Page 20 of The Unforgiven
“Even after all these years?”
“Some things can never be forgotten or forgiven. Please don’t ask me to explain.”
Sybil might have no room in her heart for her granddaughter, but it was obvious that George and his grandmother shared a warm and loving relationship and he knew exactly how to talk to her.
“Surely it’s important that I know, now that Madeline is here,” he cajoled.
“What Charles did was unspeakable, and I will never forgive him, not even in death. And that girl is nothing more than a reminder of the son I lost. Find a school for her, George. There are plenty of establishments for girls who have no family. They live in year-round. Once she comes of age, she’ll marry or find suitable employment, but she won’t be our problem any longer.”
“Grandmamma, I don’t know what Uncle Charles did to hurt you so deeply, but Madeline is a sweet, charming girl who is in no way responsible for her father’s actions. I am now the master of this house, and I say she stays. I don’t ask you to care for her, but I would ask you to be civil.”
“Hmm,” Sybil scoffed. “You always were headstrong, just like your father. And equally misguided. He begged me to forgive Charles. They were close, those two, despite everything. I forbade Albert to have any contact with his brother and he obeyed, afraid that I would cut him out of my will and pass the plantation directly to you, but it seems I can’t intimidate you as easily. I will honor your wishes, George. This is your house now, and you are master here. I’m nothing but an old woman whose opinion doesn’t interest anyone. Go now. I am ready for my bed.”
Madeline sprinted down the stairs when she heard George’s footsteps approaching the door. She slipped around the corner once she reached the first floor and waited until George passed before continuing to the water closet she’d been shown earlier when she asked to wash her hands. Madeline found the room and shut the door. Just enough moonlight filtered through the window to keep it from being pitch dark. She splashed some water on her face and patted it dry with a towel.
Her heart was beating fast and there was a sinking feeling in her stomach. No one had ever shown such dislike for her before. She’d been protected, loved, and spoiled her whole life. She was deeply grateful to Cousin George for coming to her defense, but her grandmother’s animosity shook her to the core. What had her father done that had caused his mother to banish him from her life? What would a beloved son have to do to cross the line so completely that he couldn’t be forgiven, even in death?
Madeline slipped out of the water closet, wishing she could find Mammy, but the house was quiet and lost in shadow. The servants had finished for the day and gone to their own lodgings, and the only room still in use downstairs was the parlor, where George had retreated. Madeline saw a light beneath the door but had no wish to confront George with her questions. She tiptoed back up the stairs and went to her room, where she lay awake for hours, too anxious and lonely to sleep.
TEN
APRIL 2014
New Orleans, Louisiana
Quinn set aside the fan and sighed with frustration. Her head hurt, and her brain felt as if it were wrapped in thick, fluffy cotton that prevented the firing of neurons and made her thoughts swirl in a lazy fog of sleeplessness. She’d finally fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning only to wake up promptly at six. No amount of trying to get back to sleep had worked, so she’d made a cup of coffee in the coffeemaker provided by the hotel in an effort to get a jump start on her day. It hadn’t worked.
Quinn laughed out loud when she caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked like Medusa, her dark hair resembling writhing snakes that moved about her head in an uncoordinated dance of shiny coils. She cleaned her teeth, swallowed her antenatal vitamins, and decided to call for room service. She was too sluggish to go downstairs for breakfast, but her stomach rumbled with hunger. She was always hungry first thing in the morning, probably because eating at night gave her horrible heartburn and indigestion, so she avoided eating after six. Room service wouldn’t get there for at least a half hour and part of her longed to pick up the fan again, just for a few minutes, eager to learn more about Madeline.
Quinn’s heart went out to the orphaned girl, but her mind, now a bit more active thanks to the belated boost from the coffee, teemed with questions. Who was Madeline, and why was she not listed on the family tree Seth had shown her? Seth had said that Charles Besson never married or had any children, but he’d been married to Corinne, and Madeline was clearly his daughter. Perhaps the stillbirth of Charles’s son wouldn’t have beenrecorded, but Madeline had been very much alive and known to her Besson relatives.
Seth had also mentioned that no girls had been born into the Besson family in more than two hundred years, but Madeline was a Besson, and most definitely a girl. And why did Seth believe the fan belonged to Amelia when, in fact, it had belonged to Madeline? Quinn wished she could simply put her questions to Seth, but how could she explain her sudden knowledge without telling him about her gift? He’d scoffed at the notion of psychic ability and might ridicule her if she told him the truth. Would that bother her? Quinn wondered. Yes, it would, she realized with a start.
Quinn stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, no longer seeing her wild hair. Without makeup, she looked younger and more vulnerable, her hazel eyes clouded with confusion. Deep down she was still the little girl who longed to know who her birth parents were and hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed in her if she ever met them. She and her biological father were as different as chalk and cheese, but she longed to establish a relationship with him now that she’d found him.
Quinn liked Seth well enough, but her mind still refused to cast him in a parental role. He was just a pleasant, friendly American man she’d met. She had to keep reminding herself that she carried his DNA, as did her unborn child. So far she hadn’t discovered anything they shared, not even something as minor as a love of certain foods or a common interest. They were complete strangers on every level, so they had to tread carefully. Sharing her deepest secret with him was probably not a good idea.
Seth had invited Quinn out to dinner at his favorite restaurant tonight, and Brett would join them. Seth was excited about getting his son and daughter together in a formal setting, but Quinn thought it might have been best had they just met at Seth’s house where Brett was on familiar ground. She couldn’t imagine that he would be overly excited about her, not at this stage anyway. Logan had been curious about her and happy enough to meet her because he was older and settled into his own life. She was nothreat to him. Jude, on the other hand, had seemed resentful and angry. Perhaps his moodiness had nothing to do with Quinn, but he was still young enough that he might not wish to share his mother with a daughter she was clearly excited about. Brett might feel the same about Seth. He was an only child who wasn’t used to sharing the love of his parents with a sibling. She’d have to reassure him that she was in no way interested in taking his father away from him.
Quinn glanced at her watch. What was taking room service so long? She was famished. She checked her mobile while she waited, and discovered a message from her parents, a missed call from Sylvia, a text from Jill, and a voicemail from Rhys. Quinn took a deep breath and pressed play.
“Please tell me I misheard your message and you didn’t say you’re in Louisiana.” Rhys had every right to be annoyed. They still had to find a suitable subject for the season finale ofEchoes from the Past, and his team was hard at work, since he’d pronounced that the last episode had to be mind-blowing. “What in the name of God are you doing in New Orleans?” There was a slight pause, just long enough for the penny to drop. “You’re there to see Seth, aren’t you? Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for, Quinn. In the meantime, please allow me to remind you that you are under contract with the BBC, and we have to complete the series before October thirty-first. I have an idea I’d like to discuss with you. Ring me!”
Quinn was about to call Rhys when there was a knock on the door. She tossed aside her mobile and went to answer. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Rhys’s peevishness, not before breakfast. She’d call him later, after spending the day in the way she found most productive, doing research. She’d hit the archives, the libraries, and the museums. The more she knew of the time period, the better she could understand the context of Madeline’s story. And if she were really lucky, maybe she’d find some mention of her somewhere.
Quinn dressed for dinner with Seth and Brett, applied a little makeup, and ran her fingers through her newly styled hair, nodding with approval. She still had at least a half hour till Seth came to collect her, so she might as well deal with Rhys. She selected his number on her mobile and smiled to herself when he answered, his voice gruff and unfriendly. This was vintage Rhys, but his bark was worse than his bite.
“And what time do you call this?” Rhys demanded. It was 6 p.m. in New Orleans, so midnight in London.
“You weren’t in bed. In fact, if I know you, you’re probably baking something sinfully delicious because you’re stressing about the program.”
“You’re right, as it happens. I’m making a flourless torte, but it’s not because I’m stressed,” Rhys replied with a smile in his voice. “I’ve been invited to dinner tomorrow, and I said I’d bring the pudding.”
“Must be someone special. You don’t make homemade dessert for just anyone,” Quinn joked. Rhys loved to bake, especially when he felt anxious or upset, but now that she knew him better, she also knew that he baked something special only for those he really cared about and wished to impress.
“Never you mind,” Rhys retorted, but she could almost hear him blushing over the line. He was definitely baking for a woman.
“What did you want to discuss with me?” Quinn asked. “I’ll be back in London next week. Can it wait till then?”
