The McKenzie Brothers: Windemere Part 9

"Good morning to you, too, Mr. McCallister." Mary smiled up at him, and Emma wondered if her own face showed the same moonstruck expression that lit up Mary's face. She hoped not. Words written across her face couldn't give her away more easily.

Her stomach jumped when Julian smiled at them. Her skin tingled. How was that even possible? The runny eggs were tasteless in her mouth, so she swallowed convulsively to get them down. She coughed again and reached for her tea.

"Are you all right?" Momma asked, rising.

Emma nodded, waving for her mother to remain in her seat. She forced down another mouthful of lukewarm tea. Her windpipe cleared and she managed to croak, "I'm fine. It just went down the wrong way."

Although she didn't look entirely convinced, Momma lowered back into her chair. When it was clear Emma wasn't about to drop dead out of her chair, Momma's forehead smoothed and she looked from Emma to Mary. "So what do you girls have planned for today?"

Mary dropped her fork into her plate to bury her face in her hands. Her voice was m.u.f.fled as she groaned, "I'm still fighting with that lace. I just can't get it straight, Momma."

"I can help you," Emma offered. She didn't know how much help she would be, but at least it would help pa.s.s the time. Her own gown was laundered and pressed and ready for the next day.

The McKenzie Christmas festivities were one of Emma's favorite events. Her family didn't host many parties or b.a.l.l.s, but she couldn't recall a Christmas where Stonebridge wasn't alive with her family's closest friends. And this year, with everyone home for the first time in several years, it would be even more special.

Julian would be here.

"Would you? I'd like that." Mary stood to add her plate to the growing stack on the sideboard then paused in the doorway to add, "Momma, may I add something to your list?"

Momma smiled. "I was wondering when you'd ask. What is it?"

"Scotch's had the most wonderful rose-scented perfume in these beautiful little bottles. All the way from France."

Momma sighed, but nodded. "How many bottles did you want? Or is one enough?"

Mary let out an airy laugh. "One is fine."

"And you, Emma?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Momma. I still have the perfume Papa brought me back from the West Indies."

"That one that smells like fish oil?" Mary asked.

"It doesn't smell like fish." Emma stacked her plate atop Mary's and slid her fork into the basket beside the plates. "It smells like coconut and I love it."

"It's awful, Em."

"Why? Because it doesn't smell like roses? Everyone smells like roses. I, on the other hand, don't want to. Besides -" she tossed her knife into the basket with a little more force than was necessary "-you like roses. I don't. I prefer coconut. Is that so terrible?"

"Enough," Momma broke in before Mary could respond. "One is no better than the other, and both are lovely in their own right. Now, Emma, before you go up, I'd like a word with you. Mary, you may go now."

Mary's brows rose as she looked at Emma. She angled her head toward their mother, and gestured with it as if to ask, What's going on?

Emma shrugged.

"Mary."

"Yes, Momma." Mary left the room without looking back.

Emma moved to the chair closest to Momma's. "Is something the matter, Momma?"

"Is something troubling you? You still seem a bit flushed. I know you don't have a fever, but how do you feel otherwise?"

"I'm fine, Momma. I woke up with a headache, that's all." Perhaps it should have bothered her, how easily the lie rolled off her tongue, but since the truth was far scarier, it didn't bother her at all.

Still, guilt rose up as her mother's expression went from stern back to concern, her eyes softened and worry lines creased her forehead. "Another one? Perhaps we should send for the doctor." She leaned across the table to press her cool hand against Emma's forehead.

Emma swallowed hard. She should have said anything other than not feeling well.

"That isn't necessary, Momma. They usually go away before supper, and this one probably will, too." She forced a smile to her lips. She didn't like lying to her mother, or to anyone, for that matter. It would be a relief when the time came when she wouldn't have to lie, when she could beam in Julian's presence and pretend to be horrified and shocked when someone made a joke about Julian being the reason for her glow.

But until that happened, she'd have to lie and hope she didn't get her stories mixed up.

Her explanation seemed to mollify Momma. She lifted the silver tea service to refill her cup. "If you say so. I suppose I'm worrying over nothing. Why don't you go up and help your sister before we're sending her to an asylum over something as silly as lace?"

"I am, although we know how skilled I am with a needle and thread. You might wish to offer up a small prayer for her."

"I just might do that."

Emma moved to the door. "I'm going to have Amanda send us a tray for lunch. I've a feeling it's going to be a long afternoon for the McKenzie sisters."

She darted from the room before her mother could think of any other reason to call her back. Even after she moved beyond earshot, she hurried along the narrow hall to the rear staircase, the one closest to her room. An afternoon wrestling stubborn lace into place. It was going to be a long afternoon, indeed.

Chapter Nine.

CHRISTMAS DAY STARTED OUT the same as it had for as long as Emma could remember, with Amanda breezing into her room, a warm, "Happy Christmas, Miss McKenzie" on her lips.

Emma eased down from her perch on the corner of the low chest near the window, where she'd been watching a beautiful cardinal nestled in a pine tree. "Happy Christmas to you, too, Amanda." She crossed back to her bed. "Am I the last one awake?"

"No. Hardly." Amanda went to the wardrobe, opening it to lay out Emma's clothing for the day. "I believe your brothers and Mr. McCallister are still abed. I think they were out late last eve," she added in a low, conspiratorial voice.

She said this just as Emma was drawing her night rail over her head, and the words made Emma freeze halfway out of the gown. Julian had gone carousing with her brothers? That left a bit of a burn in her belly, one that brought a sour taste rising up in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard against it and hoped her voice didn't squeak as she replied, "Were they?"

"Oh, I think so." Amanda whisked the night rail the rest of the way off Emma and draped it over one arm. "Dunstan was muttering about how the only thing that smells worse than stale smoke is-" She cut herself off and cleared her throat.

A hint of a blush stained Amanda's cheeks as she hurriedly deposited the night rail in the basket by the wardrobe and then returned with a fresh chemise, which she held out. "I beg your pardon, Miss McKenzie."

"It's all right." Emma donned the chemise then turned away from Amanda so the maid could lace her corset. From there, she dressed in a gown of soft peach and was ready to go below.

Two hours later, the McKenzie women were in the carriage, while the men rode on horseback, and off they all went into town. Emma sat beside Mary, who smelled lovely wearing her new rose-scented French perfume, and across from her mother.

Momma seemed to frown at first, but then the frown disappeared and Emma wondered if she'd only imagined it. Besides, what could her mother be frowning about? Emma couldn't figure out why her mother should be upset. Her father had given her mother a pearl cameo on a delicate green velvet choker, so she couldn't be upset at him. Emma had given her a bottle of perfume similar to the one Mary wore now, so she couldn't be upset at her.

So if her frown was real, what could have caused it?

Emma bit back a groan. Did Momma suspect that she and Julian- Oh, please. Not that.

Heat speared her through her middle and thankfully, it went no higher. The thought of her mother imagining her and Julian in their steamy embrace-oh, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l-she wanted to sink right through the carriage seat.

She was never so happy to reach the small white church on the corner of Sycamore and Pines Streets. It was crowded, with every family box filled. Emma found herself sitting behind Julian and Drew, which meant she would not be able to see the priest at all. Although Julian was shorter than Drew, she was still shorter than both of them. All she could see were the tops of ladies' bonnets. Voices were phantoms, known only by timbre. Faces had to be imagined, which sometimes worked out for the best since occasionally, an odd-looking chap with a wart on his chin and a lazy eye would be saying Ma.s.s.

"Miss McKenzie!" Lydia Morris smiled from her family's box right behind Emma. "It's so nice to see you. Is everyone ready for the invasion of merrymakers later?"

She nodded. "With everyone home for the first time in ages, Momma has been going mad to make it a perfect evening. It'll be noisy, but I think she's looking forward to that."

"I imagine so. That's what happens when you have large families."

Emma peered about the church. "And where is Mrs. Chandler?"

"She's home with a sick daughter and an even sicker granddaughter. Emily and Ruth haven't left their beds in three days." Lydia clicked her tongue against her teeth. "It's not safe going anywhere near Mercer Street right now. My advice? Steer clear for a week or two. Next thing you know, the plague will be there. I think it's going to get uglier before it gets prettier."

Momma cleared her throat and gestured toward the altar. "Lower your voice, Emma. Father's about to begin."

"I wouldn't worry, Rebecca. It's almost impossible to be heard over him anyway. He certainly knows how to make his voice carry. Emma would have to shout for it to even be a concern." Lydia grinned, adding, "And once he begins, the church could burn down around him and he still wouldn't notice."

"Be that as it may, I'd rather not be the ones who disprove that theory." Momma's features softened, to Emma's relief. Maybe she only imagined what she saw in the coach. Now, Momma even smiled. "Now, hush, all of you."

Lydia winked. "Let's all offer a prayer that he is short-winded today."

"Amen." Momma's voice was so soft, Emma thought she was the only one able to hear her. She fought back a smile, forcing her attention to the priest.

Amen, indeed. Emma tried to keep her mind from wandering, but it all for naught. Her gaze remained straight ahead, but her thoughts were anywhere but church.

No, that wasn't true. They were in church, but not for a Christmas service.

She smiled as her gaze slid to the back of Julian's head. It would be a lovely church for a wedding. It was far bigger than the small chapel on Stonebridge's grounds and would hold more people. A spring wedding, perhaps. Late spring, when the lilacs bloomed.

She hugged the delicious dream. Nothing could be more perfect than marrying Julian, with everyone there to celebrate it, and the scent of lilacs on the air.

And weddings brought her back to George and Rose. She turned to gaze over at the Hadley family along the western wall, near the Adamses. Rose looked wan and tired in her dark cloak. Her parents looked furious, both shooting evil, six-feet-under stares at George. The Penroses were also over there, and Darcy looked at the priest, nodding every so often as if he held her at rapt attention.

Still, Emma hadn't missed the look on George's face when Darcy had slid into the pew, and she frowned. Her gaze went back to Rose, and her frown became a glare.

Rose's white face had gone paler still, and her eyes were red and gla.s.sy. She bent forward to bury her face in her hands.

It was a lovely service, even if the priest did spend much more time than necessary on the homily, and when they were finally filing out into the cold, Emma brought a gloved hand to her lips to smother her yawn. The chilly air did much to revive her, and her drowsiness was completely gone by the time they reached Stonebridge.

Her mother's festive mood remained as they all slipped out of their cloaks to hand to Amanda. "You girls had best go and ready yourselves. Everyone will be here soon."

"Yes, Momma." Emma grinned as she and Mary replied in unison. That grin remained in place as they went upstairs.

"Are you still going to help me with my hair?" Mary asked as they reached her room. "You said you'd weave a ribbon through it."

She'd forgotten about her promise to Mary, smiled. "And I will. Do you have the ribbon?"

Mary nodded. "It's on my dressing table." She took two steps, but then paused, her brows pulling together as she said, "Have you noticed Momma was acting a little odd earlier? It seemed something was bothering her."

So Emma hadn't imagined the frown. "She did earlier, but now she seems fine. Maybe she was feeling anxious about the party."

"If so, she isn't the only one. Garrett and Drew headed right to Papa's office, and it doesn't take much to figure out why."

Emma nodded. "Brandy." She pushed open the Mary's door. "Momma will go into a fury if they end up foxed before the first guest arrives."

Mary closed the door by. "I wish I could have a sip of something. I always get so nervous before a social event. Especially tonight."

The moss green ribbon lay atop Mary's dressing table, tangled with two other ribbons of different colors. Emma ran it through her fingers. It was cool and silky and hopefully would remain in place once she wove it through. "Now, why are you so nervous about tonight?"

Mary gave her a long look before turning away from Emma. She rubbed the side of her neck with a thoughtful hand as if she was debating whether or not she could trust her sister with some deep, dark secret.

Emma bit back an impatient sigh. "Out with it already, Mary. Why is tonight so special?"

"Because Ben Jacobs will be here, that's why."

Emma smiled as she gathered up her comb and went to work. "Does Papa know you're blus.h.i.+ng over Ben Jacobs? I don't think he'll be unhappy about it. Just the opposite, I'd think. Especially if he needed to borrow any money from the bank."

Mary scowled at her over one shoulder. "Stop it, Em. That's why I didn't say anything before now." She faced forward again. "You have to keep this within these four walls. Don't tell anyone. Not a soul."

"Within these four-Mary, are you mad? Who am I going to tell, and what is it I'm going to tell them? Now, hold still." Emma resumed weaving the ribbon through her sister's thick hair. "And out with it. What did Ben do that has you all a tangle?"

"He kissed me."

"He did? When did this happen?" Emma tried to keep her surprise to herself. Ben Jacobs wasn't the sort of young man she imagined her sister would take an interest in. He was shy and studious, more interested in learning about running his father's bank than kissing any young lady. But then, stranger things did happen.

"Last week. Before the first snowstorm. I was at Scotch's with Joan, and we stopped at Croft's for a hot chocolate. He was there with Stuart Anderson and...well..."

To Emma's utter surprise, a scarlet flush swept up the back of her sister's neck. Mary was actually blus.h.i.+ng. Until that moment, Emma didn't know her sister could blush. This was serious.

"And he kissed you? In the cafe?"

"No, not in the cafe." Impatience curled through her words as she brought a thumb to her lips to nibble. "Behind it."

Her sister sounded so wistful, her voice so full of dreaminess and longing, that Emma didn't want to ruin the obviously treasured memory. And while Mary might be given to theatrics from time to time, she wasn't normally so impulsive that she threw all care to the winds.

"It was nice, wasn't it?"

"Nice? Emma, it was wonderful."

Emma smiled as she finished with the ribbon and stepped back. "I know that feeling."

"Isn't it amazing?" Mary's eyes took on a faraway glaze as she slowly shook her head. "I don't even know how to describe it. Words just can't do it justice."