Page 100

"Miss Anderton," she began, then paused. "Lili. I owe you an apology."
Lili looked up at her, wariness and curiosity warring in her expression. "Ma'am?"
"I treated you abominably," Mother continued, her voice gaining strength. "I allowed my own fears and prejudices to drive behavior that was unconscionable. I manipulated business arrangements, orchestrated social situations, and generally conducted myself in a manner that was beneath the standards I claim to uphold."
The words seemed to cost her considerable effort, each one carefully chosen and deliberately delivered. This was not the sort of conversation Lady Victoria Grosvenor typically engaged in.
"I cannot—will not—excuse my actions," she continued, her voice wavering slightly. "I can only attempt to explain them. When Edward was young, I watched my own Mother make a marriage that brought nothing but scandal and heartbreak. She chose love over propriety, and it destroyed her. I swore I would never allow my children to make the same mistake."
"But we're not your Mother," Lili said quietly. "And Edward isn't you."
"No," Mother agreed, something like surprise flickering across her features. "You're not. You're stronger than she was. Both of you. And I was too blinded by old fears to see that."
She reached into her handbag and withdrew an envelope, offering it to Lili with slightly trembling hands.
"This is a formal apology," she said. "Along with a settlement that should compensate for any damages my actions may have caused to your business or reputation."
Lili took the envelope but didn't open it, her eyes never leaving Mother's face. "What I want isn't money, Lady Victoria. What I want is for Edward to have his family back. All of it."
Mother's composure finally cracked, tears gathering in her eyes. "I don't know if that's possible. I've done so much damage—"
"Families heal," Lili interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. "If they want to badly enough."
What happened next would remain etched in my memory for the rest of my life. It started small—a tremor in her voice, a slightrelaxation of her rigid posture. Then her carefully applied mask began to crack, revealing something I hadn't seen since I was a child. My Mother, not Lady Victoria, just a woman who had made terrible mistakes and finally understood their cost. Mother—proud, imperious Lady Victoria Grosvenor—broke down completely. Not the delicate tears of a society matron, but the raw, ugly sobs of a woman finally acknowledging the weight of her mistakes.
Lili didn't hesitate. She rose from the chair and crossed to Mother, wrapping her arms around her in the sort of fierce, uncomplicated embrace that was purely American in its directness.
Mother collapsed into it, clinging to Lili like a drowning woman to a life preserver.
"I'm so sorry," Mother whispered between sobs. "So terribly, terribly sorry."
"I know," Lili murmured, rubbing her back in soothing circles. "I know you are."
Daphne was crying openly now, while James looked like he'd been struck by lightning. As for myself, I felt something fundamental shift in my chest—a knot of anger and resentment that I'd carried for thirty-four years finally beginning to loosen.
When Mother finally composed herself, pulling back from Lili's embrace with something approaching embarrassment, her face was blotchy and her makeup ruined. She looked, for the first time in my memory, entirely human.
"Thank you," she said to Lili, her voice hoarse. "You have no reason to forgive me, but... thank you."
"We're going to be a family," Lili said simply. "A real family. That means we figure things out together."
Mother nodded, then turned to me. "Edward, I—"
"We'll work on it," I said, my voice carefully measured. "It won't happen overnight, but... we'll work on it."
Relief flooded her features. "Yes. Yes, we will."
Daphne chose that moment to launch herself from the settee, gathering Mother into a hug that was enthusiastic and slightly chaotic. "Oh, Mummy, I've missed you so much!"
"And I you, darling girl," Mother replied, stroking Daphne's hair with the sort of gentle affection I remembered from childhood. "I've missed you both terribly."
As I watched my family slowly knitting itself back together, I felt Lili slip her hand into mine.
"Not bad for an evening's work," she murmured.
"Indeed," I agreed. "Though I suspect this is only the beginning."
"Good," she said, leaning against my shoulder. "I like beginnings."