Who's The Daddy?

“If you were so generous with the roses, why are you still holding those?” Prescott complained, gesturing to the daisies.

“Because I like them.”

He turned to glare at her father. “You said roses!” he accused. He sounded like a little boy, but his thinning hair showed him to be considerably beyond his youth.

If she’d needed confirmation that the roses had been sent at her father’s behest, his remark was it. She shot her father a knowing look.

“I was just trying to speed things up. I don’t want my grandchild born a bastard, so I suggest you select one of these fine gentlemen to marry you. They’re both willing.”

“And are you going to speak the words for them as they mime a proposal?” she asked, growing tired of her father’s arguments.

“That’s not necessary, Caroline, darling,” Prescott said, rushing in, as she should’ve known he would. She might not remember him, but she knew more about him than she wanted to already.

“I’m perfectly willing to marry you today if you’ll agree,” he continued, reaching for her hand.

She pulled her hands back. “No, thank you. I have a headache.”

Not an original excuse…for a lot of things, but it was the best she could come up with right now.

“I’d prefer to make my proposal in private,” Adrian informed her, sending a superior smile toward Prescott.

She’d prefer that he not make it at all. “Thank you, but I’m confused right now. I don’t think I’m ready to make any decisions.”

“Of course, but you won’t forget?” There was an edge to his voice that irritated her.

“I hope not.” It seemed to Caroline that a promise not to forget from an amnesiac victim wouldn’t be worth much. She wouldn’t believe her.

“Of course she won’t forget,” her father answered heartily. “And if she does, the three of us will be there to remind her. After all, she has to marry someone.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Now, Caroline, no argument. I’m an old-fashioned man, and I expect my grandchild to be born on the right side of the blanket.”

She ignored him.

“And if you don’t cooperate, you just might find yourself written out of my will.”

She might not have her memory, but the ease with which her father uttered those words made her suspect it was a threat he’d used before.

“Then call your lawyer, because I will decide what I do about my baby and my future. Not you.”

The look of panic on Prescott’s face that she might be written out of the will told Caroline her threat may have eliminated at least one potential daddy candidate. Whether her memory returned or not.

CHAPTER THREE

CAROLINE STARED IN AWE at the magnificent residence the limo stopped in front of, after having driven through a large gate flanked by brick walls. It must take an army of workers to maintain the lush grounds, she decided, her gaze traveling over the perfect flower beds, the exactly trimmed hedges.

She turned to compliment her father on the beauty of their home only to discover everyone staring at her. She felt like a bug under a microscope.

“No, I don’t remember,” she assured them dryly. “I’ll let you know when my memory returns.”

All three looked away.

“Why did Prescott and Adrian come with you to pick me up instead of my mother?” Caroline suddenly asked, struck by the presence of these men rather than family members.

“Friday is Save the Whales day,” her father muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Adrian leaned forward to explain. “Your mother is quite involved in the local charities. On Fridays, she goes to the meeting for saving the whales.”

Caroline remembered a curious remark from the day before. “And one of her charities is for unwed mothers?”

“Yes,” her father snapped.

Caroline asked no more questions. Not yet.

Her father escorted her into the house and introduced her to the housekeeper, Mrs. Lamb, and then left for the office, accompanied by Prescott and Adrian.

“Welcome home, Caroline. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m still a little shaky. If you’ll show me to my room, I’ll lie down for a while.”

“Why, honey, there’s no need to be formal!” the woman said with a laugh that sent a shooting pain through Caroline’s head. “You know better’n me where your room is.”

Her patience was wearing thin. Amnesia might play a large role in a lot of jokes, but she wasn’t finding it funny. “Mrs. Lamb, I have amnesia. I don’t remember ever seeing this house before.”

“Oh, my stars. Of course, Caroline. You just come this way. Anything you want to know, you just ask me.”

If her head weren’t splitting into a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon, she might have taken the woman up on the offer. Later. She only had one question at the moment.

“If I want to invite someone to dinner, is that all right?”

“Of course it is. Just tell me when and how many.”

Caroline took a deep breath before she clarified her request. “I meant if I wanted to have a guest for dinner and—and not dine with the family.”

“Oh, of course, you want something romanticlike? No problem. It’s nice out at night right now. I could set up a table for two on the patio. You’d be all alone there.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you, Mrs. Lamb. I’ll let you know when.”

“Sure enough. I’m just having a little trouble with you being so formal and all. When you wanted something real special from me, you always used to call me Lambie.” The woman smiled with a warmth that struck Caroline as the kindest she’d seen since she awoke a lost person.

She reached out and touched Mrs. Lamb’s arm. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ll remember everything soon. If you’ll just be patient.”

“Of course I will. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt bad.”

“Thank you.”