The French Count's Pregnant Bride. Catherine SpencerЧитать онлайн книгу.
told Merrilee that I’m adopted, but I’m not, am I, Daddy?”
She’d never forgotten the look her parents exchanged then, or the way her father had taken her on his lap and said gently, “Yes, you are, sweet pea.”
“Oh!” Terribly afraid she’d contracted some kind of disease, she whispered, “Am I going to die?”
“Good heavens, no! All being adopted means is—”
“David, please!” her mother had interrupted, her voice sounding all funny and trembly. “We decided we’d never—”
“You decided, Bethany,” he’d replied firmly. “If I’d had my way, we’d have dealt with this a long time ago, and our child would have learned the truth from us, instead of hearing it from someone else. But the cat’s out of the bag now, and nothing you or I can do is going to stuff it back in again. And after all this time, it can hardly matter anyway.”
Then he’d turned back to Diana, tugged playfully on her ponytail and smiled. “Being adopted means that although another lady gave birth to you, we were the lucky people who got to keep you.”
Trying to fit together all the pieces of this strange and sudden puzzle, Diana said, “Does that mean I have two mommies?”
“In a way, yes.”
“David!”
“But you’re our daughter in every way that counts,” he went on, ignoring her mother’s moan of distress.
Still unable to grasp so foreign a concept, Diana said, “But who’s my other mommy, and why doesn’t she live with us?”
At that, her mother mewed pitifully.
“No one you know,” her father said steadily. “She was too young to look after a baby, and so, because she knew we would love you just as much as she did, and take very good care of you, she gave you to us. After that, she went back to her home, and we brought you here to ours.”
“Well, I can see why you’d want to learn more about this woman,” Carol said, when Diana finished her story. “I guess it’s natural enough to be curious about your roots, especially when they’re shrouded in so much mystery. What I don’t understand is why you waited this long to do something about it.”
“Simple. Every time I brought up the subject, my mother took to her bed and stayed there for days. ‘Why aren’t we enough for you?’ she’d cry. ‘Haven’t we loved you enough? Given you a lovely home, the best education, everything your heart desires? Why do you want to hurt us like this?’”
“Uh-oh!” Carol rolled her eyes again. “I realized she was a bit over the top temperamentally, but I’d no idea she stooped to that kind of emotional blackmail.”
“She couldn’t help herself,” Diana said, old loyalties coming to the fore. “She was insecure—very unsure of herself. I don’t know why, but she never seemed to believe she deserved to be loved for herself, and nothing I said could convince her that, as far as I was concerned, she and my father were my true parents and that I adored both of them. In her view, my wanting to know about my birth mother meant that she and my father had failed. So eventually I stopped asking questions, and we all went back to pretending the subject had never arisen. But I never stopped wanting to find answers.”
“Then tell me this. If it was that important to you, why didn’t you pursue the matter after she and your father died, instead of waiting until now?”
“Harvey didn’t think it was a good idea.”
“Why ever not?”
“I think he was…embarrassed.”
“Because you were adopted?”
“Pretty much, yes.”
Carol made no effort to disguise her scorn for the man. “What was his problem? That you might not be blue-blooded enough for him?”
“You guessed it! ‘You’re better off not knowing,’ he used to say, whenever I brought up the subject of my biological mother. ‘She was probably sleeping around and didn’t even know for sure who the father was. You could be anybody’s brat.’”
“And you let him get away with that kind of crap?” Carol gave an unladylike snort. “You should be ashamed, Diana, that you let him walk all over you like that!”
“At the time, what mattered most was my marriage. I wanted it to succeed, and Harvey was under enough stress at the hospital, without my bringing more into our private life, as well.”
“A fat lot of good it did you, in the end! He walked out anyway, and left you an emotional wreck.”
“For a while, perhaps, but I’m better now. Stronger, in some ways, than I’ve ever been.”
“Enough to stand the disappointment, if you don’t find what you’re looking for?”
“Absolutely,” Diana said, and at the time, it had been true.
The car coughed alarmingly and clunked to a halt at the foot of a hill. It serves you right, Carol would have said. If you’d taken the time to book ahead, you wouldn’t have been stuck with an old beater of a car no right-minded tourist would look at.
With some coaxing, she got the poor old thing running again, but as she approached a fork in the road, and found a sign pointing to the left, showing Bellevue-sur-Lac 31 kms, panic overwhelmed her and, for a moment, she considered turning to the right and heading for Monaco and a week of reckless betting on the roulette wheel, rather than pursuing the gamble she’d undertaken.
What if Carol was right, and she was inviting nothing but heartache for everyone by chasing her dream?
“The chances of your finding this woman are slim to nonexistent, you know,” her friend had warned. “People move around a lot, in this day and age. And even if you do find her, what then? You can’t just explode onto the scene and announce yourself as her long-lost daughter. You could blow her entire life apart if she’s married and hasn’t confided in her husband.”
“I realize that. But what’s to stop me talking to her, or even to people who know her, and trying to learn a little bit about her? I might have half brothers or sisters, aunts and uncles. Grandparents, even. She was seventeen when she had me, which means she’s only forty-five now. I could have a whole slew of relatives waiting to be discovered.”
“And how will that help you, if they don’t know who you are?” Carol asked gently.
It had taken all her courage to admit, “At least I’ll know I’m connected to someone in the world.”
“You have me, Diana. We might not share the same blood, but you’re like a sister to me.”
“You’re my dearest friend, and I’d trust you with my life, which is why I’m confiding in you now,” she replied. “But first and foremost, you’re Tim’s wife and Annie’s mother.” She opened her hands, pleadingly. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” Carol said, and her eyes were full of tears suddenly. “But I care too much about you to want to see you suffer another disappointment. You give your heart so willingly, Diana, and sometimes people see that as an invitation to trample all over it. Hotshot Harvey’s done enough damage. Please don’t leave yourself open to more. Don’t let anyone take advantage of your generosity. Just once, think of yourself first, and others second.”
The advice came back to her now as the car rattled around another bend in the road, and crossed a little stone bridge above a wide stream that burbled over brown rocks. Bellevue-sur-Lac 25 kms, a sign said.
What if she found her birth mother destitute? Abandoned by her family for her adolescent indiscretion? How could any decent person not lift a finger to help?
“I’ll find a way,” Diana promised herself, thumping the steering wheel with