Page 42 of A Stranger’s Kiss

“Thank you, Miss Mackenzie.” He dropped the coins onto the counter.

A sound behind her made Olivia turn. Her father stepped through the curtains.

“Olivia, child, my how you’ve grown.” His hat slid off the back of his head.

The sight of his jagged scar was startling. Keenly aware of Lord Randall watching her every move, she quickly stepped up to her father and straightened his hat.

“Let’s go, shall we, Father?”

“But, we have a customer, child,” he objected.

“He’s made his purchase, dear father.” She pulled him toward the curtain.

Again, he stopped, but this time he looked her in the eye. “Your mother loves bluebells, child.”

He knows what day it is.

“I know, Father,” she whispered.

She saw the pain in his eyes, but only for a moment. Then, he was slipping between her fingers, retreating once again into his private world.

A movement from the corner of her eye reminded her that Lord Randall still waited. She tossed him a quick glance.

“If you will excuse me, my lord. I must see my father settled.”

The man nodded, his face unreadable as he touched the brim of his hat. “Good day, Miss Mackenzie.”

She watched him go, finding herself relieved when the door shut behind him. She turned back to her father and guided him to the parlor.

“Let’s play some music, shall we?” she asked.

He said nothing as she led him back to his piano. Once again seated on his bench before the ivory keys, she watched as his world of music swallowed him.

For a time, Olivia stood by the door, resting her head against the frame. Her father was still there, despite what anyone else thought. She simply had but to listen to his music to know. Part of her couldn’t blame him for giving up, for living in his world of notes. The other part of her, however, didn’t agree. She was still here. She, his child, still needed him.

With a sigh, she brushed tears from her cheeks and headed for her room. She changed into her best dress and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She could only snort. She was so very far from the lady her mother had been. She inspected her ink-stained, calloused hands and shrugged as her father’s music drifted up the stairwell.

She might not look like her mother, but she certainly had her determination and strength—enough strength for her father and herself, as well.

With a smile, Olivia picked up her bonnet, and by the time she returned to the shop, Mrs. Lambert had arrived.

“You will be off then?” the woman asked.

Olivia nodded. Mrs. Lambert knew her first stop and her second.

“Then good luck to you, lass.”

Olivia sighed. With the banker, she would need it. Grimacing, she left and hurried to the river.

The day was warm, and the bluebells bloomed abundantly. In no time at all, she’d gathered a bouquet. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the flowers, letting pleasant memories of the past parade through her mind as the soft petals brushed her cheek. Almost, she could hear her mother’s sweet laughter once again, playing a soprano to her father’s bass as he sang while working the press.

Then, as swiftly as the memories came, they faded.

Silently, she made her way to the kirk, a time-worn building of stone surrounded by a black-iron fence. She slipped through the gate and picked her way past the older, ivy-covered gravestones, their stone faces weathered and covered with lichen. As she stepped around an old mausoleum, Olivia drew up short.

A man knelt at her mother’s grave. Startled, she stepped back, taking cover behind the mausoleum’s cold stones and then slowly, peered around the corner. The man’s shoulders shook as he covered his face with his hands. Then, he shifted his weight, revealing gray hair under his hat. As she watched, his head turned to the side.

Her heart stopped. Surely, her eyes deceived her. How could her grandfather, the Duke of Lennox, be kneeling at her mother’s grave…weeping? He rose stiffly to his feet and brushed the tears from his cheeks, brusquely, as if they had no right to be there. She could only watch in open astonishment.