A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET

by Lewis, Laurie

  “What will you do when—”

  Sarah bit her lip. “John wants me to spend a few weeks with each of the kids and their families while I make my long-term plans. Now that Tayte’s at Agnes’s, would you be willing to move in here and keep an eye on the place for me? Marty will stay on the payroll to manage the land, but I’d feel better knowing you were back in the house at night.”

  “Of course. I’ll do whatever makes things easier for you.”

  “Thank you. How are things going over at Agnes’s?”

  He allowed a laugh to escape, and then he shook his head to clear the frustration.

  Sarah’s hand fell on his and gave it a squeeze. “My legs are going numb. Walk with me?”

  Noah helped her to her feet, and Sarah led him out the door to the porch. “Agnes is twenty years my senior and she can still run rings around me. I bet she’s giving Tayte quite a time.”

  “She’s a pistol.” Noah laughed, but even he could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

  “How are you and Tayte getting along? She’s headstrong, but I like her.”

  His face flushed once again, so he turned his head to hide his response from his aunt. “I don’t know much about families, and even less about women. I’m not sure if I’m being helpful or just getting in the way over there.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  His hands went to his temples, where his fingers rubbed deeply. “I don’t know if Agnes is getting worse or if Tayte is opening my eyes to problems I’ve ignored. Some days she’s clear as a bell. She showers and dresses and cooks, and handles her personal needs. But then tomorrow, she might not know what day it is or even if she ate or when she needs to use the bathroom until it’s an emergency.” His eyebrows rose, underscoring the next point. “Hygiene is a real problem.” He blew out a rush of air. “Her moods swing from funny to furious in seconds. And when she misplaces something, instead of asking for help to find it, she calls Tayte a thief and tells her to leave. I’ve been humoring her, but Tayte can’t, and neither can I anymore, but when we intervene—”

  “She gets angrier.”

  The words seemed revelatory. “Yes. You’ve seen it too?”

  Sarah closed her eyes and nodded. “Many times.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “It feels as if someone is always angry over there.”

  “Which is exactly the life you moved to South Carolina to get away from.” Sarah’s shoulders rounded, and she sighed. “I’m sorry we placed you in this situation, Noah.”

  “Don’t be. The good days are so sweet. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. And the bad ones make me feel needed. Agnes needs me. I steady her somehow, but that seems to annoy Tayte.” He groaned. “It’s so frustrating.”

  “She’s carrying a load of hurt as well, you know.”

  “And the farm needs repairs that neither she nor Agnes can afford. Agnes has some things stored in the attic, but any mention of selling them sends her into a tirade. And she has some preoccupation with Nathaniel Briscoes’s mother. She brings her up almost every time she gets upset. Do you have any idea what that’s about?”

  Sarah’s eyebrows now rose. She leaned forward and placed a hand over her mouth. “John hates gossip,” she said through her fingers. She looked at the house where he lay. “But if it can help you deal with Agnes . . . What is Agnes saying?”

  “She insists that the woman ruined her life. That she was her friend until she stole something from her. Is that true?”

  Sarah blew out a rush of air. “I’ve never known them to be friends. Eleanor has always taken every opportunity to disparage Agnes. But I guess they must have been friends . . . once.” Sarah bit her upper lip again. “To an outsider, Eleanor appears to be the one with everything, but Agnes had one thing Eleanor wanted—Charles Briscoe’s heart.”

  Noah leaned back against the porch post. “Nathaniel’s father loved Agnes?”

  Sarah nodded and turned her lips inward, pressing her mouth shut as if she’d shared a terrible secret. “Agnes alluded to their romance one day when she explained her evening ritual.”

  “She lights a candle every evening.”

  “Uh hmm. That began the night before Charles left for New York to attend Columbia. Agnes and Charles were already in love, but Charles knew a prolonged separation could change things between them. Evidently, half the young men in the county were waiting for him to leave so they could comfort Agnes in his absence. He took control of the situation by making a pact with her that night—a token of their devotion. He took her red silk bandana, promising her he would carry it in his breast pocket every day, to keep her near him while he was away from her. In return, Agnes promised to burn a candle in her window every evening.”

  “Ahh . . . now I get it.”

  “They both agreed to see other people, understanding that their love had survived the separation if Charles returned home with Agnes’s scarf tucked in his pocket and if a candle was burning in Agnes’s window. The plan worked initially.”

  “Who broke it?”

  “I’m not sure. Supposedly, Charles and Agnes picked right up where they left off when he arrived home at the end of the school year, but Eleanor showed up that summer to visit Charles, and they were engaged a few weeks later.”

  “Just like that? There must be more to the story. Was Agnes already seeing Tony?”

  “Tony worked for Agnes’s father, but she didn’t pay him any regard until years later, well after Charles and Eleanor were married. She dedicated herself to her parents and the farm. You see, her mother never recovered from the trauma of the war. Then the vineyard failed, and the farm became mired in debt. Albert began drinking heavily, so Tony and Agnes were tasked with saving the farm. I guess they fell in love while working together.”

  “He must have known Charles was the reason she lit that candle.”

  “Probably so. I suppose after watching her suffer through that dark period, he accepted the woman that survived it. Lighting a candle became part of Agnes’s routine, like brushing her teeth. I don’t think Tony had cause to question her devotion.”

  “I wonder why Charles chose Eleanor, or why Agnes once considered her a friend.”

  She shrugged. Charles was a fine man, but I suppose he fell in love with Eleanor while they were at Columbia. All I know is, by the time John and I moved here, you couldn’t spend five minutes in their company without seeing that their marriage was an unhappy one. Even odd.

  “You see, Charles was an excellent, aggressive attorney, but he was surprisingly deferent to Eleanor until Tony’s illness. I suppose he knew Agnes had no one else, so against Eleanor’s wishes, he took Agnes under his wing. That was probably what set Eleanor off. She began spreading rumors about Agnes being in love with Charles. Most people ignored her prattle, but the gossip reached Angeline’s ears. When Tony died, Angeline turned on her mother, spewing Eleanor’s gossip in Agnes’s face as one of her excuses for running away.”

  “Charles’s visits to the farm had to have added fuel to the fire.”

  “He always took Nathaniel along for propriety’s sake while he tried to keep Alsace Farm afloat. He sold some of Agnes’s land, set up an annuity for her old age. He even managed her month-to-month affairs until the day he died. All without payment.”

  “He must have made Nathaniel promise to carry her as a gratis client.”

  “I think you’re right. I don’t know if any of this information will help you tackle Agnes’s problems, but maybe it’ll help Tayte understand her grandmother.”

  “Thanks. I suppose I should be getting back. Things were tense at the farm when I left.”

  Sarah grabbed Noah’s arm and said, “Before you go . . .” Then she stopped.

  “What is it? Is there something you need?”

  She peered into his eyes. “John . . . told me something . . . but it can wait.”

  “Are you sure? I’ll make time for whatever you need.”

  She patted his hand. “I know you would, Noah. We�
��ll talk soon, okay?”

  He felt uneasy about leaving things this way. “Call me if you need anything or if things change with Uncle John. I owe you two so much.”

  “No. Believe me. We are now the ones in your debt.”

  Chapter 22

  As Noah drove back to Alsace Farm, pounding rain and thick clouds obscured the moon, making it nearly impossible to gauge the creek’s level, but the truck’s headlights revealed two vehicles in the farmyard—Tayte’s and another. Nathaniel Briscoe’s? Noah checked his watch.

  Nine thirty. Too late for a social call. His heart raced as a variety of reasons crowded his mind, none of them good. He checked his cell phone for missed messages. There were none. He clutched the phone tightly as he rushed to the house and threw the door open, revealing a troubled scene. Tayte and Nathaniel were seated across from one another at the kitchen table, which was littered with papers. Tayte’s elbows straddled a stack of documents, her hands cradling her head as she stared at them. Nathaniel looked equally distressed.

  “Is Agnes all right?” asked Noah in a panic.

  Tayte greeted his arrival with relief. “She’s already in bed. We took on a project this evening that wore her out,” answered Tayte. “I’m so glad she wasn’t awake to hear this news.”

  Noah strode to the table, pulled a chair out, set down his phone, and sat. “What news?”

  A nod from Tayte freed Nathaniel to explain. “Tayte asked Mr. Delacourte to research the origins of the art in the attic. He shared his findings today, and I’m afraid he uncovered some disturbing details.”

  Noah’s head shot around to Tayte, whose eyes were welling as she picked up the tale.

  “I hail from a thief and a liar. That whole romantic story of Albert Devereaux’s war-torn separation from his vineyard and wife and child is a lie. Agnes’s father wasn’t a vintner before the war. He was the head curator of the art museum, at the Palais Rohan, in Strasbourg. And that Chagall upstairs is on a list of European art presumed stolen by the Nazis during World War II.”

  Noah looked to Nathaniel for confirmation, and the lawyer nodded.

  Noah tried to keep up. “Wait a minute. Are you two saying Agnes’s father was working with the Nazis?”

  “It makes sense,” cried Tayte. “He knew where all the finest art collections in France were stored, and he had unfettered access. His counterintelligence work with the military even gave him the means to move the art. And what about this? His military service record states his service ended abruptly after a bullet struck his leg. How convenient that he managed to get assigned to the diplomatic corps and stationed in D.C. It would have been easy for him to smuggle those pieces out in crates labeled as furnishings. Who would have questioned him? It all adds up.” Her head dropped onto her arms, which were now crossed on the tabletop.

  “That’s just crazy math and supposition, Tayte. I don’t see a Nazi connection here. The treasure is in your attic. Why would your great-grandfather risk double-crossing the Nazis just to hide the pieces up there?”

  Tayte lifted her head. “Maybe he got scared. It would explain why Grandma is so afraid of the dragons. Maybe her father feared they’d come looking for him.” Her head dropped back down in defeat. Noah reached a hand to her neck and felt the knot growing there.

  He turned to Nathaniel. “It sounds like a reach to me.”

  “I honestly don’t know what to believe. I went back through Father’s files hoping that somewhere along the way Agnes and he might have discussed the art and provided some insight into its history, but there was no direct mention of the pieces.”

  “No direct mention?”

  “Father listed Agnes’s assets in her will. His notes were rather cryptic regarding the items in the attic, with a note that read, First priority in the event of Agnes’s passing, with these instructions—Notify Angeline. Do not sell. I assumed he was referring to family mementoes.”

  Tayte’s head popped up again. “Do not sell? Grandma also knew the art was stolen?”

  “We can’t assume that, Tayte,” said Nathaniel. “However, in Agnes’s file there is a sealed envelope that’s not to be opened until her passing. It might contain the origin of this art.” Nathaniel sat back in his chair and squinted as a new thought hit him. He inhaled excitedly. “I nearly forgot something else.”

  “A week before Father died, he made an odd request, considering his prognosis. He asked me to promise to represent Agnes gratis for the rest of her life. Then he had me order a new book with the instructions that I was to place it in our law library when it arrived because I’d need it someday. It was titled, Masterpieces Lost. It’s a pictorial catalogue of Nazi-looted art! Agnes’s art and that book have to be connected.” He let out a sigh. “Father kept Agnes’s confidences to the very end, trusting me to figure things out after he was gone.” He smiled with pleasure. “What I wouldn’t have given to know him in life as I’m coming to know him now. Tayte, if you hadn’t come to help Agnes, I probably would have passed her day-to-day affairs on to a secretary or clerk, but your interest in a grandmother you barely knew inspired me to honor the father I rejected.”

  “Do you mind if I ask why you rejected your father?”

  “He and your grandmother always had a strange bond. I confess that I resented Agnes for many years because of it. It was apparent that my father was far happier in her company than in my mother’s. Then, as I became his law partner, I realized he never billed her for services rendered. I drew some unsavory conclusions about the two of them, which I’m not very proud of. Worse yet, I’m afraid my mother fostered those sordid conclusions.”

  “But why?” asked Tayte. “Grandma says your mother was once her friend. What happened between them?”

  “She said that? I never knew them to share a civil word.” Nathaniel scooted his chair back and groaned as he rose to stand. “I should be going. This is a lot to digest and it’s getting late. Besides, the creek level was just inches below the banks when I arrived, and moving swiftly enough to carry some sizable limbs in its flow. How was it when you came in Noah?”

  “Too dark to tell. Are we safe staying here?”

  Nathaniel’s brow and nose wrinkled to underscore his apology. “You’re completely fine here on this knoll, but you might find the lane flooded by tomorrow. If it crests above its banks you might have to use your truck and drive over the pastures to get out.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to at least see the art before you leave?” Tayte asked.

  Nathaniel’s eyes lit up at the invitation. “If you don’t think it would disturb Agnes.”

  Tayte pressed a finger to her lips and led Noah and Nathaniel down the hall and up two flights of stairs to the attic. All three of them shielded their eyes as the attic lights switched on. An unmistakable gush of awe escaped Nathaniel as he surveyed the beauty Tayte had spread around the room as if she were preparing for a gallery showing.

  “The Chagall . . .” whispered Nathaniel as he stepped closer to the master’s brightly colored painting. “Beautiful . . .” He spent several minutes visually devouring the piece. Noah held his breath as another painting caught the lawyer’s eye—Agnes’s painting of the three friends. The piece had new meaning to Noah since his conversation with Sarah.

  Tayte pointed to Agnes’s self-portrait. “This is Grandma. She was also the artist.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed and his brow wrinkled as he continued to stare at the piece.

  “Do you recognize the other two subjects?” asked Tayte.

  Noah studied Nathaniel’s response to the image of a young man with a red swatch of fabric in his breast pocket. Like Nathaniel Briscoe, Noah could now identify the man, and he was willing to bet who the other woman was as well.

  Nathaniel bit the side of his mouth as he studied the piece. “Could I borrow that piece? I promise to take very good care of it.”

  “Of course,” replied Tayte. “Let me wrap it to protect it.”

  Once the painting was secured, the three retur
ned to the kitchen with the painting in tow. A new thought drained the blood from Tayte’s face. “Do you think Mr. Delacourte’s inquiries will alert the authorities?” Her voice grew panicked. “Have I put Grandmother in danger of prosecution?”

  Nathaniel appeared oblivious to the questions. “What? Oh . . . certainly not in her state of mind. Besides, we don’t really know anything for certain, but I might know someone who can supply some additional answers. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  Nathaniel’s rapid exit left a vacuum of silence in the room. Noah wondered where he and Tayte stood. Were they back in that awkward place defined by the afternoon’s spat, or had they returned to friendly territory? He noticed an easel set up in the corner of the room by the large window. “You’ve begun the Eppleys’ portrait. Can I take a look?” He moved toward the painting but was sidelined by Tayte, who raced to a stop between Noah and the portrait.

  “No! You can’t look at it yet.”

  The panic in her voice took him aback. He retreated, hands forward in defeat. “I’m sorry.” As he stepped toward the door Tayte rushed and grabbed his arm.

  “Please don’t go. I’m sorry. It’s just a rough sketch right now.”

  Noah’s skin warmed beneath Tayte’s touch. The feeling radiated up Noah’s arm and to his chest, but he dared not show her how affected he was by her.

  “It’s just a sketch, Noah. I don’t want you to be disappointed by it.” Her eyes moved across his face, studying him. “But I do have a surprise for you.” She took his hand and led him to the doorway. On the way, an object on the floor by the kitchen entrance caught her eye. She stooped to pick it up. “That’s odd. I thought I put that in Grandma’s room.”

  “What is it?”

  “A curry comb. Part of a set we found tonight. Grandma wanted to rush right out and groom Lancelot. I had to tell her he hasn’t come into the barnyard in two days. We need to look for him tomorrow. I was certain I placed both combs on her dresser when I settled her into bed.”