“I’m…fine. Yeah. Are you coming back to bed?”
He held up one finger, then turned, and she heard the water running in the sink. He returned and put both arms around Judah. “Down you go, bud. This bed belongs to me. And this woman is…” He set the dog in his own bed, then turned to her. “Upset.”
She blinked at him, a little surprised that he could figure that out so easily.
“No, I’m not,” she said quickly. She wasn’t ready to have this discussion. Because she imagined there wouldn’t be a discussion, that Declan would immediately offer to give up his job for her. Was that what she wanted?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know what she wanted at all. Until he knelt on the bed and kissed her, tasting like peppermint toothpaste and possibilities.
At least she knew she wanted…that.
And for right this minute, that was all she wanted.
Chapter Twenty-five
“Would you beautiful ladies like an escort?” Declan held out both arms, one for each of the well-dressed grandmothers who’d arrived just as the Living Museum party was starting to come alive. “I can take you on the grand tour before the crowds arrive.”
“Or we can stand here and gawk, lad.” Gramma Finnie, decked out in a silver dress with more ruffles than he’d ever seen her in, paused in the entryway and looked around. “’Tis magnificent.”
“Didn’t Evie do a great job?” he asked. “Each open room represents a different era over the last hundred and twenty years. You’re standing in the Roaring Twenties right now.”
Yiayia stretched her neck and looked straight up. “And I see the chandelier was cleaned for the first time since the Roaring Twenties.”
He laughed. “Please, I had to fight with the Historical Society not to change it back to an oil-burning lamp for the night. They actually suggested that. To a firefighter.”
He looked from one to the other, then settled on his own grandmother, dying to get an answer to a question that had been haunting him for weeks. “So, Finola Kilcannon, how did you get it?”
She drew back and raised a white brow, feigning innocence.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I know it was you who hid that card in the piano keys.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Sounds like Gloriana House has a wee leprechaun about the place.”
He snorted and looked at Yiayia, who looked a little too proud of herself.
“A leprechaun named Agnes Santorini?” he guessed, making them both laugh and give it away.
“Gramma, how did you even get it?” he asked. “I thought it was lost.”
She put a hand on his arm. “You don’t remember the morning, lad. You dropped your bag on the lawn, and when you went into the house, I gathered it, and some of your belongings fell out. I happened to glance down and read the words.”
“My promises.”
“I tucked it away, for the right time. You know the Irish say, ‘Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a memory no one can steal.’” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I knew you had to handle your heartache before you were ready for love.”
“How did you know I’m ready now?” he asked, curious how his grandmother knew him better than he knew himself.
“I was in the waiting room the day Evie performed surgery on Rusty.”
He dug into his memory banks. He’d been vaguely aware that the room was crowded with Mahoneys and Kilcannons. And one beautiful neurologist.
“I saw the look that passed between the two o’ ye.” Gramma’s voice grew low and her brogue thick. “And then Darcy said a couple of weeks ago that she’d seen Evie in town, and we cooked up the excuse we needed.”
“Why not give the card to me if you thought I needed a push?” he asked.
“Good question,” Yiayia interjected, hanging on every word of the conversation. “That was exactly what I wanted to know. But this one had me sneaking around this house, looking for a hiding place.”
“I felt Evie should find it,” Gramma Finnie said. “I hoped it would have her come to you because, honestly, I didn’t think anything would get you out of your ways.”
“But…the croissant run? Were you covering all your bases?”
She chuckled. “Truth be told, while Agnes was planting that in the piano, I had a conversation with Max, and we decided to help things along with a little Sunday morning visit to the bakery. There was always the chance Evie wouldn’t take the bait.”
“That’s all you and Max discussed?” he pressed.
“Well, the wedding plans, of course.” She adjusted her bifocals. “And he was yammering about great-grandchildren, but sweet Saint Patrick, Declan, I’m not that much of a busybody.”
“He is,” he said on a laugh.
“That’s part of his charm,” Yiayia said, gesturing toward the stairs. “And so is the fact that he needs an assist and is too proud to ask.” She pointed to the top of the steps, where Max Hewitt stood, wearing a dark suit very much like the one Declan had on.
And Judah was already at the bottom, looking like he might attempt to be the one to help Max.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Declan said, heading across the entryway to stop the howl from one and the possible tumble from the other. As he got to the bottom of the steps, Pru came up next to him.
“Let me take Judah, Uncle Declan,” she offered. “You can help Max.”
He shot her a grateful smile and headed up the stairs, his gaze on the old man who apparently was more of a busybody than the so-called Dogmothers. Thank God.
“Well, someone’s looking quite dapper,” Declan said when he reached Max.
“We both are,” he said, his eyes looking suspiciously damp as he scanned the scene below. “And will you look at this affair?”
Declan stood next to him and looked out over the large entry as more people filled it and spilled into the dining room and parlor on either side. Dresses swooshed in every imaginable color, an array of fashions from eras gone by, while waiters in footman’s outfits carried trays with champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and a small string quartet filled the oversize hall with classical music.
“Pretty cool to see Gloriana House like this, isn’t it?” Declan asked.
Max put one hand on the railing and the other on the arm Declan offered. “I never thought I’d see this again in my lifetime,” he mused. “Penny would simply burst with joy if she were here. It’s what she always wanted, you know. To open the doors and show the place off, always celebrating the history and generations who’ve lived here.”
Declan peered out at the massive space, hearing the echo of laughter and the clink of crystal, once again seeing the unique beauty of Gloriana House.
“And would you look at that?” Max nodded to the parlor entrance where Evie, dressed in a cream-colored gown with a deep blue satin belt, welcomed another guest. The dress was like something out of a movie, with layers of sheer silk like a cloud around her when she moved.
Her distinct and musical laugh floated up the stairs as she linked an arm around Ella’s and his mother’s, and they all cracked up at something Connor said.
“I could look at that all day, Max,” Declan admitted. And for the rest of his life.
“She brings something special back to this house,” Max said. “Respect and reverence, and she has a way of sharing it with others.”
“I’ve noticed that.”
Max looked up at him and gave a slow grin. “Made you kind of love the place, didn’t she?”
“The place and the people in it,” he admitted.
Max gave his hand a squeeze. “So, the plan worked, huh?”
“The plan.” He snorted and jutted his chin toward Gramma and Yiayia. “Your cohorts are right down there waiting to gloat with you.”
“Waiting to drink with me, more like.”
“Even better.” As Declan escorted the old man slowly down the grand staircase, he was aware of a lot of eyes on them. On him. And h
e knew what they were thinking…
How could Declan Mahoney look so happy, here in the house that took his father?
Because of that woman, there. The woman who healed him with the same skill that she used on Judah. The woman who loved him with the same urgency she had as a young girl. The woman who was going to be by his side—in this house—for the rest of their lives.
“Who’s she talking to now?” Max asked.
Evie’s back was to him as she spoke to a man who held both her hands and leaned close. A jolt of jealousy rocked him momentarily, but then he recognized the reddish-brown hair and wire-framed glasses of the…potential buyer.
Bell? James Bell. With the BMW and the seven-figure offer?
“Some nitwit who has the audacity to think he can buy this house.”
“Ha!” Max choked. “Over my dead body.” Then he grinned. “Literally.”
“Nope. Over mine, Max. Over mine.”
“Oh, wait one second.” Max squeezed his arm and stopped their progress. “I gave a little thought to that conversation we had a few weeks back and took a look at my lighter collection.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, slipping whatever it was into Declan’s pocket, adding a bit of weight to the jacket. “That one’s not mine. Penny found it during construction and insisted it was part of my collection, but I never saw that lighter before. Wasn’t until you mentioned another possible way it could have started that I even thought about that one, but it was still in the collection. Maybe it’ll help with your quest.”
Or maybe it was lost by a construction worker and was nothing more than something that could send his happiness…up in flames. He had no intention of digging into this new piece of “evidence” and his quest was over.
But he nodded his thanks to Max.
“And now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go charm that Greek lady in blue.” He headed toward Yiayia the minute they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Declan, there you are.” Behind him, Evie put her hand on his arm. “I want to introduce you to—”
“Jim.” Declan extended his hand and forced a smile. “Nice to see you.” Now take your money and leave our house.
“Oh, you know each other?” Evie asked, surprised.
“We met briefly on the street,” Bell said. “Declan. Nice costume.”
Declan let the compliment—which didn’t exactly sound like one—pass as he looked beyond the other man. “Is your fiancée here?” he asked. “The one who’s in love with the house?”
“I didn’t dare bring her,” he said on a laugh. “Because, trust me, she wouldn’t leave until this woman right here signed a contract.” He jabbed Evie with a playful elbow. “You still have my offer. I can have a deal drawn up by tomorrow.”
“Mr. Bell, now is not the time,” Evie said gracefully. “But please, I know you wanted to have a look around, so you should enjoy our Living Museum.” She turned when someone called her name.
“I really wanted to see it all,” he said, undaunted. “Could I just—”
“I’ll show you around,” Declan said, easing the man away from Evie.
She gave him a grateful look and mouthed, “Thanks.”
And just to let this rude guest know what’s what, Declan leaned down and added a light kiss on her lips. “I got this, E.”
She slipped away, and he turned to the man who might have missed the whole exchange as he gaped around.
“We can start in the dining room,” Declan said, aware of a burst of laughter that came from some members of his family, making him really hope this diversion didn’t last long so he could get back to people he’d rather be with.
But he wasn’t going to let this guy ruin Evie’s big night with talk of offers and contracts.
“The dining room?” Bell sounded less than enthused.
“Where two governors dined.”
“Hmm.” His gaze still scanned the area quickly, his interest in the dining room was pretty low. For all his money, he probably couldn’t even appreciate the unique beauty of that ceiling or the finishings or the history.
He didn’t deserve this house.
“Folklore has it that Amelia Bushrod almost had a baby on the table,” Declan added, waiting for at least a surprised look, but getting none.
“I heard there’s quite an art and jewelry collection.” Bell leaned in. “You think she’ll sell it all with the house? Because, I’m telling you, I want it all.”
Annoyance slithered through Declan with every word the guy spoke. “I can only tell you that she isn’t selling the house in the foreseeable future, so if I were you, I’d seriously think about finding another.”
“Mmm.” Bell seemed to ignore the warning as his gaze darted around the dining room again, then back into the crowded entry. Across the hall, Declan saw his uncle and Katie had joined a growing group of family, and Evie was right there with them. Irritation kicked again, because that’s where he wanted to be.
“So, enough of a look?” Declan asked. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, no, I’m not nearly done.” Bell headed around the stairs. “I want to see every inch I can. I’ve waited a long time to get back…” He pointed. “There. To the museum room? Is that what they call it? I saw an article in an old issue of North Carolina Living.”
Declan blew out a breath and tipped his head. “Follow me.”
As they rounded the steps, Bell inched closer to whisper, “What’s it going to take, you think? I mean, you’re obviously her main squeeze. More money? Some kind of guarantee that I’ll keep everything as is?”
Declan had to dash some hopes, and fast. “Look, you want me to be honest?”
“Yeah, man. Help me out here.” They stepped into the double doorway of the museum room, and Bell’s eyes widened like a kid’s in a candy store. “Are you kidding me?” His gaze lingered on some paintings, a display of necklaces, the large shelf full of lighters, then slid to the piano. “Would you freaking look at that thing?”
That thing…where a sweet old lady hid a twenty-year-old piece of paper that meant the world to him. That thing…that Evie played during a recital he sat through because he already loved her when they were kids. That thing…that maybe his own little girl might someday play Beethoven on and impress a boy.
“That’s not for sale,” he said quickly.
“Anything? That big portrait?”
Of Glory Bushrod herself? Was he kidding? “No.”
“That settee?”
Where he and Evie made out for the first time as adults? “No.”
“That lighter collection?”
“Nothing is for sale, Mr. Bell. Not anything in this room, and not this house.” He kept his voice low and steady, aware that there were other people in the room. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to…”
“I don’t mind.” Bell practically dismissed him, taking a few steps toward the lighters, his whole face looking…hungry. As he reached for one, part of the tattoo that matched his name peeked out from his cuff. “I can look.”
And steal. Who’d stop this lunatic from slipping one of Max’s beloved Ronsons into his pocket? Or sneaking off with the locket that Declan found. He didn’t trust this clown, not one single thing about him. And he didn’t like him salivating over the house and heirlooms that belonged to Evie’s family…their family.
He gracefully stepped between Bell and the lighters. “So, Jim, can I introduce you to anyone? Who did you know to get on the coveted invitation list?”
His eyes flickered for a second. “Nellie’s an old friend.”
“Really? Because she’s right there, and you haven’t said hello.”
“Oh, yeah.” He glanced around and nodded to a woman…who was not Nellie Shaker.
What the hell?
“I’ll talk to her later. Could I see those—”
“No.” Declan glared down at the man. “You can leave.”
“Excuse me?” He choked a laugh. “Do you have a problem with me o
r something?”
“I kinda do, Jim. You see, you’re not picking up on the not-so-subtle cues that say this house isn’t for sale and neither is anything in it. Evie and her grandfather live here, and a Hewitt or a Bushrod has lived in this house for one hundred and twenty years. So a Bell isn’t going to be next.”
A Mahoney might, but not this guy.
The man’s pale brown eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
Did he not speak English? “That the house isn’t for sale, so you can stop salivating over it.”
“You want me to leave?” He gave Declan a challenging look, holding it long enough that for one minute he could have sworn he knew the guy. Or maybe it was just that Bell cockiness reminded him of someone.
“I do.” Declan tipped his head to the side. “In fact, I’ll walk you out. Through the back.” Because the last thing he needed was a scene at Evie’s party, and he did not trust this pushy guy.
The other man seared him with a look. “Fine,” he said. “But if you think I’m done going after—”
“You’re done.” Declan put a hand on the man’s elbow and steered him toward the kitchen. In there, the place hummed with caterers and clanging dishes, the low lights casting the whole room in odd shadows.
Very odd shadows.
As he walked to the back door, Declan slowed his step when he saw the flickering kerosene lamps on the wall.
“Who lit these?” he demanded.
A black-clad waiter stepped next to him. “For authenticity,” he said. “It puts us in the mood.”
“Turn them off,” he demanded.
“Who the hell are you?”
“The next chief of the fire department,” he said, catching a glimpse of Bell going right up to the brass fixture to examine it like the lights might be part of the house purchase he was never going to make.
“But they work fine,” the waiter said.
Declan glared at him. “You do not light kerosene lamps in a hundred-and-twenty-year-old house. Do you understand how easily they could start a fire? Catch one bit of oil on one of these outfits, and someone could be engulfed in flames.”
The man drew back at the force of the words. “I’ll turn them off.”
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