by Mary Blayney
“I love this video,” Harry Sr. agreed. He hit the remote control and upped the volume.
Images of Anne and Harry Sr. appeared on the 40–inch television screen, dressed as Sonny and Cher. They immediately went into their rendition of I’ve Got You Babe, off–key but enthusiastic, the background audio filled with laughs and cheers and applause from their friends and family. The Halloween party had been ten years ago, but to Anne it suddenly seemed as if it had happened to another person.
She stared at the image of herself, decked out in a long black wig and heavy makeup, and a low–cut slinky dress. Harry had on a terrible pageboy wig and an open satin shirt. His neck was covered with gold chains, and his eyes sparkled as his professor’s voice boomed out the lyrics.
“You look wonderful, Harry.” She gave his leg a pat. The three of them were lying on their bed, her youngest son sprawled across the end, an overgrown version of the little boy who had been afraid of lightning and hid out in their room during storms.
The song ended and the scenes jumped forward to one of a Christmas dinner, followed by a trip to the snow, and Eric’s graduation from college.
“What a tool,” Harry Jr. muttered, pointing at the screen. “Eric can’t grow a decent moustache to save his life. He looks like a pedophile.”
Anne and Harry Sr. chuckled and continued watching, Anne and Harry Jr. eating popcorn. After the home movie ended, Harry Jr. got up and stretched. “Okay, parents. I’m hitting it. You two have fun. No loud orgies tonight, okay?”
“Harry,” Anne said with mock disapproval. “Stop.”
“Just close your door, son,” her husband quipped. “We’ll be discreet.”
“Oh no, I’m now scarred for life just thinking about this!” Harry Jr. bent and kissed Anne, and then covered his ears and staggered from the room.
He closed the door and left them alone.
“How you doing?” Anne asked. Her husband looked exhausted. And, if she was honest with her nurse–self, worse than he had earlier. He was hooked to the saline drip they’d brought with them from the hospital, but his eyes were red rimmed and his skin looked dry.
“I’m good, babe.” He kissed her shoulder. “It’s wonderful being back in bed with you. Sorry I can’t be the tiger I once was tonight. I’ll make it up to you next anniversary.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “Just get some sleep and I’ll bring you pancakes in the morning.” She straightened the covers, then crossed to the desk. The thick folder of documents from Kirk Templeton’s office lay under Harry’s shaving kit.
She carried his gear into the bathroom, and brought Harry some water so he could swallow the cup of pills.
“Here you go. Drink the whole glass.”
“Your professional demeanor is a little meaner than Sara’s, Nurse Anne.” He gave her a shadow of a smile.
“I love you more than nurse Sara. Drink.”
“She loves me, too,” he said, but downed the glass and handed it to her. “So did you chew Kirk out?”
They hadn’t talked about what she’d said to their attorney, or about the estate, or the matter of the adoption, since they’d been home.
Anne sat on the bed beside her husband. “I didn’t chew him out. I just told him there was no big freaking hurry. And I also told him I didn’t ever want him to say anything to Harry Jr. or Eric about all of that. That needs to come from us. From me.”
“You going to ever tell them, Annie?”
She swallowed, uncomfortable with Harry’s question. She’d always had his full support with the way she’d handled things with the boys, but she sensed now that he regretted their long ago decision to not tell them they had a half–sister somewhere in the world.
“I will. Yes.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I just can’t take that on right now.”
“I know, I know. We’ve got a lot going on.” Harry patted her hand. “But don’t make this whole issue bigger than it is, Annie. You blow things out of proportion in your head sometimes. The boys are adults now. You should trust that they’ll understand what you did and why. They’ll be proud of you, I think. I know I am.”
She wiped her eyes. She and Harry had shared everything these past twenty–seven years. Except for one thing. Her fear that their sons would hate her for what she’d done when she was an unwed sixteen year old with two sets of parents telling her she wasn’t capable of raising a child.
If Harry Jr. and Eric found that out, they would realize she was capable of giving a child of hers away to strangers.
Wouldn’t they think, ‘that could have been me?’
The question had tormented her a hundred times over the years, and now it seemed as if she would have to learn the answer. Soon.
But not today.
“Thanks, darling.” Anne leaned down and kissed his head.
Harry’s skin was too warm. She inhaled and knew she had to call his doctor and make sure it was safe for him to be home all night. She’d had such hope, but her experience told her Harry’s condition was deteriorating.
“Get some sleep. I’m going to start the dishwasher, and then I’ll be back in.”
“Okay, pretty lady.” Harry lay back, careful not to pull the IV stand over, and shut his eyes. He was snoring before she got up off their bed.
Anne picked the folder up off the desk and opened the drawer to put it out of sight. The letter from Steven Miller’s attorney slid out onto the floor. She grabbed it and looked over her shoulder at the door, then wearily sat and pulled it out of the slit envelope.
The letter was direct. Before he died, Stephen Miller had directed the attorney to find Anne and let her know about the MS. Miller’s lawyer said in the letter Stephen hadn’t wanted to go straight to the adoptive parents because he thought Anne might want the opportunity to fill their daughter in on both of them. “Maybe you can have a relationship with her for both of us,” he’d written.
How generous of you, she thought with more than a touch of bitterness. She’d never heard from Stephen after she’d had the baby. Not one time. A brief image of the boy, tousled thick blonde hair, green eyes, a wonderful smile, bloomed in her mind. She’d loved him. And she’d almost ruined his life, according to her parents and his.
Anne sighed and turned to the second page of the lawyers’ letter. When his firm had completed the background search and located her through her parents’ estate, they had also located the birth parents’ address.
The adoption had been private, but the attorney who’d handled the matter had a document whereby the adoptive parents gave their permission to be contacted in case of medical emergencies relating to the ‘infant girl, Jane Doe’.
Anne read the parents’ names.
Charles and Norma Wintz of Los Angeles, California.
She folded the letter and stuck it in the folder, then threw the whole file into the drawer and closed it. A chore for another day.
Right now she needed to call Harry’s doctor.
Anne glanced at her husband. “I’ve got you, babe,” she whispered, and walked quietly out of the room.
The End
Coming Soon
Molly Harper will be released on Amazon as an e–Book in December, 2013.
Three years after the end of Duets, Molly Harper, Ben Delmonico, Cruz Morales and Anne Sullivan and her family, will face the consequences of fate, family secrets and their own personal decisions in an emotional and dramatic full length novel, Molly Harper.
Author Bio
Emelle Gamble was a writer at an early age, bursting with the requisite childhood stories of introspection. These evolved into bad teen poetry and worse short stories. She took her first stab at full length fiction in an adult education writing class when her kids were in bed. As M.L. Gamble, she published several romantic suspense novels with Harlequin. She has contracted with Soul Mate Publishing for Secret Sister, published in the summer of 2013, and Dating Cary Grant, an early 2014 release.
Molly Harper will be released in Decem
ber, 2013.
Always intrigued by the words ‘what if’, Emelle’s books feature an ordinary woman confronted with an extraordinary situation. She most enjoys reading stories that surprise and amaze her, and hopes her readers will enjoy the challenging and exciting journeys her characters take.
Emelle lives in suburban Washington D.C. with her husband, ‘Phil–the–fist’, her hero of thirty years, and two orange cats, Lucy and Bella. These girls, like all good villains, have their reasons for misbehaving. Her daughter, Olivia, and son, Allen, are happily launched on their own and contributing great things to society, their mother’s fondest wish.
Email Emelle
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Secret Sister is available at Amazon
Never and Forever
By
Lavinia Kent
Chapter One
Are you coming in, my lady?”
Molly Watson jumped, as the heavy front door opened before she could turn her key in the lock. Admittedly, she’d been staring at the door for several long moments lost in thought. It had been an endless night and promised to be an even longer day. She’d have to find a replacement for Miss DuPere and, as if that wasn’t enough of a worry, Radford had sent word he would be calling and that was never good. The duke had already dismissed two of the companions she’d hired for his mother. The thought of a third failure knotted her gut. She’d met the dowager duchess twice before supplying the first companion. Her grace had been a perfectly lovely woman and Molly could not understand what had gone wrong. Both Miss Scott and Miss Jackson was perfectly competent and delightful woman. Either one should have been a fitting companion for the elegant widow.
Blast.
It could only have been him.
Molly ignored her porter, Hardee, and allowed herself another minute, contemplating the sins of the duke.
Radford had sent shivers down her spine from the moment they’d met and it would not surprise her in the least to discover he was behind the dismissals. Perhaps the women had not been pretty enough for him or perhaps he’d made improper suggestions that they’d rebuffed.
No, that was not it. Her agency had definite policies about such behavior and either woman would have reported back to Molly and she would have refused to work with him in the future. No woman that Molly found a position for would ever face abuse. She’d made that promise on the day she’d opened the agency and she’d kept it to the best of her abilities.
The agency.
Her agency.
The Watson Agency for the Placement and Advancement of Ladies of Quality and Comportment
Her gaze turned to the shiny brass plaque beside the door.
It was a long name, but it was exactly the one she’d wanted, the one she’d planned in those dark days after her mother’s death.
“Are you actually coming in, my lady?” Hardee repeated, swinging the door wide open.
“I’ve asked you not to call me that.” She did not comment on Hardee’s tone, as she knew it would be hopeless. And she had been standing on the landing, staring like a moon–dazed drunken fool. She’d hardly had a chance to close her eyes the previous night and the lack of sleep was catching up to her.
“Why not? It’s only proper,” Hardee asked.
Molly would have rolled her eyes if she hadn’t known that would only bring further comment. “My father died before he even knew he’d inherited the earldom. I do not believe that his being an earl for eleven days qualifies me for anything.”
“But it does, my lady — and you know it.”
The problem was that she did know it. She just didn’t like it. If her father had lived to enjoy his inheritance she might have felt differently, but then again, perhaps not. Her father would not have been happy to know that his brother was dead — and he certainly would have been even less pleased to leave his beloved sea and take over the responsibilities of running the estates. “Please call me Miss Watson. I’ve made my feelings clear. Was there anything else?”
“No, my lady.”
Hopeless. It was absolutely hopeless.
“I will be in my study then. I am expecting Miss Amethyst to call shortly. Please show her in when she arrives. Also the Duke of Radford has promised to grace me with his presence — although he did not say when.”
Hardee gave her a strange look — undoubtedly trying to decide if the “grace” had been a pun. It had not, although he knew her well enough to know she would have used it — if she’d thought of it. “If I am still with Miss Amethyst, please try to delay the duke.”
“Delay a duke?” Hardee stood straighter.
“If possible. I am not asking you to physically block him, but perhaps you could show him into the south parlor and then fetch me.”
“Hmmm—ack.” It was not quite a grumble, but almost. It was not always convenient having servants who’d had known one in the nursery.
She gave him a wide smile of gratitude and swept upstairs to quickly wash and change her dress for the new day. Ignoring the temptation of her bed, she then marched back down to her study. The wood gleamed and the fresh scent of lemon oil met her nose, blending with the fresh smell of the lilacs that graced the round table standing in the front–bayed window. The shelves were piled high with books, the rugs old and worn to just the perfect degree, the furniture formal, but still comfortable. It was a wonderful room. It was home.
She took in a deep breath, feeling relaxation spread through her.
She’d changed the room very little after her mother’s death, added a few pieces of ancient sculpture that attracted her and shifted the desk so that her view of the side garden was better. It made opening the Venetian doors awkward, but she didn’t mind. It was worth it to have the freedom to gaze into her own quiet paradise whenever she wished.
Taking the light shawl from her shoulders, she laid it over the back of one of the wing chairs flanking the bare hearth. The brilliant peacock shades of the material stood out against the oxblood of the leather. Perfect.
Smiling to herself, pushing back thoughts of the absent Miss DuPere and what events the day might bring, she took the seat behind her desk and began to glance through the pile of correspondence.
Three bills.
A letter from a client praising her service. Very nice.
An invitation from her aunt inviting her to dinner the next night. She’d made up an excuse for the last one. This one could probably not be avoided. She penned a quick, if reluctant, acceptance and put it aside to give to the boy to deliver.
A letter from Miss Peters describing Cornwall and declaring how happy she was helping the Countess of Harts catalogue the library. That really had been a most brilliant matching of need and abilities.
Another letter from Miss Matters — oh drat, she was marrying Viscount Laudes. That made the fifth marriage between one of her women and a client. If she wasn’t careful the agency would get a reputation as — she wasn’t even sure what. What she did know was that few women hired companions, or governesses, or assistants they saw as potential mates for the men in their lives. God, the dowagers of London would flee at the thought. Eligible men were not supposed to marry the help.
There was a slight tap on the door and Miss Amethyst entered. She was one of the loveliest girls that Molly had sought employment for, almost too lovely. “You aren’t looking for a husband are you?”
Miss Amethyst met her glance, startled. “A husband?”
Molly only raised a brow.
“No. I am not seeking matrimony.”
“Truly?”
Now there was a shake of the head, golden curls dancing in the morning light. “No. A husband is the last thing I desire. I can promise that if I wanted a husband I would have no need of seeking one here.”
There was a story there, but not one that Molly needed to know. “I’ve read through your references and qualifications. “I must say you seem ideal — at least almost so.” Molly ran her gaze over
the other woman’s trim figure and gentle curves. She could have been a porcelain shepherdess come to life. Even her face had the gentle expression Molly had often seen on her mother’s figurines. Figurines that Molly had doomed to the cupboard. She had never needed any reminder that her own strong features did not meet the standards of such idealized beauty.
“I know I am too pretty.” Miss Watson spoke with no pleasure.
“I would not have put it so bluntly, but yes, you are.”
A gentle sigh.
“Perhaps you could pull your hair back more tightly.”
“I’ve tried. It does not seem to help.”
“Perhaps spectacles?”
“Perhaps.” Another sigh.
Was Miss Amethyst truly going to adopt a martyred air over being too becoming? Molly did understand the issue, but it was still difficult to maintain appropriate sympathy.
“I am sure that given your qualifications I can find you a suitable position. You do like children?”
“It might be more honest to say that I do not dislike them. I tend to organize things and children do not always appreciate being organized. I have several younger siblings and am quite experienced. A position involving children would not, however, be my preference.”
“I do appreciate the honesty. I will see what I can do.”
A few more questions, a few quick notes and the interview were finished. Molly placed her pen on the blotter and rose.
Sensing her dismissal Miss Amethyst rose and nodded her farewells. “Thank you. I will look forward to hearing from you.”
That had gone reasonably well. Reaching into the center drawer of her desk, Molly pulled out the ledger book that held all of her accounts and clients. Who could she send Miss Amethyst to? There must be somebody who didn’t have an eligible man in the house — or really any man. Molly firmly believed in avoiding temptation.
As if sensing the word — temptation — a tall, well–muscled man stepped into the room. She knew he was there even before she heard him. His deep blue eyes skewered her, as she fought to put down the flock of butterflies that suddenly filled her stomach.