Elinor moved out to the garden, looked at the night sky, and wondered what Father would think of all that had gone on. Chances were he would not be surprised at his daughter's transgressions (she was his after all), but he would be dis pleased that she'd been caught. He would be cross, her mother's favorite word.

He would have, however, continued to be proud of Catherine Janelle, because she'd be leaving town, the heroine again, having done what was best for the family.

"Penny for your thoughts." Elinor turned and saw Congressman Perry navigating the terrace toward her.

"Oh, Congressman. Bill." She smiled. "I've only come out for a breath of air. The party is wonderful; the children are so happy."

"And so, thank G.o.d, is my wife."

Elinor laughed. "Well, she's done a marvelous job." She did not mention the lemon confit chicken.

"And now she's dancing with your husband."

"With Malcolm?" Mac hated to dance, said he was born with two left feet and no right.

"Shamed him into it, she did. Said she'd get him in practice for the wedding reception."

Elinor suddenly realized the band was playing a slow dance-something Mac detested the most. "He hates to dance. I should go rescue him."

"Or you could come inside and dance with me." He held out his hand and led her to the French doors. In too short an instant she was back in the party, now being held by the man with big hair and big hands, waltzed to the center of attention, right next to Malcolm and Betts.

It was then that the congressman leaned down and said in her ear, "I believe you and my wife have many things in common. For one thing, lavender is her favorite color."

Elinor's ears became blocked. Her head began swirling as if she'd been drugged. "What?"

"Lavender," the congressman repeated. "It's your special shade, isn't it?"

She broke from his grasp. She was going to throw up. She raced from the dance floor, from the ballroom, out into the hallway. She frantically searched for the ladies' room. She dashed inside, locked a door behind her, and quickly crumpled to the floor.

Forty-four.

CJ had had enough of the party and felt it was all right to call it a night. She cheek-kissed Jonas and Lucinda and went in search of Betts Perry just as Malcolm moved toward her with purpose.

"Help," he uttered in a controlled whisper. "I don't want to cause a scene, but I think Elinor's sick."

CJ supposed it had been too much to hope that the party would end up unflawed. "What happened? Where is she?"

"She was dancing with the congressman. Suddenly she broke away and ran from the room. Someone saw her duck into the ladies' room."

Well, that made no sense unless it was just as it seemed: that Elinor had simply become sick.

"I'll check," CJ said, and Mac followed her until she left him out in the hall.

Inside the ladies' room, the stalls were not stalls but small rooms with bra.s.s-k.n.o.bs and long louvred doors designed for the utmost privacy.

"E? Are you here?" CJ called out.

"Go away, CJ. It's over."

"I know it's over. It was a lovely party."

Silence.

"E?"

"Not the party. I mean it's over. You know what I mean."

Was she talking about the blackmail?

"E? Are you all right?"

"Go away. We'll talk later, okay? I really don't feel well right now."

"Will you call me? Later?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes. Now go away."

Malcolm was waiting out in the hall.

"She's all right," CJ said. "A little too much excitement, I guess."

He took her by the elbow and guided her around the corner, where it was quiet, where it was dark.

"What's going on, CJ? What's happened to Elinor?" His voice was just above a whisper.

"I told you," she began, but suddenly he stepped forward and placed his finger on CJ's lips.

"No lies," he said. "I want the truth."

They hadn't been that physically close in years, that breath-upon-breath close. Between them she could taste champagne that lingered in the air. Then slowly, slowly, his finger began to trace the fullness of her mouth; her old feelings began to stir. She closed her eyes and they were in the greenhouse, she was heavy with his baby, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him deep inside her, to smell his scent, to touch his sweat....

And then she heard her mother: "Do you love him?"

CJ jumped away, the way she had back then. "Mac," she said. "No."

He stepped aside. He shook his head and laughed a little laugh. "It's awful, isn't it?" he asked with a halfhearted grin. "It's awful that even after all these years, I don't know which one of you I love. You or Elinor."

She looked into his eyes and loneliness looked back. "Mac," she said again, and in his gaze the answer emerged, the answer for her, for him, for them. "If I looked like someone else, would you even ask yourself that question? If I looked like Alice or Poppy...someone, anyone else?"

"I don't know," he replied, the honest lobbyist, the oxymoron of the nation's capital.

She took his hands in hers. "I know I've always loved you, Mac. But I also know my sister's feelings, sometimes as if they're my own. I feel her happiness and joy. Sometimes if I have a headache, I'm not sure if it's mine or hers. Don't you see, Mac? Maybe the love I feel for you really is her love for you."

He closed his eyes. "The twin thing."

Then she held his hands up to her face, and he looked into her eyes again. "Elinor really does love you, Mac."

"But sometimes it's hard because of Jonas."

"And yet...," she said.

"And yet we wouldn't trade him for anything." Mac smiled.

CJ smiled.

Then the door banged open and Elinor blew around the corner and barked, "Malcolm, take me home."

Forty-five.

CJ went up to her room, the glow of the evening gone, washed away by whatever had happened, or not happened, to Elinor, to CJ and Mac.

She didn't know if she was right about her feelings really being Elinor's. But feeling his touch again, being so close to him again, made her know this needed to stop, this doubt, this angst, this...love. For all of them, it was time to move out of the greenhouse and get on with their lives.

After all, he was Elinor's husband.

And Jonas's father.

And Janice's father, too.

And CJ wouldn't.

She couldn't.

She was done pretending she could be otherwise.

Yes, she thought, sliding in the key card and opening her door, it was good she'd decided to return to Paris. A chance to start anew...

She flicked on the light switch...

For everyone's sake.

She stopped.

She stared.

Her stomach lurched the way Elinor's surely must have. For there, spread across the neatly plumped pillows, was an unmistakable pair of panties, lavender lace.

CJ shrieked. She slammed the door behind her without thinking that whoever had been there might still be in the room, in the bathroom, the closet.

She shrieked again. No one replied.

She ripped open the doors to the bath and the closet. She dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. No one was hiding. She was alone.

She fumbled through her purse. She found her cell phone. She pushed speed dial.

"You've reached Elinor Harding Young. Thank you for your call. I'm sorry I'm not able-"

Click.

Speed dial. She'd once plugged in the numbers of anyone, everyone, she might have needed to reach in a hurry. There had been few.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Who's this?" CJ whispered. "Who's this?"

"It's Alice. CJ?"

CJ spit out the details as best as she knew them. "Please, Alice. Come to Washington."

"I'm in Orlando. With my husband."

"Please, Alice." She told her what had happened. "Hurry," she added.

Click.

Speed dial.

"CJ? What's wrong?"

The voice sounded calm and collected for Poppy. "Poppy? Come quick. We need you in Washington." She repeated what she had told Alice. Poppy told Manny.

"Manny says to get out of that room."

"I've got the bolt on. I'll keep the hotel phone beside me. If I hit zero someone will come running. Besides, it might not be any safer out in the hall."

"Have you called the police?"

"No. I'm afraid."