Chapter Twenty-Six
One month later…
Sunday dinner at our home has become a family tradition. My aunts and Evelyn have been cooking since noon. I’m curled up on the couch, watching them bake and reading a novel and sipping root beer through a straw. It’s snowing outside, giant flakes falling straight out of the sky and only lingering for a short time before melting, the ground too warm to sustain them. Two days ago, it was in the low sixties. Today, it’s snowing. Welcome to Virginia weather in early November.
Roy, Proctor, and Gavin are in the library working on the new venture. Roy sold Titan to another government-contracting company that wanted to expand its foothold in the market. I’m relieved he won’t be going into the field anymore.
I’m healing slower than I’d like, but from all reports, the doctors are pleased with my recovery. I have an impressive/embarrassing—I guess it’s all how you look at it—scar on my left arm where Sebastian sliced me open. My ribs occasionally bother me, but it’s less each day, so I take that as a plus. When I first got out of the hospital, I couldn’t sleep enough. Now, I’m still tired and have to be careful not to do too much, but I’m stronger, more myself. The doctor explained it will take time for me to recoup after losing such a significant amount of blood.
I have a recurring nightmare of lying immobile on the wood floor with my blood pooling out around me. But I try not to dwell on the past.
Vincent swings by with an armful of logs, tossing a few onto the fire and stacking the rest for later.
“Alright, love?” he asks.
I nod and smile and pretend to read my book. He's quiet about whatever is going on between him and Gavin. Usually, he tells me all the gory details whether I want to hear or not.
The flames flare with the new wood, and Proctor walks in. I don’t have to look up to know this because the room goes quiet. My aunts and Vincent are unnerved by him. I get it. I was, too.
The police spoke with me in the hospital. I told them what I knew. I was under contract for a photo shoot with Mario Stain. I have no idea who the man was. He was saying crazy things, and he drugged and attacked me. They were understanding and didn’t take up too much of my time. They told me his name, Sebastian Fitzgerald, and asked if that meant anything to me. I shook my head, not trusting my voice. According to them, he had a long record of criminal activity, including theft, assault, and rape charges. They haven’t found him yet, and I’m sure they never will.
Once we got back home and I’d recovered enough that Roy wasn’t hovering over me every second of the day, he told me what happened to my uncle. When they’d burst into the studio, Sebastian had the knife ready to cut my jugular vein. I guess I wasn’t bleeding out fast enough for him. Roy went to me immediately. Gavin and Proctor removed Sebastian from the building before the ambulance arrived. It seems my uncle owed someone a lot of money. Roy won’t tell me who exactly, but he said my uncle got what he deserved. I’m glad he died. I hope it took a while. And I don’t know if thinking such things makes me a bad person now.
Proctor sits in the chair opposite me. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, as I know I’m still number one on his list.
And then Roy walks in, dressed in old jeans and a crisp, cotton shirt with a slight beard and his hair brushed back from his face. His eyes seek out mine like I’m the only thing of importance in the room. He’s been this way since day one in the trailer so long ago when Jason attacked me. And now Jason’s dead, along with Charlie, and my uncle, Sebastian—gone like dried leaves blown away by the wind.
He comes over and kisses my forehead. “Mr. Stanwyck is here. He wants to speak with you, alone.”
So they’re back from the Hamptons, or wherever they’ve been. I don’t need Roy’s words to know he’d prefer I not talk with Mr. Stanwyck, so I don’t become upset. But after everything, what can he say to upset me more? My uncle tried to kill me so he could be the sole heir to the Stanwyck fortune. “Alright. I want you and Proctor there, though.”
I unfurl from the chair, not wanting to leave the warmth of the fire and the sounds of talking coming from my aunts and Evelyn in the kitchen. Over by the French doors, Gavin and Vincent are laughing. It all makes me happy, thinking this is my family.
I’m sandwiched between Roy and Proctor as we move to the front parlor and close the pocket doors behind us. Mr. Stanwyck has his back to us, as he has my whole life. How is it possible to ignore one’s daughter? To know she’s being cared for by others and do nothing to help? I head to the wingback chair and stand behind it with my hands on the back.
“You wanted to see me.” My voice is flat and lifeless.
“I won’t hurt her.” Mr. Stanwyck turns around and eyes Roy and Proctor.
“Seems to me”—Roy walks into the center of the room—“a man who doesn’t take responsibility for his child is capable of anything.”
Mr. Stanwyck rocks back and cuts his eyes to me. “It would be better if this was between us. At least send the psychopath out of the room.”
Proctor doesn’t react in any way I can ascertain. He stands with his hands at his side, blinks once, and retains his aloof, almost hostile, contemplation of Mr. Stanwyck.
“I asked him and Roy to stay with me.” My fingers, like claws, dig into the expensive fabric of the chair. “If you have something to say, I suggest you do it.”
It’s amazing how much arrogance and entitlement one person can project. He looks around the room like he finds it horribly lacking and distasteful and moves to stand by the fireplace. His arm rests on the mantel like he’s a cheesy model in a magazine spread. “I didn’t come here to apologize.”
I search his face, looking for any traces of me in his features. The eyes, maybe, and the clean line of his jaw, or I’m seeing things I want to see. He’s expecting me to speak. I don’t. I wait.
Roy comes to my side. “Get on with it, or get out.”
Mr. Stanwyck’s right eye twitches. “I thought it time to explain what happened all those years ago.” He takes a seat in the chair opposite mine.
“I know,” I say, though I’m sure there is far more I don’t. “You’ve never wanted anything to do with me. There’s no reason to dredge this up now.”
“There is.” He twists his hands together. “I took after my mother. She was a grand lady. Even my father behaved himself around her. I don’t know if it was love or respect or something else. Their families and their wealth complemented each other, and therefore they wed. It was the way things were done then.”
I add, “For the old, wealthy families, you mean.”
His eyelids are almost closed, like he could fall asleep at any moment. “Yes, of course. I learned much later in life, after he’d died, about the children he’d fathered by servants. He was a cruel man to the people he considered beneath him. Unfortunately, Robert took after him.”
“Bobby,” I whisper.
“I found Elizabetta in my mother’s drawing room. She was standing in front of my mother’s painting, crying. When I saw the ring on her finger, I lost it.” He heaves in a giant breath. “You have to understand, my wife had just died. Charlie was a constant reminder of what I’d lost.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t functioning well. Elizabetta was a decent person. From what I knew of her, she was always kind. Far too honest for the likes of my family. She told me Robert had given it to her as his pledge to take care of her and her unborn child. She was terrified. All she wanted was my help, and I couldn’t deal with it.”
“So you had her arrested,” I say.
He nods. “And I confronted Robert. He laughed at me. Thought it was funny. He had no compassion for her.”
It should have hit me sooner. “It’s Bobby. He’s my father.”
Like I’ve said nothing, he continues. “He said he would do right by the two of you. I accepted it. Didn’t question it.” He clears his throat. “Until she came back carrying you in her arms, begging Robert to help her. He taunted her, saying if you’d been a boy he might have considered it, but a bastard girl was no good to him.”
Roy’s hands slide around my waist. “I’m alright,” I whisper.
“Robert got on that crazy horse of his and went riding off straight into the accident that made him like he is today. I stayed with her, gave her money, and called a taxi. She said she was going to live with her mother.”
“Did you know about her mother and your father?”
“Much later… when Charlie showed an interest in you.”
My laugh is bitter. “He was gay.”
“He was my son. I loved him. He was also like my father and Robert. It was never about the sex, only the power over someone else. He liked males best because it made him feel more powerful to take them by force.”
My brother, the rapist. What a legacy. “Why are you here? Guilt? Some sort of twisted obligation? You said I was cursed. You’ve treated me like I’m dirt on your shoe.” My knees weak, I give in and sit. Roy and Proctor flank me. And then it hits me. “The gifts…they were from Bobby, weren’t they?”
“They were. Somewhere inside his damaged brain, he knew you were important to him. Who can say? I caught him once, hiding a present for you. It seemed harmless enough to me.”
“But he didn’t give me the ring.”
“No, Sebastian did that as a warning to me, to keep paying him.”
I look up at Proctor. How much has he known all along? “He was your brother,” I say. “He was entitled.”
Stanwyck explodes. “Entitled. The little bastard was entitled to nothing.”
Perhaps, I think, they are all like old Mr. Stanwyck.
“I gave him the least amount I could get away with. Thanks to you.” He nods at Roy and Proctor. “That’s done now.”
“We didn’t do it for you,” Proctor says.
“No, of course not. You did it for her.” He looks to me. “You’re so like my mother. I should have seen it earlier, seen the potential you have. The Stanwyck name needs you.”
And I thought I couldn’t be hurt by him. What a silly girl I am. He’s here because without an heir the Stanwyck name will die out, or maybe some bastard will lay a claim to it, which would be worse in his eyes.
“I’ve spoken with my lawyers. They’re drawing up the legal documents now. You’re a Stanwyck, and I’m prepared to give you the keys to the kingdom. It’s time for everyone to know you’re Jacqueline Stanwyck.”
He says this statement like he’s a king bestowing a knighthood on a peasant. “All those years you knew Mae and Stella and Reggie were feeding and clothing and loving me while you did nothing.” He tries to interrupt, but I hold my hand up to stop him. “They’ve worked six days a week their whole lives. Did you ever once think to offer your help? To tell them the truth? To ease the burden off their shoulders?”
Mr. Stanwyck’s eyes narrow, and it’s clear he doesn’t like where I’m going with this.
“No, of course not. Who cares about some blacks running a laundry who happened to take in your brother’s bastard? It’s not like they matter, right? Nothing matters but your money and keeping the Stanwyck name alive. This isn’t about your newfound love for me. Do you think I want anything to do with you? Do you think I’d change my name and play lady of the manor?”
He gets up and heads for the door. Proctor blocks his path. “She’s not done with you yet.”
Mr. Stanwyck turns and glares at me. “If you don’t accept my offer now, I’ll not give it again. And if you think you’ll take me to court and drag all this out to the public, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”
I laugh.
“Should I kill him?” Proctor asks.
“Get your lunatic off me.” Mr. Stanwyck attempts to sidestep Proctor, but fails.
“I suggest,” Roy growls out, “you remain still.”
Mr. Stanwyck points to me. “I am your family. You’re a Stanwyck. Roy’s nothing but a thug with new money. With my name, you could marry a senator, a president. What can any of them offer you?”
Roy growls and lunges toward him.
“No,” I whisper. “I need you.”
He halts, still poised to pummel Mr. Stanwyck.
“Please.” My voice sounds frail. I take his hand when he’s back by my side.
Proctor is in his face, smiling. To his credit, Mr. Stanwyck ignores him, his arrogance all the armor he needs. How easily Roy or Proctor could dispel him of that notion. He believes he’s better than his father and brother, but he’s not.
“I once dreamed of meeting my parents. Thought it would make me happy.” I give Mr. Stanwyck the look of daggers. “You are nothing to me.” I think of the child I carry and how each day we grow stronger together. How Roy and the people who are my real family will lavish us with love. I stand, and Roy stands beside me and takes my hand. “If you hurt my family or me, I will end you.”
“Little girl, you think you can threaten me? I could ruin Roy.” Mr. Stanwyck straightens his suit jacket with a sharp yank. “Whether you accept it or not, you’re a Stanwyck.”
“It wasn’t a threat.” My voice drips with ice. “It was a statement.” I nod to Proctor. “Please see him out.”
He grabs Mr. Stanwyck’s arm and yanks him off-balance.
“Get off me.”
I enjoy the look of fear written on his face and see he isn’t so sure anymore about his place in life as he stumbles to regain his balance while being ushered toward the door.
“You’ll come crawling to me, begging me to forgive you.”
Proctor has him almost to the front door; in the hall are my aunts and Gavin and Vincent.
“You’re Jacqueline Stanwyck,” he yells.
“No.” I tilt my chin up, knowing exactly who I am. “I’m Daisy Aldridge.”