The room was filled with people who had lined up to pay their respects to Kate and her father, who stood by the mantel, both looking as though they were in a trance. Harrison was ashen, staring straight ahead, not focusing on anything.

“Please excuse me,” Blaire said to Gordon. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with Kate’s father yet.” She made her way toward the fireplace. Kate was swallowed up by the crowd before Blaire reached them, but Harrison’s eyes widened as she approached.

“Blaire.” His voice was warm.

She moved into his open arms, and he hugged her tight. She was ricocheted back in time as she breathed in the scent of his aftershave, and she felt a poignant sadness for all the years they’d missed. When he straightened, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, clearing his throat a few times before he was able to speak.

“My beautiful Lily. Who would do such a thing?” His voice cracked, and he winced as if in physical pain.

“I’m so sorry, Harrison. Words can’t convey . . .”

His eyes dulled again, and he dropped her hand, twisting the handkerchief until it was a tight ball. Before Blaire could say anything more, Georgina Hathaway strode over.

Blaire’s heart sank. She’d never liked either mother or daughter. She’d heard somewhere that Georgina was a widow now, that Bishop Hathaway had died some years ago from complications of Parkinson’s disease. The news surprised her. Bishop was always such a vibrant man, athletic and toned, with a runner’s body. He’d been the life of the party and the last to leave. It must have been torture for him to watch his body wither away. She used to wonder what he saw in Georgina, who was more self-involved than Narcissus.

When the woman put her hand on Harrison’s shoulder, he looked up, and she handed him a tumbler filled with amber liquid Blaire assumed was bourbon, his old favorite. “Harrison, dear, this will settle your nerves.”

He took the glass from her wordlessly and swallowed a large gulp.

Blaire hadn’t seen Georgina Hathaway in over fifteen years, but she looked practically the same, not a wrinkle to be found on her creamy skin, no doubt due to the services of a skilled plastic surgeon. She still wore her hair in a chic bob and looked smart in a black silk suit. The only jewelry she wore today was a simple strand of pearls around her pale neck and the exquisite emerald-and-diamond wedding ring she’d always sported.

Georgina gave Blaire a tight-lipped smile. “Blaire, what a surprise to see you here. I hadn’t realized you and Kate were still in touch.” She still sounded like a character from a 1940s movie, her accent some blend of British and finishing school lockjaw.