Kingsley Baby Trilogy: The Hero's Son\The Brother's Wife\The Long-Lost Heir (48 page)

“I meant the other Mrs. Kingsley. My… grandmother.”

Pamela paused before a set of ornate doors with what appeared to be gold handles. “Unfortunately, Iris is feeling under the weather. She’s taken to her bed for a few days. She was hoping to be recuperated by the time you arrived, but since you came early…” She trailed off, but her meaning was clear. She didn’t appreciate unexpected guests or surprises.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” David said. “I was hoping to meet her.”

“Perhaps in a day or two.” Pamela opened the double doors and stepped inside the library.

David followed her. The room was large, and like the rest of the house he’d seen so far, lavishly decorated with Persian rugs, priceless artwork, and heavy antique furniture that gave the room an air of oppression. For a moment, he thought no one was there, but then his gaze shifted and he saw a man standing at the French doors, staring out into the garden.

He gave no indication of having heard them come in, and Pamela said, rather impatiently, “He’s here, Edward.”

The man turned at that and slowly crossed the room toward them. He was tall and heavy-
set, with hair that had gone completely white and faded blue eyes that seemed to have a hard time focusing. David searched his face, looking for his own features, but Edward Kingsley was as much a stranger to him as the man in the photograph, the man he’d always thought was his father.

“So you’re finally here.” Edward cleared his throat, as if not knowing what else to say. “Welcome home.”

The moment was excruciatingly awkward. It was apparent to David that Edward was not an overly demonstrative man, nor one particularly comfortable with emotion. Perhaps none of the Kingsleys were. The house, while beautiful, was very formal and exuded little warmth.

Finally, they shook hands.

“Well,” Edward said. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

He took a seat near the fireplace, and David sat down on the leather sofa. Pamela moved to the bar. “Would anyone care for a drink?” She turned and stared pointedly at her husband.

Edward looked as if he could use a good stiff belt, but instead he murmured, “Perhaps a Perrier.”

Amusement glinted in Pamela’s eyes. “And what about for you…David?” Somehow she made the slight hesitation before his name sound derisive.

“I’ll have the same,” he said, glancing at Edward. The man was looking a little green around the gills, and when Pamela handed him his drink, David noticed that Edward’s hands were shaking. Judging by the bags under his eyes and the slackness of his jaw, David guessed that Edward hadn’t been on the wagon for long. And his loving wife didn’t appear to be offering much in the way of moral support. She perched on the arm of her husband’s chair and savored her own drink—a vodka martini.

“Mother tells me you’re a lawyer,” Edward said.

“Yes. I work in the public defender’s office in New York.”

Pamela raised an eyebrow at that. “A public defender? Imagine that, Edward.”

“Where did you go to school?” Edward asked, ignoring his wife’s sarcasm.

“Columbia.”

He nodded in appreciation. “Excellent school.”

“Of course, Edward graduated from Harvard,” Pamela said, running a fingernail around the rim of her glass. “So did my son, Jeremy.”

“Excellent school,” David said, meeting her gaze. She had the grace to blush slightly and glance away.

Just then, the maid, Illiana, appeared in the library doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Kingsley, but Mrs. Kingsley would like to see her grandson, that is, Mr. Powers, upstairs in her sitting room.”

“Out of the question,” Pamela said, rising. “She’s in no condition to be receiving visitors.”

Illiana managed to look both meek and triumphant at once. “Mrs. Kingsley said to tell you she’s feeling much better. And she would like to see Mr. Powers at once.”

“Very well,” Edward murmured, also getting to his feet. He set his untouched Perrier aside and turned to David. “We’d better humor her. Mother can be…difficult when she doesn’t get her way. Besides, she’s been waiting a long time for this moment. We all have.”

It was the closest thing to emotion he’d shown since David arrived, and in spite of himself, David felt his own emotions stir. But he quickly reminded himself why he’d come here. All he wanted was the truth, and he damn well would have it. Thirty-
two years of his life had been stolen from him, and though he could never get it back, he could at least have the satisfaction of knowing
why.

He followed Illiana out of the library and back down the corridor to the curving staircase. At the top, she led him to a suite on the south side of the house and knocked discreetly on the heavy wooden door. A voice called, “Come in,” and Illiana opened the door and ushered David inside.

She didn’t wait to make introductions, but instead beat a hasty retreat, closing the door firmly behind her. David stood for a moment, glancing around. This must be a sitting room, he surmised, since he didn’t see a bed. Done in shades of green and gold, the room was surprisingly warm and a welcome respite from the somber atmosphere of the library.

An elderly woman with gleaming white hair reclined on a green silk chaise near the windows, her legs hidden by a blanket and her arms and shoulders covered by an ivory quilted robe.

A younger woman sat in a striped chair near the chaise. She got up when David entered the room and headed toward the door. “You two will want to be alone,” she murmured, deliberately keeping her head lowered as she neared David. He had only a brief impression of brown hair, darker brown eyes, and a slender, jeans-
clad body before the woman breezed past him and slipped out the door.

Then it hit him who she was. He spun toward the door, but she was already gone, and David turned back to face Iris Kingsley. Her piercing blue eyes—so like his own—raked him with unabashed curiosity, and he could hardly do anything other than cross the room and greet her.

“So you’re Adam,” she said in a soft, Southern drawl. “It’s funny, but you don’t look as much like Andrew as
he
did. I’m not sure I would have known you.” When David remained silently puzzled, she added, “You do know you had a twin brother?”

“Yes, I read that somewhere,” he said, determined not to succumb to the woman’s charisma. Even at her age, Iris Kingsley was still a powerful woman. It was hard not to react to her presence.

“He was murdered a few months ago by a man claiming to be you.”

“I read that, too. I’m sorry. It must have been a difficult time for you.”

“There’s only been one other time in my life that equaled the sorrow.” She didn’t elaborate further, and David could only speculate what that other time had been. His kidnapping? Had Iris Kingsley grieved for him as she had Andrew? Somehow it was hard to imagine this regal, arrogant stranger weeping for anyone.

She waved her hand toward the chair the younger woman had vacated, and after David had sat down, she said, “Tell me about yourself, Adam.”

“David,” he corrected. “I really don’t feel as if I’m Adam Kingsley. Not yet, at least.”

“But you are. The DNA tests were conclusive.” The tests had been Iris’s idea, but David had readily complied. He wouldn’t even agree to meet with the Kings
leys’ attorneys until he knew for sure that everything his mother—Helen Powers—had told him was true.

She’d told him the truth about his birthright: He
was
Adam Kingsley. The tests had proved that. But what about the other matter? Had someone connected to this family arranged the kidnapping?

His homecoming had hardly been met with open arms. Edward had been awkward and uneasy with him, Pamela cold and distrusting, and now Iris, cordial but wary. It occurred to David that all three of them had been in the house the night of his kidnapping, but what had any of them had to gain from his disappearance?

“I heard about Helen Powers,” Iris was saying. “It was a brain tumor, I understand.”

David nodded, surprised to find the grief still as sharp and painful as it had been four weeks ago. “It was sudden. She went far more quickly than her doctors had predicted.”

“Perhaps her death was a blessing,” Iris murmured. She glanced up at him. “I’d be lying if I said I was sorry. That woman caused this family immeasurable grief. I can feel no remorse that she’s gone.”

“I can understand that,” David said. “But believe it or not, she was a good mother to me. She gave me a good home.”

“I’m glad of that. I’m very thankful you were taken care of. You don’t know how many nights I’ve lain awake wondering—” She broke off, as if overcome by emotion. But then, with an effort, she lifted her chin and blinked away the glitter in her blue eyes. “I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. It’s difficult for all of us, really, even though it’s also a time of great joy. This family has been through a lot in the past few months. If we seem…subdued, you’ll have to forgive us. Our emotions are a bit ragged at the moment.”

“I understand.”

“You must have so many questions,” Iris said.

“Yes, I do.” David leaned forward. “For starters, who was that woman who was in here earlier?”

Iris looked only mildly surprised by the question. David had the distinct impression that not much would ruffle her. “You mean Bradlee? She’s staying with us for a while. The Fitzgeralds have been friends of ours for years.”

A friend of the family. That certainly explained the Porsche, David thought dryly.

“Have you two met?” Iris inquired.

“As a matter of fact, we have. She was outside the gate earlier when I drove in. She led me to believe she was a tabloid photographer, staking out the grounds to get a picture of me.”

Iris smiled. “That sounds like Bradlee. I’m sure the deception wasn’t deliberate, but she has a way of getting herself into situations she can’t seem to get out of.” She paused for a moment and the smile faded. “Actually, the two of you have met before.”

David glanced at her curiously.

Iris nodded. “Bradlee was in the nursery with you and Andrew the night you were abducted.”

David looked at her in shock. From studying the case in law school and more recently, he’d known there was another child in the room that night, a little girl the same age as he and Andrew. But he couldn’t recall ever having read her name.

Bradlee Fitzgerald. The name fit the mental image he had of a rich and pampered debutante. A friend of the Kingsleys.

“The two of you were very close back then,” Iris was saying. “You were devastated by your mother’s death, and Bradlee tried to take care of you. We used to call her your little guardian angel. We were all so very worried about her after your…after the kidnapping.”

“Why?” David asked.

Iris adjusted the blanket over her legs, as if she’d grown suddenly cold. “The kidnapping deeply affected her. She had nightmares for months afterward. Her parents took her to a psychiatrist who finally suggested a change of scenery might help. That was all Mary—her mother—had to hear. She uprooted the child, tore her away from her father, her friends and family, and moved her to Los Angeles. That’s where Bradlee grew up.”

David wanted to ask what Bradlee was doing back in Memphis, back in the Kingsley mansion, but he felt his interest might be a little too obvious.

Iris said, “Listen to me go on like this. You must be anxious to get settled in. I’ve put you in the west wing. It’s very quiet, and there’s a lovely view of the gardens. You won’t be disturbed.”

David stood, realizing he’d been dismissed. He stared down at her for a moment, uncertain what to say. Finally, he shrugged. “It was nice meeting you.”

Iris inclined her head slightly. When he turned and started toward the door, she said “Adam?”

He glanced back. She made no effort to correct herself, but instead said, “Welcome home, my dear.”

Her words were warmly spoken, but there was something in her eyes that chilled David just the same.

Bradlee was surprised to find her father and his young new wife in the library that evening having predinner cocktails with Edward and Pamela. Bradlee moved across the room to accept her father’s embrace and a cool peck on the cheek from her new stepmother, a woman who was probably ten years younger than Bradlee.

Crystal Fitzgerald was tall, blond, extraordinarily thin and extraordinarily buxom, and she’d dressed accordingly—in a black jersey dress that clung to all the right places. Bradford Fitzgerald couldn’t keep his hands off her, Edward couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and Pamela couldn’t quite pull off the air of indifference she’d tried to assume for the evening. Even at her age, she wasn’t used to being upstaged in her home by another woman—unless, of course, it was Iris Kingsley herself.

But Iris wasn’t going to make an appearance tonight. She was still under the weather and had decided against coming down for dinner. The only
person missing from the scene was Adam—David, Bradlee mentally corrected herself.

“Darlin’, don’t leave,” her father said when Bradlee started to drift away from the group. He kept a protective arm around his new wife, drawing her close. “I haven’t seen you in ages, and besides, you and Crystal need to get acquainted.”

“I’m not going far, just to freshen my drink,” Bradlee told him, holding up her half-
empty wineglass. But in truth, she wanted nothing more than to escape. The atmosphere in the library was stifling, and if she stayed one minute longer, Bradlee knew she was apt to tell her father exactly what she thought of him.
Grow up, already!
she wanted to scold him.
Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look with that…child!

Maybe you’re just jealous,
a little voice inside her taunted. Her father found love—if you could call it that—at the drop of a hat while Bradlee couldn’t seem to find it at all. She hadn’t had a serious relationship in years.

The French doors had been left open to the mild September night, and Bradlee walked over to stand in front of them. She closed her eyes, enjoying the breeze blowing in from the garden. By day, the weather was still hot and muggy, but the evenings brought a hint of autumn to the air. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of falling leaves and fading roses.