Had my mother been to New York and not tried to find me or Uncle Charlie?
It couldn’t be true. Perhaps someone else had traveled to New York and brought the souvenir home.
The room was chilly as we waited for the maid to return, but neither of us spoke.
After several minutes, the maid stepped into the drawing room. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Farmington is not at home to receive you.”
Of course. Why would she receive a stranger known as Clara Day Hill?
“Can you please tell your mistress that my real name is Keira O’Day and I’ve come all the way from New York City to meet with her?”
The maid frowned but nodded and curtseyed before she left the room again.
If my mother refused to see me now, then I would have my answer. She did not want anything to do with me.
The thought terrified me more than anything else.
Alec was quiet as he looked at the souvenirs. I had the opportunity to observe him, without Aunt Maude or anyone else watching me. He was handsome and refined, a gentleman in every sense of the word. But it was more than his good looks that drew me to him. I had rarely met a man so loving and selfless as Alexander Paxton-Hill. He’d given up his dreams and his parents to go to New York to continue his uncle’s legacy, so he could care for Aunt Maude and his mother and father. The longer I knew him, the more I respected and admired him.
He looked up and caught me watching him, and a tender smile lifted his lips.
I wanted him to know how much I appreciated him, and I was about to say so, when the door opened again and a woman appeared.
She stared at me as I stared at her, dumbfounded at how much we looked alike.
“Keira?” she whispered.
I swallowed the nerves climbing my throat and nodded. “Are you Nellie?”
It was her turn to nod. So many emotions played across her face as she studied me. Surprise, delight, sadness—and fear.
“You’re—” She paused and shook her head. “You’re breathtaking. Absolutely beautiful. And look at that charming gown. How—” She noticed Alec and paused again.
“This is Mr. Alexander Paxton-Hill,” I told my mother. “My—friend.” How in the world did I explain who Alec was?
He bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Farmington.”
“And you, Mr. Paxton-Hill.” She closed the drawing room door, blinking with confusion. “How did you find me? Why are you here?” Her gaze slipped to my locket, and she looked stunned. “My locket.”
I didn’t move or breathe as she walked across the drawing room, her eyes never leaving the piece of jewelry. Uncertainty shadowed her face as she slowly reached for it and opened it.
Relief made her shoulders sag as she briefly closed her eyes. “It’s empty.”
Frowning, I stared at her. “Were there pictures in it at one time?”
“A long, long time ago.” She closed it and let it fall on my chest as she took a step back. “I was certain I removed them before I gave this to Charlie, but for a moment, I was afraid I had forgotten.”
“Pictures of you . . . and my father?”
Her brown-eyed gaze lifted to mine. “What do you know of your father?”
“Nothing.” I swallowed again. “That’s part of the reason I’m here today.”
She crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’m afraid you won’t get what you came for, then. I have nothing to tell you. About anything. It is best if you leave before my husband returns. He—he doesn’t know about you, or that sordid part of my life.”
“Please.” I stepped forward. “I’ve waited my whole life to meet you. I have so many questions.”
“And I don’t have the answers.” She didn’t seem angry—more apologetic. “No one knows the identity of your father, and they must never know. I swore a promise on my life that I would never tell a soul, including you.”
