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Chapter 1
Farrington Manor December 25, 1874
I MUST HAVE BEEN INSANE to agree to this.” Eric finished buttoning his shirt, scowling at his own image in the looking glass.
“You didn’t have a choice, darling.” Brigitte lay her brush on the dressing table, her golden brown eyes soft with compassion—and clouded by more than a tinge of worry. “We both knew Noelle would ask, eventually.”
“No, we both didn’t know that.” Eric abandoned his task, running a hand through his hair. He met his wife’s pointed look and nodded resignedly. “Fine, maybe we did. Maybe I just prayed it would go away.”
One slender brow rose. “When have Noelle’s questions ever gone away?”
Eric’s scowl deepened. “She’s still a child, Brigitte. Do you know what she’s doing right this moment; for that matter, what she’s been doing since the first rays of dawn? Precisely what she’s done on this day every year since she turned four: pacing about what used to be my bedchamber and is now our celebration room, waiting to open her birthday gifts before we leave for church.”
“Perhaps this time what she’s waiting for is the information you promised to give her on her eighteenth birthday,” Brigitte amended softly. She crossed over and slipped her arms about her husband’s waist. “I dread this discussion as much as you do, Eric. But Noelle is not a child, not anymore. We can’t protect her from a truth that she herself requested. Further, we’ve never broken our word to her. We can’t start now.”
A muscle worked in Eric’s jaw. “If only the details my investigators uncovered were a bit more uplifting. Better still, if only they’d uncovered nothing at all.” He drew Brigitte to him, pressed his lips into her bright crown of chestnut hair, seeking a comfort only his wife could offer. “No matter how much Noelle insists otherwise, this information is going to be painful for her to hear. But you’re right. I promised her the truth. And I’ll give it to her, no matter how much I detest doing so.”
“It’s not her ability to cope with what she learns that worries me,” Brigitte murmured, leaning back to meet Eric’s gaze. “It’s how she acts upon it.”
“You believe she’ll seek him out?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.” Eric’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Yes. Unfortunately, we do.”
Noelle stopped pacing the instant she heard her parents’ oncoming footsteps. Whipping about, she fairly flew to the doorway, watching their approach with an anticipatory expression on her face.
“Mama, Papa—Merry Christmas,” she said fervently, hugging each of them in turn.
“Merry Christmas and happy birthday.” Brigitte returned Noelle’s embrace, feeling an incredible surge of pride and love. What she and Noelle shared was precious, a bond whose filaments had been forged fourteen years ago and had grown stronger each passing day.
“I can’t believe you’re eighteen,” Eric added gruffly. He tousled his daughter’s hair, trying to see her through objective eyes—and failing.
“Nor can I,” Noelle admitted, giving him a dazzling smile that illuminated not only her face but the entire room.
“Where’s your sister?” Eric inquired, glancing about for Chloe. Traditionally, his younger child would be perched alongside Noelle’s pile of birthday gifts, ready to aid her sister in opening them—just as Noelle did for her each August when Chloe’s birthday came.
“In her chambers,” Noelle replied candidly, staring from one parent to the other. “She’s agreed to give us some time alone together. She’ll join us afterwards, when we open the gifts.”
“Chloe knows what we’re discussing?” Brigitte asked, not even pretending to misunderstand the purpose of this private chat.
“Yes. Chloe and I have no secrets, Mama. Especially when it comes to the subject of my parentage. After all, she’s known the truth about my adoption since she was five—you, Papa, and I told her together. She also knows me, so there was never a doubt in her mind that I’d want to unearth every last detail about the man who sired me. As for the deal I struck with Papa, Chloe was aware of that from the start. In fact, she’s the one who encouraged me to go to Papa with my questions.”
Eric arched a disbelieving brow. “When have you ever required Chloe’s urging to incite you to act?”
“Never.” Noelle grinned. “But originally I intended to do my own investigating, venture forth to find my own answers. Chloe’s the one who deterred me, persuaded me to go to you instead. Even at seven she was far more practical than I.”
“Thank God for that,” Eric retorted. “Chloe’s inquisitive enough. Were she any more like you, I’d be locked away in an asylum by now.”
Noelle bit back laughter. “Then I’m glad she and I offer you the diversity you require to stay sane.” With that, she shut the door, leaning back against it and eyeing her parents intently.
Eric’s jaw clenched and unclenched. He averted his gaze, staring fixedly out the window. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“But Noelle needs to have it, Eric,” Brigitte reminded him gently.
Worry clouded Noelle’s face. “Not if it means hurting either of you.” She punctuated her statement with an earnest shake of her head. “Please be honest with me—both of you. Does my interest in learning about my sire cause you even a modicum of pain? Because if it does, tell me. Tell me and I’ll forget the entire notion, dismiss your findings without ever hearing them, and never speak of this again. I love you both far too much to hurt you.”
Brigitte answered for them both. “Darling, this isn’t about our hurt, it’s about yours. We don’t doubt your love for us, any more than you doubt ours for you. But it’s that very love that makes us want to shelter you, to spare you even a drop of anguish. So, no, we’re not disturbed by your curiosity—in truth, we expected it. We’re just trying to shield you.”
“In that case, I’m ready to hear whatever Papa has to say.”
