A Lost Love

Reginald Gardner was starting to look flustered again, and Brooke felt her palms actually become damp. Oh, Jocelyn, what have you done? she cried silently.

‘Now we come to Miss Charlwood's last bequest.’ The lawyer shot Rafe another anxious look. ‘I'm afraid it isn't straightforward, and——’

‘For God's sake get on with it!’ Rosemary snapped. ‘All that's left are the shares Jocelyn had in the company.’

‘And the cottage,’ the lawyer reminded her softly.

‘The cottage?’ Rosemary frowned. ‘But surely that reverts to the estate?’

‘Not necessarily,’ the lawyer shook his head. ‘Mr Charlwood, your father,’ he looked at the other two men in the room, ‘and as such Jocelyn's brother, deeded both the cottage and its surrounding gardens to your aunt after the two of you were grown up and so no longer needed her at the main house.’

‘But surely it was only for her lifetime?’ Patrick spoke for the first time.

Reginald Gardner shook his head. ‘There was no mention of that in the deeds.’

‘But surely it was intended,’ Rosemary persisted sharply.

‘Intent does not make it so,’ the lawyer told her stiffly. ‘I drew up the deeds to the cottage, and neither by word or deed did Mr Charlwood imply that that was to be the case.’

‘Read the rest of the will, Reginald,’ Rafe Charlwood told him harshly, his features looking as if etched from granite. ‘We can argue the legalities of this later.’

‘Oh, it's legal,’ the other man said indignantly. ‘I drew the will up myself. It's just a little—unorthodox, that's all.’

‘And obviously involves Miss Adamson,’ Rosemary shot her another look of intense dislike.

‘It involves you all ultimately,’ he informed them quietly. ‘I'll read out the last bequest now, although as I've already said, it's perfectly legal. “To my dear friend Brooke Adamson, I leave the cottage in the grounds of Charlwood for the duration of her lifetime when it will revert to the estate——” ’

‘Impossible!’

‘Did Aunt Joss have a brainstorm?’ Patrick echoed his wife's outrage.

Brooke had no idea why they were so surprised; after hearing that the cottage belonged to Jocelyn she had expected as much. She had a feeling by Rafe Charlwood's silence that he too had suspected it. Well, none of them need worry; she had no intention of accepting the bequest.

‘Go on, Reginald,’ Rafe invited softly.

‘There's more?’ Patrick mocked.

‘Quite a lot more,’ the lawyer nodded. ‘And I can assure you that Miss Charlwood's faculties were perfectly in order when she made this will,’ he told the young man sternly.

‘Sorry,’ Patrick murmured almost guiltily.

‘Hm.’ Reginald Gardner had stopped looking nervous now, continuing to read. ‘ “And to my nephews, Rafe and Patrick, I leave my shares in Charlwood Industries, eleven per cent to Rafe, nine per cent to Patrick, giving them fifty-one and forty-nine percent respectively—on condition that they make no effort to prevent Brooke Adamson inhabiting the aforementioned cottage.” ’

‘That's ridiculous——’

‘And if we do “make an effort” to prevent Miss Adamson living in the cottage?’ Rafe Charlwood coolly interrupted his sister-in-law, surprisingly calm.

‘Then the shares revert to Miss Adamson,’ the lawyer told him in the hushed room.

Brooke swallowed hard, sensing the antagonism building up around her. ‘What if I don't want the cottage?’ she asked softly, not looking at any of the family, not needing to know of their resentment. ‘Give it back to the family?’

‘Then the shares automatically become yours, and you will have the controlling interest in Charlwood Industries,’ the lawyer told her gravely. ‘I have a letter for you here from Jocelyn.’ He stood up to walk over to her, handing her an envelope. ‘I have no idea of the contents,’ he told her gently. ‘But I do know that she intended you to have the cottage and not the shares. But it will, of course, be your decision.’

Brooke stood up to rip open the envelope, moving slightly away from the family as she read the contents of the handwritten sheets, vaguely aware of Rosemary Charlwood's cutting comments to her husband about the outrage of the contents of the will, declaring they would fight it.

All the discontent around her faded into the background as Brooke read the letter, and all she could do was silently thank her friend once again. Even in her illness Jocelyn had thought of Brooke, imposing the conditions of her will so that Brooke might be with her son at last—with Robert, the son she had given Rafe three years ago.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d041f302-8c77-5d92-b230-acec299db0eb)

NO, there was no shame attached to loving your child so much that you would do anything, be anything to be with him. And the girl who had once loved Rafe so much, who had found his power awesome, his air of remoteness daunting, his coldness a little frightening—a fear that had eventually grown to such proportions that she came to dread the rare times he was at home, that girl had become a woman who had been prepared to do anything to see again the son he had denied her.

Injured in the accident that Rafe still believed had killed her, she had begged the doctor not to repair the damage to her face until she looked as good as new, but to find her a doctor who could make her look completely new. It was a process that had taken months, but the first time she had seen Rafe again just under a year ago she had been rewarded for the time and pain spent in hospital by the way he had looked straight through her, not a vestige of recognition in the flinty grey eyes for the wife he believed had betrayed him with another man.

Jocelyn had been her only ally, the only one who knew of Jacqui Charlwood's transformation to Brooke Adamson. And even to the end Jocelyn had remained loyal, knowing that with her death Brooke's one doorway to seeing Robert had been closed. The cottage on the Charlwood estate had just thrown it wide open again. Brooke hugged the letter to her, hardly able to believe Jocelyn's final generosity to her.

She could see the Charlwoods couldn't believe it either. Rosemary and Patrick were in accord for once as they both loudly voiced their displeasure to poor Reginald Gardner. Only Rafe appeared calm as usual—but then she had never been able to tell what he was really thinking, not even on the day he had asked her to marry him—and certainly not on the day he told her he intended taking her beloved baby away from her for ever. That was the day she really began to hate Rafe in earnest, even more than she feared him—because she didn't doubt he could make good his threat. And he had. Jacqui Charlwood hadn't been allowed to see her son since that day. But Brooke Adamson had, and she would continue to do so—no matter what price she had to pay.

‘Well, Miss Adamson,’ Rafe had walked over to her side without her being aware of it, his expression mocking as she hastily refolded the letter and thrust both it and the envelope into her clutch-bag. ‘And what is your decision going to be?’ he drawled. ‘It would seem the future of Charlwood Industries rests in your hands.’

Brooke looked at him as coolly as ever, having been hurt too much by this man already ever to be intimidated by him again—or ever to fall again for the magnetic charm she knew he could display when it suited him to. And it had suited him before only for as long as it took him to marry her; after that she had just become another Charlwood convenience, there to be used when needed. God, no wonder she had grown to fear him!

But none of her thoughts showed in her clear blue eyes as she met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. ‘And the cottage?’ she mocked.

He shrugged broad shoulders beneath the tailored dark suit. ‘Is yours with my compliments.’

She glanced over pointedly to where Rosemary and Patrick were now arguing with each other, a much more common occurrence than their agreement, she remembered. ‘They don't seem to feel the same way,’ she slowly taunted, enjoying this moment of power. ‘Could that be because if I take the cottage you become head of Charlwood Industries?’

‘I've always been the head of Charlwood Industries,’ he said hardly. ‘And I doubt even Patrick would welcome a complete stranger into the company as a shareholder.’

She didn't even stiffen at his insulting tone; she had learnt to school both her reactions and features as the latter had been slowly changed. ‘But you don't mind inviting one to share your home?’ she lightly mocked.

‘The cottage is hardly my home,’ he derided.

‘But the Charlwood estate is,’ she pointed out with coy sweetness.

‘If my being here bothers you I can always arrange to live at one of our other houses,’ he dismissed.

‘I think perhaps,’ she softly taunted, ‘my being at the cottage would bother you rather than the other way around.’

Hard grey eyes raked over her with slow disdain. ‘Believe me, Miss Adamson, where you choose to live is completely immaterial to me.’

‘Really?’ Dark blonde brows rose. ‘In that case, I'd better give all this very serious thought. As you don't seem to care one way or the other——’

‘I didn't say that, Miss Adamson,’ he bit out, evidence that he wasn't quite as controlled as he appeared, although his eyes were glacial, his mouth the forbidding line she remembered so well. ‘I would, of course, prefer the Charlwood shares to remain in the family.’

In that case she could decide on either of the conditions in the will, because if she did take the shares they would simply revert to Robert on her death. But she already knew that she was going to live in the cottage, could hardly contain her relief and elation at the thought of still being able to catch the occasional glimpse of the son who had been taken from her when he was only six months old. He had been a beautiful baby, and had grown up into a lovely little boy, but his babyhood had been robbed from her by the man standing at her side. She would never hear Robert call her ‘Mummy’ either, and all because this man had ruled her fate by his moral judgments on her, deciding she was unfit to be the mother of his child. She was no more unfit to be his mother than Rafe was to be his father!

‘I understand that,’ she told him coldly.