The Secret Gift (29 page)

Libby awoke slowly, only dimly aware of the sound of the London street noise coming through the open window. It was a soft morning, and she was swathed in a nest of pillows and goose down, deliciously warm. She opened one bleary eye onto the steadily ticking alarm clock on the night table.

It read ten o’clock.

She stirred, lifting her head to a bed that was empty beside her.

She got up, retrieved her robe from where it was draped over the chair, and slipped it on, knotting the belt at her waist.

“Good morning,” Graeme said as she opened the French doors onto the suite’s sitting room.

He was seated at a small table, wearing a matching white robe, the morning paper opened before him.

“Good morning,” Libby mumbled, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

“Tea?” he asked, lifting a decorative china pot from the tray on the stand beside him.

She nodded and started for the seat across from him, but he grabbed the belt of her robe and gave it a yank, tugging her straight into his lap.

His mouth was on hers before she could say anything.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked when he pulled away from the kiss moments later.

“Have you noticed the time? I’d say I must have slept very well.”

He smiled at her and then reached beside him where several shopping bags waited. “I took the liberty of having a few things sent over, since we hadn’t expected an overnight stay. I hope I managed to guess close enough on the sizes. I took a look at your other things, but American sizes differ a bit from us Brits.”

While she sipped her tea, Libby looked through the bags, taking out a pair of soft, pale khaki slacks and a beautiful red cashmere sweater with a matching cardigan. There was a pair of delicate skimmer shoes, from the designer whom Audrey Hepburn had helped make popular. And there was a soft ivory bra-and-panties set. Another bag contained toiletries, toothbrush, everything she could possibly need.

“Thank you.”

She kissed him.

“I thought we really don’t need to hurry back, so while you’re in the shower, I’d like you to think about what you’d like to do today.”

She smiled, tempted to pinch herself. Surely she must be dreaming. “Okay.”

Taking up her shopping bags, and a flaky croissant on a plate, Libby practically skipped into the bathroom.

Graeme was humming over the financial section of the paper when a soft knock came on the door.

It was the hotel manager, and the look on his face immediately betrayed that whatever news had brought him to the door wasn’t going to be good.

“Sorry to disturb, my lord. I just thought ... I mean to say, you would ... I’d better show you this.”

He held out a copy of the morning edition of
The Buzz.
The headline, in big, bold, black lettering, read
WALTHAM SPOTTED IN LONDON.

Graeme quickly read the article, which quoted an “unnamed source” in saying that he’d visited the offices of his architectural firm and had later ducked into White’s club. “Attempts to ascertain his whereabouts after lunch were unsuccessful.”
The Buzz,
however, had several correspondents combing the city as the story went to press.

Damn it!

His worst fears were confirmed by the manager a moment later.

“Ehm, I also spotted a photog camped out in the coffee shop on the corner, watching the front door. I assure you, my lord, no one here had anything to do with—”

“No, it’s all right.” Graeme thought of his early-morning shopping call. He’d had to use his name, or else he wouldn’t have gotten the attention of the store manager, or the personalized service. “Must have been the delivery service who tipped off the paparazzi.”

“I haven’t let them past the front door, my lord.” The manager shook his head. “You’d think they would have learned something after what happened to poor Princess Diana.”

“Thank you,” Graeme said, quickly forming a plan of escape. “You wouldn’t by any chance have a back service entrance?”

Graeme was dressed and waiting when Libby came out of the bathroom, showered and looking lovely in the things he’d bought for her.

“I like you in red,” he said, taking her into his arms. He wondered how he was going to explain to her why they wouldn’t be staying in the city after all.

He didn’t have to. She instantly read the change in his expression. “Something is wrong.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to change our plans and return to the Highlands sooner than I’d planned.”

“Oh. Your work?”

“Something like that. I’m sorry, Libby.”

She smiled. “Don’t be. I had the most wonderful day yesterday.” She looked at him. “And the most wonderful night.”

He pulled her to him again, kissing her.

If she thought it odd that they left the hotel through the back service entrance, Libby didn’t comment on it. The car was waiting, and they ducked in without anyone noticing. As they drove around the corner, Graeme spotted the photographer, recognizing him immediately from the months he’d spent avoiding him before, sitting in the café with his camera out and waiting for its prey.

It was midafternoon when the helicopter touched down at the castle.

There was an unfamiliar car waiting in the drive. Flora came out to meet them as soon as they approached.

“There’s someone here to see you, miss. Was here yesterday, too, and was none too pleased to find you hadn’t come back last night.”

Libby looked at her, then at the car. “But I’m not expecting anyone. Who is it? Is it Mr. Brodie?”

“Nae.” Flora frowned. “ ’Tis Lady Venetia. She’s waiting in the parlor.”

Libby looked at Graeme. She had expected this day would come sometime, just not right then, nor in that particular manner. She’d hoped to at least have time to prepare herself beforehand.

Turning toward the castle, Libby didn’t say a word as she headed inside.

Libby was grateful to Graeme for the new clothes he’d bought for her. A certain confidence came with wearing nice things, and she suspected she was going to need every scrap of confidence she possessed to face the grandmother who had forsaken her even before she’d been born.

As she walked toward the front door, Libby tried to prepare herself for the coming confrontation. She stopped before the mirror in the entrance hall to check her appearance, smoothing back her hair from the tousle it had taken on during the helicopter ride. She didn’t have the time to fix it properly, so she fished inside her handbag for a simple headband to push the unruly waves back from her face.

There, she thought, taking in the reflection. That was better. Her eyes looked bright and clear, and her face was nicely flushed from the outdoors. Despite the emotions that were swirling inside of her, she wanted Lady Venetia to see a poised woman possessed of the character and the strength of mind that had been passed down to her by her mother.

Taking a deep breath, Libby headed for the parlor.

Lady Venetia was standing at the far window, looking out onto the sea. She was more slightly built than Libby had expected, her figure appearing almost frail beneath the long skirt and tailored jacket she wore. Her white hair was swept up in a neatly pinned twist that suited the regal, Old World air that surrounded the woman like a mantle. For all the talk of her, and the terror she’d inspired amongst the villagers, she should have stood six feet, not barely inches over five. Despite this, however, the set of her shoulders said that this woman was still a force to be reckoned with.

Libby stood in the doorway until she summoned the courage to speak.

“Good afternoon.”

The woman turned. Libby had already seen her image in the newspaper and in the portrait at the clan center, so she knew what to expect when they came face-to-face. The fact that Lady Venetia had not had this same advantage registered in her expression the moment she saw Libby. Though her dark gaze swept Libby from top to toe, and her face made a show that she clearly wasn’t impressed, for the barest of moments when she first faced Libby, Lady Venetia Mackay blinked.

She’d seen her son Fraser’s eyes looking back from the face of his daughter.

Libby seized that blink, and the vulnerability it implied, holding to it tightly.

“You look just like your mother,” Lady Venetia said in a way that conveyed anything but a compliment. Her voice was faintly accented, a mixture of the adopted British and her native Dutch.

Libby came into the room. “I’m told I bear more of a resemblance to my father’s side. Most specifically my namesake, Lady Isabella Mackay.”

Lady Venetia’s eyes narrowed at this impertinence, but she maintained her cool, detached composure. It was a trait she’d obviously perfected during her lifetime.

“So you think, just because that mother of yours alleges to have gotten you by my son, that it gives you the right to come here after all these years and claim this estate as your own? I’m no fool. She was probably bedding half the crofters in the village, and then thought to pass her ill-gotten mistake off on my unsuspecting son. You don’t even have any proof that you are who you claim you are.”

Libby felt the spark of anger, an anger she’d rarely ever felt. “I have every right to be here. In fact, some would say I have more right than you. I am a member of this family by birth. You only married into it.”

Lady Venetia opened her mouth as if to say something, but then her eyes narrowed, as she looked just beneath Libby’s chin to her neck. “Where did you get that stone?”

Libby lifted her fingers to the crystal her mother had given her. She had worn it outside her sweater that morning for the first time, no longer feeling the need to conceal it.

“It was given to me. By my mother.”

“I always knew she’d stolen it. It belongs to this family. Give it back to me now.”

She held out her hand, actually expecting Libby to do as she’d said.

Libby didn’t move.

“Whether you like it or not, I belong to this family. And the stone is mine.”

The woman’s face reddened with rage, but it was only a moment before the decades of breeding and control overtook her. “Do you really believe you stand even the slightest chance of winning this absurd lawsuit? You have no idea who you are up against. I will make you regret having ever begun this nonsense. I will expose your mother for the strumpet she was, and I will expose you for the bastard child she used to blackmail my son into marrying her. I told him that. I told him she was nothing but a whore, that she would never love him like—”

She caught herself, stopping herself from what she’d been about to say. But it didn’t matter.

“You told him that she would never love him like you did. It wasn’t my mother you hated at all, was it? It was the idea that she had come to mean something to your only son. You would have hated anyone he’d dared to choose for himself.”

Lady Venetia didn’t even try to deny Libby’s words. “That still doesn’t make you his child. And he knew it. He’d listened to me. Even he had begun to doubt it before ...”

“This is the twenty-first century, Lady Venetia. Any question of my paternity can be settled by a simple blood test.”

A shadow clouded Lady Venetia’s dark eyes, the shadow of a very real fear. It was then that Libby realized how this woman had managed to wield such control over so many for so long. She’d had a very privileged upbringing. From the moment she’d been born, she’d undoubtedly been raised to believe that anything she asked for, anything she wanted, would be hers. All she’d had to do was speak.

And she had.

But words were just that.
Words.
And nothing this woman could say now could hurt Libby, or her mother, any longer.

“You must have hated her very much,” Libby said softly.

Lady Venetia’s expression stilled. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Matilde. My mother. The woman your son, Fraser Mackay, had dared to fall in love with. The woman he married, even against your wishes. Was it the first time he had ever gone against you? Had you held that much influence in his life before? You hated her so much, didn’t you? And for what? For having made your son, my father, happy? Something you could never do.”

“That’s quite enough.”

“No. It is not enough. I am not my mother. I am not afraid of you. You cannot threaten me as you threatened her and her family, as you have threatened all the people of this village for so long. All these years you’ve been left alone since my father was lost, and since your husband died.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, but I do. You see, we are similar in that way. I know all about being alone. And it’s sad, really, because like it or not, we’re all that’s left to one another in this world. All this time, instead of sitting here, choking on your anger and taking it out on others, you could have known me, your granddaughter. Your son’s only child. Was it worth it? Was it worth forsaking your last chance for a family?”

Lady Venetia stared at her for a long, silent moment, her eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. She looked as if she wanted to say something in response, and would have, except that Graeme chose that moment to come into the room.

“Good day to you, Lady Mackay,” he said politely. “We’ve never met personally.” He held out his hand. “Graeme Mackenzie. I’m the caretaker of Castle Wrath.”

She turned to him, narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean? I was made to think the castle was put into a trust, to remain uninhabited.”

“And it was. The owners, however, have a keen interest in seeing it restored.”

Graeme came to stand beside Libby, putting one arm around her waist.

Lady Venetia’s entire countenance changed. “Of course. I should have suspected as much.” She turned on Libby. “Well, you are certainly your mother’s daughter.”

“No more or no less than I am my father’s daughter.”

Lady Venetia took up her coat and her handbag. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable here, Miss Hutchinson. I’m not finished with you. You may think that by sleeping with him, you might succeed in getting this house, and it might work, but that will never make you a Mackay. You’ll be hearing from my solicitors. That stone will be returned even if I have to have the constable do it for me.”