Since 1988, nationally bestselling author ROCHELLE ALERS has written more than eighty books and short stories. She has earned numerous honours, including the Zora Neale Hurston Award, the Vivian Stephens Award for Excellence in Romance Writing and a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews. She is a member of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority, Inc., Iota Theta Zeta Chapter. A full-time writer, she lives in a charming hamlet on Long Island. Rochelle can be contacted through her website, www.rochellealers.org.
Also by Rochelle Alers
Home to Wickham Falls
Her Wickham Falls SEAL
The Sheriff of Wickham Falls
Dealmaker, Heartbreaker
Second-Chance Sweet Shop Claiming
the Captain’s Baby
Twins for the Soldier
Sweet Dreams
Sweet Deception
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
A New Foundation
Rochelle Alers
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-0-008-91011-2
A NEW FOUNDATION
© 2021 Rochelle Alers
Published in Great Britain 2021
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Text to speech
Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine
by the sides of thine house: thy children
like olive plants round about thy table.
—Psalms 128:3
Contents
Cover
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Bible Verse
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Extract
About the Publisher
Chapter One
“Momma was really full of surprises today. I still can’t believe she waited until today to tell us that she bought a condo in a gated community, listed the house with a Realtor, and now she plans to take a two-hundred-forty-five-day around-the-world cruise. But what really threw me for a loop was willing us a dilapidated property and expecting us to restore it.”
Taylor Williamson met his sister’s eyes for a millisecond before he shifted his gaze back to the road and the bumper-to-bumper traffic heading for the tunnel leading into New York. “Firstly, Mom is a widow and an empty nester, and that means she doesn’t need a house with six bedrooms. And she’d always talked about taking an around-the-world cruise when Dad was alive, but she knew he would never go with her because his parents were killed during a boating accident.”
“I’m aware of that, Taylor, but why didn’t we know that Daddy had inherited a mansion he’d planned to restore once he retired?”
“That’s something I can’t answer, Viola.”
“And when Momma asked if you would supervise the restoration of his ancestral home I couldn’t believe you said yes.”
Elise Williamson had waited until her children were all together at the same time to reveal the details of her late husband’s will. Conrad Bainbridge Williamson had left her and their sons and daughter a mansion in northern New Jersey.
“I agreed because it’s something both Mom and Dad wanted. And, don’t forget I wasn’t the only one to agree. Tariq said he was willing to get involved once he finished his postgraduate program, and then later fulfill his obligation at the horse farm. Even Joaquin is willing to become involved as the landscape architect. Only you and Patrick are the holdouts.”
“But that means you have to quit your position at the engineering firm where you’ve just been promoted to an assistant project supervisor.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Taylor’s mouth. “I know, but if I assume the responsibility of overseeing the restoration, then not only will I supervise my own team, I’ll be working for the family.” His mother had given him two steamer trunks filled with blueprints, floor plans, correspondence and documents linked to Bainbridge House. Conrad had stored the trunks in the attic of the farmhouse with the intent to review them once he retired.
“Right now, you’re the only one in the family that has actually committed. There’s no guarantee that Joaquin and Tariq won’t change their minds a year or two from now.”
Taylor wanted to ask Viola why she insisted on being a Negative Nelly. He really did not want to argue with his sister, not when he’d grown tired of her complaining that she wanted to run her own restaurant kitchen. As a professionally trained chef she had secured a position at an Upper East Side Michelin-starred restaurant. And if she did agree to come on board once the hundred-room mansion was restored to its original magnificence she would have the autonomy she’d craved since graduating culinary school. She would supervise her own staff at the family-owned business Taylor had planned to convert into a hotel and venue for weddings and private parties that could accommodate up to three hundred guests. It would take some time before the property would be fully restored, and while Taylor didn’t want a firm commitment from Viola he did want her to consider it.
“I know a lot can happen in that time, but right now I have to believe they’re willing to get involved.” There was more than a hint of confidence in his prediction.
His brothers Joaquin and Tariq seemed genuinely i
nterested in becoming involved in the restoration of Bainbridge House, and Patrick had offered to oversee the financial component. He had worked for their father as a CPA after graduating college. Then he’d become involved with a woman whose father and uncles were winemakers. Patrick subsequently divided his time between working in their father’s office and at a Long Island vineyard, and after a few years decided growing grapes and turning them into wine was his passion.
“We’ll see,” Viola replied, her voice skeptical. “What I don’t understand is why did Momma wait until now to tell us about the abandoned property?”
Taylor knew he had to be truthful with his sister because it would eventually come out that he’d known what Elise Williamson was prepared to reveal once all of her children were together for the first time since the passing of her husband of forty-nine years. That had been the second week in January, and now it was late March and Easter Sunday.
It was a Williamson family tradition for everyone to get together at Easter. Conrad’s death was unexpected because at seventy-four he hadn’t exhibited any health issues. Elise said he’d complained of feeling tired and had gone to bed earlier than usual, and sometime during the night he’d died from what the medical examiner documented as natural causes. From that time until now, Taylor had established a routine of sharing dinner with his mother the first Sunday of the month.
“Mom kind of hinted to me that she had some news that involved all five of us, and if we were amenable it would change our lives,” Taylor admitted.
“Did she tell you that Daddy had inherited a huge old house sitting on over three hundred acres in North Jersey?”
Taylor stretched his right arm over the back of Viola’s headrest when traffic came to a complete standstill. He’d wanted to leave earlier to get back to Connecticut before ten, but first he had to drop his sister off in Greenwich Village, and with the buildup of holiday traffic he estimated he’d probably make it home sometime around midnight.
“She did tell me a couple of months ago that Dad had left us some property, and he’d talked about restoring it once he retired. He’d gone so far as to file for permits and approval for variances to convert the property from residential to commercial. But we all know that golfing took precedence over everything.”
After their father sold his private equity/venture capitalist company he’d hired a golf pro to teach him the game. The only time he wasn’t on the green was when it rained or snowed.
“Since Daddy’s gone and a developer wanted to buy the property, why wouldn’t Mom sell it?”
Again Taylor met Viola’s large hazel eyes, and he noticed the dark circles under the brilliant orbs. He didn’t know whether she wasn’t getting enough sleep or she was putting in too many hours at the restaurant. “She told me when Dad updated his will he’d wanted her to keep the property in the family.”
Viola bit her lip. “I don’t want to sound callous, but there’s nothing keeping her from not honoring a dead man’s wishes.”
Taylor removed his arm and ran a hand over cropped coarse hair. “Maybe when you’ve been married to a man for almost fifty years you might feel an obligation to honor his last wishes.”
As soon as the words left his lips he saw a flush suffuse Viola’s light brown complexion. Although they were brother and sister, they did not share DNA. In fact, none of the Williamson brothers and sister were biological siblings.
“You’re right,” she said, apologizing after a pause. “Maybe because you’re closer to Momma than any of us, you know her better.”
“I’m not any closer than you. I just get to see her more often.”
“That’s not what Patrick says. He claims you’re Momma’s favorite.”
“I don’t know why Patrick would say that when she has treated all of us the same. And if she did have a favorite it would be you because she always said she wanted a daughter.”
Viola laughed. “Being the only girl with four brothers definitely has its advantages.”
A special bond had developed between Conrad and Elise Williamson’s five foster children, and it had grown even stronger when they all stood together in the courtroom to make their adoption legal. That day was imprinted indelibly in Taylor’s memory.
At six, he had been the couple’s first foster child. A year later two-year-old Joaquin joined the family. He was nine when fourteen-month-old Viola became his foster sister and the darling of the family. The year he celebrated his tenth birthday eight-year-old Patrick and five-year-old Tariq became his third foster brothers. Elise had joked they would not get another sibling because the farmhouse in Belleville, New Jersey, had six bedrooms and seven baths, and she wanted everyone to have their own bedroom.
For Taylor, not having to share a bedroom or a bed with another child was something that had taken him a while to get used to. That, and having enough food to eat. There were times when he slept and woke that he feared the social worker would knock on the door and take him to another foster home, and when he verbalized this to his foster mother Elise had insisted he call her Mom promised he could live with her as long as he wanted.
Not knowing who his biological father was and losing his mother before he’d celebrated his third birthday and then going to live with his mother’s sister, who took him in because it meant more money in her social services check, had emotionally scarred him as a child. As a preschooler he’d grown used to seeing his aunt’s belly growing bigger whenever she’d become pregnant with another child, and her drunken binges where she would pass out while he and his cousins had to find whatever they could in the refrigerator to keep from starving.
Taylor’s deprivation ended when his first-grade teacher contacted the school’s social worker because she suspected he was being neglected. He’d worn the same clothes for a week and appeared undernourished. Child Protective Services became involved and he was placed in foster care. Unlike some children that were shuffled from one foster home to another he was lucky because he had been assigned to the home of Conrad and Elise Williamson. Unable to have children of their own they had decided to become foster parents. He didn’t attend regular classes like most kids his age because as a former teacher Elise had decided to homeschool him. In the sprawling farmhouse, she’d turned a space in her library into a classroom, and by the time he was eight he was reading at a seventh-grade level.
“If you’re serious about overseeing the restoration, then I know someone that may be able help you,” Viola said.
“Who?”
“I have a friend who’s an architectural historian, and when I saw the furnishings in the mansion I immediately thought of her. She’s currently working at a Madison Avenue art gallery, and she has an uncanny gift for recognizing and authenticating antiques. In other words, she’s an expert and a genius in her field.”
Taylor knew Viola was right about the antiques in the French-inspired château known as the Bainbridge House. Many were stored on shelves in the mansion’s cellar, while others were in ballrooms and bedroom suites. The property was set back off a private road, surrounded by ten-foot stone walls with a massive iron gate. An on-site caretaker had taken up residence in one of the half dozen guesthouses.
“I know I’m going to have everything appraised for insurance purposes,” Taylor said.
“And I’m certain Sonja will be able to ascertain what is authentic and what is a reproduction.” Reaching into the tote on the floor between her feet, Viola took out her cell phone. “I’m going to call her to ask if she’s willing to help you out.”
“I don’t want to impose on her if she has a job.”
“I don’t believe it would be an imposition because she works part-time.”
Taylor glanced at Viola as she tapped the number and then activated the speaker feature. The phone rang twice before being answered.
“Happy Easter.”
“Thank you. Happy Easter to you, too, and your fami
ly. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”
“No, not at all. What’s up, Vi?”
“I’m calling because I want to know if you would be willing to appraise some items in a house that has been in my father’s family since the 1880s.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in north Jersey. I have you on speaker because I’m in the car with my brother who will be responsible for the restoration.”
“How many pieces are you talking about?”
“A lot, Sonja. The house sits on three hundred acres and has more than a hundred rooms.”
There was a noticeable silence until Sonja’s voice filled the interior of the SUV again. “That sounds like quite a project.”
Viola shared a smile with Taylor. “It is. Maybe you and Taylor can meet, and then he’ll be able explain everything to you.”
There came another pause. “Okay. I have to go into the gallery all this week because we’re having an exhibition Friday night, but I’m free Saturday and Sunday.”
“What if I make a reservation at the restaurant in Taylor’s name for you to meet him Saturday night.” Taylor nodded when Viola’s eyebrows lifted questioningly.
“That sounds good. It isn’t often that I get to eat at The Cellar.”
Viola smiled. “I guess that settles it. How does seven work for you?”
“It works.”
“Good. I’ll give my brother your number so if something comes up he’ll be able to contact you.”
“Saturday at seven,” Sonja confirmed.
“Thanks, Sonja.”
“No, thank you, Viola. You know how excited I get whenever I’m approached about a new assignment.”
“Even though I’ll be in the kitchen, I’ll make certain to come out and see you.” Viola rang off and then turned to smile at Taylor. “That’s one thing you can cross off your to-do list.”
“I really appreciate that.” And he did.
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