by Lucy Farago
“She’d have to live in Scotland to do that.”
“Yeah,” he said wistfully, “I think she’d have taken me up on the offer to stay. Before Harris fucked everything up.”
“Right,” Christian pointed out. “Then her secret came out. And now she’s too embarrassed to face your family.”
“Again, point?”
Christian shot a pillow at Blake’s head. Blake caught it and threw it back.
“Point is, dumbass, Rhonda liked Scotland. It’s your family and the media stopping you. That and the ridiculous title you never told your best friend about.”
“Like I’d give you more ammunition to rib me?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Christian argued.
“Oh yes, you would.”
“Okay, I would. Hell, I’m going to, but if you want to fix this with Rhonda, get your family on board.”
“But I don’t care if they’re not on board.”
“She does. Holy shit, you’re stupid. That’s what Maggie was trying to tell you.”
“She was?” He thought back, considered the words she used and how she ignored everything he’d argued. She can’t be with you and be portrayed as a gold-digging stripper. Then there’s your family. You’re right, the press will forget, or forgive …
“You think if my family accepts Rhonda, then she’d be inclined to stay with me? You think it’s that important to her?”
“You don’t? You honestly think she wants to be thought of as the woman who destroyed the Jameson-Cameron clan because she stopped you from producing another heir? You believe she wants to be remembered that way? What Maggie was trying to say without betraying Rhonda, is that’s what’s really bugging Rhonda. So if you want the girl, fix that.”
“How? She’s right. My grandmother will never accept her.”
“What about your mother? Your father?”
“My father has always told me to follow my own path. My mother liked Rhonda. I hope that hasn’t changed. She doesn’t think like my grandmother.”
“Then I suggest you try there first.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Rhonda couldn’t imagine a more serene location than a cabin on Lake Tahoe, if you could call the house she was staying in a cabin. Cabin brought to mind one bedroom, cozy fireplace, a barely there kitchen and, if you were lucky, indoor plumbing. Not six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, two living areas, and a kitchen/dining area big enough for twelve people and the best view money could buy. Not to mention a hot tub the size of a small country. When Shannon decided they should purchase a vacation home, Maggie had said she made them go all out. No kidding.
Morning decaf in hand, Rhonda stood on the cedar deck and enjoyed the crisp air and to-die-for view of the lake and mountains. She rubbed her growing belly. How much longer could she, they, stay here? She was a coward and didn’t care. Facing Blake would kill her. She missed him terribly. The papers had done their thing to her—again, but it was more than that. She never had much in her life. Everything had been stripped from her. But she’d be damned if she’d allow Blake’s family to paint her as the woman responsible for destroying their heritage. She had some pride left, and what little she managed to save over the years, they weren’t going to take. She loved him. She did, and it made sense that with her shitty luck, love wasn’t enough.
How they’d laugh if they ever learned she’d seen herself restoring Blake’s house with him. It was a shame. It would have been fun renovating that place, maybe one day living in it. At first, she thought it served her right for thinking she was good enough to live in a house with all that history, when hers was less than anything to brag about. Then the baby moved, the life growing inside her, and she realized it didn’t matter where she came from. Having lots of money didn’t make you a better person. Look at Sarah. All the money in the world wouldn’t make her less of a bitch.
She hugged her belly. She was this baby’s mamma. And nothing and no one could take that from her. And at least here, in the States, she could find some anonymity. Her child need never be ridiculed for what Rhonda had done in the past. Her child would have the normal life she never had. She’d even refused to open the results of her ultrasound, too afraid that if it were a boy, she’d feel even worse about keeping Blake away until after the birth.
She wrapped the woolen throw from the couch tighter around herself. Would it snow before Christmas? She went to take another sip of her coffee and realized it was cold. She’d just stepped through the patio doors when the doorbell rang. Assuming Alice or Wendy had forgotten something, she kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot across the pine floors to answer the door.
They’d been taking turns checking up on her, and last night the two had arrived with dinner, wine for them, and sparkling apple juice for her. She’d shooed them away early this morning, offering to clean up the mess from the night before. She stopped to toss her makeshift shawl on one of the black leather couches. The great room might have a twenty-foot ceiling but the ginormous stone fireplace did a bang up job of heating the space.
The doorbell rang again. Why did they insist on ringing the bell? This was their place. They had no qualms about pushing her around for Maggie’s wedding. Maybe being pregnant gave her an advantage? If that were the case, she’d milk it for all it was worth. Those two women were scarier than Rhonda’s old act, which they’d practiced last night, bullwhip and all. Even after drinking two bottles of wine, or because of it, they weren’t half bad. Rhonda caught their attempt on her phone and sent it to Maggie. Who promptly told her two buddies to keep their day jobs.
“So, which wicked stepsister this way comes?” she asked, opening the door.
Rhonda clutched the doorknob as a wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to knock her on her ass.
“Oh dear.” Lady Helen rushed to wrap an arm around Rhonda’s expanded waist. “You look like you’re about to faint. Are you ill? Shall I have the taxi take you to hospital?”
Rhonda glanced at the cab in the driveway. “No, no I’m fine. Just—surprised.”
“Oh, good,” Lady Helen said, sounding relieved. “May I come in?”
“Umm, of course.” Rhonda wasn’t keen to be bawled out by Blake’s mother, but she sure as hell didn’t want her doing it in front of a stranger.
Lady Helen waved the cab away, shutting the door and helping her to one of the couches. “Can I get you something? A glass of water, perhaps?”
Just how long was this lecture going to be? “No, thank you. You caught me off guard, that’s all. What are you doing here? And how did you find me?”
“I came to see you, of course.”
“From Scotland?” Was she that angry?
“Well, yes dear.” The corners of her mouth curled in a smile that reminded Rhonda of Blake. “Where else would I come from? Are you certain you’re all right?” she asked, setting her purse on the rustic iron coffee table.
Rhonda draped her arms protectively across her belly. “You didn’t have business in the States?”
“No, but I might stop in New York on the way home. I’ve always wanted to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center.”
The woman had flown all the way from Scotland just to see her? Not trusting her legs to stand, Rhonda scooted several inches away pretending to turn sideways to see Lady Helen better. She didn’t want to be close to someone who was about to rake her over the coals. The newspapers must have caused a mega-scandal for her to come all this way to give Rhonda a piece of her mind. Part of Rhonda was mad. She’d done nothing wrong, and part of her, the part that liked Lady Helen, was deeply sorry for the embarrassment her relationship with Blake had caused his family.
“I’m sorry about what happened.” Rhonda never meant for Blake’s family to be dragged through the mud because of the choices she had made. “But it wasn’t supposed to come out. I didn’t mean …” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “This baby wasn’t planned. I wasn’t trying to trap Blake. Your tabloids know shit.” Rhonda slapped a hand o
ver her mouth. She’d done it again. This was Lady Helen, not Wendy or Alice.
Lady Helen tugged at Rhonda’s hand. “I’m not a prude. I’ve been known to curse a time or two … or three.” She smiled, making her feel slightly more at ease.
“Why are you here? I’ve disgraced your family. I should be the last person you want to see.” She bit the inside of her mouth hoping to keep the tears at bay. She did a lot of that lately. Stupid hormones.
“You’re carrying my grandchild and you saved my son’s life. Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”
At least she believed it was her grandchild. Rhonda doubted the Dowager Duchess felt the same. “How did you know where to find me?” Who had ratted her out?
“That’s not important.”
It was if Blake also knew. “Not to be rude, Lady Helen—”
“Nell,” she corrected. “Call me Nell.”
The woman was ten million steps ahead of her on the social ladder and Rhonda had found it kind of cool to be able to address someone by a formal title. But things were different now. As much as she liked Blake’s mother, Rhonda was going to be a mom herself. And for the sake of her baby, she wasn’t going to allow herself to feel inferior to anyone.
“Nell—what is it you want?”
She had no intention of ever stepping foot in Scotland again. The gossip rags should’ve forgotten her and her illegitimate child by now. They had no proof Blake was the father, so no real cause to continue publicly lambasting her. As she and Blake were no longer together, any harm she’d inadvertently done to his family could easily be brushed under the rug. So why the visit?
“It’s simple, really. I wanted to see for myself that the mother of my grandchild was well.”
“You believe this baby is Blake’s?”
“If my son believes it, why wouldn’t I?”
Okay, fair enough. She trusted her son. “You could have asked Blake how I was.”
“I did. But all he could tell me was what your friend Maggie told him. That wasn’t good enough. She’s a lovely girl by the way, your friend Maggie.”
So Maggie was the snitch. “Yes, but right now she’s in the doghouse.”
“Don’t be too hard on her. I can be very persuasive when I want to. And technically you didn’t tell her not to tell me where you were.”
“I didn’t think I had to. You are the last person … second-to-last person I expected to want to see me.”
She smiled. “My mother being the last?”
Rhonda shrugged. It was one person she was grateful she’d never have to see again.
Lady Helen sighed. “Yes, she is a fuddy-duddy.”
Rhonda’s eyebrow shot up. Her grandson had knocked up a stripper. On this one point the dowager was right. “She’s very proud of her family name, and I tainted it. But you can tell her I won’t be returning to Scotland, and Blake and I are no longer … Honestly, Blake and I were never a couple. I don’t know what he told you, but circumstances beyond our control forced us together. And if I wasn’t pregnant, I’m certain Blake would’ve already forgotten about me.” And didn’t that hurt. “He is, however, the father of this child and wants to be part of his or her life. So if you’ve come for some kind of assurance that I’ll stay away from Blake, I can’t give it to you.
“I can promise you that I won’t get in the way of your son giving you an heir. He’s free to marry and have as many children as he wants.” It killed her to think of him doing just that, but sooner or later he’d find someone else. Someone more suitable to his family. He could protest all he liked, say he didn’t want what his family represented. He’d be lying. The house, the estate he’d bought in Scotland was proof of that. That, and he had asked her to live in Scotland with him, before she found out the press had her number.
Lady Helen nodded thoughtfully. “I can understand why you would jump to the wrong conclusion for my visit. But I am not my mother. And as I said before, you are going to be the mother of my grandchild … and the woman my son loves. So what I don’t understand is why the two of you are not together.”
Rhonda blinked. “You want us together?”
“You’re going to have his child. Call me old-fashioned, but you should be together.”
How could she not understand what that would mean? “If he’s with me, he can’t fulfill the conditions of the will, or give you an heir.”
“He can if he marries you and it’s a boy. Could you kindly explain why he’s not? He loves you. He told me you admitted to loving him. Do you not want to marry my son?” she asked, oddly defensive.
She didn’t see the point in lying. Lady Helen was shrewd enough to see right through her lies. “I love him. I love everything about him, even when he’s telling me what to do. But you’re an aristocratic family. I won’t be the source of ridicule for Blake or my baby.”
When she looked baffled, Rhonda explained. “I spent most of my life taking care of my father. I never got to do what other kids did because I needed to be home. I had to make dinner, clean, and balance what money we had. I dropped out of school, gave up the career I’d planned for myself, to earn the money needed for hospital bills and around-the-clock care, when he could no longer remember his name … or mine. I sold my dignity to ensure he was taken care of.”
“I see, life wasn’t very kind or fair to you.”
“No. So maybe you understand why I can’t allow Blake to sacrifice his dignity, his pride, his heritage, to be with me. Then there’s our child. If Blake and I aren’t together, if this baby can’t be the next heir, then the press and your mother can’t take issue with who I am.” Rhonda got to her feet, grateful her legs could support her, because she needed to move.
She began to pace. “I don’t know how well I’m explaining myself. But I’m doing this for both of them.”
“That’s very noble of you dear. But is this because you were an exotic dancer?”
Rhonda smiled, appreciating Lady Helen’s spin on it, but it changed nothing. “I was a stripper. I took off my clothes. Do you think the tabloids would forget that? Or that your mother would ignore it?” The baby kicked and Rhonda rubbed the spot on her stomach. The baby moved the most when Rhonda was upset.
“Is that it then? The reason you’re cutting Blake out of your life?”
“I’m not cutting him out completely. We’ll see each other once the baby is born. Just not as lovers.”
“Rhonda, let me tell you a story.”
Rhonda stopped her pacing, curious as to what Lady Helen could say that would make her change her mind or, more importantly, why she’d want to.
“A long time ago, a very noble lord found himself duty-bound. His parents had arranged a very powerful match. She was an Italian countess with a very large fortune, one needed if they were to keep their land and home. You see, they, like many an aristocratic family, had fallen on hard times. The funds needed to maintain a large estate can be astronomical. The trouble was, the young lord had fallen for one of the gypsy girls in the local village. The girl’s father was a notorious drunkard, and had been in and out of jail so many times that his wife had abandoned them. On one hand, if he did what was asked of him, he’d lose his lady love. On the other, his family would lose their home and, more importantly, their heritage.”
“What did he do?” Rhonda asked, curious as to where Lady Helen was heading with this.
“He married for love and eventually made a fortune in trade, saving his family from ruin. His mother, however, never accepted his wife. She was not of her class and had very little, if any, training in the social graces.”
“Wow, that must have made for awkward holidays.”
“Especially since they all lived in the same house. The young woman did everything she could to make everyone forget her humble beginnings.”
“But his mother wouldn’t let her?” Exactly what Blake’s grandmother would do to Rhonda.
“No, she didn’t. My grandmother was a spiteful woman and she did everything she could to remind m
y mother of where she came from.”
Rhonda’s jaw went slack. Was she kidding? She had to be kidding. “Your mother was a gypsy? I don’t believe it.” Was this a game to her?
“Yes, I could see why you wouldn’t, but it’s true.”
“But she goes on and on about family heritage.”
“My father’s, not hers. She was so desperate to have her own forgotten that she constantly touted his.”
“I’m confused. People knew who she was. They wouldn’t all of a sudden forget where she came from.”
“Oh, it didn’t happen overnight. But mother played the part of duchess. She never went anywhere without an entourage. And if someone had the temerity to say anything to her or dared bring up her family, she’d put them in their place. She’d remind them of her husband’s blue blood and everything his family did for the community and Scotland. She’d shame them.
“But nor did she hide. She attended functions, took part in and organized many charitable events, went to church regularly, and made sure to be seen as the Duchess, not the young woman ill-suited to be one. She played the part so well that in time people could no longer reconcile the gypsy girl with my mother. If someone mentioned her background, it ended up sounding petty. Don’t misunderstand, there are those who still remember, but they wouldn’t dare say anything to her face.”
Rhonda now understood. “You’re here to tell me people will forget I was a stripper? It’s not exactly the same, is it?”
“These are different times. Blake doesn’t care about social standing. Parties are no longer important to him and he’s always detested royal functions. And I didn’t think you’d be the sort of person to care either.”
As cool as it would be to visit the Queen, it wasn’t something she cared about. “I’m not, but your mother is. Colin maybe, his wife certainly. I don’t want to be a bad reflection on them.”
“My mother, I think, needs to take a walk down memory lane. Colin loves his brother but he and Sarah are on the outs. She moved out months ago. They talk, but only by phone.”
That was a surprise. “Colin wised up, did he?”