as one of the specimens on the shelves around them.
“Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”
She wasn’t the least surprised that Ellen knew something was wrong. The older woman had a sixth sense where she was concerned.
“There won’t be a wedding, Ellen. That’s all I’ll say.”
“Not a wedding? Why?”
She simply looked at Ellen. She had no intention of discussing the matter any further.
“Not right now,” she said. “Please.”
Thankfully, Ellen only nodded, but there was a look in her eyes that said Jennifer had only been given a reprieve. Ellen would have the full story.
Jennifer couldn’t give it to her. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to speak the words.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Gordon waited a week before visiting his solicitor. He knew why he delayed: the moment he went to see Blackthorne, he’d make it real. Sean’s words would no longer simply be a deathbed confession, they would become a legal matter.
He expected his solicitor to listen patiently, but tell him that, since he had no documented proof or witnesses, the tale of switching infants would be just a story.
Thomas Blackthorne, a man with whom he’d done business for four years, surprised him by nodding sagely when Gordon was finished.
“It’s not the first time a title has been in dispute,” Blackthorne said. “You’d be surprised how many there are about. Yours is simply one of many.”
“So, you think I have a claim?”
“Most assuredly you have a claim. However, that’s not the issue. It’s a Scottish title and therefore would be adjudicated in Scotland.”
“Which means?” Gordon asked.
“You need to go to Edinburgh to do it. I know a number of advocates in Scotland and would be pleased to provide you with some recommendations if you wish.”
Armed with a list of three Scottish solicitors, he left Blackthorne’s office and headed back to the Mayfair Club.
He didn’t look forward to telling Maggie that he was leaving for Scotland again, especially since he wasn’t going to divulge the reason why. She didn’t need to know everything about his life, although she’d dispute that.
There was every possibility that he wouldn’t succeed. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that justice prevailed in every situation. He didn’t have any corroborating proof. Margaret McBride was not going to say anything. There weren’t any other people at Adaire Hall who’d been there at the time of the fire. Or, if they had, no one had seen both infants.
All he had were the words of a man who wanted to clear his conscience.
He was going to leave in a few days. Time enough to take care of any lingering business matters and attempt to calm Maggie’s ruffled feathers.
Days passed. Days during which Jennifer tried not to think or feel. She woke in the morning and got through the day, then finally retired to her suite to sleep.
Ellen spoke to her, tried to engage her in conversation, but she had nothing to say. Nor did she care anything about fashion, flowers, politics, the weather, or Adaire Hall. She couldn’t even feign an interest in discussing Harrison, Lauren, or baby Mary.
What she truly wanted was to be left alone and allowed to sit in the grayness of the world around her. She didn’t want to hear laughter or conversation or even the wind. Everything felt like an intrusion.
She was inside somewhere, down deep, buried where no one else could find her. She knew, in an odd way, that she was protecting herself. That if she didn’t feel or didn’t think or didn’t remember anything that she might survive this.
Or she might not.
Even if she could turn back time and change Betty’s actions, it wouldn’t give Gordon back to her. She would be raised with him as his sister. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with him. He was forever gone. He was no longer hers. Whatever they felt for each other would be labeled wrong and a sin against God.
The most terrible part was that she knew that, but how did she convince her heart?
She couldn’t forget the look on Gordon’s face when he’d told her what Sean had said. He’d had a few days to absorb the words. Yet the stunned expression in his eyes revealed that he felt the same about the news as she did.
They’d been sweethearts. She loved him like a woman loves a man, not a brother. Would she have to do penance for that love or did ignorance mitigate her actions? She would not confess her sin to a minister for fear that he would pronounce some horrible