“A glass of wine might be in order here,” Emma admitted, her voice sounding small and intimidated.
“Of course,” Brogan said, then meeting her eyes asked, “You okay?”
She nodded. “I think so. I mean, it’s a bit overwhelming, but books soothe me. As long as I focus on them and not the idea that one family owns all of this, I might be all right.”
Brogan nodded. “Good plan. You’ve got this, but remember, one tug of the ear, and I’ll be right there.”
Emma smiled sweetly. “Have I told you in the last ten minutes that you’re the best?”
“No, but you can make up for that when I return with your wine,” Brogan said, then walked quickly away before any of the butterflies in her stomach had the chance to take flight.
The bartender glanced up as she approached, a benign smile plastered on her otherwise inexpressive face until a flash of recognition caused her eyes to widen the same way Ali’s had. Brogan only had a second to note how sad their shock was. It probably spoke to the complete unlikelihood of social mobility, but before she had a chance to say anything, the woman looked past her to Emma, and her smile grew exponentially.
“Are you here with Emma Volant?”
“Hi to you, too, Tabby.”
“Sorry,” Tabby said, without actually appearing to be. “I mean, totally not my place, please don’t report me or anything.”
Brogan shook her head frantically. “Of course not. You know I’d never . . .”
“I don’t know nothing about you if you come to upper-crust fundraisers with world-famous millionaires. That’s not social climbing. It’s like feckin’ pole vaulting,” she whispered, then shook her head. “And now I’ve gone and said ‘feck’ at work.”
“Calm down,” Brogan commanded, not wanting to draw any attention to them, for both their sakes. “She’s just a friend.”
“Maybe you should work on that,” Tabby said more quietly. “She’s loaded.”
The tightness in her stomach ratcheted up another level. She’d never seen Emma that way. Not that she didn’t know there was a massive class difference between them. She was aware of that every moment Emma’s lips weren’t on her mind, but she’d never once considered Emma a possible ticket up or out of her current tax bracket. She never gave much thought to her net worth at all. When she thought of Emma outclassing her, she didn’t mean financially. She meant in elegance, grace, poise, worldliness, and a million of the other intangible qualities that made her so appealing. She was beautiful and brave, where Brogan thought of herself as mostly bland. Maybe that’s why she’d fallen into the ground-shaking kiss in the car. Emma hadn’t made her feel boring. She made her feel strong and seen and needed, but no amount of reconceptualizing her sense of self could balance out their bank accounts. Then again, she wasn’t sure even that reminder would’ve been powerful enough to inspire any restraint.
In those moments she’d forgotten her place. Hell, she’d forgotten her name. The only thing she’d known right then was Emma, and the only thing she’d wanted was more. She’d burned for her in ways she’d never burned for anyone. And no matter how much she tried to regain her composure since then, if Emma so much as inclined her head to her, she’d fall again.
The thought terrified her. She’d never had any trouble backing away. She’d made a life of never wanting what she couldn’t have, and the way Emma had been ripped apart by her own emotions after the kiss only showcased, in heart-wrenching detail, that Brogan couldn’t have her.
Not really.
She could’ve pushed for more during the kiss. She could probably push for more tonight, but a series of stolen moments on the side of the road to somewhere else was all Emma had to offer. She couldn’t have made it any clearer as she practically choked on the words, “I’m not ready.” Emma was in transition. She wasn’t where she was a month ago, and she wasn’t where she was going, either.
“Hey, you okay?” Tabby asked.
“Yeah,” Brogan whispered.
“Sure? ’Cause you sort of seem like you could use a drink.”
“Yeah,” she repeated, remembering what she’d come over for. “Two glasses of wine.”
“What kind?”
“Um.” She didn’t know. “How about one white and one red?”
Tabby chuckled. “Never mind. You’re the same Brogan as always.”
She sighed at the truth of the statement, then turned back to watch Emma as Tabby grabbed two bottles and a corkscrew.
An older man had approached Emma, and she smiled at something he’d said, then gestured to her book. His expression brightened, his bushy, gray eyebrows rising into shaggy hair of the same color. She was clearly regaling him with some story about her work. Brogan remembered what it felt like to be given a little peek into Emma’s world. She was mesmerizing as she spoke about the things that inspired her.
She was mesmerizing a lot, actually. Despite all of her talk about being socially awkward, no one in this room would ever doubt her place in it. She more than fit here in this light, surrounded by books and artists, in that dress; she flourished. And she was emerging from the cocoon she’d used to protect and heal herself. If Emma had gone from the woman who’d sobbed at their first meeting to the woman standing before her now in such a short time, where would she be two months from now?
As if to answer the question, Lady Victoria materialized out of the corner of Brogan’s vision and headed straight for Emma. Instead of pulling back, Emma’s face lit up with recognition. The older gentleman clearly got the message and excused himself as their host closed in.
Everything Brogan had observed in Emma over the last few months told her Emma was happy to see Lady Victoria. From the relaxed set of her shoulders to the genuine smile across her lips, the expression was more than mirrored as Lady Victoria leaned in to kiss her quickly on both cheeks. The move was a little too European for Brogan’s taste, but she didn’t doubt the glowing regard Lady Victoria exuded was sincere in this case, and when she stepped back, she didn’t exactly reestablish a polite distance. Brogan couldn’t hear what they said to one another, but they stood close enough to say it in a whisper. Then, as she laughed at something Emma said, Lady Victoria placed her hand on the bare skin of her upper arm. Emma made no move to shake off the touch.
The subtle sign of interest made a small muscle in Brogan’s jaw twitch. Then she silently cursed the involuntary response. She wasn’t jealous, or maybe she was, but the emotion made her feel stupid. She had no right. She had no desire to play this part. She refused to see the heiress of a duke as a competitor. She wasn’t trying to win Emma and, even if she were, she’d be an idiot to go up against a beautiful, rich, literal noblewoman. Just looking at them made her heart hurt on multiple levels. Even she couldn’t imagine a more fairy-tale pairing. American ingenuity meets British aristocracy in one classy package with two blond bows on top.
She briefly considered slipping out a side door and leaving them to their happily-ever-after when Emma met her eyes. Her smile turned a little shy again, and she nodded for Brogan to join her. Like a puppy eager to please, she acquiesced to the subtle call.
“Hello,” Lady Victoria said, and extended her hand.
Brogan noticed that she didn’t get a cheek kiss, not that she’d have welcomed one, but the contrast was clear as she shook her hand.
“Victoria, this is Brogan McKay. I wouldn’t be here without her. I might not be anywhere without her right now.”
“Then I’m greatly indebted to you.” Victoria’s smile was warm as it encompassed them both.
“She has a flare for the dramatic.” Brogan brushed off the compliment.
“Only in fiction,” Emma said.
“Either way, it works well,” Victoria said.
Brogan raised one wine glass in salute, then looked at the other, before shrugging. “And it looks like I have a drinking problem here, but one of these is for you, Emma.”
“Which one?”
“Whichever you prefer. O
r try them both if you like.”
“Maybe a sip of each?” Emma asked, taking the white first.
“A woman who shares all the wine is my favorite kind of partygoer,” Lady Victoria mused. “And is that a hint of Geordie I hear with a touch of Irish in your accent?”
“Good ear, Your Ladyship.”
Victoria’s face flushed crimson. “Please, call me Victoria, or better yet, Vic. The trappings of titles are pretentious enough in their formal capacities. I can’t stomach them at all among friends.”
Friends. Brogan doubted the word extended to her so much as to Emma, but she appreciated the grace of the gesture. She accepted the white wine back and passed Emma the red, watching her expression closely to see which one she enjoyed more, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Victoria watching her. Was she noticing the same sort of cues Brogan had observed moments earlier?
“This one.” Emma curled the glass a little closer to her chest. “You’re not getting this one back.”
Both Brogan and Victoria laughed, then Victoria said, “I’m sorry. I feel gauche admitting this, but you seem so familiar to me. I know we’ve crossed paths before, but I cannot place you.”
“I’m sure you have that happen a lot with all the events you host.” Brogan sidestepped the question she hadn’t quite been asked.
“Did you go to Cheltenham?”
Brogan fought back a bitter laugh at the name of one of England’s most elite girls’ schools.
“Or do you shoot?” Victoria asked, then turning to Emma, explained, “My sister shoots. I hardly compare, but sometimes her friends let me tag along out of sympathy.”
Brogan shook her head. “I don’t shoot.”
“She sails,” Emma offered. “Maybe you two met through that.”
“Could be,” Victoria said, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to mentally flip through some internal Rolodex of memories. “Wait, were you at Princess Sasha’s wedding to Kerry Donovan?”
“No,” Brogan said flatly, hoping the flush rising in her core wasn’t yet visible around her neck or ears. She was going to have to put a stop to this guessing game eventually.
Victoria frowned. “I thought I had it there. Seems like I remember you from a party of some sort.”
“You do.” She hoped she managed a tight smile instead of a grimace. “I’m one of your bartenders.”
“Excuse me?”
Brogan nodded toward Tabby standing in the corner pouring wine for other guests. “I did that job several times over the last few years. Your thirtieth birthday, your sister’s engagement announcement, two Christmas parties for your house staff, and um, your hen party.”
Victoria’s bright eyes clouded, and suddenly Brogan wasn’t the only one blushing. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember.”
“Don’t be,” Brogan said quickly. “It’s not a regular thing for me, just a way to make a little extra money, mostly in the winter when the tourist traffic dries up in Amberwick.”
There was a beat of silence as all three of them stared at each other. It stretched as Brogan’s mind began to run away with possibilities of what Emma must be thinking. Or what Victoria must assume about her now that she knew Brogan’s rightful place was serving the two of them, not conversing.
“Amberwick is a truly beautiful village,” Lady Victoria finally said. “Are you from there originally?”
Brogan nodded. “Yes, born and raised.”
“You met her wonderful niece at the school the day we met,” Emma interjected. “Remember, she was the redhead who showed us around the various book projects?”
Victoria’s smile softened. “I do remember. I adored her. She’s like an adult trapped in a ten-year-old’s body.”
The astute observation made it harder for Brogan to hold onto all of her resentment. “That’s Reggie.”
“And Emma said you sail?”
“I do. Not competitively, though.”
“Her family gives the puffin tours,” Emma said, a hint of excitement in her voice.
“That’s one of the small businesses we featured in our tourist initiatives last year,” Victoria said. “I meant to get down there to take a tour myself but never got the chance.”
“And her brother works here at the castle,” Emma said, as if she enjoyed this game of pretending they had meaningful connections when they didn’t. Or maybe Emma was embarrassed to be here with the bartender and was trying to use Brogan’s family to bolster her social cachet. The thought made her stomach hurt. Emma turned to her. “Which brother works in the office here?”
“Archie,” Brogan said. “He’s in your land management department.”
“I’ll have to keep an eye out for him,” Victoria said. “I’ve mostly had my hand in local real estate, but as my father moves closer to retirement, I suspect the land management will fall to me, and I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“I’m sure he’d be happy to offer his advice,” Brogan admitted with a little chuckle. “He’s always given plenty of it to me, whether I particularly wanted to hear it or not.”
Victoria laughed a little harder than the comment warranted. “Sounds like my sister.”
“The one with the guns?” Emma asked.
“The same. And don’t think for a minute she isn’t afraid to remind you of her crack-shot abilities while telling you how you ought to live your life.”
“Why am I feeling better about my only-child status?” Emma asked, and they were all back on steady footing again, three women talking about their families and their jobs. Only, two of them were millionaires, and this time it would take a lot more than social graces to help Brogan forget that fact.
Still, she was here for Emma, who for some reason seemed interested in keeping her around. Emma tugged on her sleeve to pull her along as Victoria gave them an abbreviated tour of some nearby state rooms, and asked Brogan’s opinion on things she had no right to give them on, like history and art, and when they returned to the party, Emma introduced her as her dear friend when Victoria made introductions to the other local artists in attendance.
She probably should have been grateful for the many votes of confidence. It was almost as if Emma didn’t realize she should feel awkward about being here with her. Maybe it was her American concept of social class, or maybe she simply wasn’t one to put on airs. Or maybe she had enough money and power in her own right, so she didn’t ever have to feel insecure about the company she kept. The last option did please Brogan in some perverse way. As much as she didn’t want to be Emma’s version of slumming it, she liked the idea of Emma having enough self-confidence to blaze her own trail, even if that trail led right into the uppermost echelons of British society.
That thought was interrupted by Lady Victoria looking up as the lights of the large chandelier flipped on. “It appears day has turned to night while I’ve been chatting your ears off. I think time might have got away from me.”
“I think we may have monopolized you all evening,” Emma said abashedly. “I’m sorry.”
“Not at all.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You two are by far the most interesting people I’ve talked to in weeks.”
Brogan noted that she’d included her in the comment clearly meant for Emma. She had to hand it to Victoria. She wasn’t as prudish or pretentious as Brogan might have liked. At least if Victoria had turned up her nose at her, it would’ve given her a compelling reason to dislike her in return.
“I do worry I’m expected to mingle more, but I’d hoped to give you a tour of the grounds before night fell completely.”
“Don’t be silly,” Emma said. “You can’t leave your own party.”
Brogan suspected a person who had a castle with grounds and gardens to tour could probably do whatever she damned well pleased, but instead of defiance, Victoria responded with resignation.
“You’re right. I have some responsibilities I’ve probably neglected too long,” she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. “But I did
promise you a real tour, and despite what some people may say, I work hard to keep my promises.”
“I believe you,” Emma said sincerely, and grudgingly, Brogan did, too.
“Then you’ll have to come back,” Victoria said resolutely, then turning to include Brogan, added, “both of you, sometime when I don’t have any other responsibilities, and we can all be less formal.”
“I’d love that,” Emma said.
“How does next week work for you?”
“Wow, next week? I suppose. I don’t have anything set in stone, but”— she turned to Brogan— “I can’t speak for you. Maybe we should check calendars.”
“That sounds entirely too stuffy,” Victoria pushed. “No need to confer with social secretaries. You tell me what works for you, and I’ll make it work for me.”
Emma blushed a little. “I guess I could do Thursday or Friday during the afternoon.”
“What about you, Brogan?”
She shook her head slightly, still reeling from how easily Victoria had commanded an audience, and how quickly Emma’d accepted. “Actually, this is my busy season. I’d have a hard time getting away any time soon.”
“Surely we can steal a few hours of your time.” Victoria nudged her.
It was a nice touch, but she’d had her fill of playing buffer or chaperone, and the sooner she let whatever was happening here happen, the sooner she’d be free to move on. Her stomach gave another queasy flip, but she stood her ground. “I wish I could, but I’ve seen the grounds plenty of times. My youngest brother has actually been doing your landscaping lately, so why don’t you two do this one without me, and I’ll take a rain check. I could probably get away long enough to drive Emma up Friday afternoon, but that’s about all.”
Victoria took the out. “I can arrange a car. Say, one o’clock Friday afternoon? Emma?”
Emma frowned slightly, and her eyes swept over Brogan with a hint of sadness she hadn’t seen there in a few weeks, but before Brogan had a chance to second-guess her decision, Emma nodded. “I guess I can’t think of anything stopping me.”
“Good,” Victoria said. “It’s settled.”
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