All it took was one bad film to kill Hannah’s film career. Hollywood rejected her, and while she was still recovering from the loss, she received a call from a hospital in Orlando. Jocelyn had died from a drug overdose.
Bridget’s heart broke at the news. She could have been there, should have been there, to rescue Jocelyn before she ran away. Then to protect her from the anonymous man who’d given the ambulance driver Hannah’s name.
For years she’d hated herself for not intervening, and Hannah hated herself for abandoning her child, like Rosalind had done to her.
But God can redeem even the bleakest of situations. After she returned, Hannah never left England again. The two women—sisters—partnered together in their regrets and redemption.
God could still love, they discovered, even when they’d failed.
CHAPTER 55
_____
Lucas carried two new suitcases into his parents’ stately home in Brentford, the brick walls of the old house a pale pink. They’d spent the day driving through the dales of Yorkshire, asking about Adler House.
When they didn’t find it, Lucas suggested they fly back to London and stay at his parents’ house for the night—the police in Newhaven hadn’t located the gray lorry, and he didn’t want Quenby to spend the night in her flat.
Until police found the lorry driver, she didn’t want to spend the night alone either.
Mrs. Hough greeted them warmly, and Quenby thought the woman looked quite regal with her tailored blue suit and white scarf tied neatly around her neck.
“Welcome,” Mrs. Hough said, shaking her hand.
“Thank you for having me.”
“I’m pleased you came. Please roam wherever you’d like.”
Lucas held up their bags. “Right now, we’ll roam upstairs.”
Quenby climbed the winding staircase behind him, and he placed her bag beside a bed in one of the guest rooms. The bedcovering and wallpaper were striped with a tangerine color, and two oil paintings hung at the end of her bed—an austere-looking man with a white wig and a pretty woman wearing an elegant mauve-and-gray gown with a lace bonnet and satin bow.
Lucas pointed toward the portraits. “My great-great-great-grandparents . . . or something like that. They lived here more than a century ago.”
What would it be like to have a family heritage that stretched back for centuries? A story that was beyond yourself?
He reached for her hand, holding it as he’d done the entire flight and the car ride here. He blamed himself for the accident, though she’d told him repeatedly he’d done nothing wrong.
Outside the dual windows, twilight made the pool behind the manor glow pink and orange. “It’s lovely,” she said.
“Indeed.”
But when she turned, Lucas wasn’t looking outside. His eyes were on her. Nervous, she released his hand and reached for her handbag before scooting toward the door.
“Quenby—”
But she was already out in the corridor. She’d been avoiding this conversation since their evening in Florida, and she had no desire to start it now. Her heart was all wrapped up in this man, and she was terrified that it was some sort of mirage. When she blinked, he’d be gone.
Beside the kitchen was a breakfast nook that contained a small table walled in by windows. She removed Mrs. Douglas’s file from her bag along with her phone and iPad, placing them on the table.
Mrs. Hough walked into the kitchen and glanced at the items spread across the table. “Would you like some tea?”
“I would love some.”
“With milk?”
“Please.”
Mrs. Hough filled three mugs with hot water and dropped a tea bag into each one. Once they steeped, she added fresh milk to the mugs and brought them to the table, sitting down beside Quenby. “You’re immersed in some sort of project,” she said, tapping the file.
“Lucas and I have been working to find someone lost during World War II.”
She nodded. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Lucas so—so engrossed.”
Her words seemed to hover between them and the steam from their mugs. Was Mrs. Hough talking about her son’s interest in this case or his interest in Quenby?
She propped her iPad up, uncertain how to respond.
Mrs. Hough patted her hand. “It’s good for him.”
“He’s a loyal man—to Mr. Knight.”
Mrs. Hough smiled. “He’s always been loyal to the people he cares for.”
Quenby glanced back at her computer screen.
“What are you searching for?” Mrs. Hough asked.
“A house in Yorkshire called Adler.” She turned the screen so Mrs. Hough could see the reference online.
“Lucas’s grandparents might know where it is. They spend a few weeks up there each summer.”
“I tried to ring them,” Lucas said as he stepped into the room. “They aren’t answering their phones.”
“They’re holidaying in Porto Cervo at the moment.” Mrs. Hough inched one of the mugs toward her son. “I’ll contact a few of my friends up near Yorkshire to see if they know of it.”
Lucas reached for Quenby’s iPad, pulling it away from her. “You’re not supposed to be on that.”
“Bossy,” she huffed.
He shrugged, winking at her. “Doctor’s orders.”