sleep, the sooner she’d wake up and laugh with Stephen over her ridiculous dream.
Or would she wake up in Maine and share the dream with…? She smiled. With her new friends. It was a nice thought in the midst of a truly awful dream, and Amy believed in nice thoughts.
She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the memory of the day she and Stephen and the boys had gone to the zoo. That had been a lovely day. After a while, her nose stopped bleeding and she went to sleep.
Eight
“What happened to you?” Zoë asked when Amy walked into the kitchen the next morning.
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Zoë was sitting at the kitchen table, an empty plate in front of her, her sketch pad on her lap. Faith was at the sink, washing dishes.
Amy opened the freezer door and got out a tray of ice. “I think I rolled over and hit my nose on the bedside table. At least that’s all I can think of that would do this. Does it look really bad?” She wrapped the ice in a dish towel and held it to her sore face.
“Awful,” Zoë said. “One side of your face—”
Faith put her hand on Zoë’s shoulder. “She’s been up all night, so don’t listen to her. You look fine. A little makeup and some—”
“Plastic surgery,” Zoë cut in.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Amy said. “My whole face hurts. I got blood all over Jeanne’s sheets and they’re in the washer now, but I don’t think the stains will come out.” She looked at Faith. “Maybe we could buy her some new ones today.”
“Sure,” Faith said as she accepted the invitation.
Amy looked at the woman. “Is there something different about you today?”
“She looks five years younger, doesn’t she?” Zoë said. “I noticed it right away. Now you, you look like you spent a couple of rounds with a boxer.”
There was a mirror by the dining table and Amy looked in it. Since she’d been up, she’d done little but stare at her reflection, but each time it still looked like she’d lost a fight.
“I think we should take you to a doctor,” Faith said. “Your nose could be broken. Why didn’t you call out when you hit the cabinet? I’m a light sleeper and I would have heard you.”
Amy sat down at the kitchen table and gingerly touched her nose. “Actually, I did call out, but only the man heard me.”
