Page 7 of Return to Whitmore (The Whitmore #2)

Later, they grabbed drinks and sat in the garden to the back of the club.

The night sky was filled with stars, and the air was cool.

A few guys walked by, wanting their attention, but the Whitmore girls didn’t bother with them.

Allegra said she missed American men, and Lorelei agreed.

They looked at Charlotte, their eyes filled with questions.

Charlotte knew they wanted to ask about Vincent, about the love she’d left behind, just as she wanted to ask them about their boyfriends.

She had a flashing memory of little Nina, always watching her older sisters and their boyfriends, so curious about the future she would have.

Charlotte’s guilt weighed heavily on her chest. She needed to find Great-Aunt Genevieve’s phone number.

She needed to figure out if Nina was all right.

That’s when she realized they knew someone else at the club.

Handsome Jefferson Albright was in the garden, smoking a cigarette and conversing with a few people in a mix of English and Italian. The sight of him here, in his black button-down and with gel in his hair, enraged Charlotte, at least at first. How old was he? As old as their mother, at least.

“Oh no,” Allegra said, realizing what Charlotte already had. “I didn’t know he came here.”

“Me neither,” Lorelei breathed.

But Jefferson had spotted them. He tipped an invisible hat to his little group and turned to walk over to them. Charlotte drank down the rest of her gin and tonic, her heart pounding. Why couldn’t he leave them alone?

“Ladies,” Jefferson said in that silly English accent. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hi,” Lorelei said, sounding disgruntled.

“Can I sit down?” Jefferson asked. His eyes scanned them and settled on Charlotte, whose stomach churned. Before they could answer, he grabbed a chair and pulled it over to them to form a circle. “How are we this evening?”

“We’re fine,” Allegra said. “And you?”

Jefferson continued to look at Charlotte. Charlotte’s skin felt hot. She wanted to ask him why he was staring at her, why he was being so creepy, but she was terrified of his answer. She bit her tongue.

“Your mother was busy tonight,” Jefferson said, “so I thought I’d take myself out.”

“This isn’t really her type of place,” Lorelei said, gesturing vaguely toward the young people, the doorway that led back to the dark club.

“No. I should say not,” Jefferson said. “It’s nothing like you have back on Nantucket, either, is it?”

At the mention of Nantucket, Charlotte straightened her spine. Hadn’t she suspected that Jefferson had been her mother’s horseback riding trainer back in Nantucket rather than Tuscany?

“That’s right,” Allegra said. “When was the last time you were there?”

Jefferson laughed. “I imagine you don’t remember me, Allegra, but I remember you. You were just a little thing when I was last there. And Lorelei, we used to play and play. You were a wild child, you remember? I could barely keep up with you.”

Charlotte watched her sisters’ expressions but found herself unable to read them. The air was taut.

Before she could stop herself, Charlotte asked, “What about me? Do you remember me?”

Jefferson raised his eyebrows and looked her dead in the eyes. “I was gone by the time you were born, Charlotte,” he said.

Charlotte’s heart thudded. She wished she had another drink.

“Still can’t believe the White Oak Lodge is gone,” Jefferson went on. “That formidable place seemed like it would go on for another three centuries more.”

“It isn’t gone-gone,” Allegra interjected. “I mean, it’s still standing.”

“Your mother made it sound like nobody would ever enter its doors again,” Jefferson said. “I assumed it had been bulldozed by now. Does the Whitmore family still own it?”

“Of course we do,” Charlotte interjected. “Who else would own it?”

Jefferson’s eyes glinted. He took a long drink. “Let me ask you this. Do you suspect foul play?”

“It was a Fourth of July accident,” Lorelei said, although her voice wavered as though she didn’t believe it.

“Is that so?” Jefferson asked. “Don’t tell me you three believe that. You’re genius girls. Your mother is the smartest woman I’ve ever met.”

“It was an accident, like Lorelei said,” Charlotte snapped.

“We don’t engage in gossip like that,” Allegra said.

Jefferson smiled in a way that meant he thought he knew far more than they did.

“Don’t you think somebody was trying to cover something up?

” he suggested, leaning forward. “And what about the supposed Whitmore treasure, buried under the White Oak Lodge? Don’t you think someone took it and tried to cover their trail? ”

“There’s no Whitmore treasure.” Allegra rolled her eyes.

“That’s not what I heard,” Jefferson said.

“It sounds like you think you know a lot more than you do,” Lorelei said.

Jefferson raised his hand and laughed. “The Whitmore girls have got me cornered. What do you think, Charlotte? You think there’s treasure under there?”

Treasure? Under their home? It was true that Charlotte and her brothers and sisters had never really been allowed downstairs, but over time, she hadn’t thought anything of it.

There were tunnels and secret passageways down there, of that she was sure, but she knew they were leftover from the whaling days, when the White Oak Lodge was a protective station for whalers taking refuge from storms. It certainly hadn’t been a luxurious time for the property.

It meant, she thought, that the tunnels and passageways were nothing to write home about, save for their historical importance.

Allegra, Lorelei, and Charlotte were quiet. Charlotte didn’t want to say anything more to Jefferson Albright, and she was of half a mind to tell their mother tomorrow that he was after the Whitmore treasure and not Francesca’s heart, after all.

“I can see I’ve overstepped,” Jefferson said, getting up. “I apologize for that.” But he still wore that horrible smile, one that reminded Charlotte of something or someone. She couldn’t place it.

“I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your night,” Jefferson said, stepping away. Again, his eyes found Charlotte’s, and he smiled. “Before I go, I want to tell you, Charlotte. You really do look like her.”

The bait dangled between them.

“Like my mother?” Charlotte asked. “Everyone says that. But we all look like her. Allegra, Lorelei, and me.”

Allegra and Lorelei nodded, as though that settled it.

“What? Oh, of course. You all look like Francesca,” Jefferson said, pretending to be confused. “But there’s someone else in your face, Charlotte. Someone I miss a great deal.”

Charlotte’s heart throbbed. She knew he was toying with her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. But the sweat on her upper lip and on the back of her neck meant it was dawning on her.

Jefferson smiled that wonderful smile and said, “My mother. I miss her so dearly.” He pressed a kiss to the tips of his fingers and blew it Charlotte’s way. “Good evening, my dears. See you soon.”

Jefferson disappeared through the crowd, leaving Charlotte, Allegra, and Lorelei in stunned silence. Charlotte got to her feet and gaped at her sisters.

“You knew,” she said. She shook out her hands. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

“We only guessed the other day,” Allegra said. “We didn’t know for sure.”

But Charlotte’s eyes were filled with tears.

She fled the club, whipping out into the sidewalk in front of the entrance and flailing her arm for a cab.

All her life, she’d thought Benjamin Whitmore was her father.

All her life, she’d thought she was a Whitmore, one of the Whitmore girls, one of the heirs to the White Oak Lodge.

It was then she realized where she’d seen Jefferson Albright’s smile before: it looked remarkably like her own, the one she flashed in the mirror when she checked her teeth for lipstick stains. She thought she was going to throw up.