Kate Hoffmann - Sean

Laurel pulled herself up out of the pool and took one of the towels. "I thought I'd wait for Sean-" She paused, then quickly corrected herself. "Edward. I want to wait for Edward."

Alistair smiled. "Mr. Sean called and said he wouldn't be home for lunch. He needed to see his family."

She stared at him, her mouth agape. "You know?"

"There isn't much that goes on in this house that I don't know about," he said. "I know about your ex-fiancé, Edward, and I can't say that I'm upset that he's been arrested. And I know why you were so anxious to get married. I'm not one to offer an opinion about your personal life, but I like Mr. Sean. He's a very dependable man."

Laurel smiled hesitantly. "I like him, too."

"You seem very happy together."

"We are. I didn't expect to like him so much."

"I think he likes you, too," Alistair said.

"Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to say it, Miss Laurel. Mr. Sean is a man of very few words. His actions do most of the talking."

"We had a fight this morning."

"I gathered that."

"It was stupid. I said some things that I didn't mean. I wish I could do something to make it up to him."

"I think he'll forgive you," Alistair said.

She took another towel from his hands and dried her hair, then sat at the edge of the pool. Laurel patted the concrete beside her. "Sit with me," she said. Alistair spread a towel at his feet and sat. "You have to take off your shoes and your socks."

"Miss, I don't think that would be proper."

Laurel rolled her eyes, then reached over and tugged off his gleaming black oxfords. Alistair removed his own socks and carefully rolled up his trousers.

"Put them in," she said, dangling her own legs into the water.

The butler did as she ordered and as soon as his feet dipped into the pool, he smiled. "Well, that's lovely," Alistair said. "Quite refreshing."

"Sinclair would have a fit if he saw you," Laurel teased. "He's such a fuddy-duddy sometimes."

"He loves you very much, Miss Laurel."

She froze. "Sean?"

"No, your uncle."

Laurel forced a laugh, embarrassed by her assumption. "He does not! He enjoys making my life as difficult as possible."

"He's afraid if he gives you the money, you'll leave and he'll never see you again."

"How do you know that?"

"I've worked in this house since before your mother came to live here twenty-seven years ago. I've kept my eyes open."

"And what have you seen?"

Alistair paused before he spoke, as if he was trying to decide how much he wanted to reveal. "I was there the night your father met your mother. Sinclair and Stewart were in New York, and the night before, Sinclair had gone to see a musical play in which your mother was appearing. He was so captivated by her performance, it was all he could talk about."

"Sinclair?" Laurel asked.

Alistair nodded. "The next night, he went back to the theater, only he brought Stewart with him for moral support. Sinclair was determined to introduce himself to your mother. They waited at the stage door and when she appeared, he stepped up and asked her to accompany them to dinner. And at that dinner, your mother fell head over heals in love-with your father."

"Poor Sinclair," Laurel murmured.

"I don't know that he ever stopped loving your mother. All the time she lived here with Stewart, after she gave birth to you, and after she died, Sinclair was always in love with her. But he couldn't say anything. It wouldn't have been proper or prudent."

"And that's why he doesn't like me," Laurel said. "Because I'm Stewart's daughter and-"

"Oh, no, not so," Alistair said. "I think you look so much like your mother that he sees her every time he looks at you. He sees the love he lost. That's why he both pushes you away and keeps you close."

Tears stung the corners of Laurel's eyes. "I thought he hated me," she murmured. "I guess I was wrong."

"If he knew I told you this, he would sack me without a second thought. But I thought it was time you understood why your uncle does what he does."

Laurel stared into the water, sunlight glinting off the surface, the tile mosaic creating a swirl of color below. "And will he ever understand why I do what I do?"

"Give him a chance, Miss Laurel. It may take time, but I believe he'll come around."

Laurel slipped her hands around Alistair's arm and gave it a hug. "Maybe I should go talk to Uncle Sinclair."

"I think you have other fences to mend first… with your husband."

"But if I explain to Uncle Sinclair and-"

"Oh, no," Alistair said, shaking his head. "In my opinion, I think it's best to keep all your options open. Your little charade might just work to your advantage."

Laurel frowned. If Uncle Sinclair truly loved her, then there had to be a way to convince him of her plans for her trust fund. Why would Alistair want her to continue her sham of a marriage? She pushed the question from her mind. Alistair was the only person in the world she could truly trust, so maybe it was best to listen.

"Mr. Sinclair and I are leaving this afternoon for New York," Alistair said. "Perhaps you could prepare a lovely dinner for your husband and smooth things out between you two."

"I'm not a very good cook," Laurel said.

"Ah, but I'm a very good instructor."

Laurel threw her arms around Alistair's neck. "And you're a good friend, too."

He blinked, his eyes growing misty. "Thank you, Miss Laurel. I'm touched."

She got to her feet and held out her hand to help him stand. "I think we better get started in the kitchen. This may be a long afternoon."

The house on Beacon Street was bustling with activity when Sean arrived. His sister, Keely, and her husband, Rafe, had been renovating it for the past month and planned to move in before Thanksgiving. Contractors' vans were parked on the narrow street and equipment and materials had been stacked on the sidewalk outside.

Sean stepped around an electrician who was running a wire to the porch light, and walked in the open door. He strolled through the large foyer and peered up the central staircase. Though the house wasn't as large as the Rand mansion, it promised to be equally luxurious. Rafe Kendrick wouldn't spare any expense for the home he planned to share with his wife and their new baby.

Keely had told the family about her pregnancy at the last get-together, an event that he hadn't attended. The family grapevine had worked well and he'd heard the news on a message that Liam had left on his voice mail. "Anyone home?" Sean called.

"Back here!"

Sean walked toward the rear of the house and found the kitchen. Keely stood in the center of the gutted room, staring at a row of tiles she'd laid out on the floor. He stood at her side and stared down at the tiles.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Are you waiting for them to move?"

Keely giggled and gave him a playful slap. "I'm trying to choose. I need something that isn't too dark but isn't too light."

Sean slipped his arm around her shoulder, then kissed the top of her head. "Congratulations. Liam told me about the baby."

Keely looked up at him, as if surprised by his show of affection. She slipped her arm around his waist. "Thanks. We're pretty excited. Rafe is just obsessed with getting this house done. I want to take a little more time. There are so many choices to make. But he's determined we're going to bring the baby home to this house."

"It's going to be nice," he said.

"It will," Keely agreed. She pulled him over to the French doors that overlooked the backyard. "Why don't you take a look at the garden and I'll get us something to drink. I have to talk to you about something."

Sean opened the door and walked outside. The garden was tiny but beautiful, with an old maple shading the brick patio. A pretty iron table had been placed near a small fountain and he took a seat facing an overgrown flower bed. He couldn't help but wonder why Keely had been so insistent on seeing him. He had his answer a few seconds later.