LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Are they still living with Mr. Wainwright?”

      “No. The Hirsts live in White Plains. An hour away in heavy traffic.”

      So did that mean he hadn’t been with his son for the last couple of months? No…that couldn’t be right. Now that he was getting a nanny, they’d probably just left to go back home.

      “I see. Does Jamie have paternal grandparents, too?”

      “Yes. At the moment they’re away on a trip,” came the vague response.

      Reese came from a large family. Both sets of grandparents were still alive and always around. She had seven aunts and uncles. Last count there were twenty-eight cousins. With her siblings, including the next oldest, Carrie, who was married and had two children under three, that brought the number to thirty-four. She wondered if her employer had any brothers and sisters or other family.

      “You’ve been with Mr. Wainwright a long time. Is there anything of importance I should know ahead of time?”

      “He’s punctual.”

      “I’ll remember that.” Reese got to her feet. “I won’t take any more of your time. Thank you for this opportunity, Mrs. Tribe.”

      “It’s been my pleasure. A limo will be sent for you at one o’clock.”

      “I’ll be waiting outside in front. Oh—one more question. What does Mr. Wainwright do for a living?”

      The other woman’s eyebrows lifted. “Since you’re at Wharton, I thought you might have already made the connection or I would have told you. He’s the CEO at Sherborne-Wainwright & Co. on Broadway. Good luck.”

      “Thank you,” Reese murmured in shock.

      He was that Wainwright?

      It was one of the most prestigious brokerage firms in New York, if not the top one with roots that went back a couple of hundred years. The revelation stunned her on many levels. Somehow she’d imagined the man who ran the whole thing to be in his late forties or early fifties. It usually took that long to rise to those heights.

      Of course it wasn’t impossible for him to have a new baby, but she was still surprised. Maybe it had been his second wife he’d lost and she’d been a young mother. No one was exempt from pain in this life.

      Nick Wainwright stood at the side of the grave. In loving memory of Erica Woodward Hirst Wainwright.

      Thirty-two years old was too young to die.

      “I’m sorry I neglected you so much it led to our divorce, Erica. Before we separated, I never thought for one moment you might be pregnant with our child, or that you’d lose your life during the delivery. My heart grieves for our little boy who needs his mother. It was your dying wish I raise him, but I feared I wouldn’t know how to be a good father to him. That’s why I let your parents take care of him this long, but now I’m ready. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to be a better father to him than I was a husband to you. If you’re listening, I just wanted you to know I vow to keep that promise.”

      After putting fresh flowers against the headstone, Nick walked swiftly to the limo waiting for him in the distance. He hadn’t been here since the funeral. The visit filled him with sorrow for what had gone wrong, but with the decision made to take Jamie home, it felt right to have come to her grave first.

      This early in the morning there was only his chauffeur, Paul, to see his tall, dark lone figure get in the back wearing a pale blue summer suit and tie. As he closed the rear door his eyes flicked to the newest state-of-the-art infant car seat he’d had delivered. Before the morning was out, he’d be taking his ten-week-old boy back to the city with him.

      “Let’s head over to my in-laws.”

      His middle-aged driver nodded and started the car. Paul had worked for Nick’s dad, back when Nick had been in his early teens. Now that his father was semiretired and Nick had been put in as head of the firm, he’d inherited Paul. Over the years the two of them had become good friends.

      Once they left the White Plains cemetery where members of the prominent Hirst family had been buried for the past one hundred and fifty years, he sat back rubbing his hand over his face. In a few minutes there was going to be a scene, but he’d been preparing himself for it.

      Prior to the baby’s birth, Nick hadn’t lived with Erica over the nine months of her pregnancy. Her death had come as a tremendous shock to him. Though he’d allowed her parents to take the baby home from the hospital, he hadn’t intended on it lasting for more than several weeks. In that amount of time he’d planned to find live-in help for the baby. Because of his guilt over the way their marriage had fallen apart, he’d let the situation go on too long.

      When Nick had phoned the pediatrician in White Plains who’d been called in at the time of delivery, he’d informed Nick that if he hoped to bond with his son, he shouldn’t wait any longer to parent him on a full-time basis.

      The doctor gave Nick the name of Dr. Hebert Wells, a highly recommended pediatrician who had a clinic on New York’s upper west side and could take over Jamie’s care. Then he wished him luck.

      Following that conversation, Nick had phoned his attorney and explained what he wanted to do. The other man had contacted the Hirsts’ attorney to let them know Nick was ready to take over his responsibilities as a father and would be coming for Jamie to take him home.

      Erica’s parents had wanted Nick to wait until the nanny they’d lined up would be available. They wanted control over the way their only grandchild—a future Hirst who would carry on the family tradition—would be raised. That meant having equal input over everything, the kind of children he associated with and where he would attend school from the beginning through college.

      But Nick wasn’t willing to wait any longer. Through their attorneys he promised to consult them on certain matters and bring Jamie to White Plains for visits, but deep down he knew nothing he said would reassure them. Time would have to take care of the problem.

      Nick’s family, who lived on Long Island, wanted control of their only grandchild, too. But they were at the family villa in Cannes with friends at the moment, confident Nick would do what had to be done to keep his in-laws pacified.

      “Erica’s parents seem willing to keep him for now,” his mother exclaimed. “It would be better if you let Jamie stay with them for the next year anyway. You can go on visiting him when you have the time. It’s the best arrangement under the circumstances.”

      Nick knew the script by heart. His own parents had already found another suitable woman for Nick to meet when he was ready. They saw nothing wrong in letting Erica’s parents oversee Jamie’s care, a sort of consolation prize to remove their guilt by association with the son who’d divorced “the catch of the season.”

      Their attitude came as no surprise to Nick. He’d been an only child, raised in virtual luxury by a whole staff of people other than his own parents. What they never understood was that it had been a lonely life, one that had caused him great pain. He didn’t want that for Jamie. But deep down he felt nervous as hell.

      Though Nick might have been the whiz kid who’d risen to the top of Sherborne-Wainwright, a two-hundred-year-old family investment brokerage, he didn’t quite know what to do with Jamie. The world of a two-and-half-month-old baby was anathema to him.

      He’d visited him every Saturday, but was an unwelcome visitor as far as Erica’s family was concerned. They had a well-trained, well-vetted staff, plus a private nurse to see to Jamie’s every need.

      Weather permitting, he would carry the baby outside to the English garden where he could get away from the officious woman in her white uniform. Otherwise Nick remained in the nursery, but he was superfluous in the help department. The staff had everything covered ahead of time. That in itself made it impossible for him to get close to his son.

      As the old Georgian colonial estate came

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