CHAPTER 7

Later, after the evening meal, Emma trudged up the stairs to her room, unable to shake the melancholy that dogged her. She’d hurt Jonathan with her careless words, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. He’d always been her staunchest friend, her most loyal ally, sticking by her through thick and thin.

Even when she’d started dating Danny, Jonathan’s good friend from school, he never allowed that to change their friendship. The closest they’d ever come to a falling-out was the day Jonathan had enlisted in the war. She still shuddered every time she remembered the terrible scene she’d caused in front of Aunt Trudy and Grandad. The truth was, she’d been more upset that day than when Danny told her he’d signed up. But after all, she and Jonathan had been best friends since she was eight and he was ten. She’d only gotten close to Danny in the six months prior to the start of the war. Naturally her bond with Jonathan was stronger.

In reality, she could live without Danny, but not without Jonathan. He was her anchor, her rock, the steadying force in her life. When he left, she didn’t know how she’d cope without him.

But she had coped. For four long years. Little by little, she’d created a shield around her heart to protect her from ever depending on someone to such an extent again. If the war had changed Jonathan, it had changed her too. When he’d enlisted, she’d felt abandoned. Now she was planning to do the same to him. She could only imagine what he was feeling after dropping everything to travel to Canada with her. And how much he’d suffered during the voyage over. She bit her lip, realizing he’d have to face the return trip alone. What kind of terrible person was she that she hadn’t even thought of that eventuality? She wouldn’t blame him if he booked a ticket on the next train back to Halifax.

What would she do then?

Her emotions swirled together into a toxic mix. She dropped onto the window seat in her room and stared bleakly out at the street below, trying unsuccessfully to erase the memory of Jonathan’s wounded expression. The only other time she’d seen that stark look was when he’d arrived home at the end of the war. The initial joy of their reunion had been one of the happiest moments of her life.

But then she’d had to tell Jonathan of her new relationship with Lord Terrence. Jonathan had quickly masked his features, but not before she’d glimpsed the devastation on his face. Why would he be so pained by her possible engagement? Was it because he thought her disloyal to Danny, even though it had been almost a year since his death?

A light knock sounded on her door.

Her heart gave a leap. Perhaps Jonathan had come to tell her he forgave her and that he understood why she had to stay.

“Emma?” Mrs. Chamberlain’s voice came through the door. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Emma crossed the room and opened the door. “Is it Jonathan?”

The woman’s eyes were round behind her glasses. “No. It’s Professor Moore.”

All thoughts of Jonathan skittered away like dry leaves in the wind. Emma’s heart thumped a wild rhythm in her chest. Her father had reached out to her at last. “Tell him I’ll be right down. Oh, and might we have a pot of tea, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“The kettle’s already on the stove.” Her landlady winked. “I’ll have him wait in the front room for you.”

As soon as Mrs. C. left, Emma quickly changed into one of her favorite dresses, one she’d kept despite her new purchases. It was a striped navy-blue linen with white trim. Grandad always said it made her eyes look even bluer. Then she dabbed a bit of toilet water at her wrists and smoothed her hair into place. With a final look in the mirror, she made her way down the main staircase.

Her heart hammered hard against her ribs as she neared the parlor, and she paused to whisper a prayer. Please, Lord, let my father be more receptive to me today. Help me make him understand that I only want a chance to get to know him. That I don’t mean him any harm.

Pasting on a bright smile, she entered the room. Randall stood by the fireplace, staring at the framed painting on the wall above it. Emma knew it was Mrs. C.’s favorite piece, a depiction of the English town where she’d lived as a child.

“Twenty years later and I still miss the greenery,” Randall said without turning. “That fresh smell of the meadows after a cool rain. The hint of smoke in the air from the chimneys. There’s nothing here that compares to that.”

Emma slowly crossed the room. “It’s a slice of heaven, to be sure.” She clasped her hands together and waited until he turned around.

He was dressed in a suit with a starched shirt and tie, as though he were going to the opera for the evening.

“Won’t you have a seat?” Sudden nerves swamped her, making her hands tremble. She gestured to the sofa. The tea cart stood beside it, laden with a silver teapot and a plate of ginger snaps.

Did her father even like ginger snaps?

“Just a moment.” He crossed to the pocket doors and pulled them closed.

Emma had never seen them shut since she’d moved in. Mrs. C. always wanted everyone to feel welcome to share the area.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I need to ensure this conversation is not overheard.”

His serious demeanor did not inspire much optimism. She perched on the edge of the sofa and lifted the teapot. “Do you take milk and sugar?”

“Milk, please. Just a splash.” Randall took a seat in the wing chair across from her.

Emma forced her hand to remain steady as she handed him the cup. “I’m glad you came,” she said. “I hope this means you’ve had time to get used to my being here.”

“Not entirely.” He studied her. “I’d like to know more about what prompted you to come.”

She blinked. “I thought I explained that. I wanted to get to know you, of course.” When he continued watching her with an expectant air, she set her cup down, searching for the right words, ones that wouldn’t sound accusatory or put him on the defensive. “As you know, my grandparents raised me. After my grandmother passed away, it was just me and Grandad—until this past April, when he had a heart attack.” She swallowed hard to keep her emotions at bay. It still seemed impossible that her hale and hearty grandfather was gone.

“I’d always believed that Gran and Grandad were my only family, until I was cleaning out our flat above the shop and found a box of letters. Letters from you.” She met his eyes, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement, but he revealed no emotion. “You can imagine my shock to find out that you’d been alive all along and that they’d lied to me my whole life.”

“That must have been quite distressing.”

“More than distressing. I was devastated. Knowing my grandparents as I did, I could only assume they’d done it to protect me. But protect me from what?”

Randall took a quick sip of tea, avoiding her eyes, then set his cup down with a sigh. “Ask the questions you want. I’ll do my best to answer them.” He crossed one leg over his knee.

She licked her dry lips, struggling to know where to begin. “Why didn’t you . . .” she almost said keep me but that made her sound like a stray puppy that no one wanted. “Why didn’t you raise me after my mother died?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “It wasn’t that simple. I was in my last year of law school. I had no means of providing for you at that time and would have had to hire a nursemaid.” He paused. “Your grandparents offered to take you in, claiming it would be better for you. Though it pained me to do so, I knew they were right.”

She braced herself for her next question, one that had the potential to wound her all over again. “But how could you move halfway around the world? If you’d stayed, we would have been able to have some sort of relationship at least. I wouldn’t have grown up believing I was an orphan.” She swallowed hard and gripped her hands together, mentally berating herself for appearing so needy.

Randall pushed up from his seat and stalked to the fireplace. “I don’t know if I can make you understand how difficult it was for me at that time. Trying to cope with your mother’s death. Dealing with your grandparents’ resentment.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

Resentment? For what? Did they somehow blame Randall for her mother’s death?

“I know they didn’t approve of my mother marrying you.” Emma frowned as a new thought formed. “Did they try to keep you from seeing me?”

Randall turned to pin her with a frank stare. “What do you think?”

As much as she wanted to defend her beloved grands, Emma could very well believe they had tried to keep Randall away from her. “Is that why you left England then?”

“In part.” He shrugged, his brow tense. “When the opportunity arose for a fresh start in Canada, I jumped at the chance to put some distance between me and my past, thinking I’d finally be free of the guilt and pain.”

“And were you?”

He fingered the cuff of his sleeve. “To some degree, yes. I threw myself into my work here at the university. Then I met Vera, and for the first time since your mother’s death, I felt whole again.”

Emma tried to ignore the pinch of pain around her heart. That he could so easily leave her behind and start a new family. If he truly loved her, shouldn’t he have fought harder to be part of her life?

“Once you were old enough, I started writing to you, but when you didn’t answer, I assumed you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“I never knew,” she whispered. “Not until I found your letters.”

A minute of silence lapsed between them.

Then finally Randall said, “If it’s any consolation, your grandparents must have believed you’d be better off thinking I was dead. That way, you’d never pine for me. Never wonder why your father didn’t come to visit. In a sense, it was the kinder option.”

Emma stared at the man for several seconds. “It’s nice of you to defend them. However, I think fear was the greater motivation. They knew I’d want to look for you if I found out you were alive. Which meant I would leave them.”

Randall moved from the fireplace and came to sit across from her. “Reliving the past won’t get us anywhere. What I’d like to know is how you wish to proceed from here.”

Emma twisted her hands together on her lap. She tried not to dwell on the fact that he showed almost no emotion. That he seemed to be treating this conversation as more of a business deal than anything personal. “I hoped we could get to know one another—as father and daughter. After all, you’re the only family I have left.” She met his gaze, holding her breath and praying not to be rejected again.

His steady look gave nothing away. “I’d like that as well,” he said at last.

Emma’s shoulders sagged with relief. He did want to include her in his life. Knowing that made everything she’d sacrificed to come here worthwhile.

“There are, however,” he continued, “a few obstacles we must consider. First, my wife and daughters may take some time to accept you. It’s not entirely their fault, since I should have told them about you long ago.”

“Yes, you should have.” Emma bit her lip. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Second, there’s the matter of my political career. Revealing your existence at this crucial time would only create undue problems—for me and for all the people who are helping me get elected.”

Emma swallowed. “So you want to keep me a secret.” Why did that hurt almost as much as an outright rejection?

“For now, yes. I thought we could use your idea and introduce you as my niece who’s visiting for the summer.”

“But doesn’t everyone know you have no siblings?”

Randall’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”

She froze. Perhaps she could lie and say she’d looked up his records back home, but she wasn’t very good at lying. She released a slow breath. “I went to see your mother.”

Randall shot off his chair. “How do you know her?”

He acted like she’d committed some sort of crime. It was only natural she’d be curious about her grandmother.

“In that same box of letters, I found one from your mother, begging Gran to let her see me. I assume Gran refused.”

Randall closed his eyes. When he opened them, deep grooves were etched around his mouth.

“Before I left,” she continued, “I went to the address on the letter and found out she still lived there.”

Randall grasped the back of an armchair. “She’s alive?”

Emma licked her dry lips, not prepared for this conversation so soon. She thought she’d have time to work up to it once she got to know her father better.

“She was at the time,” she said carefully. “However, the woman who was caring for her said she didn’t have much longer to live.” Emma paused, unsure how he would take the next part. “I got word of her passing just before we left England. I’m only glad I got to meet her before it was too late.”

Randall’s shoulders sagged, and an almost blank expression settled on his face. “No one informed me, but then I guess that was to be expected.”

“She told me you two had a falling-out and hadn’t spoken in years.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Red blotches appeared on his cheeks.

“When she learned I intended to come to Canada to find you, she asked me to tell you she’s sorry and that she forgives you.” There, she’d done her duty and delivered Grandmother Moore’s final message.

But instead of the relief she expected at this olive branch after so many years, Randall’s mouth tightened into a grim line and his eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal seeking an escape. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” He crossed to the parlor doors and pulled them open.

“Wait.” Emma rushed after him. “Doesn’t her apology mean anything to you?”

Anger leapt in the blueness of his eyes. “Our estrangement was my mother’s choice. She was the one who disowned me. It’s a little late to grant me absolution now.” He rammed his hat on his head. “We’ll talk again soon. In the meantime, remember you’re my niece. If anyone starts asking too many questions, just avoid answering them.”

With that, he strode out of the house and down the walkway, leaving Emma more bewildered than ever about her mystifying father.

And no further ahead as to where she stood with him.