“Hang on.” He shut the door. This didn’t seem like a conversation that should happen on the doorstep.
Her eyebrows were pinched and she was looking at him like he should have the answers… maybe he did. He wasn’t raised by his biological father. He put his satchel down by the hat stand. The iron should keep any curious fairy away. But he hadn’t seen one in the cab or any around the house.
“You said I should flick through and see if they named names. Well, I started flicking and caught up in the drama of a young woman who had partied here and then stayed when she became pregnant. She had the baby and then died.” She looked at him like he should be making connections. “That baby was my mother.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“Gran named the baby Helen. Then I read a few of the later ones—that baby was definitely my mother. My mother had me at seventeen and ran to escape the Callaway name and house. She didn’t want to be trapped by history like Gran. Helen wasn’t even a Callaway.”
Caspian cupped her face. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, frustrated, upset, or all of the three. “I know it’s a shock, but take a breath and think about who put Band-Aids on your grazed knees and read you a bedtime story. Blood means nothing.”
She looked up at him. “But I’m not a Callaway. I don’t know who I am. Gran lied to me.”
“You are a Callaway. You’re tough and smart, just like your grandmother taught you. She loved you like a daughter, raised you. You owe her that respect. If she said nothing, it was to protect you. If she hadn’t claimed your mother, what would’ve happened? Would the child have been sent to an orphanage, placed in state care? Would that have been better?” He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “Maybe things would’ve been different.”
“You’d trade the love your grandmother gave you?” He couldn’t imagine doing that, but then he’d known since he could speak that he was different. But Lydia needed to see that it didn’t matter who her grandmother was. It was the woman she called Gran who was important. “The important people are the ones who love and care about you.”
And Dylis had been there his whole life, protecting him from Greys and telling him about his real father. The scheming she was part of probably ran deeper than he could ever know or want to understand and she wouldn’t sell him out to Shea. Dylis was part of his family.
“You really believe that?”
“With all my heart.”
“I feel like I’ve lost everything again.”
“You’ve gained. Your gran would’ve had to fight to keep your mother, and then she’d have battled again to keep you. She would have been an amazing woman. You’re lucky to have known her.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Come with me.” He led her into the living room. On the shelf was a plaster child’s handprint. He’d seen it and touched it out of curiosity.
As he picked it up Lydia looked at him as if he was a little crazy. “I made that for Mother’s Day when I was in kindergarten.”
“I know.” He nodded. “And she loved it. She loved you. When I pick this up that is the only impression I get. This boundless love. She’d have done anything for you. She wanted to do better than she had with Helen—I got a sense of failure and loss off the picture of the toddler.” He pointed to the wall of photos.
“Maybe you know her better than me.” Her face crumpled like she was going to cry.
“No. I get fragments of her life. You have the whole story in the diaries. Maybe some of it you weren’t supposed to read, but if you read on I’m sure you will see just how much she loved you.” He placed the handprint down. “It’s always a shock to find out not everything is as it seems.” And Lydia had found out more than the average person today.
“You’re not just talking about Gran.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry you’ve got mixed up in my stuff.”
She gave him a halfhearted smile. “It’s what happens when you get to know someone.” She paused and met his gaze. “Please don’t tell anyone about Helen.”
“Does Helen know the truth?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never spoken to her.”
Helen probably deserved to know about her parentage, but then what would it change? It wouldn’t bring Helen back into Lydia’s life and Lydia didn’t seem to want to know her. Whereas he wanted to at least meet his fairy father, or he had until this morning.
She covered his hands with hers. “Thank you for listening and sharing what you know. I knew you’d understand. But I still don’t know what to do with the diaries.”
“If there are no names, you don’t have to decide yet. They have no scandal value, only historical. Have you read the early ones?”
She shook her head. “I should.”
“It would be nice to know what happened. Callaway was once a respected name.”
“You don’t know? I thought you would have been able to see.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I get impressions, not the detailed history.”
“I know there was a gambling debt, and I know Gran’s husband died in World War Two. I don’t know why she opened Callaway House as mistress hotel. I’m sure her husband must have rolled in his grave.”
Caspian glanced at the fancy ceiling and the old-fashioned light fitting that had been converted to electricity. “Something went wrong. And I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice.”
Lydia followed his gaze. “You don’t see what I do. I grew up here and took it all for granted. I thought all houses were like this, full of art and chandeliers.”
He laughed before he could help himself. “My brother and I shared a room. We had linoleum on the kitchen floor and green kitchen counters. Our house would’ve fit in here three times.”
She raised one eyebrow. “You weren’t that poor.”
“I never thought we were. Everyone I knew lived the same way. When I was in high school we moved to a bigger house. My parents still live there.”
“You see them often?”
“Not as often as I should.” He wanted to see them in case all the fairy stuff went pear-shaped, but on the other hand he didn’t want to bring Shea to their door. That would be a shock his mother wouldn’t forgive him for.
His mother had a fear of all things fairy so he’d stopped mentioning anything he saw after she’d been horrified by his gift. For a while he’d tried to suppress and ignore it. But he couldn’t. It had been easier to learn how to manage it and mold it than pretend it didn’t exist. He was sure his mom knew that he used it daily in his business but she never said anything. She’d been there during the divorce. His dad had put his hand on Caspian’s shoulder and told him,
He’d never managed to follow that piece of advice. And until now he hadn’t wanted to. But Lydia was tempting him to walk the paths he’d sworn never to take again. In her arms he believed he could love again. He brushed a strand of hair off her face, unable to resist touching her and yet knowing that if he didn’t step away soon he’d get nothing done. And as much as he enjoyed being here, it would be simpler if he wasn’t working here.
“I should get to work. A bit left in the stable, and then I’ll have a look in the attic.”
“Then that’s it except for the cabins.” She sounded disappointed, as if she wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again once he’d finished the job.
They looked at each other for several heartbeats. Then he stepped forward and kissed her. She didn’t have any idea what this meant to him. She knew what he was and wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t about to give her up. Her lips moved against his, tempting and teasing, but if he stopped to play now he wouldn’t get any work done. Slowly he broke the kiss and they drew apart.
Her tongue traced her lower lip as if considering the same thing he was thinking. Forget working and dinner—there were other things to do. And he wondered how long it had been since she’d had a boyfriend. There were so many things he didn’t know about her.
