“Is that the ferry coming back?”
Gwen turned to look, then shook her head. “That’s the Black Rose, my uncle’s yacht.”
He eyed the yacht looming in the distance. Gwen explained that the Black Rose was too big to dock in the boathouse, so Oscar’s family would spend the night on the yacht and come ashore tomorrow morning in a small tender boat once there was enough light to navigate.
They both watched the Black Rose looming on the horizon, and something deep in Patrick rebelled. Members of Gwen’s family would soon descend on the island, and the real test would begin. He doubted the rest of Gwen’s family would be as open-minded as Frederick.
“It used to be mine,” Gwen said softly, still staring out to sea.
“What used to be yours?”
“The Black Rose.”
He pulled away, dumbfounded. “You owned that yacht?”
“I inherited it from my father. I held on to it for a while, but Oscar had always wanted it, so I gave it to him.”
“Gave? Or sold?” What Gwen did with her fortune wasn’t any of his business, but she shrugged and confirmed that she simply gave the yacht to her uncle.
“The expenses are high,” she said. “It requires berthing fees and a full-time staff. I was happy to give it to him.”
Patrick couldn’t afford to keep a yacht like that afloat for a single day, much less casually give it away like a pair of old shoes. It underscored the chasm between her world and his. He prayed they could find a way to bridge that chasm, for the next week would put it to the ultimate test.
29
Gwen took care in setting up a lovely breakfast on the outdoor terrace. She asked the cook to prepare Uncle Oscar’s favorite blueberry muffins and to squeeze plenty of grapefruit juice in deference to Poppy’s well-known dislike of orange juice. By midmorning Oscar’s family still hadn’t arrived from the Black Rose, so the men sat down for breakfast without them. Liam put away an impressive amount of scrambled eggs and four of the blueberry muffins, but Patrick seemed ill at ease. He barely touched his breakfast and wouldn’t meet her eyes. He’d been unsettled all morning, and it worried her.
They were just finishing breakfast when the others arrived. Poppy led the way, both her hands proudly resting on her large belly. Everybody stood to welcome them, Liam adjusting the cuffs on his new suit. Gwen sent him a reassuring smile for good luck.
“Did you start breakfast without us?” Poppy asked, sounding wounded as she surveyed the table.
“It’s ten o’clock, Poppy,” Natalia said dryly, but she stared at Liam with open curiosity.
Uncle Oscar was also riveted on Liam as he scrutinized him through his one good eye. “Gwen? I gather introductions are in order.”
“Uncle Oscar, Poppy, Natalia . . . this is Liam Malone of Philadelphia. We have confirmed he is indeed William and have accepted him into the family.”
“Have we, indeed?” Oscar said skeptically, still peering at Liam.
“Just look at him,” Frederick said. “It’s like looking at Theodore all over again. He’s even got the same cowlick in his hair.”
“A little macassar oil will smooth that down,” Poppy said.
Liam shook his head. “I tried macassar oil once. I didn’t like feeling like an oiled-down seal.”
“I shall loan you Oscar’s bottle before the rest of the family arrives and mistakes you for a ragamuffin,” Poppy said. “Not everyone will be as understanding as we are.”
Natalia was the only one to step forward. She brushed Liam’s outstretched hand aside and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Welcome back, cousin,” she said. “You are very brave to join us for the annual lobster bake and croquet contests. The competition is always fierce.”
Uncle Oscar maintained a steely gaze. “If you are indeed William Blackstone, why didn’t you come forward years ago?”
Liam didn’t back down from Oscar’s challenging tone. “Did anyone ever snatch you from your parents when you were a little tyke and hide you in a windowless room where you didn’t recognize a single soul? Then call you by a different name while you halfway died from pneumonia? And when you finally started feeling better, the only people you saw were two strangers you were supposed to call Ma and Pa if you wanted to be fed? Did that ever happen to you?”
“No,” Oscar said silkily. “That never happened to me.”
“It did to me. After a while, I believed them.”
Poppy had already seated herself at the table and was filling her plate. “That doesn’t make any sense. I remember my childhood perfectly. My earliest memory is when I crawled over the rim of my crib to play with my brother’s croquet mallet.”
