And all the while Dani had avoided them, had avoided Saratoga Springs in August. For twenty-five years the prestigious Chandler Stakes and Lilli Chandler Pembroke’s disappearance had been inexorably linked, not just for Dani, but for her mother’s family and friends as well.

Looking at them, elegantly dressed, uncertain of what they should do, Dani wondered if they secretly resented her mother for not having vanished at a more opportune time, then realized how horribly unfair she was being.

But she understood their shock as they gaped at her. She could feel herself becoming not the good-humored, risk-taking child of Pembroke scoundrels, not herself, but the image of what they wanted her to be.

It was as if, for a brief, stunned moment, lovely, lost Lilli Chandler Pembroke had finally come home.

Only she hadn’t. Dani had always known, even at nine, that she couldn’t-didn’t want to, ever-take her mother’s place.

She thought of Zeke Cutler. Was this enough of a grand entrance for him? It was far more than she’d bargained for. But this was her own doing, and her response was her choice. She pictured Kate Murtagh in the kitchen with the shades up, howling with laugher because she’d told Dani so.

Dani made herself smile. There was really nothing else to do. “Hi, everybody,” she said. “Good to see you all.”

Their relief was palpable. She wasn’t going to make a scene. They could have another glass of champagne and a bit of caviar before dinner and not have to think about Lilli’s disappearance or John Pembroke’s embezzling from his own father-in-law or Dani’s having walked away from her Chandler trust.

She swept a glass of champagne from a passing tray as Sara Chandler Stone came up beside her. “Danielle,” she said, taking her niece by the hand and kissing her lightly on the cheek, “I’m so glad you came tonight. It’s been far too long.”

Dani almost believed her. “I’m glad I came, too.”

Her aunt smiled, playing the perfect Chandler hostess to the hilt. Her perfume was light and elegant, the same scent her older sister had worn, and probably their mother before them. She wore a simple, stunning coral dress, with diamond studs at her ears and a sprinkle of diamonds in her hair.

She was staring at Dani. “That feather…in your hair…”

“It’s the one Mother wore in Casino. It’s meant as a tribute, Sara. Nothing more.”

“Of course,” Sara mumbled. But she looked shocked, and grief-stricken.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Sara carefully restored her hostess face. First the charming smile, then the rich, bright eyes; her cosmetics, Dani noticed, were expertly applied. She bet Sara hadn’t needed a Magda to do her up.

“Oh, don’t be silly. I was just surprised, that’s all. I think it’s a wonderful idea. Lilli would have been delighted. Here, let me introduce you to some of my friends. You haven’t seen Father yet, I take it. He should be out soon. He doesn’t move as fast as he used to.”

While Sara chattered on, Dani followed her around, surprising her with how many people on the lawns, among the beautiful gardens, her niece already knew. Their lives, hers and Dani’s, were concentric circles within a larger circle, never touching.

People were gracious and interested, asking about the Pembroke and Pembroke Springs. No one mentioned Lilli or commented on the ostrich plume. Dani invited everyone she spoke to up to her newly opened spa-inn for high tea; many said they’d already sneaked a peek at her rose gardens.

Finally Sara excused herself. “I’ll let you mingle now-I need to check with the kitchen.”

Dani wondered how Kate liked being called “the kitchen,” and smiled to herself, sipping her champagne near a stone statue of Demeter she’d tried to dress when she was six or seven. She realized, suddenly and with a rush of relief that surprised her, that she was no longer a frightened nine-year-old waiting for her mother to come and share her raspberries.

“You could have chosen a different dress,” Eugene Chandler said beside her. “Mattie’s, isn’t it?”

Dani tried not to let her grandfather’s cold tone undermine her surge of confidence. “Yes-I’m surprised you recognized it.”

“It was a credible guess.” He wasn’t very convincing, but he’d never admit to remembering what Mattie Witt had worn in a movie more than fifty years old. As for the ostrich plume, he’d claimed never to have seen Casino and his older daughter’s searing performance. “I assume it was a deliberate choice on your part.”

It was an accusation, not a question, but Dani refused to let him get to her, which was exactly what he was trying to do. “No need to spend money on a new dress when I’ve got a perfectly good one in the attic. How are you, Grandfather?”

Tilting his head back slightly, he inhaled through his nose. Even at eighty-two he was straight-backed and still possessed an uncanny knack for irritating her. His bearing and arrogance-his pride, he’d say-had seen him through scandal and loss. But clearly he’d aged. He was the only surviving child of Ambrose Chandler and his very young third wife, Beatrix, who’d lost their three older children to diphtheria when Eugene was just a baby. Now he was an old man with parchment-thin skin and brown spots on his hands, arms and face. His blue eyes had clouded, and his lips had a purplish cast to them. Dani might have felt sympathy for him, for the man had endured pain and anguish-the early death of the wife he’d adored, the years of not knowing what had happened to his firstborn child, the embarrassment of having his son-in-law steal from his family’s firm and the lack of a close relationship with his only grandchild.

But if tragedy ennobled some and embittered others, it seemed to have had no effect whatsoever on Eugene Chandler. His daughter was missing, so he just didn’t talk about her. His son-in-law was a reprobate, so he ignored him. His granddaughter had thrown her inheritance in his face after his cruel, offhand remark about dropping the Pembroke from her name, so he went right on as if nothing had happened between them and he’d said nothing wrong.

But they’d never gotten along. As a child, even before her mother had disappeared, he’d shut down her lemonade stand because “Chandler ladies” weren’t supposed to be entrepreneurs. He’d refused to let her climb trees where anyone might see her, he’d called her incorrigible and had pointed out every flaw in what she wore, what she said, what she did. It was as if from the moment he saw her black hair and black eyes he’d been looking for the Witt and Pembroke in her, and had tried at every turn to stamp them out. He’d never, it seemed to her, looked for the person she was: neither Chandler nor Witt nor Pembroke, but only herself.

“You know, Danielle,” he said softly, “you’re much harder on us than we deserve.”

His words caught her off guard. “I’m not trying to be hard on anyone.”

But he walked away, proud and in control. Fortunately one of Kate’s helpers stuck a tray of tiny spanakopita triangles under Dani’s nose, keeping her from chasing down her grandfather for an explanation for his remark, or to apologize, guiltily, for behavior that had become automatic over the years. “Kate said for me to tell you she’s hit the jackpot. I’m not sure what that means.”

Dani was: Kate had found out something on Zeke Cutler. But before she could sneak off to the kitchen, Roger Stone appeared beside her, handsomely dressed, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. Dani had always liked him, even if her unconventional executive style would give him ulcers and he’d seemed a little too eager to step into her father’s shoes after Eugene Chandler had fired him from Chandler Hotels, refusing to involve the authorities in the misdeeds of his own son-in-law.

“It’s been forever, Dani.” Roger took both her hands and whistled as he gave her a quick, appreciative once-over. “Don’t you look smashing.”