Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
I ring the doorbell at Trevelyan House, and Blake answers almost immediately.
“Good evening, Lord Trevethick.”
“Blake.”
“Lady Trevethick,” he greets Alessia with a genial smile.
“Is my mother here?”
“Not yet, my lord.”
“Good. Caroline in the drawing room?”
“Yes, indeed, with Lady Maryanne.”
With Alessia’s hand in mine, we head upstairs and along the open landing toward the drawing room. Before I open the door, I take a deep breath. I know Caroline will want to finish the conversation we started in my office.
* * *
Alessia mentally braces herself as Maxim opens the door. They enter to find Caroline in an animated conversation with Maryanne as they stand beside the bar cart holding drinks. Three hefty candles, each with three wicks, burn brightly on the coffee table, and a fire blazes in the grate, giving the drawing room a welcome, warm glow.
“M.A.” Maxim’s voice caresses her nickname, betraying his fondness for his sister as he steps forward and kisses her cheek. “How was Seattle?”
“It was fabulous, Maxie.” Maryanne hugs him and closes her eyes as she briefly holds him. Of course, they’ve not seen each other since their mother spilled her secrets in such an obnoxious fashion in Maxim’s apartment.
Maryanne turns to Alessia and beams. “Alessia, darling. How are you? I hear you were quite the hit during lambing at the Hall.” She hugs Alessia, long and hard, surprising her.
“Hi, Maryanne. Who have you been talking to at the Hall?”
“Gin and tonics for you two?” Caroline calls. “Hello again, Maxim,” she says stiffly and offers her cheek, which he graces with a kiss.
Maryanne pulls back, her smile bright and sincere. “I have my sources. You look lovely.”
“Thank you, as do you,” Alessia responds. “And yes, please, Caroline.”
Both women are impeccably dressed, as usual—Maryanne in a navy trouser suit, Caroline in a belted charcoal silk shirt dress—but this time, Alessia feels she is too.
Caroline busies herself with fixing drinks, and Maxim offers his help.
“You look happy, Alessia,” Maryanne observes.
Alessia smiles. “So do you. You went to see your friend in Seattle?”
Maryanne barks with laughter. “He’s more than a friend. I did. We had a great deal of fun, and I’m hoping you’ll all get to meet Ethan at Easter.”
“I look forward to that.”
“Tell me about Cornwall. I miss it so.” Maryanne gestures to one of the couches and Alessia perches on it while Maryanne sits beside her, all eyes and bright smiles as if she’s genuinely pleased to see her and interested in what she has to say. Alessia relaxes a little and regales Maryanne with her exploits.
* * *
Caroline hands me a gin and tonic. “We were interrupted earlier. You never answered my question.”
“Caro. I don’t think this is the time or the place.”
“Please,” she whispers, her plea so heartfelt it confounds me. Sensing my weakness, she persists. “I need to know.”
“Maxim!” Maryanne exclaims. “Tell me you didn’t teach Alessia to drive in the Defender. What kind of sadist are you?”
I turn my attention to her and my wife, who’s eyeing Caroline and me warily.
She knows something’s going on.
“I did. And as ever, my wife did not let me down.” I give Alessia a sweet, and what I hope is reassuring, smile.
“The Defender?” Caroline scoffs, eyeing me from beneath her lashes. “Really? You are a sadist.”
“Alessia can drive that, so she can drive anything.” I shrug and take a sip of my gin and tonic, pleased that both Caro and Maryanne are calling me out, albeit unnecessarily, on behalf of my wife.
Caroline’s lips press into a hard line, and she moves to hand Alessia a drink, saving me from our awkward conversation about the contents of Kit’s journal.
The door opens, and Rowena strides into the room. Stark in a flowing black jumpsuit, no doubt by Chanel, she halts as soon as she sets her myopic gaze on me.
“Hello, Mother,” I greet her brightly and step forward to kiss her cheek. She remains utterly frozen, blinking into the distance like she’s desperately trying to wish herself anywhere but here. Ignoring her reaction, I kiss her anyway, and as I do, it dawns on me that she’s terrified.
My mother? Terrified?
I’m horrified. But, what upsets me more, is that I recognize that look because I’ve seen it before… on my wife.
Something twists and turns and breaks inside me.
And before I can stop myself, I gather Rowena’s thin frame in my arms, holding her close as my heartbeat races. “It’s okay,” I whisper as she stands unyielding in my embrace. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Breathing in her expensive perfume, I just hold her, probably for the first time in my life—I don’t remember ever clutching her like this, even as a child—and I don’t want to let go.
As we stand in the middle of the drawing room, my heart rate settles into a calmer rhythm, and I become aware that the conversation behind us has ceased and that all eyes are on us, though neither of us can see anyone.