Fiona Hood-Stewart - The Lost Dreams

Penelope sighed and shifted her gaze quickly to a picture of Genny and Charlotte, arms entwined aboard a yacht in Ibiza, then paused at the photo placed to the far right, featuring Brad, her husband, David, and her beloved son, Colin. Tears welled and she swallowed. Would she ever come to terms with her son’s sudden disappearance in the avalanche, or David’s heart attack so soon afterwards? In the space of a year she’d been deprived of the two men she most loved. And now Brad was the new Lord MacLeod and would be here in a couple of days to take Strathaird’s reins, and life as they knew it would change forever. Still, she was thankful it was him and not a stranger, as might well have been the case.

Penelope turned firmly away from the mantelpiece, determined not to let herself plunge once more into depression. Life went on. David and Colin would always be dearest to her heart, but now she must face the future alone. And there was her nephew to help. Brad would need all her assistance as he assumed his new role. It was not an easy position to be landed with at any time, much less so when you weren’t born and bred to it and were a foreigner, to boot.

The thought of him cringing at his new title cheered her up considerably and she laughed out loud. Poor boy. He was so cosmopolitan, yet at times he could be so wonderfully American too, the mere thought of an aristocratic title not at all in keeping with his views!

Well, he’d just have to get used to it. But she couldn’t help wondering if he was truly prepared to shoulder this new set of responsibilities when his grandfather had already saddled him with so much.

The problem, she realized, a tiny smile hovering at the edge of her full mouth, was that Brad was too nice. Anyone else would have been thrilled to inherit Strathaird Castle for all the wrong reasons. Considered it their right.

But not Brad.

Instead, he’d gone to great lengths to try to have the entail on the estate reverted to Charlotte and herself.

She picked up an empty mug from the bookshelf and stared again at the photograph. What a handsome, fine, strong man he’d grown up to be. And how thrilled she was that he’d finally met someone with whom to share his life.

Not that Sylvia would have struck her as Brad’s type. But then, what did she know about it? She remembered the smart, desperately chic woman she’d met briefly at a luncheon at the Savoy Grill several months earlier and hoped Sylvia would take to the people on the estate and enjoy them as much as she did.

A sudden vision of the sophisticated New Yorker had her gazing blindly at the bowl, hands falling dejectedly to her sides. How could poor Sylvia possibly be expected to learn in a few weeks what came handed down over generations? Again she sighed and shrugged. There was little use worrying. But how would old Mrs. McKinnon fare without her weekly cup of tea, where she brought Penelope up to date with all her latest aches and pains? And how would Tom, the crofter, get to his doctor’s appointment on Tuesday afternoons now that his granddaughter was at university in Glasgow?

These and many other seemingly insignificant thoughts preoccupied her, followed by an unexpected memory of Brad and Charlotte years ago, playing tennis at La Renardière, the family home in Limoges. They’d been as thick as thieves then, hardly needing anyone else in their entourage, having so much fun together. But that easy familiarity and bantering had all changed when Charlotte became pregnant and married John Drummond fourteen years ago.

She’d wondered back then if Brad’s feelings for her daughter had reached deeper than he’d cared to admit. There had been a look in his eyes, not to mention his unswerving determination to protect Charlotte. She was almost certain, she reflected, giving the nearest cushion on the sofa a pat, that Brad had loved Charlotte at one time. But for years now, nothing but old friendship had reigned. Like all mothers, she desperately wished that her child could have found happiness, instead of all the misery she’d encountered, and was still enduring.

Leaving the mug and duster in the kitchen, Penelope left the shepherd’s pie she’d prepared, ready for Charlotte to pop in the oven, and picked up her old Barbour jacket. It was a long drive back from Glasgow and the hospital, and Charlotte would get back late. If only she’d do some much-needed shopping instead of sitting for hours in that dreadful sterile atmosphere, a morgue filled with live corpses. But there was little use trying to persuade Charlotte; once she set her mind to something, neither man nor mountain could move her.

She glanced at her watch. Armand would be back for tea soon. Her late husband’s French cousin, a Parisian fashion designer, was not the easiest of guests. Still, she should be thankful he was taking such an interest in Charlotte’s jewelry designs, she realized, dashing off a quick note that she placed in front of the pie. He seemed genuinely delighted with the gallery and its creations, and Charlotte had blossomed under his praise. Life was full of surprises, she reflected ruefully. Sometimes help came from the most unexpected sources.

Heading for the door, she picked up the basket she’d left on the front step. Looping it on her arm, she took a doubtful look at the somber sky before venturing briskly down the hill toward Strathaird, hoping it wouldn’t rain before she reached home, as she’d forgotten her brolly.

Sylvia Hansen glanced speculatively at Brad, leaning back in the plush leather desk chair, hands entwined behind his neck, eyes glued on the enormous corner-office window. It was well into the evening, and already the lights of Manhattan vividly dotted the night sky. She stifled a yawn but reminded herself once again how damn lucky she was to have him. Bradley Harcourt Ward was gorgeous, successful and ambitious—all the things she considered herself to be.

She smiled briefly. Together they made one hell of a team. She had no doubt at all that soon they would be one of the city’s premier power couples. Despite the travails of the past that were hers alone, she was finally about to achieve what would have seemed impossible not so long ago. Yes, she reflected, her expression softening as she watched him, Brad was well worth the wait, even though she’d almost taken the initiative and proposed to him herself in the end. Now she sported an impressive diamond that had once belonged to his great-grandmother on her finger, and a fabulous winter wedding was scheduled at the St. Regis. Not bad for a girl who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in Little Rock.

She shuddered inwardly. The past and the shadows sometimes lingered, but she cast them aside and concentrated on what Brad was saying, swallowing a weary sigh when she realized he was back on the subject of Strathaird. During the past weeks, she’d heard more about that wretched Scottish castle he’d inherited by some stroke of ill-fated chance than she cared to recall, and was sorely tempted to leave him sitting here in the office and get their driver to take her home. Surely he must realize it wasn’t that important? Couldn’t he simply hire people to take care of the place? Scotland and his new inheritance could hardly require the kind of involvement he seemed determined to give it. She smoothed her skirt over her knees and crossed her legs, aware of a new inflection in his tone. Wondering if she’d missed something, she frowned. “What exactly are you getting at?” she asked, eyebrows knit.

“Well—” Brad twiddled his Mont Blanc pen thoughtfully “—as I’ve already mentioned, Strathaird is going to require my personal attention. At the beginning, at least. Which is why I was considering hopping over to Skye by myself first.” He glanced briefly at her, across the vast expanse of desk. “You know, there’s going to be a heck of a lot to do—or learn, rather. The truth is, Syl, I know as much about running a Scottish estate as training the New York Mets.” He raised a hand and grinned. “I take that back. At least I know the rules of baseball and have scored a couple of home runs in my time, but to me this is estate management 101. Arriving there on my own would give me half a chance to start sorting things out before you arrive.” He smiled, his riveting eyes seeking hers, as though her agreement was important.