Chapter 14
I f I’d ever eaten dinner in my underwear before, I couldn’t remember it.
And of all places where I would have thought it would be acceptable, I would never have named the formal dining room in Sinclair Whittier’s ridiculously huge mansion as it.
After he’d brought in paper towels to clean me off, I’d put my underwear back on—and, for dinner, I’d been sitting in just my bra, panties, and boots (because Sinclair decided I looked too sexy in them to remove them).
But after a while, I started shivering, and so he wrapped his shirt over my shoulders like a shawl.
Because it smelled of him, it felt like he was holding me the entire time we were eating.
Even cooled off, Edna’s dinner tasted amazing.
I’d been picking at it, though, trying hard to stay awake.
I’d had a hard time getting to sleep the night before because I’d been worried about leaving my father, but I’d been equally eager to return to Sinclair—and my sleep had suffered.
Behind all my anxiety, I knew this dichotomy couldn’t last.
Eventually, I would only have one life to return to, and that would be with my father.
My biggest hope now was to do what I’d planned before coming to Sinclair’s mansion—and that was to get my father and me out of Winchester.
After Sinclair finished another bite of his chicken, he asked, “Do you want me to heat anything up for you?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“But you’ve hardly touched it.”
“I guess I’m still not that hungry.”
When Sinclair nodded, he speared the chicken breast and sliced off another bite.
“I know you had nothing to do with it.”
His sudden change of topic threw me off balance.
“What? What do you mean? Had nothing to do with what ? ”
“I know you had nothing to do with the destruction of the nursing lab at WCC.”
His words chilled me to the bone.
Setting my fork down as quietly as I could, I asked, “And how long have you known?”
The way his blue eyes softened as he looked up at me soothed my hackles that I hadn’t even realized had risen.
“I’ve suspected for some time. After you’d been working here for a while. I saw the attention you gave your work—and, even though you broke rules now and then, you never destroyed anything, even when it would have been easy to do so.”
I didn’t know what to say—except the obvious question…
but it wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
But he continued.
“Even then, though, I didn’t know for certain. You could have been acting for all I knew. It would be difficult to deny damages you caused here—but I didn’t see any sabotage, either. It might have been easy to feign accidentally breaking something, and you never did that.” His eyes shifted to his water glass, and he twisted it, staring at the liquid inside as if contemplating his next words.
“I’d never known the extent of the rivalry between our fathers, except that I’d been told over and over to never trust a Miller in Winchester . Even though my father never told me a lot about what had happened, it was always clear that he was bitter about the whole affair. And that was all ingrained in me, Lise. I’d been told to be wary of you—and I suspect you’d been told something similar about my family.”
I couldn’t deny it—even if I thought my father had a good reason.
“Yes.”
“But the way you cared for the things in the dungeon—basically things that had been discarded by the Whittier family over the years…hell, even the dungeon itself had been abandoned long ago, before my father’s time. I’ve been told it had once been a grand ballroom and that my great grandparents used to host dances for their friends. One of my brothers told me our grandparents considered changing it into a disco, but I think he was making that up. The bottom line is that the space you’ve been working in all this time has been one that’s been uncared for, full of unwanted objects, and you’ve shown them love and care—and even rescued a painting.”
Oh…
I’d rescued more than that—and, at some point, I would have to tell him all I’d learned from his mother’s journals.
“So as I watched you report week after week, I wondered. And you have such a kind, gentle, unassuming way about you, Lise—I couldn’t resist you. The way you’d get excited about things made me ponder your possible innocence. Then you’d get angry or defiant and I’d question it all over again.” Finally picking up his water glass, he added, “Don’t get me wrong—I liked when you’d get angry.”
I couldn’t help but smile and shake my head.
“What? Why?”
“Because it shows how full of passion and life you are. It showed me you weren’t the cowed girl I’d witnessed under interrogation at the college. Even that made me question if we’d gotten the wrong person.”
“So what finally convinced you?”
“I was ninety-nine percent sure you hadn’t done it when you went back to tend to your father—but, by then, I didn’t really care. I wouldn’t have gotten to know you had none of this happened. And I’ll be honest with you. My whole plan to have you here working off your debt had been nothing more than a ploy to win my father’s approval. I was going to have you work for him in some capacity—but I learned early on that he didn’t care. He didn’t see the genius in my plan. I had to follow through anyway, lest you think I wasn’t a man of my word.
“But what finally convinced me that you weren’t the culprit was when I came to Winchester last Saturday.
It was what you said to Alan Sherwood as I was approaching your house.
It’s clear he was the one behind it.
”
I nodded fervently.
“He was.”
“But I need to know one thing.”
I couldn’t stop the way my brow furrowed.
“What?”
“Did you know about his plan beforehand?”
It was this—his underlying distrust, ingrained and indelible—that was just another reason why we would never work.
“No. Of course, I didn’t. I was—”
“I believe you. I didn’t think so…but I needed to hear it from your mouth.”
Ah.
So maybe he did trust me.
My shoulders softened a bit.
“That was what I was trying to tell Mr. Sherwood—that, when my father fought against yours, he never hid behind a mask or let someone else take the blame.”
“But he wasn’t actively destroying anything, either.”
“That’s true…but my father is an honorable man. I can’t imagine him ever doing anything like that, even when he would get angry.”
Sinclair placed his linen napkin on the table, signaling to me that he was done eating.
“Just so you know, I have alerted the authorities in Winchester about Sherwood. I told them what I’d overheard and they said they needed proof, not accusations.”
“After what they did to me?”
Sinclair nodded.
“I asked them to keep an eye on him…and regard him as a person of interest. And perhaps you could tell them what you know.”
“I already did. Multiple times. And they didn’t listen.”
“I suspect Leona and I had a lot to do with that. Now that they know they…have my approval, they’ll open their eyes and re-examine the evidence. And they may want to question you again about what Sherwood told you.”
I was highly doubtful, knowing what I knew of the Winchester Police, but I wasn’t about to argue with Sinclair.
It was simply enough that he believed me.
And that led me back to the big question—but he answered it before I had to ask.
“And, because I know you didn’t do it, there’s really no restitution to be made, is there? Although we have a contract, I don’t see how it could hold up in court when the foundation on which it was made has crumbled. You have nothing to repay.”
My throat suddenly dried up…
because if he didn’t expect repayment, then he absolutely one-hundred percent believed me.
He knew .
But I didn’t know what to say.
Technically, that meant that I shouldn’t be sitting next to him, eating dinner with him…
feeling the evidence of our union, even if slight, between my panties.
It meant I should have been home with my father.
But a big part of me didn’t want that.
I didn’t want to leave Sinclair…
even though I knew I would have to now that this was all out in the open.
“All that said, we should probably have my lawyer put something in writing…make it a formality.”
I nodded.
A few more days with Sinclair.
That should be enough time for me to prepare.
“And I also have an offer.”
I jumped at it.
“Yes?”
“Please stay and finish your work in the dungeon. I haven’t had the heart to work down there myself. Too many memories. It’s hard enough living in this…museum, as you called it when you first got here. That’s why I moved from the east wing to the west—I couldn’t bear being reminded of my father and brothers every time I walked down that hall. Too many bad memories.”
Part of me wanted to offer to work in the east wing as well—but that was a bad idea.
As he’d said just moments earlier, I had nothing to repay.
Was I going to ask him to hire me?
He continued.
“I’ve thought from time to time of hiring someone else, but now that you’ve been down there lovingly tending to everything, I don’t know that I could trust anyone else. Edna, of course, would gladly work on any task I ask, but she already does too much around here and works too many hours as it is.” Pushing back his chair from the table, he steepled his hands together as if he were talking to his employees in a meeting instead of sitting at this table with me in nothing but his slacks.
“So my offer: please consider staying on for a bit longer. After you finish the dungeon, I’ll see to it that your father’s medical bills are paid, regardless of what happens—and you can have the Lexus. I’ve seen the car you drive, and you need something more reliable.”
“I couldn’t possibly take it.”
“Would you prefer I have one of my accountants go over your timesheets and calculate the work you’ve done? I could pay you instead.”
Somehow, that didn’t seem right either.
So I slowly shook my head.
I had far too much to think about.
And I wasn’t about to clean my plate now.
“Think about it tonight. Give me an answer at breakfast.”
And, with that, he stood.
Did that mean we were ending here and now?
Was this the last time we’d ever be together?
But then he held out a hand, inviting me to stand.
And, after we gathered up our clothes, we headed upstairs.
I couldn’t sleep—and, it seemed, neither could Sinclair.
Even though it was dark outside, it was relatively early, especially compared to many of the late nights we’d spent together.
And I had far too much on my mind.
Including something we hadn’t discussed.
“Are you awake?” I asked softly, in case he wasn’t.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, shifting so much that I lifted my head.
I’d been resting it against his chest but now turned so I could look at him.
“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you up.”
“No. It’s not you. I…have something I want to tell you.”
He sat up a bit so I did as well, but we wound up readjusting so that our heads were on pillows facing each other.
“Have you already made a decision?”
“No. I, um, I finished reading your mother’s last journal.” Although his eyes seemed to darken, he did nothing more than give me a short nod.
“And there’s something you need to know.”
“Hm.”
I didn’t know what his response meant, but he seemed angry.
Even though I hadn’t told him where I’d gotten this final journal, maybe he knew.
But, because he didn’t say anything else, I planned to simply keep talking.
“Your mother didn’t commit suicide, no matter what anyone has told you. Or—if she did—it wasn’t for the reasons you’ve been told.”
“What do you mean?”
I let out a short breath through my nose, trying to decide how to tell him.
Really, what I wanted him to do was read her journals in order—but, as deeply as the wounds cut him, I suspected that would simply reopen them rather than allowing them to heal.
“She was really sick at the end—and the doctor was running test after test, trying to find out what was going on.” I didn’t want to go into gruesome detail, but I would if he asked.
“She was getting weaker, unable to eat or keep anything down—but she wanted to live. She loved you with all her heart and you made her happy. You were her pride and joy.”
“I don’t see how I could have been. I was just a baby.”
“But she felt like you were hers—and that your brothers were more your dad’s. You were very special to her. It’s…hard to explain, but she adored you.”
Again, he repeated that monosyllabic word he’d muttered earlier, but this time the tone felt different.
Sounded different.
“Hm.”
“And Augustus is your father. She said he’d accused her of having an affair, but she hadn’t. You are your father’s son—and she even asked him several times to have your blood tested to prove you were his son, but your father refused. She thought it was because he’d no longer be justified in—” I cut myself off, not wanting to reveal to Sinclair that his mother had suspected her father of cheating on her for years.
But he was no dummy.
He already knew my unspoken thoughts.
“If my father wanted to sleep around on my mother, he wouldn’t have needed an excuse.”
“But your mother believed that was why he’d been so obstinate about having you tested—that finding out she hadn’t been having an affair would make him guiltier somehow. But I have a theory.”
“And that is?”
“There was no doubt that your parents no longer loved each other. It infused almost every page she wrote, and it devastated her. I believe your father resented your birth because you represented another tie between them. He’d already distanced himself from your mother—and had sent your oldest brother off to boarding school. It was almost as if he didn’t want the responsibility of a family. I’m not sure.”
“My father’s pretty fond of Augie, so maybe it was more that he didn’t want our mother to influence him…but I believe he’d be just as happy if Warren and I didn’t exist. I used to think it was just me he despised, but, looking back, I wonder. It seemed that he was just as cold to Warren during dinner before the ballet. Did you see that too?”
My mind wandered back to that night that wasn’t so far off but seemed like a distant memory nonetheless.
Most of that evening I’d been tense and feeling ill—but I could remember the gist of the conversations.
“Maybe—but I felt like your father was angrier with his date.”
“You might be right.” He ran his hand over my back, soothing and warm, and we didn’t say anything for a bit.
I finally began growing sleepy, my conscious clear, when he spoke again.
“I suppose it’s nice to know more about my mother…but it doesn’t really change anything, Lise. If my father refused to do blood testing when she was alive, why would he do it today? And what difference would it make?”
I opened my eyes so I could better gauge his emotional state.
“It could make a huge difference. Knowing you’re his flesh and blood might make him a more caring father.”
“He doesn’t have a loving bone in him. And I’ve done okay without his love and approval up to this point. Why would I care now?”
His words made my heart ache.
No matter how rejected I’d felt by my mother leaving, I completely understood now why she did.
It didn’t make it hurt less, but it helped me to let go of some of the anger I felt toward her—and, I imagined, over time I could maybe let it go.
But Sinclair was shutting himself off from even the possibility—and I didn’t blame him for it, but it made me sad.
Would there be a way I could help him repair that wound?
“But I guess it is nice to know that I was loved by my mother, even though I can’t remember her. And Edna was a hell of a surrogate. I look at your life and then I look at mine, and I don’t feel like I can complain much.”
No, but he could and should want better relationships with his family…
but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to help with that.