Free To Tell the Truth by Janet Dailey

wanted to be wearing something a little more chic than blue jeans when the redoubtable Mrs. Collins arrived, didn't you? Well, don't worry about that. You would be eye-catching in sackcloth, but don't tell Carolyn I told you that," he teased lightly. "I don't want a jealous fiancée on my hands a month before our wedding!"
    "She knows better than that. I'm hardly the femme fatale that I'm painted," Andrea replied bitterly, remembering the conclusion that had been in Tell's eyes when he had seen her with Adam.
    "Hey, Andrea, this is Adam," he said, frowning. "When have I ever pointed a finger at your marriage? I know the circumstances surrounding it and what led John to propose this type of arrangement. I'm not condemning you for it. I never have."
    "I'm sorry." Her mouth moved into a faint, nervous smile of apology. "Sometimes I lose my thick skin and become slightly paranoid."
    "Well, hold your head up. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
    His gentle, bolstering words were just what she needed as he released her arm and reached around to open the front door. John was in the foyer greeting his guests, the Irish setter grinning happily at his side.
     

 
    Chapter Five
     
    ARMORED WITH PRIDE, Andrea walked directly to the wheelchair, taking a position at John's side. She was, after all, his wife and therefore the hostess. Her place was beside him greeting their guests. That one of them was the man she loved couldn't be considered at this time.
    "There you are, Andie," John smiled up at her. "Out picking flowers, I see."
    "Yes." Her side vision caught Tell's twisted, sardonic look that said it wasn't all she had been doing. Her fragile composure nearly dissolved, her smile cracking for an instant as she turned it toward the two women. She deliberately ignored Tell while she rebuilt her defenses. "I wanted to have some spring bouquets set around the house as a way of saying welcome."
    "That is thoughtful, Andrea, and the flowers look very beautiful," Mrs. Collins replied.
    "You remember Rosemary, don't you, Andie?" John inserted, introducing the woman who had just spoken.
    "Of course, I do. It's good to see you again, Mrs. Collins," Andrea acknowledged, switching the flower basket to the other side in order to shake hands.
    Rosemary Collins was the same age as John, in her fifties. She had retained her youthful beauty. Her hair was still a dark brown, although a close inspection might detect a few gray hairs. Her eyes were a soft brown and her face relatively unlined and wearing a smile with easy grace. The years had added a few pounds, but she was still matronly slim.
    "Please, call me Rosemary," she corrected with friendly warmth, then slipped a hand on the young woman's elbow standing at her side and drew her forward. "This is my daughter, Nancy."
    Large, expressive blue eyes studied Andrea curiously from a slender oval face framed by silky fine brown hair. Andrea's smile stiffened slightly as she accepted the girl's hand. She doubted that she could shrug off as paranoia the sensation that Nancy Collins was wondering why she had married a man as old as John.
    "Your mother has told me about you. I'm glad I'm finally getting to meet you," was Andrea's polite greeting.
    "I've been looking forward to it, too," the girl replied, smiling naturally and with the same kindness as her mother.
    As the handclasp of greeting ended, Andrea caught the flash of a diamond solitaire on Nancy's left hand, poignantly reminding her of the one hidden in her dresser drawer. She couldn't say why she had kept it. Perhaps to remind herself of what she had lost—as if she needed any reminder.
    John's hand touched her arm and Andrea braced herself for the introduction to Tell. She knew she would never be able to offer sincere congratulations to him on his engagement to Nancy. Wildly she searched her mind for some ambiguous remark that would not make her look like a fool.
    "Tell, I don't believe you've met Andrea, either," John began.
    But his