everything going on around her.
Putting down her teacup, and leaning forward from the waist, Elizabeth said, âIâve never seen you looking better, Aunt Grace Rose. Youâre just beautiful.â
âThank you, and I might say the same about you, my dear. Those russet colours really suit you, Elizabeth. I think that outfit is by Hermès. I used to favour those colours myself a long time ago.â Grace Rose paused, then asked, âI wonder if you would do me a favour?â
âOf course.â
âWould you mind calling me Grace Rose ? The way you did when you were a child and a young woman. In the last year or so youâve been adding aunt , and it does make me feel rather old .â
Elizabeth chuckled, answered emphatically, âGrace Rose it shall be!â
âThank you.â Settling back against the needlepoint cushions on the sofa, Grace Rose focused on Elizabeth, studying her as she herself had just been studied. After a moment, she announced, âNever let them see you sweat.â
Taken aback by this Elizabeth gaped at her, not quite sure how to respond.
Grace Rose, who never missed a thing, was fully aware that she had succeeded in truly startling her great-niece, as she had fully intended to do, and she smiled inwardly. Then that smile surfaced, as she explained, âThatâs what my father used to say to me ⦠â Never let them see you sweat .â And he never did. And you wonât either, will you, Elizabeth? Tomorrow . At the board meeting.â
âI certainly wonât,â Elizabeth managed, aware that Grace Rose knew about the board meeting because she was a shareholder.
Grace Rose continued, âMy father had another rule he lived by in business, and it was this: Never display weakness, never show face . He once told me that his cousin, Neville Watkins, had drilled this into him when he was starting out in businessat the age of nineteen. Edward Deravenel made it his mantra, and so should you. It will serve you well.â
âYouâre right, it will, and as you know Iâve always admired my great-grandfather.â
Grace Rose gave Elizabeth a long thoughtful look, finally remarked, âEveryone fell under his spell. Fatal charm, thatâs what he had. In abundance. And he was a loving, generous man, and dependable.â A small sigh escaped her, then she straightened, and continued in a brisker tone, âWeâre the last, you know, you and I. The last of the Deravenels .â
Elizabeth nodded, afraid to say one word, afraid to remind her great-aunt that she was also a Turner, not wishing to offend her.
It was as if Grace Rose had read her mind, when she went on swiftly, âOh, I know, youâre a Turner. But your father Harry did not resemble them. And neither do you. His genes and yours come from Bess Deravenel, my half-sister and your paternal grandmother. She and I were both redheads like you, you know.â Grace Rose patted her hair. âItâs silver now but it was once a shimmering red-gold.â
Turning slightly on the sofa, Grace Rose shuffled some folders and documents, which were sitting atop an occasional table standing next to her. She found what she was looking for ⦠a silver-framed photograph. Handing it to Elizabeth, she explained, âThis is Edward with your grandmother and me ⦠thatâs me on the left. It was taken in 1925, about a year before our father died.â
Elizabeth had not seen this photograph before, and she sat holding it in both hands, gazing at it for a moment. Her grandmother Bess and Grace Rose looked very much alike, and both young women bore a strong resemblance to Edward. They were very beautiful. She said, with a wide smile, âThereâs certainly no doubt who fathered the two of you! Or from whence I come, either!â
Grace Rose smiled, looking pleased, and asked, âCould you put the photograph back, over there on the console table,
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