The McKenzie Brothers: Windemere Part 20

What did happen?

Those thoughts whirled through her mind relentlessly, even after she went below to make certain everything that should be in her sea chest was in her sea chest. Julian wasn't in their cabin. She didn't know where he was, and if she was honest with herself, she didn't want to know. And that troubled her almost as much as Julian's confession did.

She was just stowing the last of her chemises when the ship b.u.mped against something. A dock, most likely. She closed the chest and waited for Julian to return to escort her ash.o.r.e.

When he did, he made no mention of what he'd said. In fact, he said little, although he did offer her his arm. "Shall we?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

He remained silent as they emerged into the afternoon sun. Emma glanced up at him. He stared straight ahead, the wind ruffling his hair in the way she loved. No. His confession changed nothing in how she felt about him. Nothing would change how she felt about him. It couldn't.

At the dock, a carriage awaited them, and it was the first time she could recall rolling through the wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Windemere with a smile.

She peered out of the coach as they rolled up to the front of the house. Every window lining the pink stucco house's three floors were open, with white draperies fluttering in and out with the pull of the breeze. It didn't look to be in such a state of disarray that time was of the essence in their arrival, but just because the house looked fine didn't mean the sugar plantation itself was.

Julian stepped down from the coach and stretched, arching his back as he said, "So this is Windemere."

She nodded, accepting his hand and climbing down. So little had changed about the house, that for a moment, she felt as if she'd stepped back in time and was a little girl once more. Only this time, she didn't feel that same sense of dread at being there. Grandfather Windemere wasn't there to frighten her any longer.

Julian's hand came to rest atop hers. Was it her imagination, or did his fingers tighten about her hand?

She glanced up again. His glower was gone.

As if he felt her stare, he looked down and managed a small smile as he reached for the door handle.

The house's shadowy interior offered a bit of relief from the heat of the blazing sun, and with every window opened, cross-breezes made the temperature quite comfortable.

"Who's there?" Emma recognized Mrs. Holland's voice and she smiled. The caretaker's wife was also the housekeeper, and Emma remembered her being every bit as warm as she sounded.

Her face had a few more lines, and her hair was more silver than brown now, but Mrs. Holland hadn't changed otherwise. She hurried toward them, a smile splitting her broad face. An old-fashioned white mob cap held back most of her iron-gray curls, but several still peeped out around her forehead. For as long as Emma could recall, Betsy and Jonah Holland were there, treating Windemere as if it belonged to them. She couldn't imagine them not being there.

Mrs. Holland skidded to a halt before them, her smile replaced by a more curious look. "Miss McKenzie? Who is this?"

Emma glanced up at Julian and then back to Mrs. Holland. "Papa's letter is sure to arrive soon, explaining everything in greater detail. This is my husband, Mr. McCallister."

"Husband?" The smile returned, only wider now. "How wonderful! Mr. McCallister, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Holland."

"Well, don't just stand there. Come in out of the heat. It's dreadful today. Usually the breezes blow in from the east, but I don't know where they are today." Mrs. Holland held out one arm to take Emma's traveling cloak. "How was your voyage?"

"Rather nice, actually," Emma replied as they followed Mrs. Holland further inside. "The weather remained friendly practically the entire way here."

Mrs. Holland clicked her tongue against her teeth. "The skies were red this morning. I've a feeling we're in for a storm sometime today. We've had some terrible ones over the last few weeks. Yesterday was the first dry day we've had in two weeks. I thought the island might just blow away. It was awful." She turned her smile to Emma. "Miss McKenzie-that is, Mrs. McCallister-how are you? I haven't seen you in so long. It seems as if the last time you were here, you were this little girl, and now look at you. All grown and married besides. It's going to take some getting used to, your new name and all."

Emma laughed. "It's certainly taken some getting used to for me."

"Where is Mr. Holland?" Julian broke in. "Captain McKenzie was very specific that I address his concerns at once."

"Oh, Jonah is in his office-" Mrs. Holland let out a soft cough, and amended herself "-that is, your office, I suppose. What, exactly, are Captain McKenzie's concerns?"

"You needn't worry about those, Mrs. Holland," he replied. "Where is this office?"

"I'll show you," Emma said, tugging on his arm. "It's down this way."

"Wouldn't you prefer to freshen up?" Mrs. Holland asked. "Especially after such a strenuous journey. I will show Mr. McCallister to his office, and then I'll have tea and pastries brought into the drawing room."

"Oh, that won't be-" Emma started to say, but Mrs. Holland cut her off.

"Eve!" The housekeeper bellowed, making both Emma and Julian jump.

A slender woman with dark skin hurried down the dark hall toward them. "Yes, Mrs. Holland?"

"Eve, take the Mrs. McCallister to the Blue Room. Then go find Maria and have her bring tea to the drawing room." She shooed Eve toward the stairs. "Go on now, up you get."

"That won't be necessary," Emma said, shaking her head. "I'll take tea, but I'm going to show Mr. McCallister to his office before I go upstairs."

She half-expected Mrs. Holland to argue, but the housekeeper knew her place and didn't. Instead, Mrs. Holland bobbed her head. "Of course, Mrs. McCallister." Then, to Eve, who still stood there, she snapped, "You heard Mrs. McCallister. Off you go, then."

As Eve darted off, Emma gave another tug on Julian's arm. "This way."

The last time she'd seen her mother's childhood home had been two years earlier, when Grandfather Windemere died. It was also the last time they'd traveled as a family. Although her relationship with her father hadn't been a close one, Rebecca insisted it was only proper that they all come to St. Kitts to pay their respects.

But still, nothing had changed since Emma's last visit. The frightening masks still hung along the walls of what had been her grandfather's office, and they were just as eerie now as ever. She hated those masks, with their eyeless visages and twisted, grotesque faces. Made up to resemble fierce warriors of some exotic tribes, they stared down at her as she and Julian stepped into the office.

Mr. Holland sat at the ma.s.sive teak desk, the top of his bald head glowing pink, as if burned. He looked up, his eyes appearing huge behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. He always reminded Emma of an owl. A small, pink owl.

"Miss McKenzie?" His chair creaked as he shot up from it, his expression a mixture of confusion and happiness. "Well, I'll be-I had no idea Captain and Mrs. McKenzie were coming to call."

"My mother and father are still in America," she replied, and then gestured to Julian. "This is my husband, Mr. McCallister."

"An honor to meet you, Mr. McCallister."

Emma turned to Julian. "I'll leave you gentlemen to your business."

"Of course. I'll be up when I'm finished," Julian said.

As Julian turned to Mr. Holland, Emma let herself out of the office and went upstairs to the room that was usually reserved for her parents. It felt odd, standing there in the Blue Room, knowing it was now hers. It was by far the biggest set of rooms in the house, complete with a separate chamber reserved strictly for dressing. The airy room overlooked the front of the plantation, with an amazing view of the ocean in the distance from the immense marble terrace. The gla.s.s doors to that terrace were all opened along that wall, the white gauzy draperies fluttering gently in the wind. Beyond the terrace, palm fronds and palmetto leaves rustled, as did the riotously blooming flowers climbing up the hillside.

She stepped out onto the white marble and breathed deep. A spicy sweet perfume filled her nose. Delightful. Heavenly. A bit of the weight lifted from her shoulders, and a sense of peace descended.

A door clicked closed and Eve called, "Mrs. McCallister?"

Emma turned toward the house. "I'm out here. It's beautiful."

"Tea is being served, as you requested."

A gauzy drapery fluttered over her shoulder as she came back into the room. "I'll be down in a minute or two. I need to change into something cooler."

"Of course, Mrs. McCallister. Shall I help you?"

Emma nodded and stood as still as she could and allowed the maid to undress her down to her corset. She shivered as the breeze blew a cool, silken kiss over her bared flesh, and as she caught sight of the mirror in the corner, she smiled. On its own, her hand came down to rest against the curve of her belly. She couldn't help it. No matter how much Julian might fear it, she wouldn't be upset to learn she was pregnant. Just the opposite. She hoped she was. She'd always wanted children, and Julian's loss of control meant she wouldn't have to resort to something underhanded in order to conceive the child she so desperately desired.

Finally, Eve finished, and Emma smoothed her hands down the cool muslin of one of the summer-weight gowns she'd brought with her. Would Julian join her for tea? She hoped so. While they were aboard the Amelia, Julian had little to do but now, with everything that needed to be done at Windemere, he had enough to keep him so busy that days could go by without her seeing him.

Emma made her way down the wide, sweeping staircase to the first floor. The breeze made the air comfortable, but the sweet tang of boiling sugar made her wrinkle her nose. That first sniff was enough to transport her back to when she was a little girl and came to Windemere for the first time.

When he lived, her grandfather, Baron Windemere, terrified Emma to no end. Although he was dead, she half-expected to hear the dull thud of his cane as he stumped toward her in order to scold her for running after her brothers.

The drawing room was at the back of the house, where the heavy fronds of palm trees offered shade from the afternoon sun. Unlike the parlor at Stonebridge, this room was nearly all gla.s.s, lined with doors that were thrown open to allow the ocean winds to cool as much as the shade did.

The tea service stood on the rosewood table in front of the sofa along with the tray of pastries. Emma fixed herself a cup and picked up a small tart to nibble. Windemere was quiet compared to Stonebridge. She never knew silence could be so loud. Her thoughts were like shouts inside her head, growing louder as they grew more troubled.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

NOT ONLY DID SHE not see Julian for the rest of the day, she didn't see him until the following night. And even then, it was only briefly. He took his meals in his office. He slept on the sofa in his office and left word that he was not to be disturbed at all. According to Mr. Holland, who didn't look at all pleased to be sent as a messenger, Julian was combing over the ledgers for the last year and planned to stay behind locked doors until he had the matter resolved.

Which left Emma with much time on her hands and little to occupy it.

For the next two weeks, she saw Julian only a handful of times, and each of those times were too short for any sort of meaningful conversation. He didn't come to bed until long after she went to sleep-or she a.s.sumed he came to bed after she drifted off-and by morning he was long gone, once again ensconced in his office.

At the beginning of the third week, she stared at the closed office door. Enough was enough. He couldn't avoid her forever. Squaring her shoulders, she rapped firmly.

"Enter."

The handle turned easily and she pushed open the door to find him sprawled on the sofa, pages littered in a semi-circle on the floor at his feet. "Julian, I'd-"

"Now's not a good time, Em," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his forehead with one hand. "These books are a mess. What the h.e.l.l has Holland been doing for the last two years?"

"When will be a good time to schedule a meet with you, Mr. McCallister?" She kept her voice cold and stiff, which was the only way she could keep the hurt from creeping into it. "Sometime before the end of the year, I should hope?"

The hand that had been rubbing his forehead now raked through his hair. He looked exhausted. "Do you have any idea what sort of mess I've had to wade through?"

"Do you have any idea how little I care about that?" She folded her arms over her chest as she glared down at him. "I would like to speak with you, even if it's only for a few minutes."

"And when I have those few minutes, I will gladly talk to you."

"Fine." She spun about to stalk from the room before her temper got the best of her.

Julian didn't halt her and didn't even bid her farewell as she stomped out of his office and out of the house entirely. White sand squeaked beneath her feet, shifting with each step. She stopped halfway between the house and the ocean and sank to her knees as a sense of hopelessness filled her.

The waves broke, their fingers of foam stretching up, but never quite reaching her. Overhead, sea birds glided easily on the breeze that ruffled through the treetops. In the distance, she could see the vendors along the harbor's waterfront, their brightly striped canopies vivid against the emerald backdrop of mountains.

She trailed her fingers through the sun-warmed sand. No matter how much she loathed Windemere, in previous visits she had Mary or her brothers for company. She'd never felt the cold loneliness she felt now, and she hated every bit of it.

"Emma?"

Her back stiffened as Julian's voice reached her ears and his shadow fell over her. "Yes?"

"May I?"

She twisted to see him gesturing to the patch of sand beside her and then shrugged as she turned back to stare at the water. "Be my guest."

He sat, making a noise that sound like a combination of a sigh and a groan. She tried not to notice him, but just being near him sent a hum through her. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms about them, and rested her chin on the peaks.

"Emma, do you have any idea what sort of a mess I'm trying to unravel?"

The clouds off in the distance were an ominous gray, rolling toward them with the promise of a storm. She studied those clouds as if they were the most fascinating things she'd ever seen.

"It's going to take me weeks to straighten everything out."

"Wonderful. So why are you here, then?"

His hand came to rest on her shoulder, his fingers pressing gently. "Em, I don't know exactly what to say."

She stiffened. "You could explain why you're avoiding me. And don't even try to deny it, Julian McCallister. You have been avoiding me."

Now she turned, expecting him to deny it just the same.

Instead, he let out a low sigh. "Yes, I suppose I have been avoiding you."

Although she knew it, it still stung. No one ever told her they were purposely avoiding her. "I see."

She held her breath as his hand slid from her shoulder to the nape of her neck. "Sweetheart-"

"Don't." She squeezed her eyes shut at his low rumble. "Don't say that to me. You don't mean it, so don't say it."

His hand fell away. "I don't know what else to say."

A dull ache took root behind her eyes, so she tilted her head to bury her face in her arms. She braced for him to touch her again, but he didn't. She wanted him to, and if he did, she wouldn't shrug him off or move away.

"Emma, what do you want from me?"

"The truth." The words were out before she could stop them. She lifted her head to regard him with stinging eyes. Why on earth were tears pooling in them? She didn't want to cry, and yet she couldn't make her eyes see reason, so she turned away before he could see the tears as well.

For the longest time, the only sounds were that of the birds and the surf. Then the sand squeaked, and Julian rose, but not before kissing the top of her head. Her tears spilled free as he walked away as silently as he'd arrived.

She didn't know how long she sat there, just crying softly into her hands, but when she finally stopped, her head ached and the thick clouds reached the sh.o.r.e. The winds picked up, howling as they tore along the beach, whipping up the sand to sting her skin.

Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rolled low in the distance. She rose, brushed the sand from her backside, and trudged her way back to the house. The door to Julian's office was closed again, but this time, she didn't trouble to knock. Her spirits were too low for her to care, and her head ached too badly to try to convince herself otherwise.