Robert took my hand firmly. “Likewise, Mrs. Carideo. Patrick has spoken highly of you.”
Margaret simply nodded, her expression polite but unreadable.
The lunch that followed was a strange mix of awkward and warm. Nora kept the conversation going, filling me in on embarrassing stories from Patrick’s youth. James and Alistair debated Scottish politics with good-natured intensity. Patrick occasionally squeezed my hand under the table, a silent reassurance.
Robert contributed occasionally to the conversation, his manner cordial if reserved. Margaret remained largely silent, watching me with those gentle eyes that revealed nothing of her thoughts.
When the meal ended, people drifted into small conversational groups. I was helping Mrs. Ferguson clear the plates when Margaret approached me.
“Would you walk with me in the gardens?” she asked. “It’s lovely this time of year.”
My heart jumped to my throat, but I nodded. “I’d like that.”
Margaret led me down a winding stone path through gardens that had been tended for centuries. Spring bloomed all around us—rhododendrons, bluebells, and early roses creating splashes of color against the old stone walls. We walked quietly for several minutes, the only sound being the distant calls of birds.
I tried to imagine what it felt like for her—seeing her daughter’s husband with another woman, in the place her daughter had once called home. The thought made my throat tighten.
“Shannon loved these gardens,” Margaret said finally, her voice soft but steady. “She used to bring the babies out here when they were small. Even in winter, she’d bundle them up and let them run wild.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“She was our only child,” Margaret continued. “We had her late in life, after we’d given up hope of having children at all. When she died...” Her voice faltered slightly. “Well, we lost more than just our daughter. We lost some of ourselves.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, the words wholly inadequate.
Margaret waved my sympathy away. “Patrick was devastated too, of course. He’d already lost his parents. Then Shannon.” She shook her head. “He became a ghost. Going through the motions of life but not really living. He buried himself in his work. Thank God he had Mrs. Kowalski to manage the children.”
We paused beside a small stone bench overlooking a reflecting pool. Margaret sat, patting the space beside her. I joined her, heart hammering in my chest.
“About a month ago, Patrick came to see us,” she said. “He sat in our living room and talked about you for an hour.” Her eyes, so like Shannon’s, searched my face. “He talked about your intelligence, your courage, your love for your family. I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen since Shannon died. I think it was hope.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. I blinked them back.
“I loved my daughter,” Margaret said, her voice stronger now. “I always will. But Patrick deserves to live again. My grandchildren deserve a mother who’s truly there.” She paused, looking directly into my eyes. “And your children deserve a father in their lives.”
“I’m not trying to replace Shannon,” I whispered.
Margaret reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. You’re not replacing anyone. You’re building something new.”Her smile was sad but genuine. “We are so grateful he found you.”
Her words choked me up—the permission I’d been craving without realizing how badly I needed it. Not just from Shannon’s mother, but from some part of myself. Permission to move forward. To live. To love again without betraying what came before.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. Margaret reached up and brushed them away, the gesture so maternal it made me ache.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“No,” Margaret said. “Thank you for bringing Patrick back to life. For making a place in your heart for my grandchildren. It’s all we could have hoped for.”
We sat in silence for several minutes, watching the breeze ripple across the surface of the reflecting pool. When we finally rose to return to the castle, something had shifted between us—an understanding that transcended words.
Later that night, long after the guests had departed, and the castle had grown quiet, I found myself drawn to a small tower room Patrick had shown me earlier. Circular in shape, with windows facing in all directions, it offered a panoramic view of the Highlands stretching endlessly under a star-filled sky.
I stood at the window, watching moonlight silver the landscape, lost in thought. The door opened softly behind me. Patrick’s reflection appeared in the window glass, his face serious in the dim light.
“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. We stood like that for a long moment, gazing out at the land that had shaped him.
“Your family is wonderful,” I said. “Especially Margaret. We had a very nice talk.”
