embarrassed or awkward about her illegitimacy, nor had she given much thought to it when she was growing up, other than occasionally to wonder about her father. On her birth certificate his name was given as John Lane. She wasn’t even sure if this was his real name, since her mother was so secretive about him.
Recently, thoughts of her father had insinuated themselves into her mind, and she had been besieged by questions, things she wanted to ask her mother but didn’t dare.
Whenever she had broached the subject of her paternity in the last couple of years, her mother had simply repeated what she had always said: John Lane, her father, had been killed in a car crash.
Because her mother had always looked extremely upset, even on the verge of tears, when they had these discussions, Chloe never did probe further. Of late, she had needed to know more about her father, wanted her mother to describe him to her, tell her other things about him, give her an inkling of his personality and character. And so, on the drive up to Connecticut, she had wondered if she could question her mother at some point during the Thanksgiving weekend.
Now Chloe stood in front of the mirror on the dressing table in her bedroom, staring at herself but not really focusing. Instead, she was thinking of her mother, whom she had always adored. Chloe was absolutely certain there was no one quite like Stevie Jardine. Her mother was a true original, loving, generous spirited, and kind. She usually gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and tried always to see the best in people. Even in Old Bruce, who was such an ogre.
Her mother had brought her up well, given her all the right standards; Old Bruce had once told her that. Her mother and she were very close, pals really, and so many of her classmates at Brearley envied her. “Your mother’s so cool,” her best friend, Justine Seawell, was always telling her, and Justine was correct. Stevie was more like an older sister in so many ways, and yet she was a tough disciplinarian. Chloe had to abide by the rules at all times.
Chloe suddenly knew she wouldn’t be able to summon up the nerve to talk to her mother during the family weekend; it would upset her if she brought up John Lane, dead more than eighteen years. It occurred to her that she could talk to her grandfather, Derek Rayner. She was close to him, and he had always treated her as an adult, even when she was a small child. Derek could enlighten her, if anyone could.
With this decision made she felt more cheerful, and the acute worry she had been feeling miraculously abated. Leaning forward, Chloe picked up a silver hairbrush and smoothed it over her shoulder-length dark hair, then adjusted the cowl neckline of her burgundy cable-knit tunic.
Stepping away from the mirror, she was able to get a better view of herself, a full-length view. She decided she liked the way she looked in the tunic with its matching leggings; she was five feet seven inches tall, and the outfit made her appear taller and more willowy than she already was. This pleased her. After spraying on a light floral scent, she put on a pair of gold-coin earrings, left her bedroom, and ran downstairs.
When she had arrived at the house half an hour earlier, her mother had been making a beeline for the kitchen, and so Chloe headed in that direction.
She found Stevie sitting at the big oak refectory table talking to Cappi Mondrell, their housekeeper and cook. Both women stopped chatting and glanced across at her as she came in.
“Hi, Chloe!” Cappi exclaimed, smiling broadly, obviously glad to see her.
“Hello, Cap!” Chloe responded, and rushed over, gave the housekeeper an affectionate hug. Cappi had been with them for eight years, and was like a member of the family; Chloe was devoted to her, and it was very clear the older woman loved the eighteen-year-old.
Wrinkling her nose, Chloe said, “Do I smell my favorite dish cooking?”
“You do indeed. Chicken in the pot for my favorite girl.”
“You spoil me, Cappi.”
“I know, but it gives me such pleasure,” the housekeeper shot back, laughter echoing in her voice.
“You look lovely in that outfit,” Stevie said with a glowing smile. She couldn’t help thinking that her daughter was beginning to look so very grown-up all of a sudden. And she really was a beautiful girl with her shining dark eyes, luxuriant hair, and creamy skin.
“Thanks, Mom. You don’t look bad yourself. Positively blooming, as I said when I first got here.”
“Thank you, darling.”
“When are the others arriving?” Chloe asked.
“Tomorrow morning, around noon.”
“Is Miles bringing his girlfriend?”
Stevie was so startled, she sat back, surprised. “I don’t think so,” she answered. “He would have mentioned it. Anyway, I didn’t know there was a girlfriend. At least, not anyone special.” She stared at Chloe intently, and when her daughter didn’t answer, she pressed, “Well, is there?”
Chloe shrugged, leaned against the table, and said hesitantly, “Not sure, Mom.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe. He’s been seeing a lot of Allison Grainger, but he’s been really closemouthed about it.”
“Who’s Allison Grainger?” Stevie asked, a dark brow lifting quizzically.
“The costume designer who’s working on the play with him. You’ve met her, Mom. She’s got red hair and lots of freckles.”
“Oh, yes, I remember her now. She’s rather pretty.” Stevie’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Is it serious, do you think?”
“I doubt it,” Chloe responded, and began to laugh. “I guess it will be for about another week or two. And then it’ll probably be over. You know Miles and Gideon, Mom, they’re very alike when it comes to women.”
“What do you mean?”
“When they fall for a woman they get very intense for a few weeks; it’s finally the great love at long last. But it quickly peters out. And they always like to surround themselves with extra girls, just in case. And anyway, Miles says there’s safety in numbers.”
Stevie smiled; how well her daughter knew her brothers. “He’s coming alone apparently, so it may well be over already.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Chloe murmured, and then looked from her mother to Cappi. “Did I interrupt anything? You were very deeply engrossed.”
“No, we were just planning the menus, going over a few things for the weekend. And actually we were just about finished when you came into the kitchen.”
Cappi said, “I’d better set the table for—”
“Oh, don’t bother,” Stevie cut in. “Let’s eat in the little sitting room tonight. It’s much cozier. Two trays in front of the fire will do us fine, thanks, Cappi.”
Later that evening they were halfway through dessert when Chloe put down her fork, looked at her mother, and said, “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Mom.”
“Yes, darling,” Stevie said, swiftly glancing at her daughter, noting the sudden tenseness of her voice. “Tell me.”
“It’s
