“It was all very simple, really. Just columns of numbers. I showed them a few tricks to keep them from getting overwhelmed when the tallies don’t match up.”
“That was generous of you, Aidan.”
She shook her head. “I enjoyed it. It was nice to dip my hand in the work again. I’ve missed it.”
Cullen fell silent as the car moved along the familiar country roads. Then, playing the part of genial host, he began to point out things of interest, until they were once again home.
“If you don’t mind, my dear, I have some work to tend to in my office.”
“I don’t mind a bit.”
As she walked away, there was a spring to her step. She hadn’t been completely honest with Cullen. She hadn’t just enjoyed working with the farmers in town; she’d been over the moon at the chance to work again.
Aidan sat on a stone bench, watching birds splashing in a fountain. The sound of the water, and the perfume of the roses all around her, brought a sense of peace. She was glad now that she’d sought the solitude of the garden. It was the perfect counterpoint to the chaos in her soul.
So many doubts. So many things she’d taken for granted for a lifetime were now in question since coming here.
On the one hand, she wanted to forget everything she’d heard this morning. The image of a frightened young woman, forcibly separated from all that was comforting and familiar, only to find herself in a new and uncharted existence, was too painful to contemplate. On the other hand, it would explain the lack of tenderness between her grandparents, and the fierce loyalty of her grandmother to her only child.
Had her mother been the love child of Moira and Cullen? As much as she wanted to deny it, she found herself unable to completely reject the idea. She found herself comparing her mother’s smile to Cullen’s. The shape of that full lower lip, the merest hint of a dimple in the left cheek, the arch of brow. Despite both her grandparents’ dark hair with hardly a trace of silver, her mother had gone prematurely gray. Now that she had met Cullen, she realized her mother’s white hair was so like his silver mane.
In less than forty-eight hours she would have the truth.
Too agitated to sit any longer, she stood and began to follow a winding path that led from the rose garden to a wooded section.
As she rounded yet another curve in the path, she found herself standing in front of the guest cottage.
From inside, the wolfhounds set up a chorus of barking. The door opened and Ross greeted her with a smile. “I see you decided to look around a bit. Would you like to come in?”
“Thank you.”
He held the door and she moved past him into the most charming cottage.
The dogs circled her, sniffing and curious. With a softly spoken word from Ross, they retreated to the far side of the room.
Dappled sunlight spilled through the wide windows to form patterns of light and shadow on gleaming hardwood floors.
“Oh, this is lovely.” Aidan looked around with interest.
Exposed wooden beams ran across the ceiling, giving the room a rustic look. Pale stucco walls added to the feeling of light. The comfortable upholstered furniture had a definite masculine appeal. A wall of bookshelves was stocked with leather-bound volumes.
“Your law library?”
He nodded. “Some of it. I have an office in Dublin, as well.” He led her toward a small kitchen, with a wall of glass overlooking a brick-paved patio.
“I was just about to pour myself an iced tea.” He indicated a pitcher on the counter. “Will you join me?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
While he filled two glasses she looked around. The room, though small, was beautifully appointed, with Spanish tile flooring, marble countertops, and a round glass table and chairs that fit snugly into a bay window.
He handed her a frosty glass before snagging the pitcher. “Let’s sit on the patio and take advantage of the sunlight before it fails.”
She opened the French doors and stepped out, with Ross following. At a word from him the dogs came bounding outside and ran off.
Several deep, padded chairs had been positioned for easy conversation. The blue of the cushions matched the blue of the ceramic pots holding red roses and trailing ivy.
“I can see that you like beautiful things.”
His eyes were steady on hers. “I do, yes. Which is why I can’t seem to stop looking at you.”
She colored slightly and forced herself to look around. “It’s easy to see why you prefer this to the lodge.”
“Most people would think me a fool for disdaining luxury for simplicity.”
“This isn’t simple. It’s charming.”
He merely smiled and sipped his drink. “Did you read Cullen’s letters and documents?”
She nodded.
“Have they answered any of your questions?”
She gave a dry laugh. “If anything, they’ve just caused more questions. I’ve tried blocking all these new details from my mind, but it’s impossible to stop thinking about them. Each question leads to another.”
“Such as?” He was watching her intently.
“Why my grandmother seemed different after my grandfather died.”
“In what way?”
Aidan shrugged. “She seemed… free. All that talk about a grand trip to Ireland. She was like a girl planning her first dance. And then there’s my mother. Why didn’t she look like either of her parents? Not just her face, or her body type, though there was that. But also the fact of her prematurely gray hair. Both of her parents were barely gray when they died, with just a few silver threads. She went gray in her forties, and by the time she died she had a silver mane.”
“Like Cullen’s.” He smiled.
“You think it’s funny.”
He shook his head. “I think it’s a family trait, and though you’re trying to deny it, you’re beginning to believe.”
“Maybe.” Restless, she set aside her glass on a side table. “But it would take more than gray hairs or a few old love letters to convince me that everything I’ve held to be true for a lifetime is a lie.”
“It happens more often than you think. Adult children are told after the death of a parent that they were adopted, or learn that the woman they called mother was actually their biological grandmother, covering for the mistake of a too-young daughter. Though we may wish it otherwise, life isn’t all neat and tidy.”
“Knowing it happens to others doesn’t make it any easier to accept. I wonder if you’d be so philosophical if this were happening to you. How would you feel about catching your mother in a lie?”
His smile remained in place, though there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I would have had to know my mother to catch her in a lie. And since she disappeared from my life before I was old enough to talk, that wasn’t possible.”
Aidan felt a rush of remorse. “I’m sorry. I had no right…”
He looked beyond her and seemed almost relieved as he got to his feet. “Cullen. Aidan and I are having some iced tea. Will you join us?”
“I will. Thank you.” The older man settled himself comfortably in the chair beside hers and began petting the two dogs that rushed up to greet him.
Ross returned with a glass and poured him a drink.
Cullen sipped. “Have you been enjoying the gardens, my dear?”
“I have. Almost as much as I’m enjoying Ross’ cottage.”
Cullen gave a broad smile. “He and I have enjoyed many a night of heated debate out here. Though I must confess that on my part the heat may have come from a bottle of Bushmill’s finest.”
“And many a headache in the morning, as you’re fond of telling me.” Ross laughed.
She could imagine Ross and Cullen sitting here often, debating business or politics or world affairs.
Aidan glanced from Cullen to Ross. “Who most often wins the debate?”