"It is for Mother," Oliver said bluntly.

"It's a little late for her to start pretending to be a loving parent," Riley said.

"Or for us to start pretending that we care," Payne added.

Max had always sided with his older siblings in their undeclared war against their mother, but he'd never been able to stop loving her. Even when she continued to disappoint him time after time. He was intrigued that she'd invited them. Especially when she might have expected the response-or rather, non-response-she'd gotten. "Why don't I try to find out what she had in mind?" he suggested.

"What's the point?" Riley asked. "I thought we gave up on her a long time ago."

"I'll tell you something you may not know," Oliver said. "None of us went, but Dad showed up. And Mother made an emergency trip to the hospital in Richmond."

"Is she okay?" Max felt a spurt of anxiety that he hid from his brothers. He wondered if his parents had gotten into another verbal fistfight that had left his mother reeling.

"According to Dad, it was only a panic attack," Oliver said.

"Panic over what?" Lydia asked.

"Probably over facing the husband she cheated on in a home that belongs to him but which she still has the right to enjoy," Payne muttered.

"More likely she was pissed off because nobody showed up," Riley said.

"Why don't I ask her?" Max said. "I have some engagements that will keep me in London for the next month or so."

"I read about one of your 'engagements' in the Times today," Lydia said with a laugh. "You're playing tennis at Wimbledon!"

"With Kristin of all people," Riley said with a grin.

Max grimaced. "Someone suggested it to the All England Lawn Tennis Club, and they thought it was a great idea. I'm going along for the ride."

"Don't tell me you aren't going to enjoy seeing Kristin again," Payne said. "You guys were best buds. Whatever happened with the two of you? How come you never talk about her anymore?"

Max shrugged away the question. It was easier than trying to explain. He hadn't realized how important his friendship with Kristin was until he'd lost it.

Kristin had understood what it meant to have parents who weren't together anymore. Hers were divorced. She'd understood why, as the youngest of four brothers, he'd wanted to be the very best at something, because she'd had an older sister who'd shown more promise on the tennis courts than she had. The sister had been killed in an auto accident. Kristin had spent hours on the tennis court trying to win her father's love by measuring up to that dead paragon.

Kristin had also understood how fame-she had a fair amount of it herself-made people want to be your friend for reasons that had nothing to do with liking you.

He still felt betrayed by the way she'd walked away without a word. He was the one who'd pushed to take their friendship to the next level. When they finally had, she'd bolted back to the States. He'd tried calling her and emailing her, but she wouldn't return any of his messages. Finally, he'd gotten mad enough-and sad enough-to give up.

"I haven't seen Kristin since she left the tennis circuit ten years ago," Max said straight-faced.

"Was that your choice or hers?" Lydia asked.

"It was mutual," he lied. Max didn't like to think of how badly he'd mismanaged things with K. He shouldn't have tried to make their friendship into something else. Friends like her were hard to replace. He hadn't managed to do it in the ten years since she'd walked out of his life.

It was far too late to do anything about it now. Their meeting in Miami had been worse than awkward. It was probably a good thing she'd nixed the tennis match. It would have been difficult practicing together. Speaking of which, he'd better start putting in some time on the court, if he didn't want to embarrass himself. He should contact Steffan and see if he wanted to hit some balls together.

And he'd better start thinking about a replacement for K.

"Are you going to meet with Mother in person?" Lydia asked.

"I guess so," Max said.

"Would you ask her if I can..." Lydia's voice trailed off.

"Ask her what?"

Lydia grimaced. "Never mind."

"Ask her what, Lydia?" Max persisted.

"I want to borrow the Ghost of Ali Pasha to wear at a charity ball I'm attending in Rome."

"You know how she feels about those stupid precious jewels of hers," Riley said. "That pearl necklace is more important to her than-"

"Any of us," Payne finished for his brother.

The Ghost of Ali Pasha was an enormous perfect teardrop pearl, the centerpiece of an exquisite diamond, emerald, ruby and sapphire necklace. The pearl had been owned by Ali Pasha of Yannina, an Albanian pasha from the western part of Rumelia, in the Ottoman Empire.

There was a legend attached to the pearl, which began when the pearl came into the possession of Ali Pasha. The pasha was notoriously cruel. He'd roasted rebels, flayed a man alive and executed another by having his bones broken with a sledge hammer. He seized control in 1788 and ruled most of Albania, western Greece and the Peloponnese for more than thirty years.

The pasha gave the pearl as a gift to his favorite concubine of the three hundred or so Christian, Muslim, Albanian and Circassian women in his harem. The pasha's favorite, a Circassian woman named Juba, was poisoned by a jealous woman in the harem. When the murderer wouldn't reveal herself, Ali Pasha ordered all of his concubines executed.

He wore the pearl in memory of Juba for the rest of his life. When Ali Pasha was finally defeated by his enemies and beheaded, he was wearing Juba's pearl. His head was sent to the Sultan Mahmud II, where it was presented on a silver plate, the pearl still around the pasha's throat.

The Sultan took the pearl as a prize of war-and was strangled by it in his bed.

That was the beginning of the legend that the pearl possessed the ghost of Ali Pasha, which had wreaked a terrible vengeance on his enemy. Thereafter, Juba's pearl was called the Ghost of Ali Pasha.

Somehow, the Ghost of Ali Pasha had ended up as part of the Spanish royal jewels. King Ferdinand VII was pictured wearing the pearl in 1806, in a painting by Goya, just before he was forced to abdicate the throne in favor of the Emperor Napoleon. The king hadn't lost his head while he owned the Ghost, but he'd lost his position as head of state.

In 1840, Queen Isabella II of Spain gave the Ghost to Queen Victoria of England as a wedding present. The British queen disliked the legend that went along with the pearl and sent it as a gift to Frederick II when he became king of Prussia. The king died without ever having children, keeping the legend alive and well. The Ghost somehow found its way to France and was sold to Tiffany's in the late 19th century at an auction of French royal jewels.

Bull had bought the Ghost from a private owner and had it reset in a necklace with diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and rubies-all the jewels he'd previously given Bella-and presented it to her on the birth of their one and only daughter.

Max wasn't surprised Lydia wanted to borrow the necklace. It was exquisite. For some reason, his mother never wore it anymore. "Mother's not in London," Max pointed out to his sister. "How is she going to get the necklace to you?"

"She could have Smythe send it," Lydia said. "She trusts him with the keys to everything at the Abbey."

"He might have the key to the dungeon," Max said. "But I doubt he has the combination to the safe."

The Abbey had a dungeon belowstairs, where prisoners of past centuries had been tortured, with secret passages in the walls of the Abbey that could be used to reach it. The four brothers had played in those dark, musty, cobweb-laden passages as kids, even though it was strictly forbidden. His mother's priceless jewels were kept in an enormous safe in the dungeon, the outer door to which was kept locked.

"If you get permission from Mother, I'll make sure you get the Ghost of Ali Pasha," Oliver said to Lydia.

Max wondered whether that meant Oliver had the combination to the safe, or whether he knew someone besides Mother who did.

"I don't think she'll give it to me if I ask," Lydia said. "Would you ask for me, Oliver?"

"No. If you want it, Lydia, you need to ask for it yourself," Oliver said.

"All right," Lydia replied petulantly. "I'll ask."

But Max heard in her voice that she didn't think she had a snowball's chance in hell of getting it.

"Are we done?" Oliver asked.

Everyone nodded except Max, who added, "If I find out anything useful about why Mother invited us to The Seasons, I'll get back in touch with all of you."

"If there's nothing else," Oliver said, "this meeting of the Castle Foundation is adjourned."

10.

"It's just like Sleeping Beauty's castle," Flick said, her arms spread wide as she turned in a circle within the stone walls of Blackthorne Abbey.

Kristin had to agree. Despite how much they'd shared about their lives, she'd had no idea Max had grown up in an actual castle. "Don't touch anything, Flick," she warned. Everything in the vast hall in which they were standing looked like an irreplaceable, not to mention priceless, antique.

"You're here at last," Bella said, smiling as she came down a wide stone staircase, trailed by a young woman, to meet them in the cavernous hall in which they were standing.

"Who are you?" Flick asked bluntly, staring at the plainly dressed young woman.

"My name is Emily Sheldon," the trim-looking young woman said as she joined them. "I'm going to be your tutor while you're here."

Flick grimaced. "Oh. You're a teacher."

"Emily has been with me for the past three years as my assistant," Bella said to Flick. "However, she studied to be a teacher, which is fortunate, under the circumstances."

"I hope you and I will become good friends," Emily said to Flick.

Flick cocked her head, like a bird eyeing something strange, then said, "I've never had a teacher who was a friend before."

"There's a first time for everything," Emily replied with a smile.

Flick smiled back at her and said, "I like you."

"That's a good start," Emily replied.

Flick turned to her grandmother and asked, "Is this where my dad grew up?"

"Blackthorne Abbey was his home, yes," Bella said. "He was away at boarding school a great deal of the time, but this is where we gathered as a family on holidays."

Kristin realized their voices echoed in the domed entry to the Abbey. "How big is this place?" she asked.

"The castle could guest twenty knights and their retainers when it was first built," Bella said. "Which would have been more than a hundred souls. A lot of the smaller rooms have been turned into larger ones. Several wings were added in later years, which gives the castle its unusual shape."

"Can I see my dad's room?" Flick asked.

"Smythe is taking your luggage there as we speak," Bella said.

"Who's Smith?" Flick asked, using the same pronunciation the duchess had used.

"The butler. He met you at the door."

"Oh, the really old guy."

Kristin winced at Flick's frankness.

"Is this armor from a real knight?" Flick asked, crossing to a polished suit of armor and reaching out as though to shake the mailed hand that was posed in greeting.

"Don't touch!" Kristin warned.

"It's all right," Bella said. "Yes, it's real. I think my eldest son, Oliver, put it on once upon a time and scared the wits out of Smythe when he took a few steps in it."

"The knight who wore it wasn't very tall," Flick pointed out.

Kristin was surprised herself at how short the armored figure was. The knight couldn't have been more than five foot three or four.

"Men-and women-were smaller in the Middle Ages. Poor nutrition," Bella said.

"Oh, you mean they didn't eat the right foods to grow," Flick said, as she deciphered the meaning of nutrition.

"Exactly," Bella said.

"Who are all these guys?" Flick asked, pointing to several cracked and faded oil paintings hung around the stone walls of the circular entryway.

"Your ancestors," Bella said. When Flick appeared confused, she explained, "The lords and ladies who fought for these lands and lived at Blackthorne Abbey."

The idea of fighting apparently appealed to Flick, because she stepped up to take a closer look at a soldier on horseback, dressed in a blue uniform trimmed with red cuffs and gold lace, holding up a sword as though charging in battle. "The guy sitting on that black horse looks pretty big. He must have had better nutrition, huh?" Flick said with a grin.

"Oh, definitely," Bella agreed. "That is Captain Lord Marcus Wharton, wearing the uniform of the Prince of Wales's own 10th Royal Hussars. Lord Marcus was the younger brother of Alistair Wharton, the sixth Duke of Blackthorne."

"He looks brave," Flick said as she eyed the painting.

"Captain Lord Marcus was a war hero," Bella said. "He looks very handsome here, but he was wounded-half of his face was badly scarred and his hand was injured-during the Battle of Waterloo. He hid himself away in the north wing of the Abbey and never let anyone see him, so the village folk began to call him the Beast. But a beautiful woman fell in love with him, scars and all. They were married and lived happily ever after."

"Just like in the fairy tale," Flick said, clapping her hands. "'Beauty and the Beast.' I wish I'd known him. I wouldn't have been scared." She stepped up to the next painting, which featured a beautiful, dark-haired girl in an empire-waisted gown, a fashion which Kristin knew had been worn in the Regency era at the beginning of the 19th century.

One of the two children in the painting stood before an easel. She was painting an identical child who was sitting in a chair under an oak tree. An English spaniel lay near the seated child.

"That's cool," Flick said. "A painting of a girl painting herself. Who is she?"