by Brenda Joyce
"Thomas is in shock and in grief, we all are. He blames himself for Hal's death."
"How is that? He blames me."
LaQren shook her head. "I know yoU think he is a monster, but he's not. Try to understand. Please. We're a very close family. Our lineage goes back hundreds of years. Thomas is
Father's heir. But Father is seventy-nine. Thomas is the head of this family. He is almost the patriarch, he makes all the decisions, he is CEO of the company, and even the executor of Hal's and my trusts." Lauren suddenly realized what she had said and her face crumpled.
Jill understood. It was so easy to forget that Hal was dead—to think, for a moment, that he was living among them. Jill handed her another Kleenex. Lauren blew her nose. "For some reason, I thought Alex ran the company," Jill said.
Lauren gave her an odd look. "They are both very involved," she finally said. "Alex is a president, and on. numerous boards, actually, but Thomas is CEO." She smiled slightly. "Thomas has the final say—in everything, and that is as it should be."
Hal had said that Thomas was a playboy. His weekend home was probably on Mykonos. She could not help being snide. Nothing Lauren said would make her change her feelings about her older brother.
Lauren continued, obviously wanting to impress Jill with her case. "Thomas is a very protective chap. He has always felt that we were his responsibility, and I do mean myself, Alex, and Hal. You know, when we were children, he was our champion. We would always go to him if we had difficulties—and he would always solve our problems. If a boy teased me at school, Thomas would appear to set things right. I remember when Alex first came to live with us—when his mother died. Mother and Father put him in the same school as Hal. Obviously he had problems. He was an American hoodlum, really, and he was miserable—all the boys ostracized him. Until Thomas dropped in on the school. To this day, I don't know what he said to a handful of the boys, but Alex was reluctantly accepted after that."
"Okay," Jill said, even though the story about Alex Preston was interesting, "I get the drift. Thomas is a knight in shining armor."
Lauren ignored that. "We all still defer to him, today. Now, though, "he is also taking care of Mother and Father, too. Mother has not been well." Lauren's expression was tense. After a pause, she said, "I know Thomas is blaming
himself for Hal's death. Last night he said he should have gone Hb New York himself to bring him home. He thinks he shouldn't have ever allowed Hal to go to New York in the first place."
Jill did not understand. "Hal was a grown man. Thomas certainly didn't run his life."
"Hal is an artist. I told you, Thomas is executor of his trust."
Jill stared. So Thomas held the purse strings. So Thomas could have manipulated Hal had he chosen to do so. It was to his credit that he had not.
"Hal and I were extremely close. He told me everything, I think." Jill's heart lurched at that. "We're only two years apart in age. But I think, perhaps, this is hitting Thomas even harder than myself." She trembled. "We're all in shock. Please forgive him his rudeness. Please forgive us. We are sorry."
Jill found herself responding to Lauren's plea. How could she not? She was not hateful by nature, and she wanted to feel compassion for Thomas—because Hal had adored him. She wanted to like Lauren for the same reason. On the other hand, this whole impassioned diatribe was contrived and strangely ill-timed. And why hadn't Thomas apologized himself? Jill had no doubt it was because he wasn't sorry for anything he had said. "I guess we can bury the hatchet." Her gaze locked briefly with Lauren's—for the merest of seconds. Jill wasn't sure who looked away first—Hal's sister or herself.
"Good," Lauren said. She smiled. Her nose and eyes were still pink.
Jill felt that her return smile was lopsided. The problem was, she did want to make peace. It was just that she knew Lauren wasn't being completely honest with her.
"Are you still leaving tonight?" Lauren asked.
Jill nodded.
"Do you want some company today? I can show you London, if that's what you want, and take you to lunch."
Jill almost gaped. She quickly rearranged her face. "I think I'll hoof it alone."
Lauren looked chagrined. "But I thought you accepted my apology for everyone?"
"I have." Jill had no choice but to smile. "I'm not feeling so great," she began.
"How about lunch and a guided tour of London?" Lauren smiled again. "We have some very nice neighborhoods here. I'd love to walk you through Mayfair, show you the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, and all that wonderfully touristy stuff."
Jill hesitated. "Actually, I have plans for the day." But she was wondering if she should accept Lauren's offer. Lauren had mentioned that the family's history went back hundreds of years. Jill was only interested in as far back as 1906.
"What kind of plans?"
"Hal mentioned to me that Uxbridge Hall is your ancestral home. He said it's open to the public. I want to go there, and I was wondering if your grandmother Anne had an ancestral home that I could visit, too."
Lauren's tawny brows lifted. **Uxbridge Hall does have a few rooms on the ground floor that are open to the public. It's not far from London—thirty minutes by car. I'd be happy to take you there."
"That would be great," Jill said slowly. Why was Lauren being so nice to her?
"But I'm afraid you won't have any luck when it comes to visiting my grandmother's home. Anne grew up at Ben-sonhurst Hall. She was the last Bensonhurst, and she was a great heiress when she married my grandfather, Edward, who became the ninth earl of Collinsworth. Bensonhurst, and the entire estate, came into our family at the time of the death of her parents, and I believe that was just after the First World War. But the house was demolished by order of Parliament even prior to the war—to make way for a rail station."
"You're kidding," Jill exclaimed.
"No. Those things happen. It was an old house, impossible to keep up, and it was, frankly in the way." Lauren smiled. "Let's drive out to Uxbridge. I can't remember the public hours, but we do keep an entire wing for our private
use, and we can get in even if Uxbridge Hall is not open to the public today."
"That's wonderful," Jill said, feeling a rush of excitement.
"Why do you want to go there?" Lauren said curiously as they descended the stairs.
Jill hesitated before answering truthfully. "I keep thinking about Kate Gallagher. I can't get her off of my mind. There's something about her that is so compelling." Jill paused. "And I have this gut feeling that she is a relative of mine, and I just can't shake it." But she didn't tell Lauren that "Kate" was the last name Hal spoke. Jill would have no peace until she found out what that meant.
"But what does this feeling of yours have to do with Uxbridge Hall?"
"Kate was Anne's friend, after all," Jill said as they entered the spacious foyer. "She stayed with Anne at Ben-sonhurst in 1906. Anne married Edward. I guess Uxbridge Hall is as close as I'll ever get to Anne's family home. I really don't know why I want to go there, or what I expect to find. I just have to go." And even as Jill spoke, she felt chills creeping up her spine.
"Well, it is a lovely house," Lauren replied. "And quite a few mementos from the Bensonhurst side of our family are there. But I am quite sure you will not find anything there of value to you if you are researching Kate—unless, of course, it is Kate's ghost."
Jill glanced sharply at her. The hairs on her nape seemed to prickle again. "Whatever made you say that?"
Lauren smiled. "Don't you believe in ghosts? This is Great Britain, Jill. Our history is very rich—and actually quite bloody. We have ghosts everywhere."
Visitors were required to leave their cars in the car park and walk some distance to the house. But that was not the case for the family, Lauren had explained, as their chauffeured Rolls paused before high iron gates that were closed. On the opposite side of those gates—set in a huge brick wall—was an expanse of rolling green land, a few trees, and, in the near distance, what
appeared to be a huge brick house. Jill stared
as the gates were opened by an electronic device and the Rolls proceeded through. She would have never dreamed to find this pastoral enclave in the midst of London's suburbs.
"That house belongs to your family?'* Jill asked rather breathlessly as the sprawling mansion came closer into view.
"Actually, it now belongs to the National Trust,4)ut our family has the right to use it as we wish. Occasionally we even hold parties here," Lauren said.
"There's a lake," Jill said, noticing a tree-lined lake before one side of the rectangular building. Towers with spires graced the four comers of the house, and as they drove up the curving driveway, Jill was faced with an extravagant portico as tall as the house and a similarly sized temple front.
"Most of these old homes have lakes or moats—most of them man-made."
The car halted before the portico's wide, imposing front steps. As Jill slowly climbed out of the car, her pulse pounding, she was aware of the height of the six pillars holding up the pediment—they were as tall as the building itself. "Is the house three stories?" Jill asked.
"Yes. But as you can see, the ground floor has very high ceilings."
Jill remained amazed. She glanced around. To her left were another set of huge brick buildings. "Let me guess. The stables?"
Lauren nodded. "Now, of course, it's a shop and cafe for tourists."
"The family actually comes here—lives here—from time to time?"
"Not very often," Lauren confessed. "Hal used to come and stay here for weeks at a time when he was in town. He was the most attached to Uxbridge Hall of any of us. And when Thomas was married, he and his wife and children lived here most weekends. He used it as a kind of country home." She smiled.
"How far are we from London?"
"Not even ten miles," Lauren said cheerfully. "In the past, when this was our family's primary residence, it was very convenient."
"When was this the family's primary residence?" Jill asked as they started up the front steps. Once within the portico, they were on a slate-floored, open courtyard. The front doors of the house were at least fifty feet beyond.
"A long time ago. Before I was bom, at any rate.'*
"Did they live here in Kate's time?"
Lauren glanced at her. "Which was?"
"About 1906."
"I believe my family still spent a good portion of their time here at the Hall. The house in Kensington Palace Gardens was also built around that time, I believe."
They crossed the courtyard. A tall, somewhat stocky woman with short, iron gray hair and oversized tortoiseshell frames, clad in a black turtleneck and trousers, had appeared to stand on the threshold of the Hall. She seemed surprised to see them. "Mrs. Sheldon-Wellsely, how are you, my dear?"
"Lucinda, I hope I should not have telephoned first."
"Of course not," the older woman said, still smiling. "This is your home, my dear." Her smile disappeared. "I am so sorry about your brother. I cannot get over what has happened. He was the nicest young man."
Jill flinched, reality washing over her. She didn't want to think about Hal now, she wanted to think about Kate. But there was no denying the stabbing ache the mere mention of him brought to her chest.
"Thank you," Lauren murmured. She quickly changed the topic, introducing them. "Lucinda Becke is the custodian, and has been so ever since I was a little girl. This is a visitor from America, Jill Gallagher."
"I almost consider myself a member of the Collinsworth family," Lucinda said pleasantly to Jill, offering her hand. If she knew anything about Jill's relationship with Hal—or about the accident—she gave no sign. "I have been the director here since '81. Actually, I was just filing some interesting papers—letters from your grandfather to his valet."
"This house is incredible," Jill said as they paused in a huge, empty room. Pillars supported the high, bluish gray and white ceiling. The center boasted a sculpted circular pattern, mirroring the mosaic on the floor, while square panels
bordered it. The floors were blue and white marble, done in myriad patterns. The walls were divided into huge frieze work panels with a Roman military motif. At each end of the room were two alcoves, each with a fireplace. There were statues standing next to the room's many pilasters, and periodically there were square panels with frieze work in an arabesque motif. Gilded benches and stone pedestals with sculptures lined the far and near walls of the room.
"This is the hall," Lucinda explained. "Although in an earlier time, it was used for entertaining. Balls were held here, extremely lavish affairs." Lucinda smiled widely. "In fact, the family also had a tradition of holding the heir's wedding ceremony here. Unfortunately, that tradition did end with the eighth earl." She smiled at Lauren. "Your greatgrandfather was the last Collinsworth heir to be married in this room. What a shame."
Jill studied Lucinda's animated expression as Lauren asked, "Could you give us a brief tour? Jill is interested in the history of the house."
"I would love to." Lucinda's eyes brightened. "There is nothing I would love more."
As they walked through the hall, Lucinda pointed out the details of the various panels they passed. Jill could hardly absorb what she was saying. Excitement filled her.
Anne Bensonhurst, later the countess of Collinsworth, had certainly visited here after her debut, for she had eventually become engaged to Edward Sheldon, heir to the Collinsworth estates. She had undoubtedly been a frequent guest in this house. Had she brought along her friend, Kate Gallagher? Jill could image the two girls in this spectacular room, in their evening gowns, perhaps with raised fans—did the ladies use fans then?—surrounded by other guests. Perhaps, she thought, her mind spinning, Kate had visited Anne here after her marriage to Edward. Perhaps she had even spent the night.
As they walked into another room, which Lucinda referred to as the "eating room," she asked, "Would visitors have stayed overnight? Ninety years ago?"
"Weekend parties were quite popular, but longer visits
usually took place in country homes during the High Season," Lucinda explained.
"The High Season?"
"The summertime."
They had all paused in the eating room. It was also huge, but perhaps only a third the size of the hall. The carpet was rose-hued with a diamond pattern in gold and green, the walls were a lighter shade of rose, trimmed with pale green, and the ceiling was also pale green, with more painstaking frieze work. Paintings hung on the walls. Many were portraits.
Jill felt dazed. Her pulse was pounding too swiftly for comfort, and far too loudly, as well. Lucinda was avidly explaining that the family and its guests would take breakfast in this room. "Are those portraits of the family?" Jill asked, her lips feeling almost and oddly numb, due, she thought, to her excitement.
"Oh, no. Those two are portraits of the Duke of Northumberland from the mid-eighteenth and early nineteenth century. That portrait is of William and Mary. That one there is of George FV." Lucinda smiled eagerly. "That far portrait is of one of the early earls of Collins worth, from the mid-seventeenth century, and the one beside it is William, the eighth earl. It is quite common in houses like this for the family to hang portraits of royalty—so one might think that the family, by association, is as majestic and as noble."
Jill was disappointed. There were some portraits of ladies among the gentlemen and she had hoped to espy Anne. She finally looked at Lucinda directly. "Oh."
"Dear, is there something you are looking for? Something you specifically wish to see?"
Jill wet her lips. "I was hoping to find a portrait of Anne, perhaps with Edward. And maybe even with her friend, the American heiress, Kate Gallagher."
Lucinda stared.
Jill realized that Lauren's regard was divided between them both.
"Come with me, into the gallery," Lucinda said, her strides brisk.
They passed through two lavish rooms and were then
faced with a vast and extremely long roo
m. French doors opened along one of the long walls to a terrace and spectacular gardens outside. Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, armless chairs with blue velvet seats lined the room's perimeter, and dozens of paintings were hanging on the walls. Lucinda did not pause, crossing the carpeted expanse, passing several fireplaces with white marble mantels. She finally halted in front of a large painting.
Jill gripped Lauren's sleeve. She was faced with a painting of a couple having a picnic in a meadow, near a tree. The woman was seated at the gentleman's feet, and she was dark-haired, young, and neither pretty nor plain. But her eyes were shining. "That is Anne, correct me if I'm wrong." Jill was trembling. She had also grown very warm.
"Yes." Lucinda moved closer. "She was very young, no more than eighteen. This was painted during the first year of her marriage."
Jill stared. Anne sat on a blanket in a lovely white dress sprigged with blue, beneath a large, blossoming cherry tree. On the red paisley wool blanket were the accoutrements of a picnic—a wicker basket, a bottle of wine, two goblets, and several plates. Pieces of fruit—an apple, two pears, a cluster of grapes—had spilled from the basket. A book lay open beside her skirts, and a cocker spaniel lay at her blue-slippered feet.
Standing beside Anne was a tall, dark, striking man with a very patrician, quite stem expression. He was wearing riding jodhpurs and high black boots, a white shirt and a long tweed jacket. He held a crop in one hand. A burgundy cravat was around his neck. His stare was dark, unwavering, relentless. He was handsome and charismatic. He appeared every inch the aristocrat. He looked as if he had been bom to conmiand a hundred servants—and he also looked as if he did not know how to smile. Anne seemed too young and very fragile, seated there at his feet. "So that's Edward."
"Yes."
"They make a striking couple," Jill mused. "Anne is so young."
"Many girls married at that age back then," Lucinda
explained. "This was quite the union. Edward Sheldon was the catch of his times. And Anne, of course, was a great heiress herself. All of London was agog over the alliance— and rightly so."
