Back in the eighteenth century, the Earl’s only son had been killed in a hunting accident, and his three daughters couldn’t inherit. When he died, the title became extinct. Two of the daughters had married wasters, weak, ineffectual men who’d quickly ruined the family finances as well.
I smiled tightly. The beautiful old mansion had been sold. I believed it was now owned by a wealthy footballer. I sat up abruptly. I couldn’t — wouldn’t — let that happen to my own family home.
No one ever knew what happened to the third daughter. But the eldest, Antonia, had gone to America with her husband. Their family history made interesting reading, but children had been few, and when Antonia’s only surviving daughter had become pregnant out of wedlock, she’d vanished from the family records. None of her surviving nephews and nieces knew of her existence, or what had happened to her.
I slipped the file from the folder still sitting on the back seat of the limo. Before I opened it, I stared out. The car was driving through the city outskirts now, a wider, cleaner street. Up to the billionaire’s part of Silicon Valley. Better than the narrow, crowded downtown street where the diner stood, and the bitter taste of the cheap coffee was still in my throat.
I looked down. I was surprised how interested I’d been in the history of this family. Normally, I’d have been bored. This girl? Okay, if you say so. Give her money, send her off to that finishing school, pass her to Edward and let me get on with my comfortable life.
But no. I’d sat, fascinated, reading the story of these long-dead people who’d made mistakes in their lives, had to live with the consequences.
I’d waited, striding the room impatiently, while Lawrence had instructed teams of investigators and genealogists, finding what had happened to a missing pregnant girl nearly fifty years ago. I smiled.
Lawrence had been puzzled.
“Sir, there are three other suitable girls from other families we’ve already found. Shall we research those, and put this one aside? There might not even be a female descendant.”
I’d shaken my head. “No. I want to find out.” I couldn’t tell him. Tell him that I’d looked at an old photo of Elizabeth, the Lady Antonia’s daughter. Her eyes had looked out at me. I had to find out what had happened to her. The consequences of her uncle’s reckless riding to hounds had cost her the chance of an aristocratic life, a suitable marriage, and had led to abandonment by her family, having to raise her child alone in a strange country. That we’d found out she’d ended up here, in San Francisco, had seemed beyond coincidence.
I watched as my own luxurious home swung into view as the car rolled to a halt outside the wide steps. I picked up the folder and stepped out as the limo slowed to a halt. Lawrence was waiting beside the steps, his eyes on my face.
“Decent coffee, Lawrence. A decent cup of coffee as soon as we can.” I took the wide steps quickly and the great door swung open for me. I wondered how this Antonia would take it. The understated taste, the quiet staff, a place to relax, where you didn’t need to do anything unless you wanted to. Food would arrive at the table, what you wanted would be bought for you, the house cleaned, maintained, filled with flowers. Everything done to ensure your comfort.
I looked around. I’d earned this. I’d slogged my guts out, worked every hour there was, taught myself everything I needed to know.
And I’d been lucky too. Who’d have predicted that apps would be the way to go? The big software firms had their share of the market, and I wouldn’t take them on. But apps were easy to get into. Yes, I’d been lucky. Lucky enough to have the money to live on in the beginning so that I had time to learn, lucky enough to have the sort of brain that could see what to do, control the team I built around me as I built my empire. Lucky enough too, in the apps that I chose to develop. They’d sold like crazy. I smiled in relief as I threw myself into my chair, and David entered the room at the same time from the service door, bearing a tray. The coffee aroma finally heralded home, and I sighed.
“Thank you, David. It smells heavenly.”
He smiled. “Thank you, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of adding Scottish shortbread. You didn’t eat breakfast.”
I looked at the tray, and my mouth watered, imagining the soft, crumbly biscuits.
“Great, thanks.” I nodded at him and got out the dossier again.
Soon, I’d need to see her again, tell her what I had planned, work out how to get her to agree.
“Sit with me, Lawrence.” He’d never come and join me without being told to, but he was a very useful sounding board, and never tried to take advantage of his position.