The Heiress

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Their faces grim, Richard and Charlotte nodded. Charlotte tapped a perfectly manicured fingertip against the caption Newly Wedded Bliss Interrupted for Jack Granger and His Bride, Charleston Heiress Daisy Templeton-Granger. The article went on:

  According to sources at Charleston General Hospital, the new Mrs. Jack Granger was admitted Wednesday evening for undisclosed reasons and released at noon the following day. We all wish Daisy and her new husband well.

  “The mention itself isn’t bad,” Iris said. “Although it does open the family up to a lot of speculation and questions.”

  “Well, the photo is utterly appalling,” Charlotte said in obvious distress, shaking her head. “What could Daisy have been thinking to leave the hospital dressed that way?”

  Iris often lamented Daisy’s wild-child way of dressing, but this time she found herself taking Daisy’s side. “I doubt she expected a picture of her leaving the hospital with Jack to appear in the newspaper. Never mind as part of Bucky Jerome’s gossip column on the society page.”

  “She still could have dressed more appropriately. Look at the rip in the knee of her jeans, the baseball cap and oversize man’s shirt! And that husband of hers! What could Jack have been thinking, dressing in just a plain white T-shirt and old jeans. His hair doesn’t look combed. And—” Charlotte regarded the photo closely and frowned “—given the scruffy look of his face, he obviously hasn’t shaved, either. Heaven knows how many of our friends who volunteer at the hospital saw them that way!”

  “I suspect that’s Jack’s shirt Daisy is wearing, Mother. She was probably cold or something.”

  “Then he should have brought her a sweater from home,” Richard interjected grimly. “And taken care to look a little better himself. Doesn’t that young man understand he has an image of class and refinement to uphold now that he is married to our Daisy?”

  If he didn’t yet, he would soon, Iris thought. And she pitied Jack in that regard—her father was a very rigid and unforgiving man. “I suspect they were both at the hospital all night,” Iris said quietly.

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “That’s no excuse.”

  Iris had realized a long time ago that she never should have given Daisy over to her parents to raise. But at the time, she had been unwilling to give Daisy up entirely and desperate to keep her in her life, to know from the moment that she signed her over that Daisy really was all right.

  But Daisy hadn’t been all right, Iris concluded as she stirred artificial sweetener into her coffee. Instead, to Richard anyway, Daisy had been a living, breathing reminder of Iris’s transgression with Tom Deveraux. Worse, Daisy had inherited all of Iris’s faults and then some.

  Whereas Iris had been occasionally prone to follow a whim, Daisy was impetuous to a fault. Although Iris was only occasionally ruled more by emotion than rational thought, Daisy seemed to be driven only by feelings. Plus, Daisy was as mule-headed as the day was long, Iris lamented, no matter what the forces marshaled against her.

  Charlotte and Richard had struggled to rear Iris, with all her romantic dreams about love and passion and a white knight who would save her from an arranged marriage. They hadn’t a clue what to do with a willful, outspoken, extremely temperamental child like Daisy.

  Once the adoption was a fait accompli, Iris’s marriage to Randolph Hayes IV a matter of record, Iris had tried to help smooth things over and be both a big sister and a surrogate mother figure to Daisy. But her parents had ignored Iris’s advice on how to better handle Daisy as steadily as they had ignored Iris’s wishes when they first arranged Iris’s very advantageous marriage. Daisy had been similarly uncooperative—she hadn’t wanted one mother hovering over her, she certainly didn’t want two—and there was too much of an age difference between the two of them for them to be true sisters. The only Templeton with whom Daisy had ever gotten along was Connor. But that was no big accomplishment, Iris noted. The conflict-hating Connor got along with everyone. And like Charlotte, Iris thought wistfully, Connor somehow managed not to see or pick up on anything too troubling.

  Whereas she—

  Iris made herself stop. She wasn’t going to let herself go there. What she had inadvertently witnessed years ago was in the past. So what if little had apparently changed since then? She wasn’t going to revisit the trauma. Or let her father drag her into any more messes, either.

  Oblivious to the dark and dangerous direction of his daughter’s thoughts, Richard looked at Iris. “Did you destroy the evidence of Daisy’s fact-gathering mission to Switzerland yet?”

  Iris shook her head, forcing herself to regain her composure, and took a sip of her coffee. “I haven’t had an opportunity. Maybe tomorrow, when Mother and I are at Daisy’s, I can locate that red file of hers, that she seemed to be keeping everything in.”

  “See that you do,” Richard said gruffly.

  “Why do you need to take it from her?” Charlotte interrupted, looking distressed by what she obviously perceived as their scheming. “What good will that do? Daisy already knows the truth!”

  Ignoring Iris’s ever-present wish her father tone down his criticism of their mother, Richard looked at his wife as if she was hopelessly naive. “You know how impulsive Daisy can be, especially when she’s angry or upset.”

  And there was no doubt, Iris thought anxiously, that right now Daisy felt very betrayed by all the Templetons. If she wanted to lash out, get even—what better way?

  Charlotte stared at her husband, finally getting the gist of his fears. “You can’t think Daisy would actually show those documents to anyone outside the family?” Charlotte looked as horrified as Iris felt at the mere suggestion of Iris’s secret unwed pregnancy becoming public. “Aside from the Deveraux, I mean.”

  Richard shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time that girl has dragged our family into scandal in some misguided immature quest for revenge.”

  Iris knew her father had a point. Daisy had been a staple in the Charleston gossip columns and grapevines for years. It had seemed, to Iris anyway, when Daisy was growing up, that Richard was always upbraiding Daisy about something—not being disciplined or tidy or ladylike enough—and Daisy was always responding in kind, by making sure she lived up to the criticism by forgetting important social commitments, or behaving like a total tomboy at her formal Charleston debut, or spilling grape juice and mustard or anything else that absolutely would not come out all over the Persian rugs.

  Her high school years had been even more difficult, with Richard constantly after Daisy to live up to the family name and reputation and Daisy in and out of one scrape after another. She’d been arrested for trying to free animals slated for euthanasia, had demonstrated—unsuccessfully—for more legal rights for teenagers, been caught toilet-papering the house of the prep school bully, and photographed trespassing, singing and dancing on the prep school roof, the night before her high school graduation.

  They’d all hoped Daisy would settle down once she reached university, but instead, because of another, much more serious family quarrel, her behavior had gotten even more embarrassing. Daisy had been kicked out of seven colleges in five years, then dropped out of school altogether, because she was angry with the family for not supporting her search for her birth parents. Worse, Daisy had told everyone in Charleston about her quest, further mortifying Richard and Charlotte, and unbeknownst to Daisy, really upsetting Iris. Who, in all of this, had the most to lose. Because Iris knew people were not going to understand why she and her parents had gone to such great lengths to conceal Daisy’s birth, while still holding on to Daisy, and rearing her as one of their own. Anymore than Iris understood why Daisy had felt she had to dig around in the past in the first place. If she had only let things be… Just gone on with her life, the way Iris, and even Tom, had…

  “I’ll be damned,” Richard swore, “if I let Daisy wreck havoc on our family’s reputation.”

  Which was why, Iris thought nervously as her head began to pound with the beginnings of a severe ten
sion headache, her father was right—they had to find that paper trail and destroy it, before Daisy decided to use it as she acted out against the family.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I’M GLAD TO SEE you’re getting some sun,” the scratchy male voice said.

  Irritated to have her siesta on the private beach behind Jack’s place interrupted, Daisy put her hand up to shade her face and opened her eyes. She couldn’t believe her prep-school boyfriend had dared show his face to her. Then again, after what had been in the newspaper that morning, she could. Bucky Jerome probably wanted to see her reaction to what he had “reported” about her in his gossip column.

  Pretending a lazy indifference she couldn’t begin to really feel, Daisy settled more deeply into the beach chair. Glad for the sunglasses shading her red-puffy eyes, she said in a low voice, “Go away, Bucky.”

  “Or you’ll what?” The five-foot-eight Bucky gave her a goading grin and took another deep drag on his cigarette before dropping down in the sand beside her. “Call your new husband out here to scare me away?”

  Daisy regarded Bucky Jerome wordlessly. It was hard to believe she had once admired his never-say-die attitude. Now all his persistence did was annoy her. “What do you want?”

  Bucky crushed the end of his cigarette in the sand. “The rest of the story.”

  Daisy turned her attention back to the novel in her lap. Although she had been reading on and off for over half an hour, she couldn’t recall a word of the text. “There’s no story to tell.”

  “Come on, Daisy.” Bucky whipped his notepad and pen out of the deep front pocket of his loose-fitting cargo pants. “All of Charleston is wondering what landed you in the hospital day before last.”

  “Thanks to you they are,” Daisy said, making no effort to hide her aggravation about that as she picked up the plastic bottle of orange juice she had brought out with her. It was slippery with condensation.

  “So take this opportunity to set the record straight and give me something nice and juicy, or at least interesting, for my column.”

  Daisy sipped on her drink, which had turned unpleasantly warm in the morning sun, then wiped the excess moisture from her hand on the edge of the colorful beach towel that lined her chair. “It’s private, Bucky.” She gave him a look that told him if he were any kind of friend to her, or even an ex-friend, he would let it stay that way.

  Bucky shoved a hand through his gelled black hair, pushing it off his face. For a second he looked conflicted. As if he were feeling guilty for pressuring her for the “inside story.” “As private as your true lineage?”

  Daisy stared at him, not sure what he knew but determined to give nothing away.

  “I don’t know about you,” Bucky said conversationally, settling more comfortably in the sand beside her beach chair. He acted more like the friend he had once been to her, than the reporter he was now. “But me? I always found it kind of odd that Charlotte and Richard adopted an orphan from Norway. I mean, forget the fact, for a minute, that you were just about the cutest baby people in Charleston society had ever seen. Everyone knew about your family’s obsession with blue blood. And there you were with, well, rather pedestrian roots. It just seems odd to me, in retrospect, that Richard and Charlotte would have brought home a child with uncertain or even peasant blood. On the other hand, if you were secretly royalty, or of some other highly desirable origins, then it all makes sense.”

  Didn’t it, though, Daisy thought with no small trace of irony. All these years, she had thought it was her lack of blue blood or aristocracy that had pushed Richard away and made Charlotte feel she had to constantly compensate for Daisy. Only to find out she was secretly born, albeit in shame, with fine southern blue blood, after all. And now, thanks to both the Templeton and Deveraux obsession with their good reputations, she had to continue to live in secrecy and shame—with a newshound like Bucky Jerome nipping relentlessly at her heels.

  “I know you have a job to do, Bucky—” Daisy said, just as candidly.

  “Thanks for being so understanding.” Bucky raked his thumbnail across his lower lip.

  Daisy stared at Bucky through the black lenses of her sunglasses. “But I’m not discussing that with you.”

  Bucky shrugged, looking not the least surprised. “Then let’s talk about what happened over in Switzerland that upset you so much you ran away for a month.”

  Without warning, Daisy felt prickles on the back of her neck. Pushing aside her uneasiness, that her scandalous beginning was about to become public knowledge, she asked Bucky warily, “How do you know about that?”

  “I get around.” Bucky played with the end of his pen. “And believe it or not, I still care about you.”

  Daisy returned his assessing glance. Waited. Knowing full well there was more.

  “Charlotte and Iris were both checking ever so discreetly with all their friends to see if anyone had seen or heard from you. And of course, no one had. There were even rumors that Harlan Decker had been hired to find you after you ran off to parts unknown, presumably in some sort of tiff, but Decker won’t confirm that one way or another.” Bucky lounged back on one elbow, uncaring of the sand that was coating his loose madras shirt. “If that was the case,” Bucky continued, speculatively narrowing his eyes, “I’m surprised Decker couldn’t find you. Unless of course his hands were tied and/or you were living off cash so you wouldn’t leave a trail. Even more peculiarly, Jack Granger was driving your car around Charleston the entire month you were gone. Then, shazam!” Bucky snapped his fingers. “Ol’ Jack takes off pretty suddenly, too. Only to return a couple of days later with you as his wife. Yep—” Bucky paused, shook his head “—this whole scenario sounds strange, if you ask me, and I can’t help but think maybe, just maybe, all these events are somehow connected. The trip to Switzerland, your running off, your marriage to Jack.”

  Leave it to Bucky to know her well enough to be able to connect all the dots. Or almost connect them, Daisy thought. She damned herself for ever confiding in him when she was a kid.

  “So—” Bucky sat up and picked up his pad and pen once again “—you want to tell me why you ran off and got married so suddenly, Daisy Waizy?”

  So much for the gentle approach, Daisy thought. She gave Bucky an exasperated look, irritated he would use his childhood endearment for her now. “We’ve been over that, too, Bucky.”

  Bucky grinned, undeterred. “You want to talk about something new?”

  “I’d prefer not to talk at all,” Daisy retorted as she heard a vehicle turn into the driveway on the other side of Jack’s beach cottage. Hoping it was Jack, back from the quick errands he’d had to run, Daisy returned her glance to the shimmering blue-gray hue of the ocean.

  “How about Rosewood then?” Bucky continued to prod Daisy with a smug smile as he shook another cigarette out of the pack.

  Pushing aside her uneasiness, she asked Bucky warily, “What about it?”

  “I was out there the other night at one of those private parties for the best customers.” Bucky paused to light the end of his cigarette. “You know, an invitation-only type thing.”

  This time Daisy had no idea where Bucky was going. Somehow, that was even more nerve-racking. “So?” she asked.

  “I saw your father.”

  Big whoop. A lot of people could make that claim. “What of it?” Daisy challenged right back.

  “I thought he was retired, that your sister Iris was running the business now,” Bucky persisted, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

  Daisy took a deep, highly exasperated breath. “She’s been running it for the past ten years. My father only works when he feels like it.” Which wasn’t all that often. And furthermore, Bucky and everyone else knew that.

  “Selling antiques.” Bucky blew a stream of smoke away from them, but the wind caught it and threw it right back in their faces.

  Daisy coughed and fanned the air in front of her. “I think he would describe it as matching the perfect piece with th
e perfect customer, but,” she said, the semantics of the sale beyond her, “whatever.”

  Bucky gave her a look that reminded her there had been a time when she used to sneak a smoke with him behind the school, at the running track, wherever they thought they could get away with it without being hauled to the headmaster’s office for a lecture and call to their parents. “Your family goes all out for their customers, provides them with whatever they want or need?” he questioned as he took another long, lung-expanding hit.

  “I guess.” Daisy shrugged. “I’m not involved in the business.” Never have been and never will be.

  “So, in other words,” Bucky probed relentlessly, his lips curving into a speculative smile, “you don’t know what goes on behind the scenes.”

  A shiver of dread went down Daisy’s spine. “What are you implying?” she snapped before she could stop herself from reacting emotionally. It sounded as if he was hinting her family was involved in something illegal or unethical. Daisy couldn’t imagine that. The business, and their reputations, meant too much to Iris, as well as Richard and Charlotte.

  “Just asking a few questions,” Bucky said lazily, stamping his cigarette out in the sand once again.

  In the distance Daisy heard not one, but two, car doors. Relief flowed through her—at this point she would welcome any interruption at all—especially if it was Jack.

  “Although I’ve got to say I’m surprised you don’t take photos out at Rosewood—sell them to the likes of Town & Country,” Bucky remarked as he made a brief notation on the pad in front of him.

  Daisy didn’t like the innuendo in his tone or the presumption in his eyes, as though there was something shady going on. She didn’t understand it, either. Templeton’s Fine Antiques had an international reputation for quality and service. Iris ran it with painstaking precision and a great deal of pride. Yet Bucky was behaving as if there was some ugly secret behind what was, Daisy knew, a very legitimate business.