Sinful Ever After - Vivian Wood Page 0,46

other one. Should be brown.”

Plucking up the right decanter, I turn a funny-looking little glass upside down. Then I frown at the glass, wiping it down. Who knows when the last time anyone dusted in here was.

Then I pour the brandy in, replace the decanter, and carry it back to Margaret.

“Thank you, dear.” She accepts the drink, taking a tiny sip. “You didn’t want any?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not that interested in alcohol. Thank you, though.”

She takes another sip of the brandy, looking amused. “You have excellent manners, Olivia. That’s more than I can say about anyone in my family.”

My cheeks color. “Thank you.”

Her gaze wanders away from me. “Have you found anything interesting in the family records so far?”

Clearing my throat and wiping away a streak of dust from my skirt, I nod. “I’ve learned a little about your family so far, but I’m even more excited to get to examine the papers and books in detail. So far, I have just catalogued each piece of paper and every book. Catalogue, preserve, study. That’s how I think it should go.”

Margaret nods slowly. “I see. That makes sense.” A moment goes by before she speaks again. “What do you think will happen to the catalogue when I die?”

I cough. Margaret is clearly going through some kind of existential crisis, which is made worse by her younger relatives poking around the house. I don't want to make it worse. “Um… well… optimally, it will stay here, in the house.”

She sighs. “If only Bertram were still here. Or even his son, Thomas. They both had a strong connection to this house. Unlike Mary’s children, who you just met. They were raised in Massachusetts and they don't think much of the family estate. They aren’t even Morgans, they are Devines.”

“What happened to Betram and Thomas?” I ask, my curiosity bubbling up.

“Well, Betram we lost twenty years ago. In a yachting accident, if I remember correctly. And Thomas…” She suddenly looks wistful. “We lost Thomas almost ten years back. It was a car accident. It was terribly tragic, leaving Carter practically alone. I mean, he had his mother, but she is a useless bird brain.”

She tsks, shaking her head.

“So did Carter grow up here, then?” I ask, trying to get a firm grasp of the family history.

“No.” She smiles sadly. “He grew up in Seattle. He came here quite a bit though, once his mother allowed him to come.”

I pause, a thought forming slowly. “Do you remember a girl named Anna coming to stay for the summer? It would’ve been at least thirty years ago.”

Margaret’s brows rise. “Why yes, actually. Anna was a lovely young woman. She caught Thomas’s eye. I actually thought that she and Thomas would end up together.” She pauses, seeming to think about it. “I think she ended up leaving on a sour note, rather quickly too. She and Thomas had a fight or something.” She eyes me. “Why do you ask?”

Automatically, I open my mouth and the lie rolls right out. “I just… I came across something about her in the archives. I just thought I would ask.”

Margaret drains the remaining brandy, sets the glass down on the end table closest to her, and strains to get herself to her feet. I jump up, feeling useless.

“Do you need help?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I think I just need a nice nap, dear. Thank you for listening to me complain about my ungrateful family.”

“Of course,” I say. “I have to get moving too. How about I walk you as far as the front door?”

“Don’t start fretting about me,” Margaret says, waving me off. “I’ll be fine. I can't let my nieces and nephews win, can I?”

As she shuffles out of the room, I smile. I head to the front door just as it opens. I’m expecting Carter to be the one walking through the doorway, but instead of Carter it’s Aiden.

Tall, dark, and dazzlingly handsome. He wears a pair of jeans and a paint-stained button up, looking at me with dark eyes.

There is that instant connection there as always, a spark that vibrates between us.

My heart seizes. I lock eyes with him, licking my lips. He makes me feel like he’s an Olympic sized swimming pool and I’m a man stranded on a desert island, dying very slowly of thirst. I could not be more parched as I stare at him.

He looks over his shoulder rubbing his neck. “I just ran into Carter and a bunch of