Say You Will (23 page)

“Of course.” Plucking another macaron from the box, Bea looked at her like she was insane.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.

“Is that whiskey?” Viola said, perking up. She stretched her arm out, wiggling her fingers. “Give. Getting here was hellish.”

“Traffic?” Portia asked as she handed over the bottle.

“Charles. He didn’t want to watch Chloe, and I forced the matter.” She took a hefty gulp from the bottle. Then she took another.

Bea put her hand on Vi’s thigh. “He isn’t violent, is he?”

“Good God, no.” Viola chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “He’d have to be roused to passion to hit me, wouldn’t he? He doesn’t care enough to bother.”

Rosalind gaped at her sister.

Bea was the one to act, of course. She pushed the bottle back toward her. “Drink up then. You’ve earned it.”

“Bugger it all, isn’t that the truth?” She downed a hefty mouthful and then passed it to Portia. “So what are you going to do, Ros?”

“I don’t know.” She looked at everything Nick brought her. “It’s complicated. He lied to me. Can I forgive him? Is he a pathological liar who’ll just do it over and over again? Where will we live? And then there’s Summer, Father’s other daughter.”

“You think too much,” Bea said. “You always have. What does your instinct say?”

“Love him,” she said without any hesitation. She blinked in surprise.

“That’s your answer.” Bea put a finger under Rosalind’s chin and lifted her head. “You wouldn’t love someone who wasn’t worthy.”

“I did.” Viola took another sip of liquor. “You’d think I’d have learned.”

They were all silent for a moment.

And then Portia said, “What’s she like? Father’s other daughter.”

Rosalind tried to paint Summer with a dark brush, but she couldn’t. She touched the scarf that Nick gave her, so like the one she’d passed on to her half-sister. “She’s a solicitor, and good at what she does. She inspires loyalty, obviously, and she longs for color. She wants to belong, just like we all do.” Rosalind frowned. “I liked her. A lot.”

They were all silent again. Viola took another drink from the bottle and Portia stared at the floor, her lips pursed in thought.

Rosalind said what she thought they were all thinking. “I don’t know that I can deny her what father left her, if he left her anything.”

“Even after she lied to you?” Bea asked with curiosity more than anything.

“Even then.”

“Hmm,” was all her oldest sister said.

“Are we having a party and I wasn’t invited?”

They all looked up to the doorway. Their mother stood there, looking elegant in vintage Chanel.

As confidently as she was dressed, the expression on her face was the contrary. She looked unsure standing there, as if she may not be welcome.

Rosalind extended her hand, to welcome Jacqueline in. “Portia overreacted and called in the cavalry.”

“I was prudent,” Portia said indignantly. She made space next to her as their mother walked into the room. “We’re dissecting the gifts Rosalind’s lover brought her.”

“Her lover.” Her mum looked at her sharply as she sat on the floor next to Portia. “So, it’s serious.”

“No,” she lied, feeling guilty about it because she’d been so righteous about Nick’s lies.

“She wants him,” Viola drawled, handing the rye to their mother.

Jacqueline didn’t miss a beat. She lifted the alcohol to her mouth and took a long pull before passing it to Portia. “I’m gathering that wanting him is a bad thing. Is he a murderer?”

“He lied about who he was,” Bea said, meeting their mother’s gaze. “He stayed close to Rosalind to find out about the will, because he’s the stepbrother of father’s illegitimate daughter.”

“Summer.” Her mother’s expression softened, taking the bottle from Portia. “That poor girl.”

“Poor girl?” Portia gasped.

“You know about her?” Bea asked sharply.

“Of course, I know about her. I found out when I was pregnant with Imogen.”

Rosalind remembered what her mother had said, about losing faith while she was pregnant with Imogen, and the pieces fell into place. As bad as she felt, she couldn’t imagine how it’d have been to find out your husband had a child with someone else while you were expecting. She passed the whiskey back to her mother.

“Shouldn’t you hate her?” Portia asked hesitantly.

“For what? Being the victim of circumstance?” Her mother shook her head, her grip tight on the bottle. “Reginald did that girl more of a disservice than he did you. He didn’t even give her the love of a family.”

The vehemence in their mother’s voice shocked them still.

Jacqueline lifted her chin. “That girl shouldn’t be punished because of your father’s faults. If anything, I should be blamed for not bringing her into the fold sooner.”

Portia gasped. “What?”

Their mother nodded. “It’s my fault that you’ve all grown apart the way you have. I encouraged you to leave, thinking that you’d be better off out of this prison. I was bitter with my lot in life, and I didn’t want any of you to fall into the same trap. So I made sure each of you had a way out.”

“A way out.” Bea’s gaze focused. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think the complete scholarship to Oxford was typical?” their mother asked blandly. She turned to Rosalind. “I asked Vivienne to write you a letter of recommendation to your design school, and I partly funded the scholarship as well.”

Bea shook her head. “You have no money, Mother.”

“I’ve squirreled away a little here and there, and I sold some jewelry. My own jewelry,” she said as Portia began to swell up. She took her third daughter’s hand and softly said, “I was ever so disappointed when you didn’t take the scholarship to Oxford. I could have killed your father for convincing you to stay here instead of going to study history, which you so dearly loved.”

Portia blinked owlishly. “That was you, too?”

“You deserved better than being Reginald’s minion.” She looked at them all. “I tried to help all of you. Imogen and Titania, too. Even Summer. I deposited the money she needed to go to law school.”

“Mother.” Viola took her left hand. “That’s …”

“Mad,” Bea completed for her. “But impressive.”

Jacqueline nodded. “And since you’re all feeling kindly toward me, I should tell you now that I have Reginald’s will.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Rosalind gaped at her mother, sure she’d just stepped into an alternative reality. She had the will? This whole time, while they were supposed to be looking for it?

Bea was the one who broke the silence. “Mother, I swore I just heard you say you have the will.”

“The will you asked Bea and me to find,” Rosalind added because it had to be pointed out.

Their mother took a swig of the rye and handed it to Viola when she held her hand out for it. Jacqueline lifted her head and nodded. “I had the will the whole time. Reginald’s copy. Barrows still has the original.”

They all started talking at once—loudly—except for Rosalind who studied her mother, wondering if they shouldn’t have been more worried about her sanity, because the only reason to have them search for something she had in her possession was madness.

Fran walked into the room, frowning. “What’s this? A quorum? Can anyone join?”

“You may want to run, Fran,” Viola said, slurring a little. She took another sip. “You probably don’t want to be here when it gets ugly.”

Fran looked at Jacqueline. “You told them?”

Their mother nodded. “It was past time, don’t you think?”

Rosalind held her hands up. “Wait a minute. You knew that Mum had the will she wanted us to find, Fran?”

“Don’t blame Lady Jacs.” Their old nanny came and joined the circle, sitting on the edge of the couch instead of the floor. “I was the one who pushed her to do it.”

Suddenly all the whispering and the nightcaps made more sense. Rosalind stared at them, not sure whether she should be horribly upset by their ruse or deeply impressed.

Shaking her head, Portia said, “Why? I don’t understand.”

“It was time to mend the rift in the family, wasn’t it?” Fran shared a look with her employer before facing the rest of them. “I won’t speak ill of the dead, so I won’t say what a blighter Reginald Summerhill was in life, but with him gone there was a chance for all of us to be a family.”

“I wanted to bring you all together,” their mother admitted with quiet dignity. “The way I drove you apart.”

“But she couldn’t do it if Rosalind left to go back to the states.” Fran took one of the macarons and popped it into her mouth.

“And I had to do something to get you girls to come together.”

“But you only asked me and Bea to look for the will,” Rosalind pointed out.

“You and Beatrice have the biggest sense of responsibility.”

She glanced at her oldest sister, who shrugged back, unable to deny it.

“But I asked Portia to help you pack away your father’s things.”

“What about me?” Viola said.

Their mum took her second daughter’s hand. “Viola, you’re the most loyal of all the girls. You and Bea were inseparable as children. Your lives may have taken different paths, but when Bea needs you, you’re there for her, and vice versa.”

Bea took Vi’s other hand, but her attention zeroed on their mother. “Do you know what the will says?”

“Yes.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then Bea waved her hand. “And?”

Jacqueline shook her head. “Summer Welles should be here for that.”

Bea sat up, anger flaming her face. “So he did change his will?”

Their mother looked at Fran. “In a manner of speaking.”

“I’m not keen on seeing Summer,” Rosalind admitted, curling into herself.

“She’s your sister,” her mother pointed out.

That still rendered her speechless. “She lied to me,” she finally managed.

Her mother frowned. “I lied to you, too. Does that mean you’re never going to talk to me either?”

“That’s …” She pursed her lips. “Okay, well it’s not different. But I’m upset with her.”

“You’re upset with me, too. I know you all are, for your own reasons. I’m sorry, and I hope you allow me to be part of your lives now.” She looked each of them in the eye. “I also hope you let Summer be part of your lives.”

Portia reached for the whiskey at the same moment Viola raised it to her mouth. “Vi, you need to share.”

“Get your own bottle.”

Rosalind took it from her older sister. “Technically this is mine.”

“You need to bloody learn to share, too, Ros.” Vi laid down, her head in Bea’s lap, and closed her eyes.

Fran reached for the afghan behind her and handed it to Bea, who covered Viola. Then she said, in a lowered voice, “So what are we going to do?”

“Someone I know always says cracked eggs make pudding.” Jacqueline covered the hand Fran laid on her shoulder, a smile on the edge of her lips. “We decide that this will bring us together in harmony, rather than bitterness.”

There were feminine voices in the hallway, and they all frowned. Fran jumped up the moment a glamorous blonde who looked very much like a modern day Veronica Lake swept into the room.

Imogen’s crimson lips curved into a smile that was both innocent and knowing. “Darlings! What have I missed?”

But it was the person behind her that everyone stared at.

Summer hovered hesitantly in the doorway, her black outfit camouflaging her in the shadows.

Rosalind stood up, as did Jacqueline.

Her mother walked forward, taking Imogen into her arms and kissing both her cheeks. “I’m happy you’re home.”

Her younger sister clung to their mum for a second. With her eyes closed, she looked six again. But then she opened her eyes, which glistened, and smiled. “It seems I’m in time for a party. Fran, did you make shortbread?”

“Ach.” The older woman stood up and crushed Imogen to her chest, the way she always had.

Jacqueline faced their father’s illegitimate daughter. “Summer.”

“You know me?” Their father’s other daughter paled.

“Of course, I know you.” Jacqueline held out her hand. “Come in.”

“I’m sorry I’m here. I came to talk to Rosalind again. I did a bad thing, and she’s punishing the wrong person.” Summer entered carefully, her gaze on Rosalind’s. “I would hate myself if I thought that you left Nick because of me. I came to see if I could do anything to change your mind and give him another chance.”

“Come in,” Jacqueline said again, taking Summer’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“You are?” Summer and Portia both said together.

“Yes. You’re family.”

“Especially since you paid for her tuition,” Bea added dryly.

“What?” Summer gaped at Beatrice before turning to Jacqueline. “I thought my father did.”

“Reginald wouldn’t have had the foresight, and I wanted all his daughters to have the same opportunities.” She lifted Summer’s chin and examined her. “You have a little of all my girls in you, plus I imagine some of your mother.”

“I—” Summer swallowed, shaking her head. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry. I wish it wasn’t like this.”

“You were as much a casualty of this war as my daughters. The fault lies with Reginald, Tabitha, and me.” Holding Summer’s hand, Jacqueline turned to all of them. “This will not end a tragedy. One more sister can only be a good thing.”

“Unless she tries to borrow my shoes,” Imogen drawled, going to recline on the couch next to Fran. “Then all bets are off.”

Bea shook her head, still on the floor with Vi in her lap. “I would never have predicted this. So where do we go from here?”

“I get the will, and you girls read it all together.” Their mother calmly swept from the room.

They all watched her go, speechless. Then Portia turned to Imogen. “Gigi, I just realized where you get your dramatic flair from.”

“Genetics are an amazing thing, aren’t they?” their movie star sister said as she unwrapped layers of elegant outerwear.

Rosalind looked at Summer, who was watching her with a combination of regret and hope. She sighed and reached out her hand. “Genetics trump all, don’t they?”