The Duchess Diaries. Merline Lovelace

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      But she couldn’t quit being a mother. Nor did she want to give up a job she’d discovered she was good at. Really good. Then again, who said she had to quit? The Tremayne Group’s Washington venue had plenty of business.

      All of which was just a smoke screen. The sticking point—the real, honest-to-goodness sticking point—was that Jack didn’t love her. He’d been completely honest about that. Although...the past two nights had made Gina begin to wonder if what they did feel for each other might be enough. Uneasy with that thought, she dodged the issue of boys’ names.

      “I haven’t gotten that far,” she said lightly. “Tell me about your parents. Where they met, how long they’ve been married, what they like to do.”

      Jack filled the rest of the trip with a light-handed sketch of a family steeped in tradition and dedicated to serving others. His mother had been as active in volunteerism over the years as his father had in his work for a series of presidents.

      Gina might have been just the tiniest bit intimidated if she hadn’t grown up on stories of the literary and social giants Grandmama had hobnobbed with in her heyday. Then, of course, there was her title. Lady Eugenia Amalia Therése St. Sebastian, granddaughter to the last Duchess of Karlenburgh. That and five bucks might get her a cup of coffee at Starbucks but it still seemed to impress some people. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to resort to such obvious measures to impress Jack’s folks.

      * * *

      She didn’t. Fifteen minutes after meeting John II, Gina knew no title would dent the man’s rigid sense of propriety. He did not approve of her refusal to marry his only son and give his grandson the Mason name.

      “Now, John,” his wife admonished gently. She was a soft-spoken Southern belle with a core of tempered steel beneath her Donna Karan slacks and jewel-toned Versace tunic. “That’s a matter for Gina and Jack to decide.”

      “I disagree.”

      “So noted,” Ellen Mason said dryly. “Would you care for more iced tea, Gina?”

      There were only the four of them, thank goodness. They were sitting in a glass-enclosed solarium with fans turning overhead. A glorious sweep of green lawn shaded by the monster oaks that gave the place its name filled the windows. The Masons’ white-pillared, three-story home had once been the heart of a thriving tobacco plantation. The outlying acres had been sold off over the decades, but the current owner of Five Oaks had his lord-of-the-manner air down pat.

      “I’d better not,” Gina replied in response to Ellen’s question. “I’m trying to cut out caffeine. Water with lemon would be great.”

      Jack’s mother tipped ice water from a frosted carafe and used silver tongs to spear a lemon wedge. “We didn’t worry about caffeine all those years ago when I was pregnant. That might explain some of my son’s inexhaustible energy.”

      Her guest kept a straight face, but it took some doing. Ellen’s son was inexhaustible, all right. Gina had the whisker burns on her thighs to prove it.

      “I know you must have questions about this side of your baby’s family tree,” the older woman was saying with a smile in her warm brown eyes. “We have a portrait gallery in the upper hall. Shall I give you a tour while Jack and his father catch up on the latest political gossip?”

      “I’d love that.”

      The duchess had taken Gina and Sarah to all the great museums, both at home and abroad. The Louvre. The Uffizi. The Hermitage. The National Gallery of Art in Washington. As a result Sarah had developed both an interest in and an appreciation for all forms of art. Gina’s knowledge wasn’t anywhere near as refined but she recognized the touch of a master when she saw it. None of the portraits hanging in the oak-paneled upstairs hall had that feel. Still, the collection offered a truly fascinating glimpse of costumes and hairstyles from the 17th century right down to the present.

      Gina paused before the oil of Jack’s grandfather. He wore the full dress uniform of an army colonel, complete with gold shoulder epaulets and saber. “My grandmother knew him,” she told Ellen. “She said he and your mother-in-law attended a reception she once gave for some sultan or another.”

      “I’ve read about your grandmother,” her hostess commented as they moved to the next portrait, this one of Ellen and her husband in elegant formal dress. “She sounds like an extraordinary woman.”

      “She is.” Lips pursed, Gina surveyed the empty space at the end of the row. “No portrait of Jack and Catherine?”

      “No, unfortunately. We could never get them to sit still long enough for a formal portrait. And...” She stopped, drew in a breath. “And of course, we all thought there was plenty of time.”

      She turned and held out both hands. Gina placed hers in the soft, firm fold.

      “That’s why I wanted this moment alone with you, dear. Life is so short, and so full of uncertainties. I admire you for doing what your heart tells you is right. Don’t let Jack or his father or anyone else bully you into doing otherwise.”

      * * *

      The brief interlude with Ellen made her husband a little easier to bear. John II didn’t alter his attitude of stiff disapproval toward Gina but there was no disguising his deep affection for his son. He not only loved Jack. He was also inordinately proud of his son’s accomplishments to date.

      “Did he tell you he’s the youngest man ever appointed as an ambassador-at-large?” he asked during a leisurely brunch that included twice-baked cheese grits, green beans almondine and the most delicious crab cakes Gina had ever sampled.

      “No, he didn’t,” she replied, silently wishing she could sop up the béchamel sauce from the crab cakes with the crust of her flaky croissant.

      “Then he probably also didn’t tell you some very powerful PACs have been suggesting he run for the U.S. Senate as a first step toward the White House.”

      “Dad...”

      “Actually,” Gina interrupted, “I read about that. I know those PACs love Jack. And he and I talked about his running for office the other night.”

      John II paused with his knife and fork poised above his food. “You did?”

      “Yep. I told him he should go for it.”

      “Dad...”

      Once again the father ignored the son’s low warning. His lip curled, and a heavy sarcasm colored his voice. “I’m sure our conservative base will turn out by the thousands to support a candidate with an illegitimate child.”

      “That’s enough!”

      Jack shoved away from the table and tossed down his napkin. Anger radiated from him in waves. “We agreed not to discuss this, Dad. If you can’t stick to the agreement, Gina and I will leave now.”

      “I’m sorry.” The apology was stiff but it was an apology. “Sit down, son. Please, sit down.”

      Ellen interceded, as Gina suspected she had countless times in the past. “Jack, why don’t you take our guest for a stroll in the rose garden while I clear the table and bring in dessert?”

      Gina СКАЧАТЬ