by Karen M Cox
“Between you and Frank.”
“Mm-hmm.” She turned to pour herself a glass of tea, trying to end the conversation.
“At Jane’s expense?”
“It was nothing, George. Gee whiz, lighten up a little.”
He sat back, lost in his thoughts. Private jokes indicated some affection on Emma’s side. On the other hand, he couldn’t read Frank at all—the spoiled, double-dealing, frat boy! Nor could he understand Jane’s about-face from warm, shy flirting to cool, aloof exit in the space of a half hour. Should he say something? Pull an ‘Emma’ and interfere? Or simply let it play out?
Emma sipped her tea, gazing at Frank and Mary Jo laughing together. She wore a slightly dreamy smile, and George’s heart gave a painful lurch. He rubbed his hand across his chest. An intense wave of protectiveness washed over him, an older brother-like feeling, but more fierce, zealous…was it yearning? He loved Emma—obviously he loved her—but this was different. It felt new and raw. It made him want to punch Frank Weston. The thought of Emma being played, being hurt—was too much to bear in silence. He had to do what he could to warn her, to inform her to the best of his ability. He owed it to her after all—his brother’s sister-in-law, his former boss’s daughter, his own dear friend. His…?
“Emma Kate?”
“Yes?”
“Have you considered the possibility that there might be a thing between Jane and Frank?” he asked softly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you ever seen anything that would indicate to you that they had some sort of relationship besides a casual friendship?”
“Not for a moment,” was her brisk reply. “Jane’s engaged, after all, to Mike Dixon.”
“I know, but—”
“So why would you think such a thing? I know you don’t care much for Frank, but you always seemed to think highly of Jane.”
“I do.”
“Why would you question her loyalty to Mike?”
“Do you question it?”
Emma hid behind her glass, gave a little shrug, but no answer.
George brought his hand to his chest again, then lowered it. “I’ve thought…just recently…that perhaps I saw some…private glances, some interest between Jane and Frank…when they thought others weren’t looking.”
“Well, look who’s matchmaking now? How funny, after all the grief you’ve given me—and rightfully so, in some instances.” When he opened his mouth to contradict her, she laughed and poked him in the arm. “I’m teasing you. But no. Absolutely not. I don’t know what you saw to make you imagine such a thing, but I can assure you, it isn’t what you’re thinking. I know for a fact, that he…well, it’s hard to explain, but Frank isn’t interested in Jane. At all.”
She was so confident. She must know the inner workings of Frat Boy’s mind. George’s surge of protectiveness devolved into a wave of emotion more vehement and bitter—something that felt very much like jealousy.
“Hey, George! The rain stopped. How ’bout a game of badminton?” Bob called.
George gave Emma one last look. She smiled up at him, wide eyed and innocent…beautiful.
“Sure, I guess.” Before he could make an ass of himself, George gathered up his newfound envy and joined his affable neighbor in the back yard.
Thirty-Four
“Bob did what?” I asked, horrified.
“Well, what was he supposed to do? Edie spent thirty minutes complaining about how disappointed she was that her sister wasn’t going to make the trip up here from Georgia until the fall. She wanted to give them the full treatment: bourbon distillery tour, Churchill Downs, and hiking down at Cumberland Falls.” Nina fanned herself with a magazine. “Apparently, the brother-in-law is a big hiker.” Nina set the magazine on the coffee table and put a hand to her midriff. “Phew, my stomach’s off or something.” She took a sip of ice water.
At the Derby party, I mentioned to Bob that I’d never been to the Derby, never even been to Churchill Downs, and he told me he’d drive me up there during the summer. He had a client who knew someone on the board and could get us a special tour, complete with lunch and drinks. Now, I discovered that Bob had also invited Edie and Tim to go along. It turned into a nightmarish prospect, all because two particular people were added to the group. I felt sure Nina had mentioned my dislike of Edie to Bob, and yet he invited the two vipers anyway! There was nothing I could say without sounding mean-spirited and hurting Bob and Nina’s feelings; I was roped into going. Spending the day at Churchill Downs with Edie Bitti and her minion, Tim Elton. Yuck.
“Hi, my love.” Bob bent over the back of the couch and kissed Nina on the cheek. “What are you two discussing so intently?”
Nina patted his hand. “Nothing. Just the trip up to Churchill Downs.”
“Oh. I hope you don’t mind, Emma. I invited Edie and Tim to come along. I know it makes our party less cozy, but she was so disappointed about not going up there until the fall. It’s always so rainy that time of year. I couldn’t go and not take her too. Actually, I think I’m going to rent out a space, invite some more people, and kind of make a business event out of it. Kill two birds with one stone.”
I pasted a smile on my face. “Sounds…lively.”
“Lively is always better, isn’t it?” He patted Nina’s shoulder and got himself a beer out of the refrigerator. I nodded in outward agreement and seethed in private. Sometimes, Bob was so open-hearted, he had no discernment. Instead of a cozy outing, I was now just another guest at another business soiree of Bob’s.
The hee-haw of Edie’s laugh sounded from outside the front door, fanning the flames of my frustration.
Nina rose, slowly. “Looks like the Dynamic Duo is here.”
Edie was all left-handed compliments as usual, to Nina, to me, but saved her most dubious praise for Jane: “So very talented, such a waste she’s doing local theater when she could be someplace big, like Louisville.” For George, she was much more generous: “Such a handsome devil, and so suave, must be that old family gentility.” And most especially for Bob Weston: “I’m so excited about the Churchill Downs day trip! What a wonderful idea! I’ll learn all about the place, and then I can be an accomplished tour guide when my sister and brother-in-law are here. Ima has been to the Derby, of course, but her husband hasn’t, and what a time we’ll show him when he gets here, won’t we, Tim? I just can’t thank you enough, Mr. Weston… Why yes, I can call you Bob. We’re great friends, after all.”
“About the Downs, Edie—I called my friend, and the track has a closed event scheduled for next Saturday. We’ll have to move it to the third week in June.”
“Oh?” Edie deflated like a balloon and made a similar sound as air escaped her. “Oh, that’s a shame. I was really looking forward to going next week. Well, we’ll find something to do, I suppose.”
“If you’re looking for an outing, you could come to Donwell next weekend.”
My head whipped around, and George looked as if he wasn’t quite sure where those words had come from, but there they were, out in the open. So, with elegant composure, he smiled at the group and said, “Yes, the more I think on it, the more it sounds like a good idea. You should all come to Donwell Farm, tour the barns, eat the strawberries. We’re famous for our strawberries.”
“To Donwell Farm? Really?” Edie’s voice squeaked with excitement. “What a fabulous idea! Just fabulous. I’m so honored—well, we’re honored. Tim and me. Right, honey?”
Tim started to answer, but his reply was lost in Edie’s raptures. “It will be marvelous, just marvelous! We’ll do everything outside, so as not to tromp all over your house. Your mother won’t care?”
“I’m thirty years old. I think that’s old enough to throw a little party at my ancestral home without my mommy’s permission. Besides, Mother won’t be there,” George answered. “My parents are in Europe until July, when they will spend a week or two with Jack and Izzy and the kids down in Florida.”
“Well,
I can certainly help out since there’s no woman to guide you. Women are natural party designers. You can count on me! You’ll let me bring Jane Fairfax, won’t you? So, you said next weekend, do we want to have people over on Saturday or Sunday?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on which day. I want to check with some friends first—see which day will work best for them.”
“Oh, don’t worry about having enough people! I’ll bring some of my friends, and we’ll have a great time.”
“I hope you’ll bring Tim, of course, but you can leave the remainder of the guest list to me.”
She horsey-laughed. “I see right through you, George Knightley! But you don’t have to worry about my taste in friends. I’ll bring the best sort of people, only the best. Quality people, I promise you. Just leave it all to me, and you’ll have a party to remember.”
“No,” he said, calm but firm. “There’s only one woman who will arrange guest lists and party details at Donwell.”
“Oh. Your mother, of course.”
“When she is in residence, yes. But I was speaking of a younger Mrs. Knightley.”
Edie’s brow knit as she tried to figure out who he meant. “Isabel?”
George sat back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. “No. I’m speaking of Mrs. George Knightley. And until she exists, I’ll arrange my own parties, thank you.”
“Well, aren’t you droll? I’ll just bring Jane and Helen then, and Tim. You can decide on the rest. I know the Woodhouses will come, and the Westons, because you’re so fond of them.”
He nodded. “You’re absolutely right, and if I can talk John Woodhouse into coming, I most certainly will. And I’ll call Helen’s house tonight and invite her, along with Jane and Delores.”
“As you wish. A Knightley will always be used to having things his way.” She clapped her hands. “Oh, this is exciting! A day at Donwell! We should dine al fresco, don’t you think? Goodness, what am I going to wear? It has to be suitable for a day outside but still stylish enough for Donwell.”
“Wear what you like, but don’t worry about being outside all day. We’ll put the food inside, to keep it cool, and away from the six-legged creatures. So, eat strawberries, catch some sun, and then, when you’re ready for something more substantial, you can sit in the cool comfort of the house.”
“If you need anything, any help at all, you let me know. Promise?”
“Thank you, but I assure you it will all be taken care of.”
“What about parking? Will you have enough parking?”
George gave Edie a bland stare. “Of course.”
I hid a smile. It had been a while since I’d been to Donwell, but Edie had obviously never been there, if she had to ask such a question. George met my gaze and held it until I blushed and looked away. Fighting an uncharacteristic shyness, I forced myself to look him straight in the eye and announced, “I’m looking forward to this outing of yours, George. Donwell is beautiful this time of year.”
“Thank you.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “I hope you’ll come too, Mary Jo. I’d like for you to see Donwell.”
“I can check with Frank. Make sure he can be there,” Bob volunteered.
“Ah…um…yes, that would be…good, Bob.” George got up and crossed the room to meet me at the sideboard where I was pouring myself a glass of water.
He picked up a glass and held it out to me to fill for him. Then he leaned near and spoke in my ear. “I’ll put a buffet in the dining room because I want people to feel free to stay indoors if the weather’s too hot. I was thinking particularly of John. Do you think he’ll come? Even if Mom and Dad aren’t there?”
“I do. Because I’ll talk him into it. It’s kind of you to consider him, George. Not everybody would.”
“John is important to me. He is my parents’ good friend, and my first real boss. And he’s your father.” He searched her face. “So, he will always be welcome in my home, wherever that might be.”
Thirty-Five
June 5, 1976
The last time I had visited Donwell Farm was the Christmas party where Jack and Izzy had announced she was expecting Henry. To my shame, it had been that long ago. George was always stopping by the house on Hartfield Road, or the Randalls’ place if he saw I was there, and yet I hadn’t visited with him at his townhouse or his family home in a very long time. We were friends, close enough to not need formal invitations, but I was always so busy, with school, with Daddy, with my sillier activities. I hadn’t made time for him, even to check on how he was doing since his break up with Julianne. And that negligence had to change.
“I have such fond memories of Donwell.” Daddy’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I thought it might be a rather lonely place with Gary and Joanne being gone, but…” He leaned over to look out between Mary Jo and me, sitting in the front seats. “Today, it looks busy and happy. I’m glad I came with you.”
His words made me pay attention to the front grounds as we drove The Lane (and it was officially called “The Lane,” marked with a street sign and everything). Fruit orchards lay about the grounds to each side; the drive itself was lined with cedars, oaks, and maples in a way that suggested they’d been there forever. Closer to the house, the landscaping became more formal, well-trimmed boxwoods outlined the circular drive. In the center of that circle, now filled with parked cars, there was a carefully tended rose garden. The house itself looked as if it had grown there of its own volition over the generations. Our house on Hartfield Road was a two-story Georgian-style, almost antebellum-looking, with its tall Doric columns and porches on both floors. In contrast, Donwell Farms mansion was rambling and massive: rich, red brick with white trim and green shutters; long, generous windows and a decorative spire—much like the ones that adorned Churchill Downs. It was a stark reminder that George’s family wasn’t just rich or steeped in tradition, like my own—the Knightleys combined money, family, and tradition into a genteel sort of wealth that was becoming more and more rare. Jack Knightley had his faults, I mused, but they were minor in comparison to what he brought to the Woodhouse family. He was good to Izzy and the children, and he had generations of class and elegance behind him that would give Henry and Taylor, and any new Knightleys that might come along, a legacy to be proud of.
I pulled up in the circle and saw George Knightley, Esquire, Master of All He Surveyed, standing at the door, waiting for us. Butterflies floated from my stomach into my chest and up into my throat. What can I say? He was a compelling sight. I’d have to be blind not to notice. He wore khaki pants and a polo shirt in a sky-blue that I knew would bring out the blue in his eyes. I stopped the car and got out to get Daddy’s wheelchair from the trunk, and George pushed off the door frame, walking down the steps with a big smile.
I waved at him. “Good morrow, Professor! Don’t worry about our carriage here. I’ll move it as soon as I get Daddy inside.”
“Leave it, Emma Kate,” he said. “The others can drive around it, or I’ll get Benton to move it, if need be.” He lifted the wheelchair out of the trunk and expertly opened it.
“I brought the chair in case he got tired or wanted to explore the grounds some more. He’s been doing really well with the cane for short distances though.” I shut the trunk.
“Good thinking. Good morning, John.”
“Hello, my boy, hello. Beautiful day for a picnic. Perfect for young people to scamper around outside.”
“Indeed, it is.” George wheeled the chair to the open car door, where Mary Jo was helping Daddy stand. “Hello, Mary Jo, how are you this fine morning?”
“I’m well, Mr. Knightley, thank you.”
“Oh, we’re not at the office today. I think you can call me George, won’t you please?”
“Of—of course.” She blushed. “You have a lovely home. George.”
“Thank you. Let’s go in this way.” He led them around to the side entrance and muscled the wheelchair up and over the lower door t
hreshold. “Almost everyone is here. They’re out in the back yard, walking toward the strawberry patch. Except for Nina. She’s on the veranda. I’ve got a place set up for you there too, John, or you can go inside, if you’d rather.”
“I’ll sit with my sister-in-law. We can catch up. I don’t get to see Nina nearly as much as I used to when the girls were smaller. Before she married.”
“Good enough,” George said.
Nina was relaxing in a chaise lounge, eyes closed, a glass of lemonade in her hand.
“I’ve brought you some company,” I announced.
Nina’s eyes opened, and she smiled. “Hello, my lovelies! I thought you might be Frank. He hasn’t made an appearance yet. Makes me worry a little.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s fine.” George locked John’s wheels while I helped him into a deck chair.
“It’s that sports car of his. I don’t think it’s very reliable.”
“Every young man thinks he needs a sports car, right, George?” I asked. “If I remember, you had one yourself once upon a time.”
“I did, and I may again, at some point. You never know.”
“Men do love their playthings,” I joked.
“Frank worries me though.” Nina sat up on the side of her chaise. “He drives too fast sometimes.”
“Maybe something held him up. How’s his grandmother doing?”
“Up and down, he says. She’s at home now. The rehab hospital discharged her with home health services. That could be why he’s late, I guess. His mother seems to call him most every day now with some complaint or other. I think she wants him to go back to Alabama.”
I poured my father some lemonade from the pitcher left on the table.
“Do you think I should have all this sugar, Emma?” he asked in an anxious voice.
I squatted down so I was eye level with him. “Here’s what I think. I’ll bet this lemonade is made with wholesome ingredients, because nothing but the best would be served at Donwell, right, George?”