Using your hands, cut butter pieces into the flour mixture until it resembles a coarse meal (may also use a pastry cutter.)
Mix beaten egg and milk together in a small bowl.
Make a small well in the butter-flour mixture and add the egg-milk mixture. Stir gently, just until moist. Do not overmix.
Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead just until the dough holds together. Pat dough (don’t roll with a pin) into a circle, about one-inch thick. Cut into 8 triangles and place on the baking sheet. (An alternative is to cut the dough with a 2-inch biscuit cutter.)
Brush the scones with egg-water mixture (optional) prior to baking.
Bake for 15 minutes or until golden brown.
Serve scones with clotted cream and fresh strawberry jam, marmalade or another jam of your choice.
Three
“Oh, Alexandra...it’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Dark-haired and green-eyed, Olivia Frost stood in front of a full-length mirror in the main-floor room she’d set aside for Alexandra to work. It was at the back of the house with one of the fireplaces on the center chimney, which was unlit now lest smoke or ash get near the dresses. She and Alexandra had met briefly in the spring, then again that fall—apparently also the trip during which her fiancé, Dylan, and Ian had become friends.
The dress was as approachable and natural as Olivia herself, a design that Alexandra had been cautiously optimistic would turn out well. Now she knew for certain it had, and she loved it. Its softly draping silk satin was well-suited to a winter wedding, without weighing down the dress. The scoop neck and three-quarter-length sleeves, gathered at the shoulder, worked beautifully on Olivia’s slender frame. There was no train. Instead, Alexandra had designed a crystal-and-pearl headdress that coordinated with the narrow edging that decorated the bodice of the dress.
Designing the dress had been engaging and fun, and it had helped that Olivia had known what she wanted without being restrictive. They’d been a good match, but Alexandra knew Olivia hadn’t asked her to design her dress because she was an up-and-coming independent designer but because she was, as Olivia put it, family.
And that, Alexandra thought, made the entire project all the more special.
“A few nips and tucks and you’ll be good to go,” she said. “The dress needs very little additional work.”
Olivia turned from the mirror with a smile. “Then you’ll have time to enjoy Knights Bridge.”
“I will, but you and Dylan don’t need to worry about me. You’ve plenty to do for the wedding.”
“Ian mentioned he wants to go ice-skating. The weather’s perfect for it. Not too cold, no rain.” Olivia glanced in the mirror again. “How well do you know Ian?”
Alexandra tried not to make a face. Ice-skating? Ian? It was either an outright lie or something else she didn’t know about him. “His family lives in the same village I do. He isn’t around much.”
“Not right now, but he will be when he leaves the air force.”
“That won’t be until years from now.”
“It won’t? I thought Dylan said he was quitting, going home to run the family pub or something.”
“Ian?”
“That’s right. His choice, he said.” Olivia turned sideways, catching her reflection from another angle. She sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this pretty.”
Alexandra couldn’t believe Ian’s latest tale. Leaving the air force? Chucking life as a fighter pilot? His choice? Not a chance. Dylan was either mistaken or Ian was lying—although Alexandra couldn’t imagine Ian lying about the RAF. About her, yes, but never about his work. Maybe it had been wishful thinking on his part, a momentary lapse as he’d considered pouring pints and being back home with his family and old friends.
Alexandra pushed aside her questions. She had no answers.
She needed no answers.
She eyed Olivia’s reflection in the mirror. The dress really was in great shape, and Olivia looked radiant. “The bridesmaids’ dresses will need more work since your bridesmaids haven’t had a chance to try them on, but I’ll have them ready without any problem.”
There were three bridesmaids: Olivia’s sister Jessica and two friends, Maggie—whom Alexandra had met fussing in the kitchen—and her sister Phoebe, Noah Kendrick’s new love and the former town librarian. The flowing natural green silk satin Olivia had chosen for her bridesmaids coordinated beautifully with her dress, as well as with the season and the classic New England venue.
So much easier, Alexandra thought, to focus on her work than on Ian and his presence in Knights Bridge. She was in her element here with her dressmaking supplies and a happy, slightly nervous bride-to-be. She knew who she was and what she had to do, and she knew she could do it. With Wing Commander Mabry...none of that was true.
“Maggie, Phoebe and Jess can be here first thing in the morning,” Olivia said as she slipped out of the dress. “Will that work for you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks. Dylan and I are working out some last-minute details this afternoon. Maggie says you and Ian can make scones. It’s killing her that hers didn’t come out.”
Alexandra laughed. “Let’s just say I would trust Ian to fly us anywhere in the world, but to accurately copy his grandmother’s recipe for scones?”
“I see your point,” Olivia said, laughing, too.
She helped Alexandra hang the dress and ease it safely back under its protective wrapping. The finishing touches could wait for a bit, Alexandra decided as she followed Olivia into the kitchen. Ian was there, putting on his jacket. Maggie, wearing a clean apron, was giving him directions to Rivendell, the assisted-living facility where Grace Webster lived. Ian had volunteered to deliver a tin of Christmas cookies Maggie had made—his grandmother’s scones not included.
He lifted the snowman-decorated tin. “Join me, Alex?”
She glanced at Olivia, who waved a hand. “Please, feel free to go with Ian. Dylan and I have wondered if it might be best for you to meet Grace on your own, then for all of us to go together. Give her a chance to...” She took a breath and smiled. “You favor your great-grandfather, Alexandra.”
Alexandra could see that meeting her with Dylan might be overwhelming for a frail woman in her nineties. Best to give Grace a chance to adjust—even if it meant going with Ian.
Maggie pulled a mixing bowl off a shelf below the kitchen island. “I’m meeting my husband and sons to go ice-skating this afternoon, before it gets dark. Why don’t you two join us? We’ve got skates galore at the house.”
“I don’t know how to ice-skate,” Alexandra said.
Ian reached for her coat. In her shock at seeing him, she’d left it on the back of a chair. “I’ll help you,” he said.
At first she was positive only she noticed the sultriness in his voice, but as he held her coat for her and she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she caught Maggie and Olivia—friends since childhood—exchange a knowing look. Neither woman said anything, and in another moment, Ian had the door open and Alexandra was on her way with him to Rivendell to meet her great-grandfather’s last love.
* * *
Ian, of course, had no difficulty driving on the right or managing the twisting, wintry roads of Knights Bridge. He did wear sunglasses against the bright sun glistening on the snowy landscape. He was awfully sexy in sunglasses, Alexandra thought uncomfortably as he parked at Rivendell, located on a ridge with a view in the distance of what she took to be the Quabbin Reservoir. She tried to imagine Grace Webster learning that her town would be wiped off the map in order to create a source of drinking water for growing metropolitan Boston to the east. The reservoir was a stunning sight now, and as she got out of the car, Alexandra imagined her great-grandfather stumbling into the scenic Swift River Valley all those years ago. He’d been
injured, frightened, grieving and angry. Such a cauldron of emotions. Then to meet a young woman losing her home and everything she knew...hiding herself away in a cabin doomed to demolition...
Alexandra bit back tears but noticed Ian said nothing as they went inside. The staff at Rivendell were expecting them and directed them to a sunroom with tall windows overlooking an array of bird feeders. Chickadees fluttered at several of the feeders. Grace Webster sat in a rocking chair with a set of binoculars on her lap. White-haired and clearly advanced in years, she looked up at Alexandra with an alertness and incisiveness that must have been honed during her decades as a high school teacher.
Ian started to introduce them, but Grace’s breath caught. “Alexandra. Dylan’s told me about you. You look so much like your great-grandfather. Oh, my. I wasn’t expecting that. Welcome to Knights Bridge. I’m so glad to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” Alexandra said.
“Grace. Please, call me Grace.”
Alexandra smiled. She motioned to Ian, but before she could speak, he introduced himself. “I’m Wing Commander Ian Mabry, ma’am. I’m with—”
“You’re with the Royal Air Force?”
“I am, yes. I’ll leave you and Alexandra to talk, but if you’ll allow me, I have something for you.” He withdrew an envelope from inside his jacket and opened it. “Miss Webster, I’m honored to present to you this photograph of Philip Rankin. It was taken as he left on his final mission.”
He handed Grace the unframed photograph. Alexandra saw that it was in black-and-white, faded and cracked slightly on one corner. The original, obviously.
“My thanks, ma’am,” Ian added, “for his service and sacrifice, and for yours.”
Grace touched her fingertips to the image of the man she’d loved and lost so long ago. “I never saw him in his RAF uniform,” she whispered. “It seems like yesterday that he was here...” She trailed off and looked up at Ian. “Thank you.”
Alexandra was speechless, fighting tears. “I’ve never seen that photograph. Where did you get it?”
“It was discovered recently in the RAF archives,” Ian said simply.
She didn’t press for more details as Grace gazed at the handsome man in the photograph. “My dear Philip was something, wasn’t he?”
“He certainly was,” Alexandra said.
“I thought of him as my swashbuckler. There was so much going on when we met. I’d created my hideaway—my refuge from all the turmoil. My family was one of the last to leave our home in the valley. I can still smell the fires from burning trees, brush, rubble. I can see the coffins of the graves being moved.” She paused, as if the memories were sweeping over her. “We endured one of the worst hurricanes of the century. I was caught in it, but I took shelter in my hideaway cabin. Philip and I...” She touched her fingertips to the photograph again. “We survived. He was more aware than I was of Hitler and the horrors he was unleashing on the world.”
“It’s a gift that you and my great-grandfather found each other that summer.”
“Ah, yes. One day, here was this handsome, wounded English fighter pilot, on the run after reclaiming jewels meant for his daughter.” Grace sighed, looking up from the photograph. “Perhaps we would have done things differently if we had known what was ahead with the war, but we didn’t know.”
“You loved each other,” Alexandra said.
The old woman nodded. “With all our hearts.” Her voice was barely audible. “I’ve no doubts and no regrets on that account. I wish I had been able to see him off to war.”
“He was a brilliant fighter pilot,” Ian said. He sat next to Grace and pointed at the bird feeders. “What birds do you see this time of year?”
Grace rallied to the change of subject. “Chickadees, juncos, blue jays. It’s a constant battle to keep out the squirrels.”
She went on about the various birds in the area, and Ian listened with what even Alexandra took to be genuine interest. Finally, he excused himself to give her and Alexandra a chance to talk. He stood and looked at Alexandra. “When she can manage it, check the back of the photograph,” he said in a low voice, then withdrew from the sunroom.
Alexandra sat next to Grace, who scrutinized her with the wisdom of her near-century of life. “This photograph was a surprise for you, too, wasn’t it, Alexandra?”
“Yes, it was. A good surprise, though.”
“Is Ian a family friend?”
“Of a sort.”
“Ah. I see.” Grace settled back into her chair cushions. “I wish Philip and I had had more time together, but I treasure the time we did have. I know that our love for each other was real and lasting. I’ve had a good life.” She held up the photograph. “Shall we have a look?” She winked. “I heard what Ian said. My hearing is quite good, especially when I have fresh batteries in my hearing aids.”
She turned over the photograph and placed it on the arm of her rocking chair so that Alexandra could see. The handwriting on the back was faded but clearly legible.
To my dearest Grace, with all my love, Philip
Grace’s eyes filled with tears. She sniffled even as she smiled. “Now we know why this picture sat in a file all these years. His fellow airmen must have wondered who Grace was.”
“They’d have been happy he’d found new love before he went off to war.”
“Finding this picture and bringing it here to me was a decent thing Wing Commander Mabry did. Will he be at the wedding?”
“I know he’s been invited,” Alexandra said, careful to keep any bite out of her voice. “I’ve been concentrating on finishing the dresses.”
“They must be beautiful. I know I’m a member of the groom’s family and you can’t give away too many details, but can you give me a hint of what they’re like?”
Alexandra laughed, delighted that Grace considered herself part of Dylan’s family—which she most definitely was. She was his grandmother. “In actuality, I’m a member of the groom’s family, too, but I’m exempt from any blackouts since I’m making the dresses. It’s such a privilege, and I’m having a grand time. Olivia is a joy to work with.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, but Grace was visibly tiring. Alexandra left her to her bird-watching and the photograph of the love of her life and found Ian standing outside the front entrance.
“That was very sweet,” she said, “but you could have warned me.”
“I could also have gone alone.”
She decided not to argue. “Does Dylan know?”
Ian shook his head. “Philip intended that photograph for Grace. His duties and his death in combat prevented him from getting it to her. He expected to return from his last mission.”
“You fighter pilots always expect to return, don’t you?”
His eyes connected with hers. “That’s right.”
Alexandra glanced back at Rivendell, felt the dry cold air on her face. “I’m glad you’ve returned from every mission, Ian.” She shifted back to him. “Just because we have our issues doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your service.”
“Well, thank you, Alexandra.”
She didn’t know if he was being flip and sarcastic and didn’t ask him. Instead, once they were back in the car and on their way, she focused on his mission in Knights Bridge. “You told my grandmother about the photo, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I had to for multiple reasons. Philip was her father—”
“I know that.”
She thought he might have ground his teeth but wasn’t positive. “I asked your grandmother not to say anything to you, but I accepted that she might.”
“She didn’t. She likes to tell me that as much as I’m like her father, I share her mother’s stubborn pride. I’ve no doubt that played into her reasoning.” Alexandra sighed, feeling the f
ight go out of her. “It’s hard to be angry after seeing Grace, though. To think of what might have been if war and tragedy hadn’t had their way.”
“We’re lucky, you and I.”
“Because you haven’t been shot down?”
Ian wrinkled up his face, then grinned at her. “You can be mercilessly blunt for a woman who sews such pretty dresses, but that’s one way of putting it.” He navigated a sharp curve in the narrow road. “Now, can you manage ice-skating clothes?”
“Ice-skating clothes?”
“It’s Christmas in New England. Ice-skating, hot cocoa—doesn’t it sound like a good time?”
“I brought clothes for a quick trek on cross-country skis.”
“They’ll do,” he said.
“And you? Tell me I’m going to see you in ice-skating clothes, Ian.”
“Think ice hockey, Alex, not ice dancing.”
They stopped at Carriage Hill. Maggie and Olivia had left, and Alexandra, quite certain she was mad, dashed upstairs and changed into warm leggings, a fleece top and wool socks. She had cashmere-lined leather gloves that would have to suffice, and a cashmere hat that she would prefer remain on her head and not blow off into the snow. No scarf. She couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t packed one and decided it must have been when she was cursing Ian Mabry to the nines.
He disapproved. “You’ll freeze to death,” he told her when she met him in the hall outside her room. He ducked into his own room, emerging with a sweater that he pulled over her head. It hung just past her hips but felt incredibly cozy and warm. He had a scarf, too, that smelled of his cologne when he put it around her neck.
“There’s a country store in the village if you need anything else,” he said. “It won’t be a fashionable Alexandra Rankin Hunt design, but it’ll be solid.”
“Solid works anytime, but especially in the cold.”
Alexandra followed him downstairs, and they were off again, Ian driving. They stopped at Maggie’s house, a pretty “gingerbread” Gothic Revival in the village. She had set skates on the front steps with a note for Ian and Alexandra to join them on the skating rink. They walked to the green, laughter leading them to the man-made outdoor rink. Maggie and her husband, Brandon, were skating with their two young sons. Alexandra was surprised but pleased to see Dylan and Olivia there, taking a break from wedding preparations as they skated arm in arm. Dylan was smooth and confident on the ice, his years as a professional hockey player evident in every stride, but he didn’t show off. He swooped over to Alexandra and greeted her as if she were a sister in from England, and she responded in kind.
Christmas at Carriage Hill Page 3