by Kimberly Nee
He glanced around the room, which was quite easily the most comfortable one in the house, with its warm yellow walls and stained maple exposed beams. Three of the four walls were built-in shelves, also of stained maple. Most of the space on the shelves was taken up by rows of books with rich leather bindings, their titles in gold along the spines. Among the literary treasures were miniature oils of the four Kennedy children at various ages, all in gilt frames, along with various other collectibles gathered by the three generations of Kennedys who'd occupied Shadowbrook.
During the winter, a fire was almost constantly crackling on the large stone hearth, bringing to life the bold accents in the blue and gold Persian carpet in the center of the room. Around the room's perimeter, the floors were left bare—satiny maple also stained a rich brown.
Along with the sofa, table, and two wing chairs, there was also an escritoire, carved of the finest cherry wood, before the large square window overlooking the sloping front lawns of Shadowbrook, and a sturdy cherry buffet along one wall.
"I did wish to come home,” he said to his mother now, drumming his fingertips on the armrest of the chair.
"So why the moping then?” she asked quietly, leaning forward to lift the silver tea urn and pour herself a cup. “Would you care for a cup?"
"Thank you, no."
She didn't press the issue as she dropped a lump of sugar into her delicate china cup, a splash of cream, and dipped a silver teaspoon into the brew. As she sat back, she studied him carefully. He'd aged in the time since he'd left home, and it suited him, just as it had her husband.
His eyes had lost a bit of their devilish glint, though, she thought with a pang. They had taken on a somewhat haunted look, which troubled her to no end. He had always been the black sheep, but a lovable black sheep who kept life from becoming too dull, too monotonous.
Now, however, she could see no sign of that recklessness that always worried her so. And that worried her even more. She missed his devil-may-care spirit, cursing Rebecca Monroe each day since the broken betrothal for destroying that which made Drew so special. Of her four children, he was always the one to be counted on to lighten a mood, or break a tense moment, and she found herself wondering if that man was ever going to return.
But she kept these thoughts to herself as she said, “So, are you going to tell me? Or do I have to guess?"
He gave his mother a weak smile. He had no intention of spilling his problems to his mother. His father? Perhaps Garrett? Most likely. But he didn't feel comfortable sharing his feelings with his mother.
It had been a terrible week. One of the worst he could remember. And the dull ache he constantly carried within his heart refused to abate. He couldn't think about anything other than Heather. She hounded his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Several times, he found himself on Samson, heading in the direction of Christina Anderson's house, but always stopped before he was even halfway there. He doubted Heather would receive him, and he couldn't say he would blame her.
"It's nothing. Honest."
She frowned. “It does not sound as though nothing is wrong, dear. You've been dragging about like you've lost a limb and I know that isn't the case."
He sighed. “I just don't really know what to do with myself, I suppose. We've a shipment of rice coming up from the Carolinas, but that won't be here for another week or so. Then I have to see it off to London. Aside from that, it's quiet right now."
"Well, that always happens this time of the year. Things will pick up once the fall arrives. But, I get the feeling that is not what is lying so heavily on your mind."
"Momma, if you don't mind, it's nothing I wish to discuss right now."
She sighed, setting her cup in its saucer. “Ah,” she said with a knowing grin, “those sort of problems. I see."
He had the uncomfortable feeling his mother knew exactly what his problem was. She always seemed to possess a sixth sense where her children were concerned. He shifted in his chair, as if that would make her sense less accurate.
When he didn't answer, she shook her head. “Very well. I suppose you will work it out on your own, eventually. But, if you ever feel the need—"
He finished her sentence for her. “I know where to find you. I know."
"Mister Drew?"
He turned to see Effie in the doorway. “Yes, Effie?"
"Mister Allen to see you."
"I'm not here.” Jeremy was the last person he wished to see right now. In fact, he didn't care if he ever spoke to Jeremy again. The hurt was still too raw for him to even contemplate. Each time he thought about his former friend, he could see Heather in Jeremy's arms, and fury surged through him again.
"He says it's important, Mister Drew.” Effie gave him a rueful smile. “Boy looks close to tears, to tell you the truth."
He sighed. “Very well, Effie. I'll be right there."
Samantha's blue eyes lit up suddenly. “I can ascertain that Jeremy Allen has something to do with this."
"Please, let's drop it, shall we?” He pushed himself up from the chair and moved to the doorway. “Don't trouble yourself, Momma. Eventually it will all fade away."
That was what he kept telling himself, he thought, as he made his way out of the library and down the narrow hallway to the entrance. Eventually, the dull ache would fade. Eventually, his arms would not feel so empty. Eventually he would forget Heather Spencer ever brought such joy and brightness to his life.
Like hell he would.
He scowled as he caught sight of Jeremy standing by the front door, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. When he looked up and saw Drew, his face went ashen.
"What do you want?” Drew asked shortly, stopping just out of arm's reach of Jeremy. Any closer, and he was afraid he would not be able to resist the urge to punch his face in.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Drew, I—I just wanted to explain what you saw the other afternoon."
"There is nothing to explain. I know what I saw."
"No,” Jeremy said softly, shaking his head. “You only know what you think you saw."
Fury poked up its ugly little head once more. Drew's hands unconsciously curled into fists and the muscles in his arms tightened. “Is that a fact?"
"Yes.” Jeremy's voice faded a bit and he licked his lips as if trying to buck up his courage. “Drew, Heather—"
"Do not even speak her name to me,” he growled, taking a step closer to Jeremy, who recoiled.
"You need to listen to me. Heather was innocent. She did nothing but try to push me away."
"Is that so?"
"Y-yes."
He snatched Jeremy up by his shirtfront, hauling the much smaller man off his feet. “I'm afraid I don't see it that way, Jer."
Jeremy's eyes went wide, and he let out a pathetic squeak. “But it's the truth, Drew,” he whispered, his feet dangling a good three inches from the floor. “She kept saying no, scooting away from me, trying to find some way to push me away.” The words came out in a rush, tumbling one over the other in his hurry to explain.
"Why would you do such a thing?” Drew growled, yanking Jeremy closer, so their noses practically touched.
"I'm sorry.” Jeremy's voice was a faint whisper. “I-I don't know what I was thinking. I-I felt s-sorry for her, I suppose. She seemed so ... lost..."
"You son of a bitch.” Drew didn't hesitate as he reached for the doorknob with his free hand and yanked open the door. Jeremy went airborne, hitting the top step of the portico and hurtling down the remaining three steps to crash into a heap in the dirt of the drive.
"You touch her again, and I will kill you,” Drew growled, stalking out the door, down the steps, and towering over Jeremy, hands on his hips as he glared down at him.
"That's why I am here,” Jeremy whispered, looking shaken as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. “She is miserable, Drew. Why would you do that to her? Why not believe her?"
"That is none of your concern."
"Of course it is,�
� he replied, brushing the reddish-brown dust from his frock coat. He pulled himself upright, boldly adding, “You are an ass. Not every woman is Rebecca. Heather is the farthest thing from Rebecca as you can get, but you are too bull-headed to see that for yourself! She doesn't want anyone else, Drew. Not me, not your brother. For some strange reason, she seems to care for you. Why, I might even say the girl loves you. But you simply cannot accept that, can you?"
"You have no idea what you are talking about, Jeremy, so I will suggest you shut your mouth before you say something you regret."
Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You are unbelievable. Do you hear what I am saying? She is miserable. Absolutely miserable. Sits in her room, by her window all day. Won't come out of her room. Won't eat. Just mopes about all day long. She loves you, you jackass, and you are throwing that away because you are too proud to admit that you just might be wrong about something. Well, you are wrong. She is not Rebecca. She does not care about anything but you and you are simply going to let her slip away."
Drew paused and his shoulders suddenly relaxed. “Are you certain about this?"
"Drew, I was an ass for even trying to kiss her. I don't know what I was thinking. But, she made it perfectly clear. You are the one she wants. The only one. Now, go to her and admit why you reacted the way you did. Tell her about Rebecca, will you already? For once and for all, clear the air. For God's sake, don't let her get away from you. You will regret it for the rest of your days if you do."
Drew's anger left him as what Jeremy was saying sank in. He knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Understandable, perhaps, but terrible all the same. He hadn't even given her the chance to explain. He was so determined that he was right, that nothing else mattered. He knew he'd been an ass, as Jeremy had been kind enough to point out. He had hurt her deeply with his lack of faith. The question was, would she even be willing to listen to him now?
He cringed, remembering the look of horror, of fury, on her face at his accusations. He groaned, rubbing his forehead with one hand as he sank down onto the top step. “I already regret it."
"Then go to her. Tell her."
"I am not at all certain she will even receive me."
Jeremy sat down beside him. “She and Christina were going into town. Go. Now."
Drew sighed softly. “I hope you don't expect me to apologize."
"Not at all. I deserve a thrashing for what I did.” Jeremy gave him a sheepish smile. “And why are you wasting time sitting here? Go."
Drew didn't reply, but got to his feet and hurried around the house to the stables, where Samson was waiting.
* * * *
Brunswick's waterfront was bustling with activity. Heather's stomach twisted as she gazed up at the weathered gray building housing the home office of Eagleton Shipping. She turned to Christina. “Would you mind waiting here?"
"Not at all. Now go. Before your courage fails you."
Heather stepped down from the coach, out into the hot sun. Tightening the ribbons of her bonnet, she walked towards a door with a sign above it reading Eagleton Imports Office, in elegant gold letters.
The rain had done nothing to cool the air. If anything, it only added to the moisture already in it. She could feel the dampness on her face and it did nothing to ease the discomfort she already felt. Her stomach was still rolling about, the heat sapping every last bit of energy right out of her.
She opened the door to face a steep flight of narrow steps leading to the top floor of the warehouse. She mounted the steps slowly. As she drew nearer to the top, she could hear voices, but did not recognize any of them.
Another door awaited her at the top, propped open with a large gray rock. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the doorway and into the main office. Two men sat within the small, square room, one on either side of a small oak desk. They both looked up as she crossed the threshold, halting their conversation as she entered the room.
"May I help you?"
Heather knew at once she was speaking with Garrett Kennedy. The resemblance was striking, though Garrett was neither as tall nor as broad as Drew. He was just as handsome though, with his wavy black hair and cobalt eyes.
The other man, however, could only be described as breathtaking. He was not as tall as Garrett, nor was he as broad, but his features were so perfect that she couldn't help but stare for a long moment. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and his eyes were even darker. They reminded her of polished black opals, they were so dark. Both were looking at her now with a mixture of confusion and surprise, and Garrett repeated his question.
"Oh, yes. Of course. I apologize,” she began, the nervous kinks tightening in her stomach, threatening to cut off her air supply. She couldn't believe her own daring, being there without a chaperone. Still, desperate situations and all ... She took a deep breath. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I am looking for Drew Kennedy. Might he be here?"
Garrett smiled, a knowing look in his eyes as he rose from his chair to lean over the desk. “You must be Heather Spencer. Am I right?"
"Yes, I am.” She was surprised that he knew her name. “But how did you know?"
His dark blue eyes danced with the same mischief she had seen so many times in Drew's eyes. “My brother's spoken of you. It's a pleasure to meet you finally."
Drew had told him about her? She couldn't help but wonder just how much Drew had told him. Still, she returned his smile. “And you must be Garrett, then. Am I right?"
"The very same.” He turned to the man across from him. “Julian, Drew's told you about Miss Spencer, hasn't he?"
A glint of recognition shone in Julian's eyes. “Yes, I do believe he has.” He also got to his feet. “A pleasure, Miss Spencer."
"Miss Spencer, this is my brother-in-law, Julian McCallister,” Garrett told her. “I'm sure Drew must have mentioned us at some point."
"Of course he did. He spoke of his family quite often."
"Yes, well, I'm sorry to say that he is not here at the moment. I haven't seen him all morning, to be honest."
Disappointment swelled in her heart. She had been so certain she would find him here. She wanted to cry, but swallowed hard, forcing a smile to her lips. “Oh, well. Thank you, then. I'm terribly sorry to bother you."
"No. It's no bother at all. Is there a message I can give him for you?"
"No, thank you."
She turned to leave, only to have Garrett come around the desk and stop her by placing his hand on her arm. “Is everything all right, Miss Spencer?"
"Everything is fine, thank you.” She couldn't help but stare at him. He and Drew looked so much alike, it was uncanny. Up close, however, their differences became more pronounced. Garrett's eyes didn't dance with the light of the devil quite the same way. His were much more serious. His smile was the same though, and she felt a pang, wondering if she would ever see that wonderful smile aimed in her direction again.
"Are you certain? Julian, why don't you ride out to Shadowbrook and see if he is there?"
"Certainly.” Julian shrugged his broad shoulders. “I'll go straightaway, if you wish."
"No, please,” she laughed nervously, eyes darting from Garrett to Julian and back. “That is really not necessary. It's not important. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, please. My chaperone is waiting in this heat for me. In a rather stuffy carriage, no less."
Garrett released her then. “Of course, Miss Spencer. But I will be sure to tell him you came by. I should be seeing him later today."
"Thank you. I do appreciate it.” She moved back to the doorway and cast one last look at Garrett. “I thank you again."
He gave her a slow grin, reminding her so much of Drew that she felt that pang again. She swallowed the sadness rising in her throat as she gave him a small smile in return and left the office.
Returning to the coach, she found Christina fanning herself with a lacy blue fan. She lowered it as Heather climbed in beside her. “Well?"
She sighed, flopping into her seat and shaking
her head. “He was not there."
"Oh, damn.” Christina shook her head. “Well, I am sorry about that, Heather. But, we will track him down eventually. In the meantime, would you fancy a bit of refreshment?"
"I would love something. It's so hot, I am most parched."
Christina tapped on the carriage roof. “Croft's, please,” she called out to the driver.
Heather sank back into her seat, staring out the window. Her heart had never felt so heavy. The frustration was crushing. She had been so certain she would be able to see Drew, to finally be given the chance to explain what had actually happened with Jeremy.
She remained silent as they arrived at Croft's Café and Christina led her inside. It seemed they were not the only ones with the need for cool refreshment. Sunlight poured into the crowded café, dotted with a dozen white wrought iron tables with matching iron chairs around them. Over half of the tables were filled, but Christina brought her to one in the far corner.
"Let me fetch us lemonades,” she said, chuckling as Heather opened her mouth to protest. “Simply sit here and think cool thoughts. I will return in but a moment."
Heather couldn't help but smile. Since she'd arrived in America, Christina was rapidly becoming her best friend. She was a great comfort, as the loneliness seemed to pervade Heather's every waking moment. It had been a long time since she'd felt that sense of friendship, and she was grateful for Christina's generous spirit.
She faced the window, so she sat back in her chair, just watching the people pass before the glass with the words Croft's Café in thick black script lettered in its center. It was enjoyable, seeing the different shapes and sizes of the population of Brunswick. Her spine stiffened as Drew passed by the café, her heart lurching when he paused before it, as if debating whether or not to enter. She couldn't control the jumping in her stomach, or the fluttering of her heartbeat as she waited for the door to open and him to enter.
Her joy was brief though, for he was not alone. She felt tears sting her eyes when she saw the beautiful blonde woman sidle up to him and slip her arm through his.