Persuaded (2 page)

“I
don’t think I’ll be doing much sunning,” Hanna countered. Her pallid skin
wouldn’t be landing her a modeling gig with Coppertone anytime soon.

Maude
waved her fork in the air, dismissing her. “It’ll do you good to get away,
poppet—lift your spirits and give you something else to think about.”

Scowling,
Hanna swallowed her mouthful of soup and chased it down with a gulp of her
soda. Was she so very transparent? “I didn’t realize my spirits needed
lifting.”

Maude’s
eyes took on the maternal sheen of pity. “It’s been a tough year for you, what,
with that nonsense all over the Tele.”

Hanna
fixed her eyes on her salad, her heart speeding up. She would never be able to
pull anything over on Maude. This was the first time the subject of
him
had been breached between them, even during last summer’s media coverage. Since
Maude hadn’t mentioned it, Hanna had just assumed she didn’t recognize the
person in question.

Maude
leaned forward, patted Hanna’s hand. “Unrequited love does leave its mark,
doesn’t it, dear?”

“I
guess,” Hanna agreed, surprised by Maude’s directness. All the times Hanna
tried to talk to her about it, Maude sidestepped the topic. Hanna knew the
truth—that Maude couldn’t forgive
him
for breaking the heart of the
closest thing she had to a daughter. “I had a dream about it last night . . .
about him. It shook me up a little.”

“Do
you want to talk about it?”

Hanna
considered it, but what could she really say? After all, it hadn’t been only a
dream, but a memory as well. Too private. Too sacred. Too painful. “Not really.
Thanks though.”

“I
don’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s not as if the prime minister is
missing. If you ask me these journalists have too much time on their hands.”

Maude
had a point. From all the hype in the media over his disappearance, you’d think
the Statue of Liberty had been abducted.

“Well,”
Maude said, “a summer away will be just the thing to put you right as rain. A
little sea-bathing and a suntan, and you’ll be good as new!”

“Um, you
know I don’t tan, Maude.”

“A
sunburn, then,” Maude corrected. “Enjoy the break and the sea air.” Spearing a
tomato and popping it in her mouth, Maude said, “Who knows? Maybe some dashing
chap will come and sweep you off your feet.”

Hanna
snorted. “Right. I’ll just be holding my breath in the meantime.”

“It’s
never too late,” Maude informed her. “Love doesn’t age, you know. The heart
doesn’t expire.”

Twice
in one day now, Maude had used the word “love.” Was she feeling sentimental over
Hanna’s impending departure, or was it perhaps something else?

As if
reading Hanna’s thoughts, Maude straightened and dabbed a napkin to her lips.
“Listen to me, blathering on like a ninny! Pay me no mind, poppet. Just know
you’ll be sorely missed, and there’s an end to it.”

Hanna’s
face relaxed with empathy. “You know I’m not leaving the country, right? You
can call me anytime you want to talk.”

“Oh, I
know, dear. I only hope it doesn’t end in you as a round-the-clock nanny to
those ghastly nephews of yours.”

Maude
had never been a kid person, and the only experience she’d had with the boys
was secondhand. “They’re not ghastly, they’re just . . . energetic. CJ is six
and Walter is only two.”

“All
I’m saying, dumpling, is don’t let yourself be taken in.”

Hanna
couldn’t argue. Truth be told, she knew that her sister Mary’s invitation to
join her in Connecticut for the summer had been as much a plea for help with
the kids as a benevolent offer. But she didn’t mind helping out. Hanna
was
a kid person, had always wanted her own, and in some small way, she thrived on
filling the needs of others. Being needed was easy—it was being dispensable
that she didn’t care for.

Crumpling
her napkin and tossing it into her empty soup bowl, Maude asked, “Do you need a
lift to the airport in the morning, dearie?”

“No.
I’m parking in one of those discount long-term lots a few miles away from the
airport, then catching a shuttle in.”

“You’re
sure? It must be costing a fortune.” Maude was the queen of frugal.

“One
of the other teachers at work owns a lot and gave me a deal. Fifty bucks for
the summer.”

Maude
looked impressed in spite of herself. “Well, that’s one less thing to worry
you, I suppose. I’ll just stop off at the loo on our way out, poppet,” Maude
told her, heading to the restroom.

Hanna
stood and cleared the table, then refilled both drinks. Outside the restaurant,
she embraced Maude, causing her to tear up.

“Enjoy
your holiday, dumpling,” said Maude with a dignified sniffle. She kissed Hanna
on both cheeks and then headed to her own car.

For
the first time since waking from that dreadful good dream this morning, a buzz
of anticipation filled Hanna for her upcoming vacation.

THREE

DOCKING
LACONIA

He had distinguished
himself . . . and must now . . . have made a handsome fortune.

—Jane Austen,
Persuasion

Derick
Wentworth slowed the
Laconia
to wakeless speed as he entered Old Lyme
Harbor. To him it seemed that the other boats, bobbing gently from their docked
positions, watched him pass with wary eyes. He shook off the sensation that he
was being scrutinized, attributing his paranoia to the fact that he’d hardly
been out of the media’s eye during the last year. Win the America’s Cup three
times in a row? That barely made
ESPN
magazine. But suddenly deciding
that you needed something different and dropping out of the competition at the
last minute? You were the cover story. No one understood that he just needed
something else; that he felt there was another place he had to be—almost as if
he was late for something.

The
media had concocted all sorts of sordid tales about why he’d suddenly
disappeared: an unfortunate pass through the Bermuda Triangle, his relocating to
Prague to finally cohabitate with his imaginary supermodel girlfriend, and his
personal favorite, rehab. Derick had never touched illegal drugs in his life,
and it had taken a total of one hangover after a night of careless drinking,
puking, and idiotic behavior to convince him that alcohol was never meant to be
something you drank for fun. Since that night, rubbing alcohol and Nyquil were
the only forms of the stuff he had any use for.

Spotting
the empty slip he had rented for the summer, Derick swung wide and nosed into
the narrow space, bracing his hands against the aging wood to protect his baby.
Then he picked up the mooring line and secured her to the dock. As both the jib
and mainsail were already rolled up and tied in place, there was very little to
do. He made sure all of his belongings were safely stowed and locked in the
cabin, then palmed his phone and stepped onto the dock.

He
hadn’t yet decided if he would be bunking with his sister and her husband,
Sophie and Adam Croft, at their recently acquired beach house, or sleeping on
the
Laconia
. Reasoning that he could easily come grab his stuff later,
he texted Sophie to let her know he was on his way.

The
first thing he saw as he made his way toward the residential section of the
beach was an arc of rock that stretched out into the water. At the end of the
breakwater stood a stout lighthouse that gave Derick a flare of yearning to
explore the spot. It had a lonely air about it, so secluded and not easily
accessible, that it beckoned to him like open arms. Filing it away for later,
Derick pushed past the breakwater, coming upon a pier just a few hundred yards
beyond. A long stretch of open sand and water came next, then a row of houses
that had been scrunched together with their back porches opening directly to
the sand.

A
towering row of lush green trees stood guard at the fronts of the houses,
blocking them from view. Sophie had told him how remote the little beach was
and that it was a private community—not just anyone could wander onto the
beach. There were only two ways to gain access: own a home there or be invited
as the guest of someone who did. In a nutshell, it was the ideal situation for
him.

Derick
had only begun to wonder which house could be Sophie’s when she flew out the
back door of a brown house with a white porch. Her excitement was evident in
the way her arms flailed as she ran toward him, her shoulder-length auburn hair
flying out behind her. Even though Sophie was several years older than Derick’s
thirty, she had always been young at heart. She would have made a wonderful
mother, but it seemed that fate did not agree. Sadness embraced Derick just an
instant before Sophie did, and then the feeling evaporated.

“You
made it!” Sophie declared, breathless.

Derick
picked his sister up off the sand and squeezed her before setting her down.
“Were you worried?”

“Not
necessarily. I just thought it might take a bit longer.” She paused, looking
around. “Where’s your stuff?”

“On
the
Laconia
. I wasn’t sure how much room you had.”

Sophie
gave him that
look
—the one that mothers and teachers universally
employed to drive fear into the hearts of their charges. “You’re not living on
your boat this summer, Derick Wentworth. You’re going to spend it in a
stationary structure with indoor plumbing like the rest of humanity.”

Derick
grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good
boy. It took Adam at least a decade to learn that phrase,” Sophie informed him
as she scaled the rickety stairs and pried open the screen door. What Derick
had thought was a covered porch turned out to be a bedroom. Sophie beamed at
him. “Welcome to Kelynch! Go ahead and tell me you’d take your cabin on the
Laconia
over this.”

It was
a modest-sized room with gleaming hardwood floors, a puffy-looking queen-sized
bed flanked by end tables, and a large flat-screen TV. The tattered exterior of
the house completely masked the posh standard of the interior, camouflaging
Derick’s whereabouts nicely.

“Kelly-lynch?”
Derick asked, stumbling over the bizarre name.

“Kel-inch,”
she corrected. “Every house here has a name. There’s no street name or house
numbers, so it’s how they differentiate. You have your own bathroom, too,”
Sophie continued, gesturing to a door on the left. While smallish, the space
reflected the updated nature of the bedroom. The counters were marble, the
faucets curving gracefully, and the tub and shower, while occupying the same
space, were of the same elegant standard. From the look of the shower head,
Derick wouldn’t have been at all surprised if it sprayed numerous colors and
scents of soap.

“This
is my room?”

“Don’t
worry, we took the best room. Come and see.”

Sophie
hadn’t exaggerated. The master bedroom made his room look
Hobbit
sized.
The bedroom was a large-scale version of his, with a king bed, giant flat screen,
and lots of square footage. The bathroom was bigger too, with a massive jetted
tub and a separate shower, big enough to fit several people.

Derick
whistled. “Not too shabby, sis.”

Sophie
looked smug. “Did you want to go grab your stuff now, or go back for it later?”

“I’ll
wait awhile. Where’s Adam, anyway?”

“He
ran to the grocery store—one of the neighbors is having a barbeque tonight.”

Derick
tensed. The last thing he wanted was to be around a crowd of people who might
or might not recognize him.

“You
don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Sophie told him gently. “I’m sure
you’re tired anyway.”

Finding
himself oddly touched—and subsequently speechless—by his sister’s words, Derick
just nodded.

“We’ll
bring you home a plate,” Sophie said decidedly, stretching up onto her toes and
planting a kiss on Derick’s cheek before walking out of the room. “Hungry? I
could make you a sandwich.”

“I can
make it, Soph. You don’t need to baby me,” Derick said, following her to the
kitchen.

Sophie
looked hurt for just an instant. “I don’t get the chance to baby you that
often, Derick. So suck it up. I’m sure it will pass soon enough.”

Derick
nodded in humility as Sophie began pulling meat, cheese, and bread from the
fridge. “Benny flies in tomorrow,” she informed him as she built his sandwich.

“I
haven’t seen him in ages. How’s he doing?” As Adam’s brother, Benny was sort of
Derick’s brother-in-law once removed.

“Pretty
well, I think—considering.”

“Poor
guy,” was all Derick could manage.

Sophie’s
look told Derick that she didn’t completely agree with him, and he raised his
eyebrows at her.

“Don’t
get me wrong,” Sophie defended, holding up a mustard-coated butter knife. “It
was horrible. But Phoebe’s been gone over a year, and they were only together a
couple months. I think Benny is wallowing in the poetry a bit too much.”