Masquerade (Blue Bloods #2)

Masquerade (Blue Bloods #2) Page 20

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Masquerade (Blue Bloods #2) Page 20

The minute Schuyler walked down to breakfast on Friday morning, she noticed something different about the living room--sunlight. The room was bright with sun, drowned in sun. The canvas covers on the furniture were removed, and the ray of sunshine through the windows was so strong it was blinding.

Lawrence Van Alen stood in the middle of the room, examining an old portrait that hung over the fireplace. There were old-fashioned steamer trunks stacked in the hallway, along with a large, battered Louis Vuitton footlocker.

Hattie and Julius stood around him, clasping their hands. Hattie saw Schuyler first. "Miss Schuyler! I couldn't stop him--he had a key. He said he owned this house, and he began to open the curtains and demanded we remove the drop cloths. He said he's your grandfather. But Mrs. Cordelia was a widow since I've known her."

"It's all right, Hattie. It's fine. Julius, I'll handle this," Schuyler said, soothing the staff. The maid and chauffeur looked doubtfully at the interloper, but they heeded Schuyler's words and excused themselves from the room.

"What are you doing here?" Schuyler demanded. "I thought you were keeping out of it." She tried to feel anger, but all she felt was elation. Her grandfather! Had he changed his mind?

"Isn't it obvious?" Lawrence asked. "I've returned. Your words wounded me deeply, Schuyler. I could not live with myself knowing how cowardly I had acted. Forgive me, it has been a long time since Cordelia and I had made the pact. I never expected anyone would come looking for me."

He walked over to the picture window overlooking the frozen Hudson River. Schuyler had forgotten that their living room had such a marvelous view. Cordelia had kept the curtains drawn for years.

"I could not let you go back to your old life, alone. I have been in exile long enough. It is time for New York to remember the power and the glory of the Van Alen name. And I have come to raise you. You are, after all, my granddaughter."

In answer, Schuyler buried herself in her grandfather's arms and hugged him tight. "Cordelia was right about you. I knew she would be."

But before she could say anything more, the doorbell chimed loudly several times, as if someone were pressing it in a highly agitated manner.

Schuyler looked at her grandfather. "Are you expecting someone?"

"Not at the moment. Anderson is joining me in a week, after he has closed up my homes in Venice." He looked grave. "It appears my return to the city was not as secret as I had hoped."

Hattie moved to answer the door, but Lawrence waved her away. "I'll handle this," he said as he opened the door. Charles Force and several Wardens from The Committee stood on the doorstep, looking grim and determined.

"Ah, Lawrence." Charles Force smiled thinly "You have honored us with your presence once again."

"Charles." Lawrence nodded.

"May we come in?"

"By all means," Lawrence said graciously. "Schuyler, I believe you know everybody. Charles, Priscilla, Forsyth, Edmund, this is my granddaughter, Schuyler."

"Yeah, um. Hi," Schuyler said, wondering why her grandfather was acting as if the Wardens had simply dropped in for a friendly visit.

They ignored Schuyler.

"Lawrence, I'm sorry about this," Priscilla DuPont said in her gentle, mellifluous voice. "I was overruled."

"It's quite all right, my dear. I must say, it delights me to see you so well. It has been a long time since Newport."

"Too long," Priscilla agreed.

"Enough of this," Charles interrupted irritably.

"Lawrence, I do not recall your exile being revoked. You must appear before the Conclave to formally testify. If you will come with us, please." "What's happening?" Schuyler cried, as two Wardens took a hold of Lawrence's arms on either side. "Where are they taking you?"

"Do not fear, granddaughter," Lawrence said. "If I do not have a choice, I shall go willingly. Charles, you will find no contest from me. Schuyler, I should be back soon."

Charles Force snorted. "We shall see about that."

Schuyler watched as they led her grandfather out the door and inside one of the black cars in front of the building. She felt like crying. Just when she thought help had finally arrived, it was taken away as quickly as it had come.

"Has he gone?" Hattie asked, storming in from the kitchen. "Thank the Lord."

"He'll be back," Schuyler said. She walked over to the portrait Lawrence had been studying. It was a painting of a wedding, hidden underneath an acid-free cloth for years, dating from the early eighteenth century. There was Cordelia in her wedding dress, looking comely and prim. The man standing beside her, wearing a crisp morning suit and ascot, had the unmistakable, hawkish features of a young Lawrence Van Alen.

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