by J. D. Robb
“Miss O’Mara?” She paused beside Aidan.
“I believe I’ll have the same.”
Charity glanced at Ross. “Mr. Delaney?”
“Nothing, thanks. I’ll just drink my coffee.”
Within minutes Aidan and Cullen were enjoying their meal, while Ross, as usual, watched and listened in silence.
When at last Aidan sat back, sipping a second cup of coffee, Cullen folded his napkin. “I didn’t want to push you last night, because I knew you had to be feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the stress of your flight, but I hope now that you’ve had a chance to rest, you’ll speak candidly about your grandmother and mother.”
“I’d be happy to. What would you like to know about them?”
“What was your grandmother’s life like in America?”
“As far as I can recall, she lived an ordinary life in Landsdown.” Aidan glanced over. “That’s a small town in upstate New York.”
“I know of it,” Cullen said simply.
“Of course. You researched it for those documents I was given.”
“They were carefully researched, not only by Ross and the American legal firm, but by me, as well.”
“Then you’ll understand my reluctance to give you any hope that we could be related. There is the matter of different names . . .”
She paused when Cullen lifted a hand. “We’ll get to that. Please, tell me about your grandmother’s life in America.”
Aidan took a breath. “She was married to my grandfather, Edward Martin, for more than forty years before he died after a long battle from a stroke. Most of my memories of him are in a wheelchair.”
“Was he a wealthy man?”
Aidan chose her words carefully. “He came from a wealthy family, and inherited great wealth through the family business. But he was careless in business and made some unwise investments, losing nearly everything. If it hadn’t been for my grandmother’s diligence, they would have been left with nothing.”
Cullen looked surprised. “Your grandmother became a businesswoman?”
“Out of necessity. She took over his company, paid off his debts, then took over the books and made enough money that they would be comfortable in their old age. Of course, my grandfather didn’t live to an old age.”
“What did she do after his death?” Cullen had gone very still, as had Ross.
“She talked endlessly about a trip to Ireland. It seemed to be her reason for living.”
Cullen sat a little straighter in his chair, his gaze fixed on Aidan’s face.
At his unspoken question she explained. “But then she fell ill, and a trip was out of the question. Within the year she was dead.”
He stared at his hands for long moments. At last he looked up. “And your mother? What of her life?”
Aidan smiled. “She married my father, John O’Mara, when she was twenty-n ine.”
Cullen arched a brow. “So old.”
That had Aidan chuckling. “I suppose it is, though I’m twenty-fi ve, and don’t feel like an old maid just yet.”
“I wasn’t implying . . .” He spread his hands. “Your grandmother was only seventeen.”
Aidan gave him a steady look. “I never mentioned her age. Was that in the documents you sent me?”
He shrugged. “No matter. Tell me about your mother.”
“She and Dad were married twenty years when he passed away. His illness ate up my mother’s savings, but we were still getting by, until she became ill.”
“I understand you quit your job to care for her.”
Aidan set aside her cup. When she looked up, her eyes were steady on his. “I went through all our savings. Sold my car, gave up my apartment and moved in with my mother. I’m not proud of the fact that I’m in debt, but I’m not ashamed of it, either. It is what it is, and I’ll figure out what to do next. But this much I do know. You desperately want to find your daughter, and I’m sorry that my mother can’t be the one you’re seeking. As I told you, her parents were Maureen and Edward Martin. I have a copy of their marriage license, and a copy of my mother’s birth certificate. Now, I hope this will put an end to your claim that we can somehow be related. Obviously, you can’t be the father of my mother, when that honor belonged to my grandfather, Edward Martin.”
When he started to speak, she shook her head. “Wait. Let me finish. This isn’t easy for me to say, but I have to say it.” She looked from Cullen, who showed no reaction, to Ross, who was scowling at her as though she were pointing a gun. “I came here for two reasons only. To satisfy my curiosity about a man who would fly a stranger all the way to Ireland, and to collect the check you promised me for my inconvenience. I’m not proud of this, but I am desperately in debt, and I saw this as an answer to my problems.”
Drained, she sat back, prepared for whatever explosive reaction he might have.
Instead of the expected anger, or frustration, he merely leaned forward and placed a hand over hers. “It pains me to hear about your debt, though it was certainly beyond your control. You’ve had your say, Aidan. Now humor me as I tell you my story.”
She nodded, then purposefully removed her hand from his grasp and sat back. She wanted no connection with him while he spoke. She needed to make this quick and painless. Or at least as painless as possible.
Cullen’s face grew animated. “When I was just seventeen, I met the great love of my life. Her name was Moira Fitzgibbon, and she lived in the town of Glinkilly. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, with skin like milk, flashing green eyes and hair as dark as midnight.” He shot Aidan a smile. “You look just like her.”
“That’s not possible because . . .”
Before she could say more, he interrupted her. “Moira’s father considered me to be beneath her, because I was a common laborer, while her father made a comfortable living as a landlord who owned a great deal of land in the area, which he leased out to tenant farmers. Moira and I were young and foolish and wildly in love, and we did what young lovers have done from the beginning of time.” He waited a beat before adding, “When Moira came to me and said she was with child, I went to her father and asked for her hand in marriage.”
Aidan glanced at Ross, who would surely have known all this. But he was watching the old man with a fierce intensity that had her turning back to watch and listen in silence.
“Hugh Fitzgibbon said I had despoiled his daughter, and that he’d see her dead before married to the likes of me.”
Though she’d hoped to listen in silence, Aidan was caught up in the narrative. Without thinking, she asked, “Oh, that’s horrible. What did you do?”
“I went to our parish priest here in Glinkilly, and begged him to plead my case with Hugh Fitzgibbon. I said I would do whatever it took. I promised to work three jobs for a lifetime if necessary in order to support Moira and the babe. The priest agreed to speak with Hugh Fitzgibbon after Sunday mass. I remember thinking that those next few days were the longest of my life. Little did I know,” he mused almost to himself, “that the rest of my life would be even longer.”
“So he refused the priest?”
“Worse. On Sunday evening Father Ryan came to tell me that the Fitzgibbon home had been hastily vacated. Hugh and his wife had taken their daughter in the night to Dublin, and from there to America, where, they’d vowed, I would never see my Moira again.”
“Did you try to follow her?”
“How could I? I hadn’t two coins to my name. Hugh was right. I was a laborer. But not common. Not at all. I spent the rest of my life accumulating the fortune I’d need to find my Moira and our child and bring them back to me. But Hugh was one step ahead of me all the way. When they landed in America, Hugh changed his family name to Gibbons and took his middle name, Francis. For years I searched for Hugh Fitzgibbon, and checked out nearly a dozen or more, only to come up empty. As for Moira, who was now Maureen Gibbons, she was wed to an American almost as soon as she stepped off the boat in New York. Doesn’t that strike you as s
trange?”
“Not at all. You said that your Moira was beautiful. If, and it’s a big stretch to suggest that my grandmother Maureen is somehow your Moira, but if it were true, then why wouldn’t Edward Martin be equally struck by her beauty? It doesn’t sound odd that they met, fell in love and married quickly.”
“And less than seven months later your mother was born.”
Aidan pursed her lips in a frown. “Don’t make this into more than it was. I was told that my mother was premature, and very frail at birth.”
He chuckled. “So many babies enter this world before the full nine months. Not all of them frail. It’s said that half the population wasn’t planned. Many of us are accidents of birth.” He looked over. “Did your grandfather strike you as an impulsive man who would marry someone he’d only just met within days of her landing in America?”
Aidan laughed. “Quite the contrary. He was a very stern, disciplined man. But I didn’t know him in his youth. Perhaps in his later years he was forced to overcome an impetuous nature.”
“Or he was persuaded to marry a dishonored young woman who was in need of a husband in order to hide her shame. Knowing Hugh Fitzgibbon’s fury, he would not have been above offering quite a dowry for the right man to take his shameful, headstrong daughter off his hands and spare him and his wife the embarrassment of a grandchild without a father.”
Aidan gave a firm shake of her head. “I simply can’t accept any of this. I know what I know, and that is that Edward Martin was my grandfather, and his wife, Maureen, my grandmother. Their daughter was my mother, whom I loved more than life. I’m not prepared to accept that their entire lives have been a lie.”
“Not a lie, Aidan. The result of difficult circumstances, perhaps. We do what we have to in order to survive. Your grandmother was no different.”
“But to never tell my mother . . .” She spread her hands. “They were too close. There was plenty of time for honesty before she died. She would have had to tell the truth of her parentage to my mother.”
“Perhaps she did, and your mother chose not to share that with you.” While Aidan was shaking her head in denial he added, “One thing more about your mother. You have yet to say her name.” He leaned forward.
“Her name was Claire.”
“Have I told you my mother’s name?” He paused dramatically before saying, “It was Claire.”
Aidan swallowed. “A coincidence.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or perhaps you’re making this up.”
“I could be. But there are documents to prove what I say. My mother, Claire,” he added emphatically, “loved Moira like a daughter, and grieved along with me when my great love was taken away to America, never to be seen again. Imagine how my dear mother yearned to see her only grandchild. But it was to be denied her. And yet, though Moira was forced to change her name, live a lie and wed another, she still saw to it that her daughter bore the name Claire, in honor of the woman her namesake would never know.”
Aidan pressed her fingers to her temples, where the beginning of a headache had begun to throb. “I’m sorry. This is all so much to take in.”
“I know.” His tone gentled. “I understand everything you’re feeling, for I’ve struggled with every emotion possible. Through the years I’ve been angry, sad, defeated, determined, hopeful and, at times, desperately unhappy. After a lifetime of searching, I finally learned the name of the man Moira had married, and was able to put all the pieces together. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so joyful, so filled with hope. Then, just as my legal team was closing in on the one I sought, I was told that both Moira and the child were dead.” His eyes were hot and fierce. “But you’re alive, Aidan. The daughter of my daughter. Don’t you see? My lifetime search has not been in vain.”
Aidan scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste. “I can’t accept this without proof. What you’ve offered me is a sad story, a few coincidences. I need more.”
“Very well.” The old man glanced at Ross for confirmation. “We thought you would need convincing. And for the sake of the courts, we’ll need more. Ross?”
Taking his cue, Ross picked up the conversation. “With your permission, Cullen would like to order a genetic test. It’s simple enough. A technician from our local hospital can be here within an hour to swab both your mouths. Within forty-eight hours a DNA test will offer proof beyond a doubt as to whether or not you two are blood-r elated.”
“Forty-eight hours.” Aidan chewed the inside of her mouth, considering. “I’d hoped to be on a plane later today.”
“Of course,” Ross added, “should the tests prove negative, Cullen will keep his promise to send you home with a first-class air ticket and a generous settlement for your inconvenience.”
Aidan looked at the offer from every angle. She could leave now, and always wonder if Cullen’s Moira had been her grandmother. Or she could postpone her return for another two days, and know without a doubt.
Two more days in this lovely setting, and a generous check for her time spent.
She looked from Cullen to Ross. “I think it’s an excellent idea. And, as you said, it will eliminate any more doubts. You’ll make that call to the hospital now?”
Ross nodded.
“Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to my room.”
Cullen stood. “Ross will walk you upstairs.”
“No.” There were entirely too many emotions bubbling at the surface already. She wasn’t up to dealing with the very different emotions Ross evoked each time he got close to her.
She backed away. “I’m used to taking care of myself. Just let me know when the technician arrives.”
Before Cullen or Ross could react, she walked quickly from the room and hurried up the stairs, eager to mull over all she’d heard.
Five
Aidan paced the length of the room and back, her thoughts in turmoil. It wasn’t so much that her mind refused to accept the story told by Cullen, but rather that he had managed to plant a seed of doubt.
What if his Moira were truly her grandmother Maureen? What if the child she bore hadn’t been Edward Martin’s, but in fact Cullen’s?
“Oh, Mama.” Aidan struggled to hold on to the image she’d carried of her sweet, stoic grandmother, pouring herself into the intricacies of her husband’s business, staving off bankruptcy by the sheer force of her will.
Everyone who had known Maureen Gibbons had been astonished by her strength. Throughout her marriage she had deferred always to Edward. It was he who chose their furniture, each new car, even her wardrobe. Though not in the same category as a tyrant, he had definitely played a dominant role in their marriage.
Had he been chosen, not by her, but by her father? Had their marriage been one of convenience only, to hide the shame she’d visited upon her parents? It would explain so much about that distant relationship. Aidan tried to recall if she’d ever seen a display of tenderness between her grandparents.
At a knock on the parlor door, she looked up. “Charity?”
The knock sounded again, followed by the door being opened.
Annoyed, Aidan walked to the adjoining bathroom and splashed cold water over her face before hurrying to the parlor.
“I’m sorry.” Seeing her look of dismay, Ross paused just inside the doorway. “I suggested that you be given more time to compose yourself, but Cullen refused to wait another minute. He’s beside himself and sent me to apologize for having upset you. He begs you to look at some of the things he’s been saving.”
“I can’t. I’m not ready . . .”
He held up a hand. “In all the years I’ve known Cullen Glin, I’ve never known him to beg. This means the world to him. You,” he said for emphasis, “and your opinion of him have begun to mean the world to him.”
“I’m not who he wants me to be.”
“So you’ve said. But you’ve heard his story.”
“And he’s heard mine. Just because he wants my grandm
other to be the great love of his life doesn’t make it so.”
“He has documents . . .”
“So do I. A birth certificate, a marriage license . . .”
“Which could have been filled in with any name, especially by immigrants who desperately wanted to hide their identity. You know that’s so, Aidan.”
“My parents and grandparents lived ordinary lives.”
“So do thousands of people who want to blend in.”
“Stop.” She rubbed at her temples. “You make my ancestors sound like criminals.”
“They were good people who thought a baby conceived out of wedlock to be something shameful. They were trying to protect not only their own reputations, but also that of their daughter. You heard Cullen. They thought him unworthy of their only child. So they started a new life in a new country, and persuaded Moira to do the same. Maybe she wanted a new start. Maybe she didn’t love Cullen as much as he loved her. Or maybe her loyalty to her parents was stronger than a tenuous love for an impetuous young man. For whatever reason, whether she was persuaded, or forced, what’s done is done. There’s no going back. But at least, while you wait for the hospital technician, read the letters Cullen wrote to his Moira through the years. None of them ever reached her. But he kept them, hoping that one day he could give them to her as proof of his love. It is his fondest wish that you read his letters and look over the mounds of documents he’s gathered through the years in his search for the love of his life. And then listen to your heart.”
She stared at the pile of papers that he set on the coffee table. “What do you get out of all this, Ross?”
He straightened. “I get to see a man I love and respect finally getting the chance to fulfill his dream.”
The words were spoken so simply, she knew they came from his heart.
As he started toward the door she said softly, “All right. I’ll read his letters and documents. But I can’t promise anything.”
By the time Ross descended the stairs, she was already settled on the window seat, lost in a young Cullen Glin’s declarations to the woman he’d love and lost.