The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride (33 page)

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Uncle Basil said in an apologetic manner. “I didn’t think
this could wait any longer. In truth, I shouldn’t have waited this long. But it’s
rare that the entire family is together in one place and I didn’t want to take the
chance that some of you would scatter in the morning so I thought it best to do this
now.”

Basil had asked Mother, Father, and their daughters and husbands to join him in the
dining room and Delilah had insisted Sam come as well. After all, he would soon be
a member of the family and whatever Basil’s
family matter of some importance
was, Sam should certainly be a part of it.

Basil nodded at Camille and Grayson. “But I do apologize for taking you away from
the festivities.”

“Nonsense, Uncle Basil,” Camille said with a smile. “The ball is well underway and
no one will miss us for a few minutes.”

The ball was indeed in full swing and was as well as perfect as one could hope. As
was the wedding itself. Although Delilah did think the true perfection was to be found
in the love that shone in the eyes of the bride and groom. She glanced at Sam beside
her and smiled. And was there really anything more perfect than that?

“I must confess, you have us all dying of curiosity,” Beryl said.

“And a certain amount of apprehension.” Father studied his twin closely. “It’s not
like you to be preoccupied and on edge but you have been since you arrived at Millworth.”

“I will try to keep this as succinct as possible.” Basil met his brother’s gaze. “I
know you have been concerned about the fate of Millworth as you have no sons. And
upon our respective deaths, your title, the estate, and everything associated with
it will be inherited by some distant relative we scarcely even know.”

“It’s the way of the world.” Father shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

“As have we all,” Delilah added. “Admittedly, it will be rather sad to see Millworth
pass into unfamiliar hands but it’s not as if any of us will be left penniless.”

“Thanks to appropriate first marriages,” Mother said smugly.

Grayson and Lionel traded wry glances. As the second husbands of Briston daughters
they were well aware of the nature of their wives’ first marriages.

“That is one less thing to worry about,” Basil said under his breath.

“I do wish you would tell us what this is all about.” Impatience sounded in Mother’s
voice. “We do have a ball to return to, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Basil snapped. “This isn’t easy, Bernadette. I’m trying to think
of the right way to say this.”

“Just say it.” Mother glared. “The more you dissemble, the more the rest of us think
this is something truly dreadful.”

“It’s not dreadful,” Basil said staunchly. “In many ways it’s something of a miracle.”

“Go on then.” Father’s brow furrowed. “Out with it, Basil.”

“Very well.” Basil paused. “It’s a long story but I shall try to make it short.”

“Too late,” Beryl murmured.

“A very long time ago,” Basil began, “I met a lovely young woman, the daughter of
an American banker. We fancied ourselves in love and did what young people in love
often do.”

Bernadette’s jaw clenched with impatience. “Do get on with it, Basil.”

He ignored her. “We eloped.”

A collective gasp washed around the room.

“Her parents were appalled and convinced the marriage was a terrible mistake. They
convinced us of that as well.”

Father stared. “You never told me any of this.”

“It was not something I was particularly proud of,” Basil said sharply. “At any rate,
she returned to America and was to have the marriage annulled. Her father would see
to that.”

Beryl studied her uncle closely. “
Was
to have the marriage annulled?”

“Yes, well, that’s apparently difficult to do if the bride is with child.” Basil shook
his head. “I only recently learned about this.”

Camille’s eyes widened. “Then you’re still married?”

“And you have a child?” Shock rang in Delilah’s voice.

“Basil,” Father said in a hard tone. “What exactly are you trying to tell us?”

“I’m trying to tell you I have a son.” Basil drew a deep breath. “I’m trying to tell
you there is a new heir to Millworth Manor. And he’s American.”

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Victoria Alexander’s
next Millworth Manor historical romance,
The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding
,
coming in November 2014!

Jackson Quincy Graham Channing isn’t the man he thought he was.

A scant five minutes ago, the youngest vice president in the storied history of Graham,
Merryweather and Lockwood Banking and Trust was not merely accepting of his lot in
life but considered himself quite content. Oh certainly, when he was six years of
age he had wanted to become Jack the intrepid pirate king and live a life of adventure
on the high seas. A notion that vanished when he was seven and decided the adventurous
life of Jack the heroic scout in the vast uncivilized recesses of the west would be
much more exciting. When he turned eight, he had realized Jack the hunter of lost
treasures and seeker of adventures in the jungles of the Amazon or the deserts of
Egypt, a hero of epic proportions, was much more to his liking. But by the time he
was nine, Jackson Quincy Graham Channing understood the duty, the responsibility and
the destiny of the great-grandson of one of the founders of Graham, Merryweather and
Lockwood Banking and Trust was to follow in the not quite as adventurous footsteps
of his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him. And so he did, exactly as
planned.

In five years, Jackson Quincy Graham would turn over the presidency of Graham, Merryweather
and Lockwood to his grandson who would soon be officially engaged to Lucinda Merryweather,
also an offspring of one of the bank’s founders. They would marry in the spring, shortly
after her twenty-fourth birthday, just as both families had planned from the day Lucy
was born. They would have an appropriate number of children including at least one
boy who would grow up to take his place as the head of Graham, Merryweather and Lockwood
Banking and Trust.

Life was unfolding exactly as expected, precisely according to plan, with no unseemly
excitement, little opportunity for adventure, save that to be found in the world of
banking and finance, and few surprises.

That Jackson Quincy Graham Channing now found himself taken completely by surprise
was most unsettling. He couldn’t recall ever having been at a loss for words before.
Obviously his shock now was due directly to the fact that the importance of the moment
was rivaled only by its absurdity. No doubt why he said the first thing that popped
into his head.

“But you’re dead.”

His mother winced. The tall, older British gentleman standing beside her in his grandfather’s
wood paneled library in their grand house on Fifth Avenue, the man who was apparently
his father,
his dead father
, smiled in a wry manner. “Actually, I’m very much alive.”

“So it would seem.” Jack studied the older man closely.

Colonel Basil Channing looked decidedly familiar although they had never met. But
his eyes, his nose, everything about him was as familiar to Jack as . . . his stomach
twisted.
As if he was looking in a mirror.
Granted that mirror was considerably older but there wasn’t a doubt in Jack’s mind
that this man was who his mother said he was. Until a minute ago Jack was under the
impression his father had died in an Indian uprising before Jack was born. It was
a tragic story that his mother never wished to talk about. For more reasons than one
obviously.

“Forgive me for being blunt but surely you understand why I am more than a little
taken aback.” Jack’s gaze slid to his mother. “And extremely confused.”

“Yes, well, you might have a question or two,” his mother said under her breath, refusing
to meet his gaze.

“I might?” His tone rang harder than expected but it seemed ire went hand in hand
with shock. “Only one or two you think?”

“Or more.” His father’s eyes narrowed. “God knows I do.”

“Do you?” Jack’s brow rose. “How very interesting as most of my questions are for
you. First and foremost where have you been for the last thirty years,
Father?
”

“You would do best to watch yourself, my boy.” The colonel’s casual tone belied the
hard look in his eye. “Until you know all the facts. Wouldn’t you agree, Elizabeth?”

“One should always have all the facts before passing judgment.” Elizabeth Channing
calmly crossed the library to where a decanter of brandy sat, as always, on a corner
of his grandfather’s desk.

The ever-present decanter marked this room as a gentleman’s domain every bit as much
as did the commanding, century old mahogany desk, the floor to ceiling shelves filled
with precisely arranged, finely bound volumes, the well-worn costly leather sofa,
and the imposing portrait of Jack’s great-grandfather over the fireplace. This was
his grandfather’s sanctuary and would one day be Jack’s. Exactly as it should be.

“You would be wise to remember that as well, Basil.” Mother poured herself a glass
and only a slight tremble in her hand indicated she was anything other than completely
composed. Interesting as Jack had never seen his mother anything less than completely
composed.

His father was right, of course. Besides, Jack never allowed emotion to overcome logic
and logic dictated he wait to have the facts of the matter before reaching any conclusions.
It was the sensible, rational way to proceed even if there was nothing sensible and
rational about any of this.

“Yes, of course.” Jack drew a deep breath. “Then perhaps you would be so good as to
explain.”

“Quite honestly, there’s little I can explain. As I said, I have as many questions
as you. Until a week ago, I had no idea I had a son.” The older man’s gaze shifted
to Jack’s mother. “Nor was I aware that I still had a wife.”

Jack’s gaze turned to his mother, who was doing her best to look anywhere but at him.
Or his father.

“Well?” both men said in unison then exchanged startled glances.

“We’re waiting, Mother,” Jack said.

“Out with it, Elizabeth,” his father said at the same time.

“I have no intention of being interrogated like a common criminal,” his mother said
in a lofty manner and tossed back a good portion of her brandy. That too was interesting.
She did not normally indulge in quite so reckless a manner.

“Why didn’t I know that I had a father?” Jack said.

“Everyone has a father, dear,” Mother said coolly. “It’s rather odd that you thought
you didn’t.”

“You’re right. My apologies. Allow me to restate my question.” Jack’s voice hardened.
“Why didn’t I know my father was alive?”

“I have no idea.” She raised a shoulder in an offhand manner. “I never told you he
was dead.”

“Not in so many words, I suppose. But you led me to believe he was dead. That he was
killed in an Indian uprising before I was born.”

“That might have been your grandfather’s doing,” Mother said under her breath.

“I was in India in ’57,” his father said. “Sepoy rebellion.”

Jack stared. “Not that kind of Indian.”

“Nonetheless, as you can see, I was not killed.” He turned toward his wife. “You let
him think I was dead.”

“How was I to know you weren’t? You could have been.” She sniffed. “It’s not as if
you kept in contact with me.”

“I wrote to you. At least in the beginning.” Indignation sounded in the older man’s
voice. “Admittedly, it took me a week or so to realize your admonition that it would
be best if we did not contact one another was ridiculous. I wrote you once a month
for the next, oh, eight months if I recall.”

“Yes, well the ninth month was when I might well have responded,” she snapped.

“At that point it seemed hopeless.” His father’s tone matched his mother’s. “As far
as I knew, you had returned to America to have our marriage annulled and never wanted
to see me again.”

“That was the original plan.” Mother’s eyes narrowed. “However, an annulment is difficult
when one is going to have a child.”

“The two of you were married, then?” Jack interrupted.

“Of course we were married.” She huffed. “I certainly would never have had a child
if I had been unmarried. I can’t believe you would ask such a question.”

“Do forgive me, Mother.”

“Sarcasm is not the way to handle an awkward situation, Jackson.”

Jack narrowed his gaze. “Again, my apologies.”

“It’s been thirty years, Elizabeth.” The colonel’s gaze met his wife’s. “I would think
that at some point during that time, you would have seen your way clear to inform
me of the birth of my son.”

“You needn’t look at me that way. I didn’t deliberately not tell you. Indeed, I can’t
count the number of times I put pen to paper to write to you. Why, I probably wrote
a good two dozen letters or more through the years.”

“And yet I never received even one.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t say I actually mailed them.” She shrugged. “I really didn’t know
where to send them. I didn’t know if you were still in the army or wandering the world.
Regardless, I had no idea where to find you.” She studied her husband. “You were an
adventurous sort, remember? Always talking about what you wished to see and do, the
places you wanted to go.”

“If I recall, you wished to see those places with me.”

She sipped her brandy. “I was very young and extremely foolish.”

The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “Weren’t we all.”

“And therein lies the problem,” she snapped.

“One of many,” he said sharply then drew a deep breath. “You could have sent your
letters to Millworth Manor. I would have received them eventually.”

“I suppose I could have but I didn’t.” She waved off his comment. “It’s really a moot
point now. You know everything and—”

“I don’t know anything at all.” His father’s brow furrowed. “Aside from the basic
facts that I have a wife and a son I don’t—”

“Oh, come now, Basil, you needn’t be so indignant.” She rolled her gaze toward the
ceiling. “I’ll have you know it’s remarkably difficult to inform a man he’s a father
who is not even aware he’s still married. And while admittedly I should have, oh,
made a greater effort perhaps, this is really not my fault.”

“Not your fault?” father and son said in unison.

Mother’s annoyed gaze slid from one man to the other. “We’re never going to get anywhere
if the two of you keep doing that. I find it most disconcerting.”

“We certainly wouldn’t want you to feel ill at ease, Mother,” Jack said.

“Thank you, Jackson,” she said in a lofty manner.

The men traded glances. Jack drew a deep breath.

“Nonetheless, I must agree with . . .” He looked at his father. What was he supposed
to call this man he had just met? “
Him
. We both have questions and an explanation as to your actions for the past thirty
years is certainly in order and long overdue.”

“Possibly I suppose. But it really is a long story and we do have guests.” She glanced
at her husband. “Only Mr. Lockwood, my father of course, and the Merryweathers and
their daughter Lucinda. Jackson and Lucinda will more than likely marry within the
year.”

The older man glanced at his son. “My heartiest congratulations.”

“Nothing is settled yet,” Jack said without thinking, ignoring the voice in the back
of his head that wondered why it was that nothing was settled. And why it didn’t seem
to bother him. Or Lucy.

“You’ve come in the middle of a small dinner party, Basil. Nothing elaborate but as
you were neither expected nor invited, it was most inconsiderate of you.”

“Do forgive me,” the colonel said wryly. “I would hate to be an inconvenience.”

“Furthermore, I have said all I intend to say at the moment.” Mother started toward
the door. “We can clear up all this confusion later.”

Jack stepped to block her way. “Absolutely not.”

“This is far too important a matter to blithely put off.” His father glared.

“Nonsense.” She scoffed. “Admittedly, it might seem urgent to the two of you but it’s
not. This, oh, revelation for want of a better word, is thirty years in the making.
It can certainly wait until after dinner.”

Jack stared at her. “I’m not the least bit hungry.”

“I could use a bite, myself,” his father murmured.

“You were not invited,” Mother said firmly.

“And yet here I am.” His father grinned. It was a surprisingly infectious grin and
Jack found himself biting back a smile of his own. “Surely you can see your way clear
to allow me to join you for dinner, Betty.”

Jack might have been mistaken but he would have bet those were flames of fury that
flickered in his mother’s eyes.

Her jaw tightened. “Don’t call me Betty. Betty is not my name nor has it ever been
my name.”

Amusement shone in the colonel’s eyes. “As I remember you used to like it when I called
you Betty.”

“There are any number of things that I liked in my youth.” Her eyes narrowed. “That
I have grown out of.”

“Have you now?” The colonel moved closer to her, plucked the half-filled glass of
brandy from her hand and took a sip. “Does that include me?”

She ignored the question and cast a pointed glance at her glass. “I’d be happy to
get you a brandy of your own.”

“I’m fine with this, thank you.” His father chuckled. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

She heaved a resigned sigh. “Goodness, Basil, we were married for less than a week—”

“Plus thirty years,” Jack murmured.

“There was no need to grow out of you. I simply had to come to my senses.”

“And did you?” The older man swirled the brandy in the glass.

“Of course I did,” she said sharply.