Silverbridge (30 page)

Tracy ignored him and sa
id to the detective, “Did you fin
d anything?”

He nodded. “It’s all in the report. I was able to verify that an Isabel Winters sailed from Southampton in June 1820. She landed in Boston, and a few years later she married a Massachusetts state representative named Francis Coke. I was able to trace their offspring.”

Harry looked from Sanderson to Tracy then back again to Sanderson. “Did you discover anything that’s of particular interest?”

“Indeed I did.” Once more his right forefingers smoothed his mustache. “Did you know, Miss Collins, that Isabel Winters is a direct ancestress of yours?”

Harry turned to look at her; Tracy did not look back. “I rat
her suspected it,” she said softl
y.

“Indeed. The relationship is through your mother. It seems that one of Isabel’s great-grandchildren married a Connecticut man at the turn of the century, and your mother is one of their descendants.”

“My God,” Harry said.

She looked at him and gave a tremulous smile. Shortly afterward,, Mark Sanderson departed, with Tracy assuring him that he would have her check in a few days. After the door had closed behind him, Harry reached across the desk with his good hand and covered hers. “Are you all right?’

She said shakily, “I just feel so sad, Harry. Poor Isabel. How awful it must have been for her, to be all alone in a strange country, and then to learn that Charles was dead.”

Harry’s hand tightened on hers, and his eyes moved from her face to the portrait of his ancestor. “Do you have any idea how amazing it was for a man of his time to make such a decision? Men in Regency England just did not turn their backs upon an earldom to run away with the governess. Certainly not men of Charles’s wealth and power.”

Tracy blinked back tears. “He loved her very much.”

“He must have.” Harry was still looking at the portrait of Charles. “And the poor bastard was shot before he could go to her.”

Tracy drew a deep, steadying breath. “He wanted you to have what he did not. That’s what this whole recreation of the past has been about, Harry. You and I are to live out the life together that Charles and Isabel could not.”

He continued to look at the portrait. “Don’t ever tell anyone else about this, or they’ll lock you up in a madhouse.”

She said anxiously, “But you believe me, don’t you?”

His eyes turned to her once more. “God help me, I do.” He patted her hand and withdrew his own. “You are one of the sanest people I know, and if you say you saw ghosts, then you must have seen them.”

“You saw them too,” she replied.

He sighed. “Yes. I did.”

“Harry
…
”
For the first time she brought up a subject that had been on her mind for quite some time. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He immediately looked wary. “Please don’t tell me that you think we are Charles and Isabel come back to life.”

She said somberly, “Perhaps we are.”

“No.” He shook his head in emphatic denial. “I’ll accept t
h
e ghosts, because we saw them, but not this
biz
a
r
r
e
theory.” He gave her a ste
rn
look. “You and I are you and I. We are
not
Charles and Isabel. We look like them because we carry the same genes. But that is all.”

Tracy was not so certain, but she could see that this was not a subject on which Harry had an open mind and decided not to push it. She said lightly, “You’re probably right. I’ve been reading too many Shirley MacLaine books.”

There was a deep line between his brows. “Who is Shirley MacLaine?”

She smiled. “A movie actress who has written books about her past lives. She remembers being an Egyptian princess, or something like that
.
”

His frown lifted. “You see? You don’t want to become like that, Tracy. It’s unhealthy.”

She got up and went around to the back of his chair. “Okay, we’ll forget about it.” She smoothed his thick straight hair away from his forehead. “I love you, not Charles.”

“
I’m very glad to hear that.”

Marshal, thinking that
if someone was getting petted it should be he, reached up with his paw and claimed Tracy’s attention. She obliged by sitting on her heels and stroking his head. She said, “I only hope Ebony is as easily won over as these g
u
ys.”

“It might take a little time,” Harry said cautiously as he swiveled his chair
so that he was facing her.

“Yeah. And it might be never,” Tracy retorted as she smoothed Marshal’s silky ears.

“Once she realizes that if she wants me, she has to accept you too, she’ll come around.”

Millie, thinking it was unfair for Marshal to have all the attention, butted Harry’s leg with her head. Obligingly, he began to pet her. “Do you know something I realized recently?” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Both of the women I have been serious about, Hilary and Dana, were tall and slim and had red hair.”

“You were looking for me,” she said matter-of-factly.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I fully planned to marry Hilary, and then, when we got close to the date, I just couldn’t. It didn’t feel right.”

Tracy smiled at him mistily and stopped petting Marshal. He nudged her to continue.

“Let’s be married right here at Silverbridge,” she said, rubbing under the spaniel’s chin. “My family can come over, and we’ll do it very quietly."

“I’d like that.”

“So would I.”

There was a knock on the door, and Meg poked her head in. “Guess what? Mrs. Wilson and I have just baked some cookies. Would you like to taste them?” Both Harry and Tracy made noises of assent and, trailed by the dogs, went with Meg into the kitchen.

Epilogue

One Year Later

“
A
nd the Oscar for the Best Performance by an Actress goes
to
…
”
Harry and Tracy watched the television breathlessly as last year’s winning actor opened the envelope and pulled out a card. He looked up wi
th a big smile. “Maria Yearwood.
”

“Damn!” Harry said.

“Oh well. Everyone said she would win,” Tracy returned. But she couldn’t quite hide her disappointment.

He glared at her. “She wasn’t any better than you. She wasn’t
as good
as you. She just had a showier role.”

She sighed. “She carried her picture, Harry. Jon carried mine.”

They both returned their eyes to the screen as Maria Yearwood, dressed in a plunging red Versace gown, slithered up on the stage to claim her award.

“I’m glad you aren’t there,” Harry said, as the screen showed a brief glimpse of the losing actresses. “The bloody cameras would be all over your face, hoping to detect disappointment.”

“I’m not there bec
ause I couldn’t fit into one of the
auditorium chairs.” As if to demonstrate the truth of her words, Tracy shifted her bulk on the sofa.

He was sitting beside her and turned immediately, sca
nning her face, which was slightl
y rounder than it was nine months ago. “Everything all right?”

“Except for the fact that I’m bloody uncomfortable, everything is fine.”

“Only another two weeks to go,” he said soothingly.

“Yeah, if I deliver on time.” She gave him an indignant look.
“
Today on the phone my mother informed me that she was late with all her children, and I shouldn’t be concerned if I go beyond my due date.” She stared down at her stomach. “That was not what I needed to hear.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he advised. “Your sister delivered on time, didn’t she?”

Tracy’s face brightened. “Yes.”

“Then don’t fret, darling.” He turned back to the television. “Hang on. They’re about to do the Best Actor award.”

Tracy immediately turned her attention to the screen, where the radiant winner of last year’s Best Actress award was about to announce the winner. As she opened the envelope, the camera scanned the audience, focusing on the five men who were the nominees. When the camera settled on Jon, Harry gave a disgusted snort.

“If that bounder gets this award, and you didn’t
…
”

Tracy regarded him with amusement.
“Bounder?
You sound like Lord Peter Wimsey.”

He gave her an affronted stare. “There is nothing wrong with Lord Peter Wimsey. He has birth, breeding,
and brains. I consider it an honor to be compared to him.”

“Jonathan Melbourne,”
the actress shouted.

“Shit,” said Harry

“Shush.”

The two of them sat in silence and watched as a tuxedo-clad Jon walked up to the podium and accepted the Oscar statuette. The clapping subsided when he stepped to the microphone to make his acceptance speech.

“I have so many people to thank for this,” he said, his magnificent voice a trifle huskier than usual. He went through a list that included the producer and director and photographer of
Jealousy,
as well as his English agent and his American agent. Then he said, “Last but not least, I would like to offer special thanks to Tracy Collins, whose presence illuminated the film and whose name gave it public recognition.”

Applause rang out as Jon left the stage, his Oscar clutched firmly in his fist.

“
That was nice of him,” Tracy said.

Harry snorted. “It was the least the bastard could do.”

She returned a little grimly, “Considering that he should be in jail instead of accepting an Academy Award, I agree with you.”

The commercial came on, and Harry helped Tracy up so she could go to the bathroom. When she returned, the academy was ready to hand out its award for Best Director.

“Dave should get it, but I don’t know if they’ll give it to an Englishman,” she said, as she settled back next to Harry, feeling rather like a ship coming into port.

Ebony had followed her back into the morning room, and now she jumped on the sofa and managed to insinuate herself between Harry and Tracy. She squawked to be petted, and Tracy obligingly scratched her favorite spot in front of her tail.

“I do hope she isn’t going to be jealous of the baby,” Tracy said, regarding the little black cat anxiously.

“She got used to you, she’ll get use
d to him,” Harry
replied with serenity.

There was a pause as they watched the emcee introduce the winner of last year’s award, whose job it was to hand out this year’s. As he walked across the stage, Tracy said, “Do you know, I’m still mad at that doctor for telling us the baby’s sex? I wanted to be surprised.”

“I know you did, darling,” Harry replied sympathetically. “We’ll make sure the next one is a surprise.”

“Did I tell you that I talked to Meg on the phone today? She is so excited about working on Dave’s next picture.” She stopped petting Ebony and focused her whole attention on the screen. “It would be neat if he got the Oscar for Best Director.”

“Um,” Harry said, and they both leaned a little forward as the envelope was opened. Last year’s winner gave a smile of what looked like genuine delight and said simply, “David Michaels.”

“Yes!”
Tracy pumped her fist in the air.

“Good going,” Harry said.

They both watched with smiles on their faces as Dave came up to the stage to accept the Oscar. He, too, mentioned Tracy in his list of people to be thanked, and Harry said, “Hint to the Academy that they chose the wrong actress for their award.”

“When I win that award I want to be there,” Tracy said firmly. “It’s okay that they gave it to Maria. She did a good job, and she deserved it.”

Ebony, realizing that Tracy’s ministrations had ended, jumped on Har
ry’s lap and remained there com
fortably during the remainder of the show.
Jealousy
had received a Best Picture nomination, but it lost to a World War II epic in the voting.

Finally, Harry turned the television off. It was very late, as they had stayed up to watch via satellite.

“Come along, darling,” he said to Tracy, holding out his hands so he could help her to her feet. “You and little Lord Riverton need your beauty rests.”

His hand rested lightly between Tracy’s shoulders as they moved in the direction of their bedroom. “Do you realize that we haven’t yet talked about a real name for this baby?” she said. “I certainly don’t plan to call him Lord Riverton.”

He looked down at her, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t think there was any doubt about the name.”

She said softly, “Charles?”

“Of course.”

She rested her cheek briefly against his shoulder, then they continued on their way to the bedroom.