Lauren remained rooted with Joe near her mother, but her gaze wandered to the small stone marking her father’s grave. Since his death, and even the days that preceded it, she had felt numb, angry, ashamed, and bereft by turns. She had no doubt she’d revisit all of those emotions. But when they had melted, she found a new sensation beneath.
Relief.
All her striving for his love and approval had ceased. He would never inflict new wounds on old scars again.
The Napoleon Society had died with him. Whether for Lauren’s sake or her mother’s, or simply to make Lawrence roll in his grave, Theodore Clarke had paid back every cent that the society had swindled from people with their forgeries. He also offered every victim an all-expenses-paid trip to Newport for a private tour of his mansion and the antiquities within. As for the Napoleon House, the mortgage reverted to the innocent board members. She didn’t know what they would do with it. She didn’t want to think about it anymore.
“We have company,” Joe said quietly.
Nancy Foster approached with a bundle of chamomile.
“Nancy.” A swell of emotion clogged Lauren’s throat, and she reached out to the woman who had given so much of her life to Mother. “I was hoping I’d see you today.”
Her watery brown eyes flared. “You found the letters.”
“I did. I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. Thank you for saving them.” Lauren introduced her to Joe.
“Well, young man,” Nancy said, “what is your relationship to Lauren?”
“I am the guardian of her well-being,” he said without hesitation.
Lauren laughed, but he was right. “He’s also my best friend, and the keeper of my heart.”
A rare smile warmed Nancy’s face. “Good.”
They gave Nancy space to lay her flowers and pay her respects.
At length, she turned back to Lauren and Joe. “I read about your father. That’s him, I suppose.” She jerked her chin toward his grave.
Lauren nodded, but still she wondered. Mr. Clarke maintained there was no truth to the insinuation that he had fathered her. But would he claim her as his daughter now, even if she was his? Wouldn’t he fear what that would mean for his fortune after he died?
“You have questions, sweetheart,” Joe said, guessing the thoughts springing to mind. “I bet Nancy has the answers.”
And Nancy would tell the truth.
“Lawrence suggested that Theodore Clarke is my biological father,” Lauren said. “You were my mother’s nursemaid since she was a girl. So, tell me, please. Could this possibly be true?”
Nancy’s face puckered in thought. “You were born December 8, 1892, which means ... No, that would be impossible. Your parents were living in Chicago by then, and Theodore never came to visit until after his friend became a professor at the university there.”
“Dr. Breasted?” Lauren asked.
Nancy snapped her fingers. “That’s the one. He didn’t start working at the University of Chicago until after you were born.”
“That’s right,” Lauren affirmed. “Dr. Breasted began there in 1894.”
“Goldie’s marriage wasn’t what it ought to have been,” Nancy went on, “but she never would have sought her own pleasure outside of it. Never. Did you doubt her?”
Cold nipped at Lauren’s nose and ears. “Right before Mother died, she said, ‘How I wish you knew your father.’ I always thought she meant Lawrence. Then she closed her eyes and said, ‘Redeem this.’ And so I’ve been trying, Nancy. Since Lawrence came to me last October, I tried to restore our relationship. But the harder I tried, the further it unraveled, and then...” She motioned to his grave. “When Lawrence said he’d suspected my father was Mr. Clarke, I had to wonder if that’s what she meant.”
The lines in Nancy’s face softened. “Oh, child, that’s not what she meant.”
“I know.”
But Nancy shook her head. “She wasn’t talking about Lawrence, either.”
Lauren stared at her, replaying the words in her mind.How I wish you knew your father. Your father.
Your Father.
