A Wife of Noble Character Read Online Free Page B

crossing the museum’s lawn barefoot, her heels hanging at her side from two fingers, when she heard an unfamiliar voice call out her name—a man’s voice. It was jarring, the sudden sound of her own name. She heard it as if she were underwater. The second time, the voice was louder. She had only a second to breach the surface and to turn and face it with a valiant smile.
    Randal Stanley.
    â€œHello, little lady!” he said. He always used cowboy language, overcompensating for the fact that he wasn’t really from Texas.
    â€œHi, Randal,” Vivienne said pleasantly. He was about ten feet away on the path and advancing, which gave her enough time to extend her hand and evade a hug.
    â€œQuite a handshake there,” he said, grinning. A woman in a knee-length pencil skirt and silk blouse, both black, and a pair of slim black stilettos, which Vivienne might have selected for herself, was right behind him. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she held a leather-bound folder to her chest. Out of instinct or habit, Vivienne instantly pictured herself through this elegant woman’s eyes—and wilted beneath the image. Her hair was loose and flat, her dress frilly and too white. And, worst of all, she was short. Vivienne dreaded standing before a taller woman. She was five-four, not even very short, but she’d been caught unarmed, flat-footed.
    She stepped lightly onto the path and restored herself into her own heels. “My heels were sinking into the ground!” she said. “Isn’t it a pretty day?” Sufficiently buoyed, it occurred to her to wonder what was going on, Randal with this woman.
    â€œIt is now!” Randal said. He was a midsize man who made no effort to conceal his furriness. A throw rug grew beneath his black-and-floral Rockmount shirt. Yet Vivienne could see he’d taken pains to mask his withdrawing hairline. His hair was sideswept and stuck in place. “Whatter you doin’ over here?”
    The other woman looked at Vivienne serenely, too serenely. Vivienne had a terrible thought: Do I look like I’ve been out all night? Does this woman feel sorry for me? The idea of being pitied coupled with the prospect of Randal Stanley thinking she was on her way home from a one-night stand was too much. He’d no doubt share his false assumption with as many people as possible. It was too complicated to explain being at Preston’s. Why would she be here in heels and a dress before noon? Funny that the actual explanation—that she’d come to the neighborhood to see a museum—was, she felt, the most unbelievable.
    Vivienne thought fast. “I came by to check out the space for Waverly’s rehearsal dinner.” An inspired fiction. She mentally patted herself on the back.
    â€œHow about that?” Randal said. “I didn’t know this was Bracken’s kind of show. He’s not a big art guy.” Bracken—Waverly’s father—was indeed not an art guy. How could she forget that Randal was courting Bracken’s friendship? The museum didn’t align with the Blanks’ ranch tastes whatsoever.
    â€œOh, it was Waverly’s idea,” Vivienne said, sweet as pie. “I’m her maid of honor, so I thought I’d take a look for her.”
    â€œThe museum would be delighted to host the Blanks,” the placid woman said.
    â€œThis lovely lady works here,” Randal said. “I’m gettin’ involved and she’s showin’ me the ropes. She’s gonna to teach me about art.”
    The woman nodded in acknowledgment of his riches. “Mr. Stanley has been very generous.”
    Vivienne should have guessed that one immediately: Randal Stanley, Museum Donor. There was no other explanation for this sort of giraffe-like woman paying any attention to him.
    â€œShe’s about to give me the private tour,” he said. “Why don’t you come along? The place is