“Yes, we have,” she agreed. “And in all these months since Andrew died, I haven’t once said `I told you so.’”
“Thank you,” Hope said dryly.
“But I can’t hold back any longer. You broke off with Jake because you didn’t want to be widowed like I was. I told you then, there are no guarantees in life. I told you it was better to have the years, no matter how few, that God gave you with the man you loved than to live with a lifetime of regrets.”
“Mother—”
“It’s been five months since Andrew’s death, Hope. You need to get away from the Kingsleys and start a new life for yourself. You’re still young. You can still get married again and have that family you always wanted.”
Hope didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed in. “I don’t intend to ever marry again,” she said firmly. “And, Mother, understand this. I won’t put up with any of your matchmaking tactics. Is that clear?”
A guilty blush tinged Joanna’s tanned cheeks. “I never said a word—”
“You didn’t have to,” Hope said. “I can read you like a book. And I know that’s where all this talk about Jake is leading. But it’s not going to happen.”
Her mother opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut again.
“Are we clear on that?” Hope said.
Her mother’s eyes filled with sudden tears. She reached across the table for Hope’s hand. “All I want is your happiness. You know that, don’t you?”
Hope gave an inward sigh. Iris Kingsley wasn’t the only expert at manipulation, she thought. Somehow her mother always knew how to diffuse Hope’s anger. “I know that,” she said softly. “But I meant what I said. No matchmaking. And don’t start working on Jake behind my back,” she warned.
Her mother sniffed. “I wouldn’t do that. But I wish you would consider what I said about moving out of that house. It’s time you got away from the Kingsleys, no matter what you decide to do with the rest of your life. Mrs. Forsythe’s house just went on the market, you know. She’s moving to Arizona to be with her daughter. It’s a little dollhouse of a place. It’d be perfect for you, Hope.”
“I’m sure it’s very nice, but I’ve already told you, I can’t move out right now. Not until—”
“Until what?”
“Until things are settled,” Hope replied.
“And just when do you think that will be?”
Hope shrugged. “I don’t know.” Soon, she hoped. She glanced at her watch. “I have to go.”
“But you just got here.” Her mother’s face fell. “I wanted to show you the dress I got for the wedding. Of course, it doesn’t compare to anything in your wardrobe,” she said, almost accusingly, as she glanced at Hope’s white suit. “But I did get it at Goldsmith’s, in the better dresses. It was half off but it still cost an arm and a leg. I’ve been wondering which shoes to wear with it—”
“Sorry, Mom,” Hope interrupted. “I’d love to help, but I really do have to be going.”
“You’re not upset with me, are you?” her mother asked anxiously as she walked Hope to the front door. “I know I can sometimes be a little blunt, but I just had to get those things off my chest. I’ve been so worried about you.”
Hope gave her mother an affectionate hug. “I’m not upset, as long as you remember our agreement.”
“I have an idea. Let’s ride to the wedding together on Saturday. It’ll give us a chance to talk some more.”
“Sure,” Hope said absently. “What time shall I pick you up?”
“The wedding’s at seven. It’s a candlelight service, so you’d better be here by six at least. Only, we’ll take my car. That fancy rig of yours makes me nervous.”
Hope just shook her head. “Whatever you say, Mom.”
* * *
HER MOTHER WAS RIGHT, Hope thought. Mrs. Forsythe’s house, two blocks over from the house Hope had grown up in, was absolutely perfect. It was gray brick with darker gray shutters and a concrete porch that was sheltered from the street by a trellis of wisteria.
Clay pots of impatiens and begonias, bright splashes of color against the somber background, trailed up the wide, concrete steps, and on either side of the arched opening to the porch, huge baskets of Boston fern swayed gently in the afternoon breeze.
A real-estate agent was hammering a For Sale sign into the front yard, and Hope was tempted to get out and ask the woman to show her the house.
But something held her back. Something told her the time was not yet right. Until she found out the truth about Michael Eldridge, until she set her mind at ease about Andrew, Hope knew she would never be completely free.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning, Jake went by Victor Northrup’s plush downtown office, housed in a renovated cotton warehouse with a riverfront view, to tell Victor he would not be taking him on as a client.
Jeremy Willows, a partner at Northrup, Simmons and Fitzgerald, was in the office with Victor when Jake arrived, and Northrup quickly dismissed him. Jeremy glanced curiously at Jake before he exited the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Northrup glared at Jake with his piercing gray eyes. “I thought you understood this was to be kept confidential.”
“You wanted my answer first thing this morning,” Jake said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Northrup waved an impatient hand, as if he couldn’t be bothered with petty details. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll think of something to tell Jeremy. Let’s get down to business. I’ve put a file together that I think you might find useful. People I think you should contact—”
“Wait a minute,” Jake said. “I came here to tell you that I’ve decided against taking you on as a client.”
Northrup gazed at him in amazement. “You what?”
“I have another case,” Jake said, not bothering to tell him it was the same case, different client. “I have a feeling it’ll be taking most of my time.”
Northrup’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Now see here, we had an agreement.”
“No, we didn’t,” Jake said. “I told you I’d let you know my decision this morning, and I’ve done that.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” Northrup warned as Jake stood to leave. “I could open a lot of doors for you, young man.”
True enough, Jake thought. But the longer he was around Northrup, the more certain he became that he’d made the right decision. Northrup had a hidden agenda. A man like him always did. Jake just wasn’t sure at the moment what it was, but he would find out. In due time, he would find out what Victor Northrup was up to.
“I think I’d rather open my own doors,” Jake said, reaching for the knob. “But thanks anyway.”
As Jake was leaving the building, Jeremy Willows caught up with him. Willows was tall and lanky, a well-groomed, unattractive man with thinning brown hair and a perpetual scowl that made him look older than his forty years.
Growing up on the Kingsley estate, Jake had often seen Willows walking around the grounds alone, never with any friends and never with Andrew. Willows had been an odd sort, even back then. The chasm between the stepbrothers had been much greater than their five-year age gap. Andrew had been outgoing and adventurous, foolhardy at times, whereas Jeremy had always been quiet and studious and prone to bouts of pouting when he didn’t get his way. Which he usually did, if his mother, Pamela, had anything to say about it. According to Andrew, she doted on Jeremy while completely ignoring her stepson, except when Edward and Iris were around.
After a while, she didn’t even bother to keep up the pretense. She couldn’t stand Andrew, and he knew it. He’d told Jake once, when they were still friends and Andrew had still been allowed to play with Jake, that Pamela had hated Adam even more than she hated Andrew because even at the tender age of three, Adam had never been taken in by her beauty. He’d screamed bloody murder every time she came near him.
As Jake stood looking at Jeremy Willows now, the thought occurred to him that if Andrew’s car cr
ash hadn’t been an accident, Jeremy and Pamela probably had the strongest motive of all for doing him in.
“What were you doing in Victor’s office just now?” Jeremy asked.
“I think you’d better ask him that,” Jake said.
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Did it have something to do with Michael Eldridge?”
Jake shrugged. “Like I said, you’d better ask Mr. Northrup that question.”
“You know, of course, that my grandmother has forbidden anyone to investigate Mr. Eldridge.”
Jake said nothing. He wondered if Jeremy would run tattling to Iris, and how Northrup would handle the situation if he did. But that was none of Jake’s concern. He turned and started walking toward the door that would lead him to the street.
Willows fell into step beside him. “I can’t think of any other business someone like you would have with Victor Northrup.”
Jake slanted him a glance. “Maybe it’s personal.”
“I don’t think so. Look, all I want to know is whether or not you’re working for Victor.” They reached the door and stopped. Jeremy’s permanent scowl deepened, etching crevices across his forehead. “Because if you’re not, I’d like to hire you myself.”
Jake glanced at him, startled. Jeremy’s gaze met his evenly. “I’d like for you to investigate Michael Eldridge for me. I’d be willing to double what Victor offered you.”
“I’m not interested,” Jake said, stepping out into the bright sunlight. He half expected Jeremy to follow him out, but wasn’t surprised when he didn’t. In the old days, Jeremy had never been outwardly assertive, preferring sneakier methods instead to get what he wanted.
First Northrup, then Hope, and now Jeremy Willows wanted to hire him to investigate Michael Eldridge. Jake wondered who would be next. Pamela? Edward? It seemed everyone close to Iris Kingsley was willing to go behind her back, and Jake suspected their reasons were not all that diverse. At least where Northrup and Jeremy Willows were concerned.
If Michael Eldridge turned out to be an impostor, Jeremy stood to inherit Iris’s considerable fortune.
And by protecting the Kingsley estate, Victor Northrup also protected the huge revenue—and his own generous draw—collected from the Kingsleys each year by his law firm.
Hope’s motive was the only one Jake couldn’t quite figure out. Was she really trying to protect Iris Kingsley from a greedy impostor, or was there another, more personal reason she was so desperate to find out about Michael Eldridge’s past?
* * *
AT IRIS’S INVITATION, Michael Eldridge spent a considerable amount of time at the mansion over the next few days, mostly in Iris’s company. Hope did her best to avoid him. When days had gone by and she’d managed not to run into him, she convinced herself that his resemblance to Andrew couldn’t be as great as she’d initially thought. It was just the shock of his turning up so suddenly that had disturbed her.
If and when she saw the man again, she would probably wonder why she’d ever considered the possibility that he might actually be Andrew. The more time that went by, the more relieved she was that she hadn’t confided her suspicions to Jake. The notion sounded crazier all the time. What had she been thinking? Dead men didn’t return from the grave.
On Friday, however, Hope found she could avoid facing Michael no longer. Iris had invited him to dinner that night and informed the entire family that she would brook no excuses. Everyone was to be present.
She even suggested to Hope which outfit she would like for her to wear—pale lilac pants with a matching camisole top and a hand-painted gauzy overblouse in a pastel print. The outfit had been a gift from Andrew, and Hope started to protest, but then she thought, why not? If it made Iris happy, what could it hurt?
Hope lingered in her suite for as long as she could. By the time she finally came down, the family had already had cocktails in the library and were drifting into the dining room.
“Hope.” Iris clung to Michael’s arm. “You’re just in time. Michael, will you escort Hope in to dinner?”
“I’d be delighted.” He smiled at Hope, and her heart took a tumble inside her. For all the time she’d spent convincing herself over the past few days that her doubts and worries about Michael Eldridge were for nothing, she knew now as her gaze met his that no matter who he turned out to be, he was still a dangerous man.
And he still looked exactly like Andrew.
Reluctantly, Hope took Michael’s arm, and the two of them fell in behind Iris and Edward. Jeremy and Pamela brought up the rear, a position, Hope suspected, they were both overly self-conscious about.
The table was beautifully appointed with candlelight, crystal, and china as white and delicate as snowflakes. An arrangement of white orchids in the center of the table gave a touch of the exotic to the otherwise ostentatious and somewhat somber dining room.
Iris took her place at the head of the table, with Edward on her left and Michael in the place of honor on her right. Pamela was seated next to Edward, and Hope, much to her chagrin, was wedged between Michael and Jeremy, neither of whom she would have willingly chosen to spend an entire evening with.
As the dinner progressed and the wine poured freely, Hope became aware of a subtle, cloying fragrance, a familiar scent that teased at her memory. At first she thought it was the orchids, but then it came to her with something of a shock that she was smelling Incens;aae, the spicy cologne Andrew had always favored.
Her heart started to pound. She couldn’t tell whether the fragrance was coming from Michael or from Jeremy. She had never noticed Jeremy using any kind of cologne or after-shave at all, but Michael Eldridge wearing the same scent Andrew had preferred was just too much of a coincidence. It had to be Jeremy.
She glanced in his direction and found him gazing at her quizzically, as if he’d sensed her inner distress. “Is anything wrong?” he asked, leaning toward her.
Hope shrugged. “What could be wrong?” He was wearing the cologne, she thought in relief. The scent had become stronger when he’d bent toward her. But in the next instant, her relief fled. Why was Jeremy wearing Andrew’s fragrance?
“So what do you think of the prodigal son?” Jeremy asked. He had a wrinkle across the bridge of his nose that always made him look dour, as if his thoughts were dark and gloomy and not something Hope would want to be privy to.
She glanced at the end of the table, where Iris and Michael had their heads together like two long-lost friends. Hope had never seen Iris look so animated, so happy, and she wondered again what would happen if Michael Eldridge turned out to be an impostor. A clever, handsome, charming impostor. It struck her with something of a shock that that was exactly what Andrew had been. His outward facade had been nothing like the complex, troubled man lurking deep within.
She turned back to Jeremy. “Iris seems convinced he’s her grandson. I’ve never seen her so happy.”
If possible, Jeremy looked even gloomier. His gray eyes reminded Hope of a rain cloud, all dark and dank and full of dread. He leaned toward her again, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. “I’ve thought of hiring an investigator.”
Hope looked at him in surprise. She’d never known him to go against Iris’s wishes. “Who would you hire?” she asked innocently.
“I’ve talked to Jake McClain.”
Hope tried to keep her voice neutral. “What did he say?”
Jeremy hesitated, then shrugged. “He declined. But I think he’s holding out for more money. He’s fallen on some pretty hard times lately.”
“So I heard.”
“When I think about the way he and Andrew used to strut around the grounds, both of them so damned arrogant and sure of themselves. It’s ironic—isn’t it? Almost funny, really, how far they both fell.”
Hope said coolly, “I don’t see anything funny about a man losing his life and another losing his job. Your sense of humor escapes me, Jeremy.”
A faint blush colored his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I know how that must have sou
nded, but I didn’t mean it that way. I really didn’t. It’s just that…when we were all kids, Jake and Andrew, especially Andrew, weren’t all that kind to me.”
Hope suspected that much was true. Jake and Andrew would have been two of a kind in so many ways back then—both lively and adventuresome and full of the devil. Of course, that was before Andrew had been instructed not to play with the gardener’s son. That was before he’d developed his own sense of superiority. Jake had never said so, but Hope knew he’d been hurt by Andrew’s rebuff. To have his friendship rejected solely because of who and what his father was would have wounded Jake’s pride terribly.
But Jake’s pride, Hope reminded herself, was no longer her concern. It hadn’t been for a long, long time.
“I’m sorry, Hope,” Jeremy said. “That really was thoughtless of me.”
“It’s all right,” she replied, longing for the dinner to be over and done with so she could escape to her room. But before she could do that, there would be coffee in the library and more polite, stilted conversation. Jeremy would drift off to a corner, Edward would break open the brandy, and Pamela’s shrill laughter would become as nerve-racking as fingernails scraping a chalkboard.
But no one, including Hope, would dare leave until Iris retired for the night. In the ten years Hope had been married to Andrew, the evenings at the Kingsley mansion had not varied one iota. Andrew and Iris were the only ones who had ever remotely enjoyed themselves. After his death, Iris had continued the nightly ritual, but she would linger no longer than half an hour or so before calling it a night.
Tonight, however, as Hope watched Michael escort Iris back into the library, she knew a reprieve would be a long time in coming. Iris would not be anxious to relinquish Michael’s company. The evening would wear on forever.
“That’s a beautiful outfit, Hope.”
Startled, she found herself face-to-face with Michael Eldridge. He had finally left Iris’s side and was standing directly in front of Hope, too close for comfort. She fought the urge to step back from him.
Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's SonThe Brother's WifeThe Long-Lost Heir Page 26