Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 15

"I'll help." Manning got off the couch and was gone seconds later.

"Huh. What do you think? I bet they'll be making out in the kitchen while we struggle with the-" Caroline peered at the tiny screen. "The mathematical tie. Whatever that is."

"I can do it. Let me see." Brooks held out a hand.

"These directions are from the front."

"Men had valets back then," he said. His face was tight, as if he would have loved to be anywhere but there.

"Oh, true." She scrolled through a few photos and then shrugged, laying the phone on the table. "Nothing we can do but try."

He stood in front of her and she ran her fingers up around his collar, finding the long strips of fabric. She had to stand on tiptoe, missing the few inches of height her running shoes gave her. "You're so tall, lean a little closer."

Brooks shifted, bending down a bit. He said nothing, focusing his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder. His mouth was a thin line.

"You look very nice, you know. There's no reason to be upset."

His gaze shot to her face. "I'm not upset. Why do you think I'm upset?"

Caroline leaned to the side, tugging him with her while she frowned at the pictures on the phone screen. Standing straight, she crossed the strips, tucking one under the other. "You don't think I know you? I know everything about you, Professor Elliot."

His lips parted as if he was going to say something then he simply shook his head. "If you say so."

She mumbled under her breath. "Two diagonal creases from under each ear to the knot, and a horizontal crease at the front which reaches to each side." She folded the strips carefully, her bottom lip between her teeth. It was distracting to be so close to him while trying to perform cravat origami. The instructions flowed out of her head as soon as she read them. And he smelled good. Really good. She wanted to lean forward and stick her face into his shirt.

"Now you look upset."

Caroline laughed, feeling her cheeks burn. "No, just irritated with myself. This should be simple. I'm just not concentrating."

He nodded. "Take all the time you need. I'll be right here... in my morning coat and hunting boots."

She snickered. "Sorry, I shouldn't laugh. If it helps, you look absolutely dashing. Debbie Mae couldn't ask for a better Regency hero."

"That's what I don't understand. Why doesn't she make Manning wear this get-up? Why me?"

Caroline swept the last strip under the other and stood back to admire her creation. "It actually worked!" She c.o.c.ked her head. "We should try another. Just to make sure we've got it covered. And to answer your question, I think it's all part of her plan to find you a wife."

"Ah. The women will come running when they seem me in my fancy mathematical neck cloth."

Caroline pulled the tie apart, letting the starched fabric run through her fingers. She knew he was being sarcastic, but she didn't have to guess what would happen at the dance. Women would fall over in a dead faint. He'd never looked so handsome. She hadn't even read the book and she was half-in love with Mr. Knightley.

"I wonder what it was really like back then. We think it's all fun and flirting, but there was probably a lot of ugly reality."

"Like the dancing."

She grinned and looked for another example to try. "Oh, here. The Ballroom Tie! We'll try that."

Wrapping the strips around his neck, she let her fingers rest for a moment against his jaw. "You feel hot. Are you too warm?" The weather was much cooler than what it had been the day before but he was wearing about four more layers than she was.

"I'm fine." His tone was short, as if he were thoroughly and completely bored with the process.

"And we wrap it around again." She paused to check the pictures. "Bring the ends under the arms and pinned in the back." She leaned forward, reaching under his coat with an end of the cloth in each hand.

"Wait, wait." Brooks backed up a step, and then another.

"Don't worry, I won't stick you with a pin. I don't even have one." She still had her hands under his coat, flat against his rib cage. She could feel the hard ridges of muscle under his vest and shirt.

His jaw was tight but he nodded.

"I think..." She put both hands behind his back, feeling her fingers touch. "I think I might just be able to tie the ends. We wouldn't even need a pin." She was talking right into the front of his shirt, eye-to-eye with the cloth covered b.u.t.tons. She could feel his chest move with every breath and his heart beat directly into her right ear. He did smell very good. She allowed herself one small moment to inhale deeply.

"There." She moved back and straightened his coat. "Now you're ready."

He nodded. "I am." Something flashed behind his eyes. "Caroline, I thought I could wait but I need to tell you something."

He'd found someone, a serious girlfriend. The look on his face said it all. There was nothing else it could be. She had been too close to him, probably making him feel uncomfortable. He needed to set boundaries, make sure he was clear about where they stood. Her cheeks flamed. "It's all right, you don't have to share anything you don't want to."

She looked at the floor, feeling humiliation flash through her. "I was just teasing about knowing everything about you. Of course I don't. Of course you have interests and ideas and... friends that have nothing to do with me," she said.

"That's just it. It does have to do with you." He hauled in a breath. "Remember when we argued about Lexi?"

She nodded. Who could forget? She felt like she'd lost his friendship forever.

"That week, I did a lot of thinking-" The doorbell sounded and he stopped.

"Debbie Mae will get it."

He nodded. His eyes were shadowed with anxiety and he rubbed his face. "Okay. What I was saying was after we had that fight, I had a lot of time to think. I realized that this friendship," he motioned to the s.p.a.ce between them, "is more important to me than almost anything else. I don't want to ruin it."

"Um, well. Good." His words should have made her feel relief, but instead dread crept over her. He was preparing her for something awful, something he felt like she couldn't bear to hear.

The doorbell rang again, this time sounding the a bit impatient.

"Maybe they're still kissing in the kitchen." Caroline wondered if they could even hear the doorbell back there.

Brooks looked toward the door, exasperation written on his face. "Let me get it."

She nodded and he left the room, striding out like a man on a mission. She sank to the couch, clutching her hands together. She was shocked to feel them trembling. So, he found a girlfriend. It wasn't that bad. He'd had girlfriends before and nothing had been permanently decided. The vision of Brooks in a tuxedo, standing at the altar in front of hundreds of guests flashed through her mind. Her stomach twisted. Maybe she could be friends with the new girlfriend. Maybe they could all hang out together.

She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the idea. No woman would ever want to share Brooks. She didn't want to share him.

"Caroline?" Debbie Mae poked her head in. "I'm going to change. I don't want to get any food on my dress before the big night."

"Good idea." She stood up, feeling weak at the knees. She followed Debbie Mae back up the stairs. Whatever Brooks was going to say, he'd have to wait until later. And maybe by then he'll have decided he didn't really need to drop whatever bomb it was he'd been holding. She would just have to show him that their friendship was solid, nothing could crack the years they had behind them. She could only hope he would forget all about it.

"Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken."-- Emma

Chapter Eighteen.

"One of your friends stopped by while you were out."

Brooks closed the front door behind him. His father was sitting in a wingchair in the entry way, legs crossed, hands folded over his chest, as if deep in thought.

"Which friend?" He'd only been gone a few minutes, down to the drugstore for a toothbrush.

"Marshall somebody. Said he'd heard we were ready to part with some antiques."

Brooks froze mid step. "Antiques?"

His father nodded, eyes locked on his. "That's what he'd said."

"Unbelievable." He felt his jaw go tight. "He conned Caroline's mother out of all their china and silver. The attic is cleared out of anything older than fifty years. He replaced the essentials with retail junk. Caroline was crushed and there's nothing she can do to get it all back."

"I figured he was no friend of yours." He heaved himself out of the chair like an old man. "That's all I wanted to tell you."

Brooks watched his father walk back down the hallway, shocked at how fragile he looked. The man was beaten, broken, lost. All over a marriage he wasn't happy part of in the first place. The illogic of it made his head ache.

And now Marshall was poking his nose around Badewood. Well, perhaps it was time he paid his 'friend' a little visit.

"Your dog is breathing down my neck. Shoo, Absalom!" Blanche waved a hand over her shoulder. "He needs a visit to the doggy dentist."

Brooks checked the GPS and turned left. "You're hurting his feelings. He just wants to share the love." Kids didn't use dog breath as an insult for nothing. He cracked the window.

"I should have worn my sunhat. I feel exposed. If I'm undercover then I should have disguise. I have a lot of friends in Oxford and somebody might spot me."

"Grandma, we're not undercover. We're just visiting."

She shot him a look. "You're visiting a friend 45 minutes away without calling and you don't know the address but you won't ask them for directions?"

"Ok, we might be visiting unannounced." He paused to look at street numbers. "And uninvited."

"Should I be prepared for a fight? Is it over a woman?" She sat up straight and clutched her giant lime green tote to her chest. Her expression was one of sheer delight.

"No, nothing like that. This guys just convinced Caroline's mother to hand over all the American primitives in the whole place. She even gave up the china and silver."

Blanche gasped. "The Stubbs? I loved those pieces." She frowned. "Funny. After that party where I added the rum to the punch by accident, I didn't get invited back."

Brooks pulled into a parking spot and left the engine running. "I don't see how you can empty a whole liter of dark rum into the punch bowl by accident."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I knew what I was doin'. I just didn't realize they'd already added it. I didn't taste a thing. It must have been real light and lots of syrup. When I saw that bottle in the kitchen I just thought I would help out."

"I see how they might be irritated when the guests started pa.s.sing out all over the living room."

She snorted. "Pa.s.sing out woulda been an improvement. Charlie Connelly tried to kiss Dr. Sunderlin's wife and she thought he was a bit forward."

"She slapped him silly." He could still hear the sound in his head. Kathleen Sunderlin had a good forehand from all those Thursday morning doubles matches with the ladies.

"And then Elaine Connelly joined in faster than green gra.s.s through a goose. Those two girls went a-hair pullin' and a-toe stompin' like they were protecting their men's honor."

Brooks sighed. Maybe bringing Blanche was tempting fate. He just wanted to look around. Maybe talk to Marshall a little bit. Not with his fists, although it sounded real nice. "Well, there won't be any hair pulling inside so let's go in real quiet like."

"It's your visit." She shrugged. "But when it's over a woman, anything can happen."

He started to remind her it was over old buckets and rag rugs but he just shook his head.

The shop was on a wide, tourist-friendly part of Oxford. It took a while to find parking, but soon he was standing in front of a window display of the Ashley's best china. American primitives were hung from pegs around the large gla.s.s windows. Grandpa's Attic was written in gold letters. The irony of the t.i.tle made anger expand in his chest. Marshall should have t.i.tled it 'Everybody's Attic'. He was clearing out the best houses in the state.

"I don't think Absalom will be welcome in here." He hooked his leash to the pole in front of the store. "Stay."

The charming little string of bra.s.s bells announced their arrival and a young woman stepped from behind the counter. She couldn't have been more than eighteen, with rosy cheeks and long, straight hair. Her pressed shirt and slacks were professional-looking even if her eyes flitted from Brooks to Blanche with a bit of stranger anxiety.

"Welcome to Grandpa's Attic. Is there anythin' special you're looking for?"

"No, no, just peekin' around." Blanche waved a hand. "Maybe primitives, if you've got 'em."

"Oh, we have a wonderful selection. Come on back here." She led them to a large room packed with wooden and iron and tin. "Let me know if you need anything more."

Brooks gazed around. He recognized the old skittle board where he and Caroline used to play a counting game with marbles. He touched the tiny tag hanging from a string. 800 dollars. The multi-colored striped wooden toys they always thought were some kind of bowling pins were marked Indian clubs, 500 dollars. The small wooden skis they used to strap on and use on the back stairs, 300 dollars. The head form for wigs, the painted child's toy hoop, the old weather vane, the iron shovel for the fire, the washboard they'd rubbed with spoons to make terrible music, it was all here.

A wave of anger washed over him so fast it made him dizzy. Her whole attic seemed crammed in this room. Caroline's family had touched these items for hundreds of years and now they were for sale in a crooked antique shop. His gaze roved upward and at first he didn't believe what he was seeing. On the wall, near the top, was a long strip of painted letters and numbers. His heart stopped in his chest.

Stepping closer, squinted, looking for the tell-tale mark. And there it was, right on 'C'. A tiny sc.r.a.pe through the curve of the letter, a sc.r.a.pe Caroline had made one when she was pretending to teach him the letters to his name.

"Well, is this adorable? It's a glove turner!" Blanch was working two ends of a gizmo that looked like a giant clapper. "You sewed the gloves, tucked them on, and then this turned them inside-out. How smart is that?"

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The tag dangled near enough for him to read: 1800 dollars. He was so angry he felt light headed. Manning had told him someone had broken into the old schoolhouse. He'd thought it was kids, looking for something to steal. Apparently, it had been adults, looking for something to steal. At first glance, he hadn't noticed anything missing, since the expensive copper pipes were still there and the large teacher's desk.

"Look at this one." Blanche waved a cleaver around. The end shaped like a horse head, hole for the eye completing the picture. "This is a great piece. I bet I could cook real well with this sort of chopper."

She glanced up at him, as if realizing they weren't on a shopping trip. She whispered loudly enough to carry clear out the door. "Did you find anything?"

He nodded. "A few things." Like the entire room. It was as if he were walking through Caroline's attic. The memories twisted in his heart, almost painful in their clarity. The worst part, there wasn't really anything they could do. Her mother had given up the pieces willingly. And he couldn't prove the teaching stick was from Badewood. "We should go. I just came to check it out."

Blanche set down the cleaver and nodded. "Up to you. I could always try to sweet-talk the truth out of him."

Brooks choked back a laugh. His grandma had high regard for her own sweet-talking abilities. It worked on him, sure. On a crooked antiques dealer, maybe not so much.

As they pa.s.sed through the hallway, he heard voices raised in anger. He held up a hand to Blanche and tried to listen.

"I'm tired of being your errand girl. I don't want to do this anymore." The high voice was near tears, cracking on the final word.