The McKenzie Brothers: Windemere Part 6

When they had arrived at Stonebridge, Rose was gone, taken home by Joseph. With the weather so foul, Emma couldn't call on her, so she didn't know if George had come to any decision, or if Rose was even still speaking to her.

Julian made himself scarce as well. She didn't know if he was in town or somewhere in the main house, or if he'd moved to the room behind the stables, where George the groom lived. All she knew was she'd come so close to fulfilling the dream she'd had since she was twelve. Julian wanted her. He wanted her enough to kiss her. He'd noticed she was no longer a little girl.

She frowned. He still hadn't agreed to help her. Maybe he would have, if they hadn't been interrupted...She leaned her head back against the sofa. How the devil was she going to get him to agree, when she couldn't even pin him down long enough to speak with him?

Her ears perked up as the front doors slammed shut and heavy footfalls sounded in the front hall.

"Anyone here?"

"You know, I think they've all gone off and left."

"Garrett! Drew!" She tossed her book onto the table and shoved the quilt aside, nearly tripping over her skirts in her haste to reach the hall. Both of her brothers stood there, snow clinging to their broad shoulders, whitening their dark hair, and she didn't know which one to hug first.

Being the oldest, Garrett won. She threw herself at him. "I didn't think either of you would make it home in such terrible weather."

"I can't speak for him, but I wasn't going to disappoint Momma this Christmas. Not like last year."

"You mean when you disappointed her by staying in the West Indies?" Drew asked in a droll voice. "And what was her name again?"

"Enough." Garrett set her down then turned to his brother. "Papa asked me to stay and help him tie up the loose-oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, why am I even wasting my breath on this?"

"Because you know he had hoped you'd finally stop running and settle down with whatever her name was," Drew retorted, raising one brow at him. "Too bad he didn't know she'd already settled down with someone else."

"Ah, it was just as well. Another week or so and she'd have driven me mad."

"Momma would box your ears if she knew you were having this discussion in front of me," Emma broke in.

With that, Momma's joyous cry came from the top of the staircase, followed by the clatter of her footsteps on the stairs. "Drew! Garrett! You're home."

"Obviously," Drew drawled. At almost five inches above six feet, he completely towered over his mother, who barely reached his chest.

Emma smiled as he lifted their mother like she weighed nothing. She almost disappeared in his embrace, swallowed up by his ma.s.sive arms.

When it was his turn, Garrett did the same, swallowing her in his embrace. "Where's Mary?"

"She's in the sewing room," Emma replied as Momma freed herself from Garrett's arms and stepped back. "Working on her gown for the Christmas party. You know how she is, no matter how nice it looks, it isn't quite nice enough. I figure at the rate she's going, she'll perfect it for next Christmas."

"Now, now, Em." Momma wagged a scolding finger at her. "Just because you'd rather sit and read, that's no reason to poke fun."

They made their way from the hall to the beckoning coziness of the parlor.

"I thought I saw the Amelia in port." Garrett was the first one to cross into the parlor. "Is McCallister here?"

"He and your father are in your father's office, discussing some business of utmost importance." Momma grinned. "I don't know what it is, but they both looked so serious, I figure it must be a matter of life or death. Either that, or brandy."

That explained why she hadn't seen either Julian or her father all morning. But what business could they have? Maybe Eagleton did need new ships. And perhaps her father was as fascinated as she was by the drawing she'd seen on Julian's desk.

Drew sighed. "It feels good to be on dry land again. This storm's engulfed most of the coast. How was it coming down?"

"Rough around the Cape, but otherwise, I had clear weather. It was a little dicey, maneuvering into the bay and into my slip, but aside from a few sc.r.a.pes on the hull, the Pegasus made it fine."

Emma tuned out the rest of their conversation as they pa.s.sed by her father's office. The closed door m.u.f.fled their voices, but it didn't sound as if there were any life-or-death matters being discussed. They might just be indulging in some brandy. Too bad she couldn't slow down without drawing attention to herself. What where they discussing in there?

"Drew! Garrett! I thought I heard you!" Mary darted into the parlor in a blur of dark green and ivory.

"Did you finish your gown?" Emma settled back into her quilt.

"Not yet." Her nose wrinkled. "The lace is giving me a devil of a time. Amanda is up there now wrestling about with it."

"Spare us, please," Garrett groaned, sinking into one of the maroon leather chairs he'd dragged nearer the hearth. He stretched his long legs across the hearthrug, crossing them at the ankles. "Drew, did you know I had the most difficult time trying to decide which stock to wear?" He fingered the white neckcloth. "I simply couldn't decide which looked better: the white, or the white."

"I know what you mean." Drew did the same, stroking his own stock as if it were made of the finest silk. "I thought about leaving it off, but how horribly unfashionable that would make me. And however would I land a wife, being so unfashionable and all that?"

"Momma!" Mary wailed.

Emma bit back a smile.

"Enough," Momma admonished. Then her smile broke through. "Let's wait an hour or so before the bickering starts, shall we? In the meantime, you boys must be chilled, so why don't we have some tea?"

Garrett rubbed his hands together. "If it's all the same, I'd prefer coffee."

"I'll go find Amanda and have both brought in." Emma threw off the quilt once more. "Don't start bickering again until I return, if you don't mind."

"Go tap on Papa's door and let him and Mr. McCallister know Garrett and Drew are home."

"Yes, Momma."

As she approached the closed door of her father's office, Emma realized the voices were even lower. At least they weren't arguing. Still, her heart hammered against her ribs as she rapped on the wood and those voices fell silent.

"Come in," her father called.

She opened the door and smiled. The ma.s.sive oak desk separating Papa and Julian was a mess of papers, but no gla.s.ses stood among the clutter. Neither man looked angry or even unhappy. Papa's silver hair poked up in odd directions, as if he'd been running his fingers through it, but Julian looked perfectly at ease. A friendly discussion, obviously, and an interruption that wasn't minded. "Momma sent me to fetch you. Drew and Garrett are home."

A look of relief came over her father's face. "At least I'll be able to sleep tonight." He rose from his chair. "I think we were just about finished here as it was, don't you think?" This was directed at Julian.

He nodded. "We are. And I thank you for your time, Captain McKenzie."

"Think nothing of it. It gave me a good excuse to stay home in such awful weather." Papa chuckled as he clapped Julian's shoulder.

Emma stepped aside to allow them both to pa.s.s. As they did, Julian replied, "This awful weather is working against me. I was hoping to be able to sail north, but that doesn't look likely."

Whatever her father's response was, Emma didn't hear it as they rounded the corner. Disappointment fluttered through her, although she wasn't exactly certain why. What did she expect? A wink? A secret smile? Something that showed her Julian was still thinking about their almost-kiss almost as much as she was?

But it didn't seem that he was thinking about it at all. Perhaps their moment had been and gone and she'd missed making the most of it. If only it hadn't been for Mr. Carter. She scowled. It was his fault for interrupting them that way.

She made her way to the kitchen. No. She couldn't blame Mr. Carter. The only thing he was guilty of was poor timing. Much like how she'd discovered George's betrayal of Rose. Poor timing.

"Rose should thank me," she muttered. "I kept her from chaining herself to that faithless jackanapes."

"I beg your pardon?" Cook asked, looking up from the long, scarred worktable where she sat slicing onions. The tang of cut onions hung in the air, and Cook's eyes were red and weepy. Emma sniffed as her nose began to run. How many onions did one stew need?

She sniffed again, and now her eyes stung. "Where is Amanda? We would like some tea and coffee in the parlor."

"I believe she is in the dining room, Miss McKenzie."

It took several more minutes of searching before she found Amanda and returned to the parlor. By then, her entire family had gathered, and she stood in the doorway, smiling. Having everyone there was such a rarity these days and, despite his insistence to the contrary, Julian looked as much a part of the family as either of her brothers. With any luck, the snow would continue, and he would remain in Brunswick just a little longer.

By nightfall, the storm had gathered strength, the wind howling through the chimneys to blast icy air inside, regardless of the crackling fires. Despite the elements, or perhaps because of them, Emma crept down into the darkness long after everyone retired for the night. She loved the peace of a snowstorm. There was something tranquil about being outside when the wind died but the snow still swirled about.

But that didn't mean it wasn't cold, or that within a few minutes, she wasn't shivering. Her fingers tightened about her cloak, pulling it closer, and she huddled up against one of the gla.s.s doors at the far end of the ballroom.

"I must be mad." Her breath emerged as a frosted cloud as snowflakes blew this way and that all around her. The fall was so thick, she could only just make out where the woods began. In the distance, when the wind rested and the world fell silent, the faint rush of the Raritan River was all she could hear. Even the animals had gone in search of shelter.

It was only slightly more comfortable inside, so she hurried toward the parlor, where the fire might still be showing signs of life. To her disappointment, it'd already either gone out or been extinguished, so she made her way above, to her chambers.

As she pa.s.sed by Mary's chambers, her sister called, "Emma?"

She paused to poke her head in. "Mary? What're you still doing awake?"

"I'm still...fighting...with this blasted...lace!" Mary's words were strained and soft, and she sounded on the verge of tears.

Emma found Mary sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, scowling at the emerald green silk down on the milliner's mannequin at the foot of her bed. Her hands, however, were busy twisting in the quilt beneath her, her knuckles white from the effort.

"I hate this dress," Mary grumbled, releasing the quilt to rise and stand before the mannequin. "If I had something else to wear, I promise this would be a smoldering heap on that hearth."

Emma jumped as Mary slammed her hands, palm first, into the mannequin to send it crashing to the floor. "I'm so tired-" she kicked the mannequin "-of this giving me-" her foot crashed into the mannequin again "-trouble!"

"Mary, what the-" Emma caught her by the wrist to jerk her away from the mannequin. "Stop it before you ruin it."

Tears shone in Mary's eyes and she sniffed. "I don't care, Em. I simply don't care anymore. Don't you see? It's impossible and I'm only ruining it!"

Another swift kick accompanied those last words. The mannequin rolled up onto its side and then banged back to the floor. Fortunately, the gown remained intact. A little wrinkled, perhaps, and with a bit of a smudge from the sole of Mary's slipper, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed. Or so Emma hoped.

"Feel better?" she asked as Mary threw herself back onto her bed.

Although her scowl suggested otherwise, Mary nodded. "I do, actually. Much better."

"Good. Now, before you really do ruin this, let me see what's the matter." Emma righted the mannequin and smoothed out as many wrinkles as she could. She stepped back for a better look.

"Is that snow on you?"

Emma looked up and smiled. "You sound surprised. You know I like nights like this."

"You're mad, outside on a night such as this. What were you doing?"

"Looking up at Cheltenham."

"Looking up at-" Mary's eyes narrowed. "Whatever for?"

"I couldn't help myself. It looks so lovely, with the snow swirling all around and the woods so barren-looking. Wouldn't you just love to see what it looks like on the inside? It's so grand on the outside."

Mary shook her head. "No. It scares me. It looks...evil."

"It's no more evil than this house. Just a bit more imposing. Rose told me once it's designed like a manor house you'd find in England, and Mr. McCallister's great-grandfather chose that hill because it was the highest around and he could look down on everyone."

"For all the good that did." Mary glanced toward the window and shivered. "Amy told me she's seen ghosts up there. And everyone who's ever lived there has gone insane."

"That's nonsense. There's no such thing as ghosts." Emma stepped up and smoothed her hands over the mannequin again. "It is a shame that only a few servants are left there. I doubt Julian will ever go back."

The quilt rustled as Mary slid across it, and she came to stand beside Emma. "Amy also told me that that's why Julian's never married. That there's something wrong with his blood."

"Also nonsense." But even as Emma said it, a misty sadness settled into her. She knew what people whispered, but she refused to accept it could be possible. She refused to dwell on it, pursing her lips as she stared harder at the mannequin. The lace in question was immediately visible, st.i.tched in an uphill pattern along the front of the hem. The silk above it was wrinkled and creased, as if Mary had mangled it in a fury. Which, knowing her sister, she had. Seams gave her the worst trouble. She couldn't sew in a straight line if her life depended on it. Emma could definitely sympathize. Her st.i.tches always ran either uphill or downhill, no matter how straight she pinned her pieces. However, unlike her sister, Emma didn't normally fret over it. Who paid that much attention to seams, anyhow? As long as the dress itself didn't look off when she was finished, Emma didn't care how straight the seams were.

"Perhaps you could leave the lace off?" She sank onto the edge of Mary's bed, a forefinger pressed to her lips. Her dressmaking skills were not as refined as Mary's, and that was the best advice she could offer. When it came to fashion, Emma knew men with greater sense and better eyes. Not to mention straighter seams.

Judging by Mary's scowl, her advice was neither welcomed for appreciated. "Emma."

"I don't know what else to tell you, Mary. You know what that gown would look like if I'd made it. This-" she swept a hand over the wrinkled ball of green silk "-would be an improvement."

"True," Mary replied without looking at her. "I've seen you sew. You'd make an even greater mess than I did."

She looked up at Mary and shrugged. "Well, that's why I know my limits."

Mary's expression went from irritated to contrite. "I didn't mean it quite like that. I'm just so frustrated with this. Christmas is only two days from now and I'll never get this finished in time. How am I to greet guests in this...this mess?"

"Firstly, there are only going to be a small number of people here Christmas. Secondly, they are all Momma and Papa's friends, and so they won't care how crooked the lace around the hem is. Thirdly, why is it giving you such a trouble? It's not as if it's alive. It's lace."

"I've ripped it off and sewn it back six times. Six times. Look at it. I'm ruining the hem. And then Amanda tried twice more and even she couldn't get it. If I don't get it right on the next attempt, the silk is going to tear, or worse." Tears spilled over her lower lashes to streak down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with irritated hands. It did little good. "And I don't know why it's giving me such a trouble. I've never had this sort of trouble with any other gown."

"Perhaps because you're rushing. Maybe because you're trying too hard. Take your time, take a deep breath, and be patient. I'll wager that each one of those times you ripped it back out, you did so with a little more force."

Mary's blush made the freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose stand out. "I did," she replied sheepishly.

"So, like I said, take a deep breath and go slowly." Emma slid her arm about Mary's shoulders and hugged her close. "And don't worry. It will be beautiful come Christmas. It's the perfect shade of green."

"Do you think so?"

Emma nodded then pulled away to grab the ball of wrinkled silk. She shook it out. "Come here and stand in front of me." She pointed to the floor before her and waited for Mary to move. When Mary did as she was told, Emma held the dress to Mary's shoulders. It was simple, with short puffed sleeves and a band of moss-green velvet where the bodice met the waistline. Thinner bands of the same velvet wrapped the hems of the sleeves as well. Simple, yet elegant. At least, it would be, if it was ever finished.

"See? It'll look beautiful on you. You'll see. If you like, I'll weave a length of matching velvet ribbon through your hair as well. If you have any left, that is."

Mary swiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands and managed a watery smile. "I'd like that."

Downstairs a clock chimed midnight. Emma draped the gown over the foot of the bed. "I'd also suggest not trying to fix it any more tonight, but get a good's night's sleep and tackle it in the morning."

"I will." Mary smiled at her. "Good night, Em. And thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night."