She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Scanlon, but what does this have to do with me?” Was he under orders to rub salt in her wound?
Mr. Scanlon smiled. It didn’t look like a sadistic, in-your-face sort of smile, but then, she’d thought Sean was on the up-and-up so what did she know about human nature anymore?
“I gather that this is a lot to take in, but my firm and I personally are ready to handle the sale of the estate on your behalf.”
“My behalf? But I don’t own it.”
“A mere formality.” He removed a blue-bound stack of papers from a file on top of his desk. “You may wish to have your own counsel review these documents, but you will find them in order. Your grandmother made sure of it.”
Livvy took the documents, scanning them to make sense of—
Deed jumped out at her.
And there was her name.
And the estate’s address.
She really didn’t understand what was going on.
“Mr. Scanlon, I don’t have the clue.”
“Yes, I understand.”
She wished she did. “But you’re telling me I don’t need it? That the estate was mine all along? Did my grandmother send me on a wild goose chase for nothing?”
The dogs shifted as her voice level rose. John stared at the attorney with a rumbling growl.
“Oh, no, my dear. The treasure hunt was very real. If you hadn’t delivered the clue in time, I had my instructions for disposing of the estate.”
“To Sean.”
“Well, er . . .” Now Mr. Scanlon looked fazed. “Uh, yes. Mr. Manley would be the purchaser of record.”
“So why isn’t he? I didn’t deliver the clue.”
“But he did in your place.” He held up another piece of paper. “Surprised me, given how keen he’s been to take ownership, but deliver it he did. Told me all about your car breaking down, too. The estate is yours.”
She didn’t know which to process first. The bald-faced lie about her car, or the fact that Sean had handed her the estate, lock, stock, and barrel, losing out on all that money.
And she’d written him that letter . . .
Oh, God.
“Ms. Carolla, are you all right? Would you like a glass of water?”
Wine would be better. A big jug of it. Ohmygod, what had she done?
“I have to go.” She jumped to her feet—and got tangled in the leashes when she tried to leave. The dogs didn’t share her sense of urgency.
“But, Ms. Carolla—Olivia. May I call you that? You can certainly take your time having your attorneys review the deed, but I do need to give you this.” He produced yet another letter. This guy was like Santa Claus handing out gifts on Christmas morning.
“It’s from your grandmother.”
Or maybe that was coal.
Livvy sat back down. It was all too much. Sean’s betrayal-that-wasn’t, her letter-that-shouldn’t-have-been, and now Merriweather’s gloating.
“I can’t really read this right now.”
“I understand you’re overwhelmed. But your grandmother felt that this might help. I do, too.” He held out the envelope. “Please. Read it.”
Livvy took the envelope and the letter opener Mr. Scanlon offered and slid it beneath the flap. She pulled out a piece of parchment.
Of course it was parchment. Nothing as mundane as copy paper or scented stationary for Merriweather Martinson.
“I’ll leave you to read it.” Mr. Scanlon stood and took a step, then paused. “If I may, Olivia?”
Livvy looked at him through a haze of . . . something. Confusion? Surreality? “Yes?”
“I see a lot of your grandmother in you. I think she did as well. And that’s a good thing.” He tapped the leather blotter once softly, cleared his throat, then walked out the door, the latch clicking shut.
Chalk another one up on the Surreality Board. She was like her grandmother? Not in this lifetime.
She sat back in the chair and unfolded the parchment, the spidery scrawl she’d expected being replaced by a strong, bold hand.
Olivia,
I was wrong. These are not words I’ve said before in my life, but here, at the end of it, I find I must. Yes, I was wrong.
I should have embraced you for being my granddaughter, illegitimate or not. You were not to blame for the circumstances of your birth; that I leave to my son and his predilections. But you, you were innocent, and in my anger and disappointment, I forgot this.
As one’s life draws to a close, one has the opportunity to reflect upon many things. I will never regret the vigilance I placed upon protecting the Martinson name. It is a name that has survived the centuries with both admiration and condemnation. I was determined that, under my tenure, the admiration would continue. But in doing so, I failed you.
I will not and cannot make excuses. A child, as I well know, is always a blessing. Having been able to bear only one, this tenet is foremost in my mind. I wanted Lawrence, your faithless father, to become the man his father would have been had Time given him the chance. But it seems Lawrence was one of the Martinsons who would bring condemnation to our name. And so I hid you. I ignored you. I didn’t want the blight on the family.
Now I see that the blight was put there by me. Had I only embraced you, welcomed you into the family, made your father own up to his responsibility, this self-induced stain on the family name—and my conscience—would never have been. And you would have had the family you deserve.
I did try with that one visit, but . . . well, there are no excuses. I am a stubborn woman and always have been.
Truly, Olivia, you are a strong, determined individual, not unlike myself. While I had privileges all my life, you did not. And, for that, I have only myself to blame.
I wish to make amends and I hope you won’t allow your pride—and I know it is a fierce one, for I share it—to stand in the way. You are a Martinson. You are every bit as strong and determined and fierce and loyal as your grandfather, my beloved Henry. If only I had allowed myself to see this in you before fostering the chasm in our relationship, things would have been different.
Obviously I cannot make up for what has gone before, but it is my wish that you will come to embrace this family, with all our faults, and take up the heritage you so richly and rightly deserve.
The clues probably frustrated and angered you; I know they would have were it me. But I wanted you to see where you came from, who you are, before you threw it away. I had hoped your fierce sense of justice and fighting for the underdog would keep you going to the end. That you would want the opportunity to embrace your heritage and use it for those things you believe in, not sell out to some corporate giant out to make a buck on those more privileged than most. That is the reason I accepted Mr. Manley’s offer: I liked what he’d planned to do with the estate. But I had hoped that you would want to claim it.
That you are reading this is proof that I was right about you.
I have followed your progress over the years, Olivia. Right or wrong, I needed to see what you would make of yourself. Your commune lifestyle seemed to justify my distance, at least to myself. That you were exactly like your parents. I had had such high hopes Lawrence would take it upon himself to marry a woman of good character and breeding, with a son to carry on our family name. I was deluding myself.
You are not like your father. Whether or not you have some of your mother in you, regrettably, we shall never know. But I think not, Olivia, for neither of your parents had the inner fortitude you have shown in building your life on your terms.
I have tasted your cakes and breads. Your baking skills are superior to mine, which would be why I’ve always had a chef. But even with your talent, it is your belief in yourself, your utter determination when the odds are stacked against you that show your true mettle. You are a survivor, Olivia, because you keep fi
ghting for what you want. I wonder what would have become of you if I had fostered that fighting spirit instead of thwarting it.
It was my intention to contact you before this, but knowing of your pride, I knew it would be only upon my death that you would return to this house. And so I prepared this game for you. It gave me great pleasure to focus on giving back what I’ve taken from you. It’s also given me great remorse for what we could have had.
I have come to realize I am not perfect, which is quite an admission from the old battle-axe. Yes, I knew of your nickname for me and secretly relished it, for that was the image I wanted presented to the world. The proud, strong woman at the helm of the Martinson ship.
I am honored to be able to turn that title over to you. I am proud of who you are, Olivia, and I hope that someday it will mean something to you. I am proud of you for putting the past and your pride aside to take control of your legacy despite your hatred of me. I am proud that you stood so strongly in your beliefs to continue trying new ventures. I am proud to turn over to you centuries’ worth of Martinson heritage and entrust to you the continuation of that name.
I am proud to call you my granddaughter and wish I had found this truth decades ago.
But, in the end, I have found the one thing I wish I had said to you all those years ago is stronger than my protectiveness of this family. What I wish I had said to you in person, and will go to my death not doing so—my biggest regret—is,
I love you, Olivia.
Your grandmother,
Merriweather Knightsbridge Martinson
Livvy stared at the last sentence until the words ran together from the blotches of her tears. Her grandmother respected her. Apparently even loved her.
Livvy clutched the letter to her chest and bent over, as the tears she’d fought so hard for so long wracked her body. All those wasted years. All the loneliness. All the lonely holidays and empty seats in the auditorium for the school plays. All the summers shuttled from one friend’s home to another friend’s home, never having a place to call her own. All the resentment and hurt and questions . . .
It would take a while for the anger to go away. For the hurt. Her grandmother had misjudged her and in doing so, had caused her grief she’d never deserved.
Ohmygod—she’d done that same thing to Sean.
She stood up, wiping her eyes and untangling the leashes. She had to go to him. Had to tell him . . . What? That she forgave him? Of course. That she understood? Yes. She did.
That she couldn’t live without him?
Yes. That, too.
That she loved him?
That, more than the rest, was what she had to tell him.
Mr. Scanlon and even Merriweather herself might think there was a lot of her grandmother in her, but the one big difference between them was that Livvy knew when to admit she was wrong and ask forgiveness for it.
“Come on, guys.” She tugged on the leashes. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Forty-two
SEAN cursed as he tried to type the second line of Livvy’s letter into his laptop. Damn, he missed his tablet with its read-aloud capability. This was going to take forever.
Was that an E or an A? He couldn’t tell and it was driving him bat-shit crazy. He was going to have to call Mac for help and that was going to blow. And so would she when she found out he was leaving, but Livvy’s absence and the note did not bode well. She wasn’t going to want to see him when she claimed the estate, and he didn’t blame her.
Mac would, though. Blame him, that was. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because he was guilty as charged.
He struggled with the rest of the word, but then gave up. Printing was hard enough to read, curlicue cursive was next to impossible for him. He’d be better off with hieroglyphics. At least those were pictures.
He closed his laptop. He should probably leave, give her time to process the inheritance, what he’d done, and what he’d said in his message, but he wanted to see her. Wanted the chance to say it all in person. To fight for her. If anything in this world was worth fighting for, it was Livvy.
He looked out his window. The barn. The animals were probably wondering where dinner was. And why their stalls were filthy. He could do that to kill some time. God knew, he deserved to shovel more shit.
Surprisingly, the animals were subdued when he went in. Probably sensed what he was feeling. Or, it could be because he didn’t have Davy, the troublemaker, with him. He missed that little guy.
Come to think of it, he missed all of them. He’d miss all of these guys, too, if Livvy called it quits.
“You know, Rhett, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m jealous of you, man. Your lady is right there with you, day after day, by your side, loving you.”
Rhett must have understood because he walked up behind Scarlett and nudged her.
Sean shook his head. The alpaca was just showing off now.
But Scarlett turned on him this time. She swung around and spit at Rhett. Hit him square in the face. The big guy looked so surprised it’d be comical if Sean didn’t know just how he felt.
And they both deserved it.
“Next time, try some tenderness, buddy. Show her you care. Offer her first dibs on the alfalfa.”
“Or hand in the clue that gives her the estate and bankrupts your company.”
Sean spun around. “Livvy.” In yet another one of her skirts, wearing another one of her drab green camisoles and those clunky boots, and she never looked more beautiful. “I can explain—”
“Yes, you’d better.” She walked toward him, the setting sun streaking fire through her hair. “Mr. Scanlon told me what you did. I want to know why.”
She stood in front of him, her chin tilted up. “Why did you help me, Sean?”
He fought the urge to tuck that one piece of hair behind her ear. He didn’t have the right to do that anymore. “Did you listen to your voicemail?”
“My what?”
“I left you a message.”
She shook her head. “Sorry, but with the whirlwind of the last two hours, I didn’t even think about it. Why? What’d you say?”
She didn’t know how he felt. “Why are you here, Livvy?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You of all people should know it’s because I own the place.”
“I mean, why are you here? In the barn. Now. Looking for me.”
Her tongue slicked over her lips. “I want an explanation.”
“You don’t want to throw me off the property?”
“Depends on your explanation.”
She hadn’t said no. There was still hope.
Sean took a deep breath. Time to play his cards and show his hand. He hoped to hell he didn’t get the same kind of surprise he’d gotten when he’d played with Mac. He’d thought he’d had a winning hand then.
He needed one now more than ever.
He took her hands in his. It was promising that she didn’t pull back.
He took a step closer.
She didn’t move back. Another promising sign.
“I know you saw my laptop, so you know about your grandmother’s acceptance of my offer. You know that I’d planned to turn the estate into a resort.”
She nodded.
Sean swallowed. “I planned this long before I knew about you. I put the wheels in motion once I met with your grandmother. She liked the idea of the estate remaining in this condition. Of not being used for a group home or turned into office buildings and the land sold off for residential properties. That’s what most of the offers Scanlon’s firm has received are about. This is a prime location. A big piece of property that won’t take as much investment as others in the area to build on. What I was proposing to do with the property was in keeping with Merriweather’s view on the importance of the estate. So I moved forward with my plans. After al
l, her only heir was a granddaughter she’d never had anything to do with. I never saw the change in her will coming.”
He got a smile then. Small, but it was there.
“You weren’t the only one.”
He nodded. “So when Mac needed someone to take over here, I figured it was perfect. The estate would be mine in a few weeks; I had the chance to get a jump on the renovations. It was a good plan. Until you showed up.”
She nibbled her lip.
God help him.
“I was torn, Livvy. You deserve this place. But I had too much invested. Too much to lose. It’s not just my money; my brothers are in on the deal and I’ve spent a lot on the preliminaries.”
“I know. I saw the projections. Architect, engineers . . . You really put everything into this.”
“It was to be my coming-out in the luxury resort business. The property itself would be a draw, plus the amenities we’d offer. The location is perfect, within driving distance of some of the largest cities in the country and the perfect blend of rural and urban to cater to tastes across the board. It was a home run.”
“Until I showed up.”
“Yes.”
“So why did you give him the last clue?”
He dropped her hands then and raked his through his hair. “Because I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t steal your dream, your future from you. If we hadn’t found the clue, that’d be one thing, but I did and, well, it wasn’t up to me. She’d left it to you. It’s yours.”
“I’ve never had anyone give up a shot at millions of dollars for me before.”
“You’re worth so much more than mere millions, Livvy, and never let anyone tell you differently. Your grandmother was a fool not to have realized that from the moment she first laid eyes on you.” He swallowed, committing himself. “Because I definitely did.”
Her amber eyes flashed. “You . . . did?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, choked with emotion he was both terrified of and yearning to show her. Never had anything meant more to him than this moment.
“I love you, Livvy. I know you have no reason to believe that, but I do. And I want you. In my life. Forever. And if you want me to sign something refusing any rights to the estate, I will. I never want you to think I want to be with you to get my hands on this place.” He smiled then. “The only thing I want to get my hands on is you.”
What a Woman Wants (A Manley Maids Novel) Page 31