The Lost

“Like Cullen’s.” He smiled.

“You think it’s fu

He shook his head. “I think it’s a family trait, and though you’re trying to deny it, you’re begi

“Maybe.” Restless, she set aside her glass on a side table. “But it would take more than gray hairs or a few old love letters to convince me that everything I’ve held to be true for a lifetime is a lie.”

“It happens more often than you think. Adult children are told after the death of a parent that they were adopted, or learn that the woman they called mother was actually their biological grandmother, covering for the mistake of a too-young daughter. Though we may wish it otherwise, life isn’t all neat and tidy.”

“Knowing it happens to others doesn’t make it any easier to accept. I wonder if you’d be so philosophical if this were happening to you. How would you feel about catching your mother in a lie?”

His smile remained in place, though there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes. “I would have had to know my mother to catch her in a lie. And since she disappeared from my life before I was old enough to talk, that wasn’t possible.”

Aidan felt a rush of remorse. “I’m sorry. I had no right…”

He looked beyond her and seemed almost relieved as he got to his feet. “Cullen. Aidan and I are having some iced tea. Will you join us?”

“I will. Thank you.” The older man settled himself comfortably in the chair beside hers and began petting the two dogs that rushed up to greet him.

Ross returned with a glass and poured him a drink.

Cullen sipped. “Have you been enjoying the gardens, my dear?”

“I have. Almost as much as I’m enjoying Ross’ cottage.”

Cullen gave a broad smile. “He and I have enjoyed many a night of heated debate out here. Though I must confess that on my part the heat may have come from a bottle of Bushmill’s finest.”

“And many a headache in the morning, as you’re fond of telling me.” Ross laughed.

She could imagine Ross and Cullen sitting here often, debating business or politics or world affairs.

Aidan glanced from Cullen to Ross. “Who most often wins the debate?”

“There are no wi

“Ah. So that’s where this comes from. My father used to accuse me of enjoying a good argument way too much. Now I learn that it’s the Irish in me.”

Cullen was still smiling, but his look had sharpened, and she had the distinct impression that he was searching for parts of himself in her face. Wasn’t she guilty of doing the same, when she thought he wouldn’t notice?

Ross was watching them both, and keeping his thoughts to himself.

“What else do you enjoy, my dear?” Cullen sipped his iced tea and continued to study her.

“Good books.”

“Fiction or non?”

Without a thought, she said, “Nonfiction. Usually. I devour biographies.”

He and Ross shared a glance. “And what is your taste in music?”

“I love it all, I suppose. But especially classical. Operas in particular.”

He arched a brow. “Do you have a favorite?”

“I love all I’ve seen. But I always cry at Madame Butterfly.”

He smiled at that. “Do you play an instrument?”

“I never had lessons, so I don’t play well, but I play piano for my own amusement. And I’ve been known to pick up a violin and play a tune or two.”

“Any other great loves?” He paused. Smiled. “I should clarify that. Any you can speak of?”

She laughed, enjoying the teasing. “No special man, if that’s what you’re asking. But I do love to garden. That’s something that my mother and I both shared.”

He leaned forward. “Your mother was aptly named. Her namesake, my mother, had a garden that was admired by all in our county. I swear she could put a dead stick in the ground and it would bloom for her.”

He saw Aidan’s smile fade. “Forgive me, my dear. I don’t mean to push. It’s just…” He spread his hands. “When I hear you speak, it’s as though I’ve known you for a lifetime. I forget that this is all new and awkward for you.”

She surprised herself by reaching over to take his hand. “You’re a kind man, Cullen Glin, and I don’t want to hurt you any more than you’ve already been hurt. I admit that I’m puzzled by all the similarities between my family and the one you’ve been seeking. But I can’t put aside my beliefs of a lifetime because of a few coincidences.”

Keeping her hand in his, he drained his glass and got to his feet. “You’re right, of course. Forgive an old man’s impatience. We’ll have our answers soon enough. Why don’t we walk up to the lodge and see what Kathleen has prepared for our di

He turned to Ross. “Will you be joining us?”

Ross gave a quick shake of his head. “Not tonight. I have some work to take care of.”

“You can do that later. Come. Join us.”

Ross gave the old man a gentle smile. “I suspect that you and Aidan can find plenty to talk about. Maybe I’ll walk up later for coffee.”

“Your loss.” Cullen tucked Aidan’s hand in the crook of his arm. “On the way to the lodge I’ll show you my favorite roses. Moira and I once pla

Ross watched them walk away, then settled back down in the chair, idly scratching behind Mayo’s ears, until Meath nudged her aside. “Jealous, are you?” He glanced toward the old man and young woman, walking along the path arm in arm. “I’d know a thing or two about that.”

Six

“Bridget.” Cullen sat back as the old woman removed his plate. “Be sure and tell Kathleen that this was the finest salmon I’ve ever tasted.” He glanced at Aidan. “What did you think of it, my dear?”

“I agree.” She sighed. “And those tiny potatoes and carrots right out of the garden. You’d spend a fortune for something that fresh in a restaurant.”

Once again they’d forsaken the banquet-sized table in favor of a small round one set in a corner of the room near a bank of windows overlooking the gardens. For the past hour they’d talked about books and music, discovering that each of them loved the same authors, and they even described the same scenes from several of their favorite operas.

While Cullen seemed to revel in each new discovery, for Aidan it was an eerie feeling to have such an intimate co

“Why don’t we take our coffee and dessert in the library?”

She nodded. “But just coffee. I’m afraid I don’t have room for dessert after that wonderful meal.”

He turned to Bridget with a smile. “Just coffee, Bridget. We’ll be in the library.”

Once there, Cullen watched as Aidan studied the photographs arranged on a side table.

“Your mother?” She pointed to the plump woman with her arm around a young Cullen.

“Yes.” He walked over to stand beside her. “You’d have loved her.”

Aidan heard the affection in his voice.

“Is this Ross?” She lifted a framed photo for a better look.

“Indeed. That was taken when he first came to live with me.”

“So young?” She glanced up in surprise. “I mean… I thought he was merely your lawyer.”

“He is. Considered one of the finest in the country now. After university here he studied at Oxford, and then in your country, at Harvard.”

She peered at the photograph. “But here he’s…”

“Sixteen.” Cullen chuckled. “You’d be hard-pressed to discern that rough-and-tumble youth as the same polished man who’s persuaded judges and juries across Ireland in his clients’ favor.”

They both looked up as Bridget carried in a silver coffee service and filled two cups before taking her leave.

Aidan and Cullen settled into chairs pulled in front of the fire.

Cullen stirred sugar into his coffee. “What do you think of Ross?”