The Lost - J. D. Robb [123]
He chuckled. “So many babies enter this world before the full nine months. Not all of them frail. It’s said that half the population wasn’t planned. Many of us are accidents of birth.” He looked over. “Did your grandfather strike you as an impulsive man who would marry someone he’d only just met within days of her landing in America?”
Aidan laughed. “Quite the contrary. He was a very stern, disciplined man. But I didn’t know him in his youth. Perhaps in his later years he was forced to overcome an impetuous nature.”
“Or he was persuaded to marry a dishonored young woman who was in need of a husband in order to hide her shame. Knowing Hugh Fitzgibbon’s fury, he would not have been above offering quite a dowry for the right man to take his shameful, headstrong daughter off his hands and spare him and his wife the embarrassment of a grandchild without a father.”
Aidan gave a firm shake of her head. “I simply can’t accept any of this. I know what I know, and that is that Edward Martin was my grandfather, and his wife, Maureen, my grandmother. Their daughter was my mother, whom I loved more than life. I’m not prepared to accept that their entire lives have been a lie.”
“Not a lie, Aidan. The result of difficult circumstances, perhaps. We do what we have to in order to survive. Your grandmother was no different.”
“But to never tell my mother . . .” She spread her hands. “They were too close. There was plenty of time for honesty before she died. She would have had to tell the truth of her parentage to my mother.”
“Perhaps she did, and your mother chose not to share that with you.” While Aidan was shaking her head in denial he added, “One thing more about your mother. You have yet to say her name.” He leaned forward.
“Her name was Claire.”
“Have I told you my mother’s name?” He paused dramatically before saying, “It was Claire.”
Aidan swallowed. “A coincidence.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or perhaps you’re making this up.”
“I could be. But there are documents to prove what I say. My mother, Claire,” he added emphatically, “loved Moira like a daughter, and grieved along with me when my great love was taken away to America, never to be seen again. Imagine how my dear mother yearned to see her only grandchild. But it was to be denied her. And yet, though Moira was forced to change her name, live a lie and wed another, she still saw to it that her daughter bore the name Claire, in honor of the woman her namesake would never know.”
Aidan pressed her fingers to her temples, where the beginning of a headache had begun to throb. “I’m sorry. This is all so much to take in.”
“I know.” His tone gentled. “I understand everything you’re feeling, for I’ve struggled with every emotion possible. Through the years I’ve been angry, sad, defeated, determined, hopeful and, at times, desperately unhappy. After a lifetime of searching, I finally learned the name of the man Moira had married, and was able to put all the pieces together. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so joyful, so filled with hope. Then, just as my legal team was closing in on the one I sought, I was told that both Moira and the child were dead.” His eyes were hot and fierce. “But you’re alive, Aidan. The daughter of my daughter. Don’t you see? My lifetime search has not been in vain.”
Aidan scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste. “I can’t accept this without proof. What you’ve offered me is a sad story, a few coincidences. I need more.”
“Very well.” The old man glanced at Ross for confirmation. “We thought you would need convincing. And for the sake of the courts, we’ll need more. Ross?”
Taking his cue, Ross picked up the conversation. “With your permission, Cullen would like to order a genetic test. It’s simple enough. A technician from our local hospital can be here within an hour to swab both your mouths. Within forty-eight hours a DNA test will offer proof beyond a doubt as to whether or not you two are blood-r elated.