Storm Ravaged (Storm Damages 2) (Storm Legacy) (29 page)

“I haven’t told her.” Jake explains in his usual deep voice. “I thought it would be better coming from you.”

“Yes, of course.” My legs give way, and I drop into the living room sofa.

Elizabeth sits next to me stroking my arm, Her warmth, her nearness at such a moment comforts me.

Jake strides to the liquor cabinet, pours two fingers of the Macallan and hands it to me.

I knock back the alcohol. “We’ll need to make arrangements.”

“We’ll do that,” Elizabeth says, “but you must tell Bri and Royce before you do anything else.”

“Yes, of course.” I reach for my mobile, ring up Bri. Thankfully she answers on the first ring.

“Gabe? Funny hearing from you. I’ve been unsettled all afternoon. Everything okay?”

“Are you in your apartment?” It’s a fair question. I’ve rung up her cell, so she could be anywhere.

“Yes.”

Thank God. It would have been an ordeal to wait to tell her the news. “Could you please come up?”

“What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

“Please, Bri. Just come up.”

While we wait for her to climb the stairs that connect the two floors, I call Royce and ask him to do the same. By some miracle he’s in his apartment as well.

“Now?” Royce asks. “I’m kind of busy.” Something rustles in the background and a woman’s voice calls his name.

“Yes. Now.”

“Be up in five.”

By the time I hang up, Bri’s coming through the door that leads from her floor to ours. “What’s going on? Did you find mummy dearest?”

I stand and take two steps toward her. “Bri. It’s our father.”

Her gaze bounces from me to Jake whose expression has darkened considerably. “No.”

“He suffered a fatal stroke,” I say.

She collapses but before I can get to her, Jake does, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. “I’m so sorry, Brianna.” For once he calls her by the name she prefers, rather than Lady Brianna, the sobriquet she hates.

“He can’t be dead, Jake. I just saw him yesterday. Tell me it’s not true.” She must have seen the truth in his eyes, because she breaks down into huge sobs while Jake kneels on the floor and brushes his hand down her back, murmuring soft comforting words to her.

A clatter on the stairs precedes Royce’s entrance. But he comes to a halt when he takes in the tableau. “What’s wrong? Why’s Bri crying?”

“Father.”

That’s all I need to say for him to understand. “Damn. When did it happen?”

“A couple of hours ago. It was quick. He did not suffer.” I have no idea if this is true, but it’s something Bri needs to hear.

He’d never been close to our father, rarely seeing him, so no surprise our father’s death does not affect him the way it does our sister. Still I can tell he’s stricken by the news. I splash liquor into another glass, hand the tumbler to him.

Without saying another word, he tosses it back.

Jake helps Bri gain her feet, holds her while she stumbles to the couch. She falls into Elizabeth’s arms and another round of grief ensues. I hand her a glass of the alcohol. “Drink.”

Elizabeth takes it off my hands and gets Bri to take a sip.

“We’ll need to make arrangements.” Royce echoes the same sentiment as me.

“Yes.”

“Is there a protocol for this?”

“Protocol?” Elizabeth asks.

“He was an earl. There probably is with the succession and all. Bloody hell, Gabe. You’re the Earl of Winterleagh now.” He tangles a hand through his dark hair. “How are we going to explain our missing mother? Everyone will expect to see her there.”

I’d planned for many things, but not this.

“Gabriel.” Elizabeth comes to her feet, rests her hand on my arm. “You’ll need to fetch your mother from where she is.”

“Fetch her?” Royce asks. Both he and Brianna glare at Elizabeth like she’s gone bonkers on them.

“From Scotland. From where you’ve been keeping her for the last several months.”

Bri hiccups. “You know where she’s been all this time?”

I don’t try to deny it. But how in the blazes did Elizabeth find out. “How do you know?” I ask her.

“At Christmas time, you and Jake talked about it in the baby’s nursery. I’d turned on the monitor to show Gina. It was still on when you and Jake walked into the room.”

“You’ve known since Christmas and you haven’t said anything?”

“Bloody hell, Gabe.” Royce tosses into the mix.

“I figured you’d tell me in your own good time.”

“Why? How?” Bree asks.

“I knew what she’d do to Elizabeth, to our baby. So I put her away where she couldn’t hurt them. In the family’s hunting box in the highlands.”

“She’s been in Scotland all this bloody time?” Royce asks.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? I would think you would want us to know.”

“I didn’t want you implicated in case things didn’t pan out. You can walk away and claim you didn’t know.”

“Wait. If she was under wraps in Scotland, she couldn’t have had Tilly killed.” Royce says. So the thought had occurred to him as well.

“No.” Of this much I’m sure. “Tilly was killed by a local junkie. She caught him with his hand in her purse and fought him off. He grabbed the nearest thing, the knitting needles, and plunged them into her heart.”

“What do you want to do about your mother, Storm?” Jake’s voice of reason interjects into the maelstrom of emotions swirling about the room.

“Bring her back, but put several guards on her at all times. She may not have killed Tilly, but I don’t want her near Elizabeth or my son.”

“She won’t be.”

Bri wobbles up from her knees..“I want to see my father.”

“No.” This from Jake.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She lashes out at him.

“Bri,” I intercede. “He wouldn’t like you to see him this way. You’ll get an opportunity to say your final goodbyes at Winterleagh. The entire family will. Would you like to spend the night here?” I glance at my sister and brother, half hoping they’ll say yes.

Bri shakes her head. Royce passes as well. The secret I kept about my mother has put a rift in our relationship, one that won’t heal anytime soon. I’m not sorry. If I had to do it the same way again, I would.

Without saying another word, Royce wanders back to his place. Alone. Or not alone. That woman, whoever she is, waits for him.

To my surprise, Bri takes Jake’s hand. “Come down with me?” As far as I know this is the first time she’s sought his company.

His features sharpen as he scrutinizes her, “What about your artist friend?”

“We’re through. I kicked him out.”

Typical Bri. None of her boy toys last long.

“Please, Jake. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

My heart bleeds for her pain, but I hope she doesn’t plan on playing him. Because I need him as my head of security. I can’t intercede, though. I’ll need to trust Jake knows her well enough to handle her. “Fine, Lady Brianna. Lead the way.” He disentangles his hand and allows her to precede him down the stairs, back to her co-op.

The arrangements are both simple and complicated. The business of death is the same no matter where or who. My father’s body is taken to a mortuary for a post-mortem. The body will be released to an undertaker who’ll perform his services and we will have the funeral at Winterleagh. He’ll be buried with all the honors due an Earl of the realm.

We’ll place a notice in the papers with the details of the service. For family and close friends only. In lieu of flowers, I’ll request a donation be made to the hospital which first cared for him. In death at least he’ll do some good, even if he did little while he lived. He loved Bri. And that’s what I’m going to remember about him. Well, that and my tutor’s murder.

With Bri and Royce gone, I drift into the bedroom where Elizabeth is finished feeding Andrew.

“Thank you,” she says handing our son to his caretaker.

“Yes, milady.”

I stop Nanny on the way out and drop a kiss on Andrew’s head. With my father’s death, he’s now Viscount Ainsley, but I shall never call him that. It would always remind me of my mother.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Elizabeth once we’re alone.

Elizabeth clips her nursing bra, slides into her blouse. “We don’t need to talk about it at the moment. Not now when your father’s arrangements need to be made. But after the funeral, when we return to London, we will need to discuss things.”

I expect I will not like what she’ll have to say.

Chapter 41

______________

Gabriel

“YOU WILL NOT WHISPER A WORD about your stay in Scotland. To anyone. Do you hear me, Mother?” It has taken five days for the funeral arrangements to be made, more than enough time to retrieve her from Scotland. She arrived today, just as Elizabeth, Andrew, and I have. Royce and Brianna chose to drive separately from us and should make it here by tonight. My decision not to tell them what I’d done with our mother still rankles with them.

“And what happens if I do?”

“I’ll find a doctor to certify you insane and have you committed to an asylum which would make your stay in Scotland seem like a vacation on the beach.”

She purses her lips, folds her hands across her middle. “Very well.”

I’m not fooled for a moment by her seeming acquiescence. Deep in that devious mind of hers, she has something planned. I just need to make sure she doesn’t execute it, whatever it is. “This is how it will go. The service will be held in the chapel tomorrow. Only a handful of close family members and friends are expected. I will stand at the head of the receiving line to welcome the mourners. You will stand next to me. Royce will be on your left. Jake will be directly behind you. So will a nurse. Should you act out of line, she will immediately administer a sedative, and we will take you away. Permanently.”

“And where will your little whore be, dear?” A smirk flits across her lips.

By now I should be immune to her barbs about Elizabeth, but I’m not. It hurts to have my wife called by such an ugly name. “If you call Elizabeth by that name one more time, I will retaliate.”

“Very well. I will refrain.” She nods, like she’s granting me a boon. “For now.”

She’s seeking to get a reaction out of me, but I’ll be damned if I give it to her. “When a mourner approaches, you will acknowledge him or her by name, you will thank them for coming. If they ask how you’re holding up, you will say ‘as well as can be expected.’ If they ask another question or make another comment, you will give a suitable reply. Do you understand?”

“Yes. And if I do exactly what you want, what do I get out of it?”

She had never been one to do something and not expect something in return. So I will give her what she wants, with limits, of course. “You get to live with a retinue of servants waiting on you as befits your status.”

“No more exile in the frozen hinterlands of Scotland?”

“You may remain here, if you wish. Under guard, of course. You will not be allowed any telecommunication devices, including phones. You will have a full library at your disposal. You may continue your horticultural pursuits. Any plantings or seeds will be vetted before you’re allowed to work on them.”

“Visitors?”

“None.”

“I require the services of a hairdresser. My hair’s a wreck.”

Still pulled into her usual chignon, her hair has gone white at the roots. That will play very well at the funeral service. She’s been so upset about my father’s illness, she hasn’t gone to a hair salon. “I’ll find one and have him or her attend to you.”

“And I’ll need Tilly.”

A stab of sadness knives inside of me. “I’m afraid that’s an impossibility,” I say in a much softer voice.

“Wherever you have her hidden away, fetch her. She should be here. I need her.”

“She can’t be fetched, mother. She’s dead.”

“Dead?” she screeches. “What do you mean dead?”

“She retired to an island in the Caribbean. There was a break-in while she was inside the house, a junkie looking for money to buy drugs. She fought him off and he killed her.”

Her shoulders stiffen and her mouth prunes up. Is she affected by Tilly’s death? “That’s too bad. She was the only who knew how to handle my garments.”

I should have known better than to expect her to mourn the woman who had served her faithfully for over forty years. All my mother cares about are her clothes. And her hair. “I’ll find somebody else for you.”

“No one else will do.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with whatever I provide, Mother.” And that is the final word on that.

She scrutinizes me closely. After a few seconds, her mouth tightens and her gaze narrows. She’s at her most dangerous when she wears that expression. “You’re too good to me, Ainsley.”

I don’t correct her on the title. Why bother? I escort her to the door of the study, hand her to one of her guards. She will remain at Winterleagh for three days, long enough to bury my father and have her present when his last will and testament is read. After that she will be taken to her new abode. She thinks she will remain at Winterleagh, but I have other plans for her.