Read Online The Great Baby Caper by Eugenia Riley - Free Book Online Page B

among our forebears. One was my great-grandfather,
who married a commoner—a firebrand of an Irishwoman, no less—a circumstance
that the rest of my family was only too eager to sweep under the proverbial
rug.”
    “Do you have something against the
Irish?” she challenged.
    “Of course not,” he hastily
reassured her. “And don’t think I’ve not noted the ‘Kelly,’ as well as those
green Irish eyes of yours.”
    Courtney smiled. “My Irish blood
comes from my father’s side. My mother is actually of German lineage.”
    “Ah—and quite a nice combination
that makes for you, if I do say so, Ms. Kelly.”
    “Thank you,” she murmured
demurely.
    “At any rate, it is his
great-grandmother’s Galway blood that ofttimes seems to run in my grandfather’s
veins.”
    “I have always wondered where M.
Billingham got his audacious streak.”
    Mark nodded. “My grandfather
always has had an abrasive nature and an aggressive personality that was
totally at odds with that of my father, who was your typical, stiff-lipped
Englishman. Disposition-wise, Dad favored my grandmother Enid, may God rest her
soul. So, after Grandfather and Dad parted ways, Dad had our name legally
changed and ventured forth on his own, establishing Billingham’s, a
London-based clothier with the finest upscale casual wear for the high-flier.”
    Courtney snapped her fingers.
“Billingham’s—don’t they have an outlet here in the States?”
     “Yes, but only one, in New York on Madison Avenue.”
    “You know, I think I visited it
once when I was in Manhattan. Quite a handsome store.”
    “Thank you. We have a dozen
outlets in the U.K., and two more in the works.”
    “Impressive. Your father must have
become quite a success, though he didn’t venture far, going from clothing for
yuppie babies to attire for their parents.”
    Mark grinned. “Precisely. As I
said, the typical, no-nonsense Englishman.”
    She sipped her drink. “So tell me,
Mark Billingham, do you take after your staid, conservative father, or your
devil-may-care grandfather?”
    Mischief gleamed in his eyes.
“Perhaps I’m a mixture of both?”
    “Nothing like a direct answer,”
she quipped. “And your mother?”
    His features darkened with regret
and pain. “Quite the society queen, leaving me and my two younger sisters to
the tender mercies of our nannies. The three of us endured the typical, uppercrust
English childhood.”
    “I’m sorry. But what of your
grandparents? Did you see M. Billingham at all?”
    “Oh, certainly we saw Grandmother
and Grandfather on birthdays, Christmas, that sort of thing. My parents and
Grandmother were far too socially conscious not to keep up appearances. Things
were strained between Dad and Grandfather, of course, but really not much more
awkward than the typical reserve practiced by so many British families.
However, before too many years passed, Grandmother died, and Grandfather
decided to start afresh overseas by expanding his baby products company to
America—that good old Irish pioneering spirit, I suppose. As you’re aware, he
established himself here with great success, and now there are only two
Bootle’s Baby Bower stores left in the U.K.” He paused. “As for me, it was prep
school at Cheam, followed by Eton, then in due course I finished up my MBA at Cambridge.”
    “That’s some achievement.”
    “Only what was expected, my dear.
Then somewhere along the way . . . It was my sophomore year at Cambridge, while I was working toward my undergraduate degree. My sisters were at boarding
school in Switzerland, and my parents had gone on a world tour with friends.
That’s when we learned of the ferry accident off the coast of Thailand. They went down, along with Lord and Lady Wickingham.”
    She touched his hand. “I’m so
sorry.”
    He braved a smile. “Grandfather
was wonderful then, flying straightaway to Thailand to take charge of
everything—the recovery of the bodies and their transport home, all