Heather Graham - A Season of Miracles

Neither all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—nor all the Llewellyn money—had been able to stop the growth of the disease. Milo had died almost a year to the day after their wedding. Almost a year ago now. No one in her family ever told her, “Well, you knew it was bound to happen,” and for that she was grateful.

“I’m not going to mourn Milo forever. I’m glad for the time we had together, glad for what he did for my life, glad for what I was able to do for his. But it’s not as if I’ve been wasting away for years. He hasn’t even been gone a year. I don’t go out a lot because I’m busy. I—”

“You need a life. And I happen to know that you refused a get-to-know-you with Robert Marston for this evening, when your grandfather suggested it.”

“And how do you know that? It wasn’t even a real suggestion.”

“You poor innocent! Word is all over the company. You know we love to talk about the bosses.”

“I’m not the boss.”

“Your grandfather wants you to be.”

“No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to let go of the reins while he’s living, and I don’t think he should.”

“He knows he’s not going to live forever.”

“It’s a huge operation. I’m in design, not business. I don’t want the headaches of everything my grandfather has his fingers into.”

“A few of your cousins would be happy with the reins.”

“I’m sure they would be.”

“And they all despise the fact that Douglas has hired Robert Marston. They hate him.”

“They don’t hate him. He’s an intelligent man, a top-notch businessman, and he’ll be great for the company.”

“I bet they think your grandfather brought Marston in to marry you and create a new dynasty.”

“Connie! How ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century. That’s archaic.”

“Archaic, schmaic. I think it’s what’s up. And I think a few Llewellyn noses are going to be out of joint.”

“Connie, I’m not marrying Robert Marston. I’m not dating him. I haven’t had a business lunch with him. I haven’t even been close enough to him to really see his face.”

“There hasn’t been time yet.”

“Connie, come on. We’re not a dynasty—and we’re not going to rule New York fashion design and marketing together. You know I would never marry anyone for business reasons. I can’t believe anyone would think such a thing.”

“Jillian, look at the facts. Suddenly, when you’re…when you’re getting accustomed to the fact that Milo is gone, your grandfather brings in a handsome, powerful, unattached businessman. Out of the clear blue.”

“The company has gotten huge.”

“Marston isn’t working under Daniel, is he?”

“No, he’s—”

“Aha!”

“Connie, I’m not in a position of power. You know that. So an alliance with me wouldn’t get him anywhere.”

“You have your vote. And most people do see you as the natural heir to the company.”

“Eileen is a grandchild, too.”

“Yes, but Douglas dotes on you.”

“It just appears that way because I was orphaned very young and I grew up with him. But I don’t want to run the company. Why would I? It’s huge, and I’m happy to share the legacy with the family. Please, are we buying costumes or not?”

Connie sighed. “I’m dying to dress up. But only if you will, too. Will you buy that outfit? It would look gorgeous on you.”

“I…yes. I guess.”

“We’ll have fun. I promise. Let me call my mom and tell her she’s definitely staying on, that we’re going to go and meet Joe. Don’t look at me like that. I won’t talk shop anymore, I promise. We’ll have fun, fun, fun.”

It did turn out to be fun. They dressed up at Connie’s apartment in Chelsea, went with the kids to the Safe-Haunt party arranged by one of the churches, then took the candy-laden kiddies back home, where they excitedly told their baby-sitting grandmother everything that had gone on. Kelly Adair, Connie’s mother, oohed and aahed over the two women’s costumes, and got into the fun by helping with glitter makeup. Jillian admitted that she was having a terrific time; she so seldom had a chance just to play this way. She worked constantly, went to charity dinners, plays, the opera and political fund-raisers. She almost never got a good night out at a pub or spent time with friends for no reason other than to have fun.

Connie called her the oldest twenty-six-year-old she knew and teased her that she needed to have a good time before moving to a retirement home, where she would get her kicks out of watching reruns and waiting for grade-school children to come and sing Christmas carols. But Jillian knew—instinctively, and due to the fact that it had been pounded into her all her life—that she was a Llewellyn of Llewellyn Enterprises; she had a responsibility to uphold, as did all the family. Once her grandfather had entertained dreams about her father going into the White House. He’d become one of the most popular senators ever to be elected to public office, but then he had dropped dead. An aneurysm had felled him at the age of forty-one. That was when she had really come to love her grandfather. She had watched him swallow his own grief and anguish to console her.

She understood that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but when people called her lucky all the time, she wasn’t sure why. Luck wasn’t money. She would have traded every dime in the family coffers to have her father back. Connie told her that it was worse to be in agony and broke, and she guessed that must be true, but she felt it was more than enough that she’d lost her mother and baby brother in childbirth, and then her father. She had been raised in a huge, cold house and a huge, cold apartment—though not by a cold man. She adored Douglas Alexander Llewellyn. At the age of eighty-five, he remained the iron-fisted, tough-as-nails ruler of all he surveyed.

But it had never been fear of him that had made her work so hard, take such care in school, or behave with complete responsibility at all times. She loved him. She wanted to please him. And though she loathed politics, she did want to do her part to change the world. Douglas had taught her about giving back; Connie had shown her why she must do so.

“Jillian,” Kelly said, bright blue eyes sparkling, “I have never seen you look lovelier. Not even in all those chic gowns you own.”

“She’s a vamp,” Connie said with a laugh. “We look okay, Mom? I mean, how about me? Your daughter, remember?”

“Cute as a button,” her mother said.

“Cute? I want to be sultry. Stunning.”

Kelly laughed. “Your husband adores you, and you’re devastating. You’re both devastating—in fact, I’m afraid to let you go out to that pub.”

“Just Hennessey’s, Mom. And Joe will be there.” She looked Jillian up and down and angled her head in thought. “Though, come to think of it, we may pick up every sodden Irish-American—hell, every sodden man of any nationality—but what the hey, you only go around once, right?”

“Well, off you go, then.”

They kissed the girls good-night. Tricia was five, and Mary Elizabeth, or Liza, was the baby at four. The excited little girls raved over Jillian’s costume, and as she kissed and hugged them, she found herself loving the clean, baby-powder scent of them in their jammies. They were such a wonderful part of real life, and one day she wanted something as wonderful as what Connie had: a cozy little apartment and people all around her who loved her, really loved her. Family. True, she had a family, but it wasn’t the same as having a husband who’d chosen to love her and children born of that love.

“We’re off,” Connie said, kissing her mother’s cheek.