by Kimberly Nee
Emma made her way down the wide, sweeping staircase to the first floor. The breeze made the air comfortable, but the sweet tang of boiling sugar made her wrinkle her nose. That first sniff was enough to transport her back to when she was a little girl and came to Windemere for the first time.
When he lived, her grandfather, Baron Windemere, terrified Emma to no end. Although he was dead, she half-expected to hear the dull thud of his cane as he stumped toward her in order to scold her for running after her brothers.
The drawing room was at the back of the house, where the heavy fronds of palm trees offered shade from the afternoon sun. Unlike the parlor at Stonebridge, this room was nearly all glass, lined with doors that were thrown open to allow the ocean winds to cool as much as the shade did.
The tea service stood on the rosewood table in front of the sofa along with the tray of pastries. Emma fixed herself a cup and picked up a small tart to nibble. Windemere was quiet compared to Stonebridge. She never knew silence could be so loud. Her thoughts were like shouts inside her head, growing louder as they grew more troubled.
Chapter Twenty-Two
NOT ONLY DID SHE not see Julian for the rest of the day, she didn’t see him until the following night. And even then, it was only briefly. He took his meals in his office. He slept on the sofa in his office and left word that he was not to be disturbed at all. According to Mr. Holland, who didn’t look at all pleased to be sent as a messenger, Julian was combing over the ledgers for the last year and planned to stay behind locked doors until he had the matter resolved.
Which left Emma with much time on her hands and little to occupy it.
For the next two weeks, she saw Julian only a handful of times, and each of those times were too short for any sort of meaningful conversation. He didn’t come to bed until long after she went to sleep—or she assumed he came to bed after she drifted off—and by morning he was long gone, once again ensconced in his office.
At the beginning of the third week, she stared at the closed office door. Enough was enough. He couldn’t avoid her forever. Squaring her shoulders, she rapped firmly.
“Enter.”
The handle turned easily and she pushed open the door to find him sprawled on the sofa, pages littered in a semi-circle on the floor at his feet. “Julian, I’d—”
“Now’s not a good time, Em,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his forehead with one hand. “These books are a mess. What the hell has Holland been doing for the last two years?”
“When will be a good time to schedule a meet with you, Mr. McCallister?” She kept her voice cold and stiff, which was the only way she could keep the hurt from creeping into it. “Sometime before the end of the year, I should hope?”
The hand that had been rubbing his forehead now raked through his hair. He looked exhausted. “Do you have any idea what sort of mess I’ve had to wade through?”
“Do you have any idea how little I care about that?” She folded her arms over her chest as she glared down at him. “I would like to speak with you, even if it’s only for a few minutes.”
“And when I have those few minutes, I will gladly talk to you.”
“Fine.” She spun about to stalk from the room before her temper got the best of her.
Julian didn’t halt her and didn’t even bid her farewell as she stomped out of his office and out of the house entirely. White sand squeaked beneath her feet, shifting with each step. She stopped halfway between the house and the ocean and sank to her knees as a sense of hopelessness filled her.
The waves broke, their fingers of foam stretching up, but never quite reaching her. Overhead, sea birds glided easily on the breeze that ruffled through the treetops. In the distance, she could see the vendors along the harbor’s waterfront, their brightly striped canopies vivid against the emerald backdrop of mountains.
She trailed her fingers through the sun-warmed sand. No matter how much she loathed Windemere, in previous visits she had Mary or her brothers for company. She’d never felt the cold loneliness she felt now, and she hated every bit of it.
“Emma?”
Her back stiffened as Julian’s voice reached her ears and his shadow fell over her. “Yes?”
“May I?”
She twisted to see him gesturing to the patch of sand beside her and then shrugged as she turned back to stare at the water. “Be my guest.”
He sat, making a noise that sound like a combination of a sigh and a groan. She tried not to notice him, but just being near him sent a hum through her. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms about them, and rested her chin on the peaks.
“Emma, do you have any idea what sort of a mess I’m trying to unravel?”
The clouds off in the distance were an ominous gray, rolling toward them with the promise of a storm. She studied those clouds as if they were the most fascinating things she’d ever seen.
“It’s going to take me weeks to straighten everything out.”
“Wonderful. So why are you here, then?”
His hand came to rest on her shoulder, his fingers pressing gently. “Em, I don’t know exactly what to say.”
She stiffened. “You could explain why you’re avoiding me. And don’t even try to deny it, Julian McCallister. You have been avoiding me.”
Now she turned, expecting him to deny it just the same.
Instead, he let out a low sigh. “Yes, I suppose I have been avoiding you.”
Although she knew it, it still stung. No one ever told her they were purposely avoiding her. “I see.”
She held her breath as his hand slid from her shoulder to the nape of her neck. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut at his low rumble. “Don’t say that to me. You don’t mean it, so don’t say it.”
His hand fell away. “I don’t know what else to say.”
A dull ache took root behind her eyes, so she tilted her head to bury her face in her arms. She braced for him to touch her again, but he didn’t. She wanted him to, and if he did, she wouldn’t shrug him off or move away.
“Emma, what do you want from me?”
“The truth.” The words were out before she could stop them. She lifted her head to regard him with stinging eyes. Why on earth were tears pooling in them? She didn’t want to cry, and yet she couldn’t make her eyes see reason, so she turned away before he could see the tears as well.
For the longest time, the only sounds were that of the birds and the surf. Then the sand squeaked, and Julian rose, but not before kissing the top of her head. Her tears spilled free as he walked away as silently as he’d arrived.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, just crying softly into her hands, but when she finally stopped, her head ached and the thick clouds reached the shore. The winds picked up, howling as they tore along the beach, whipping up the sand to sting her skin.
Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rolled low in the distance. She rose, brushed the sand from her backside, and trudged her way back to the house. The door to Julian’s office was closed again, but this time, she didn’t trouble to knock. Her spirits were too low for her to care, and her head ached too badly to try to convince herself otherwise.
She was halfway up the staircase when Mrs. Holland called, “Mrs. McCallister?”
“Yes?” She paused, turning to look down upon the housekeeper.
“May I have a word?”
“Of course.” The dull ache still pulsed through her head, but she tried to ignore it as she came back down to the first step. “What is it?”
“I’d like to speak to you about Mr. McCallister. He has forbidden Jonah to come anywhere near his office, and he wasn’t shy about voicing his displeasure.”
“Mrs. Holland, this is something you will need to discuss with my husband. I’m afraid I am not privy to the whys and wherefores of what’s made him so displeased. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going up to lie down for a while.”
Mrs. Holland looked as if she
was going to argue but must have thought better of it, for she drew in a deep breath, then nodded. “I see. Of course, Mrs. McCallister. Shall I send Eve up to wake you for supper?”
“Yes.” Emma knew she was being rude but was too tired to care. She left Mrs. Holland at the foot of the staircase and made her way above.
She lit the candle beside the bed and sank onto it. Unlike her bed at Stonebridge, this one did not have the heavy velvet draperies, but bore gauzy sheers that matched those covering the windows, the ones snapping sharply in the winds.
Thunder rumbled as she stepped out onto the terrace. Coral flowers dotted the marble, torn from their stalks by the winds. She breathed deep, the spicy-sweet scent of the crushed blooms filling her nose. It mingled with the fresh scent of rain as showers swept in off the water. They were cool on her skin, and she closed her eyes and lifted her face into it.
Lightning split the sky and she questioned the wisdom of being outside, so she retreated to the safety of her room, where she watched nature’s wrath and couldn’t help but compare it to the storms that must have raged within Julian.
Julian came into their room long after the clock chimed ten. Emma hadn’t come down for supper, requesting a tray be brought to her instead. When he finally reached the point where he didn’t care if Windemere’s accounts were ever straightened out, he threw down his pen and came upstairs.
He gazed down at his sleeping wife as he unwound his neckcloth. He knew what she wanted him to say, and he wished he had the strength to do just that. He wished he had the strength to be as forthright as she was, that he had the faith she had.
Her dark hair streamed over the pillow. He caught one curl, let it slide through his fingers. She stirred in her sleep, but her eyelids never rose. He loosened the neck of his shirt and then stood, taking care not to jostle the mattress. He bent to brush her lips with a gentle kiss then went about readying himself for sleep.
As he slid into bed beside her, she stirred again, this time cuddling up to him. He didn’t resist the urge to slip an arm about her and draw her closer still. And for the first time since they arrived on St. Kitts, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
WHEN SHE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, she was shocked to find Julian sound asleep beside her, one arm thrown up over his head, his other hand resting on his chest. She rubbed her eyes to make certain she wasn’t dreaming. No. He really was there.
She rose carefully, so as not to disturb him, but it didn’t work. The mattress shifted, and he stretched both arms over his head. As she drew on her dressing gown, he said, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
She paused at the thick sleepiness woven through his words. “Is that so?”
“It’s so rare I see a woman in her night rail. And you in yours makes for a stunning sight.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
A sleepy smile brightened his face. “Why would I lie about it?”
She didn’t answer but bundled herself into the dressing gown and moved to the windows. The storm had blown out during the night, leaving a glorious morning in its wake.
The mattress shifted again, and then Julian was behind her, his arms sliding about her waist to pull her back against his chest. “Emma, I know what you want me to say. And I wish I could.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just wish…” She pressed her lips together as she surveyed the damage left by the storm. Two smashed flower pots. More crushed hibiscus. Shredded palm fronds everywhere.
“You just wish what?”
She turned in his arms. “I wish I could find some way to convince you that you can trust me. That you can trust yourself. And that sometimes, just sometimes, things do work out just fine.”
“Emma, it isn’t as simple as that. And I know you aren’t naïve enough to believe that it is.”
“No, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t wish it.” She looked up into his slate blue eyes and took a deep breath. “Especially since I’m going to have a baby.”
She braced herself for his reaction. Waited for him to explode with fury or to simply storm off and lock himself in his office for the next month.
He went pale, and his jaw went slack. Then he swallowed visibly. “A baby.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
His eyes closed and now his jaw tensed. “Are you certain?”
“I think so.”
He didn’t say anything, but his hands clenched and unclenched several times, and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He brushed by her, out onto the terrace, where he braced both hands against the rail and stood there.
She didn’t expect him to be happy. She expected anger. Fury even, although she wouldn’t expect him to direct it at her. She fully expected him to direct it at himself, and guessing by the tension stiffening his back and shoulders, he was doing just that.
Instead of going out and confronting him, she dressed as best she could without Eve’s help and went down below. When Julian was ready to talk, he would come to her. This time, she wasn’t going to him. He had to make a choice. He could embrace the future or dwell in the past.
She was in the breakfast room, nibbling on a slice of toast and marmalade when Eve hurried in. “Mrs. McCallister, why didn’t you ring for me?”
“It wasn’t necessary,” Emma explained, setting down her toast. “As you can see, I did fine on my own.”
“Emma, I—” Julian rounded the corner of the doorway, caught sight of Eve, and his words died on his lips. “Excuse us, Eve.”
The maid bobbed her head. “Of course, Mr. McCallister,” she said and hurried from the room, leaving Emma and Julian staring at one another.
He was dressed, albeit sloppily, with his shirt neither closed at the throat nor tucked into his wrinkled trousers. “I turned and you were gone.”
“I thought you’d come to me when you were ready to talk about this.”
Brushing the crumbs from her hands, she rose, striding past him to leave the breakfast room and into the garden. At least there, they’d be afforded a bit more privacy.
A low stone wall ringed the garden’s perimeter. Part of the garden’s design was to stifle the smell of sugar as it was boiled, or sometimes burned, but it didn’t entirely mask it. Although she’d become accustomed to the smells of a sugar plantation, the acrid aromas still snuck through from time to time. Relief came in the form of exotic orchids, bright hibiscus, and wildflowers she couldn’t identify but whose blooms were spicy-sweet and heavenly.
“Emma.”
No footfalls sounded behind her, and she peered over her shoulder to see him in the doorway between the garden and the house.
He didn’t close the gap between them. She turned back to stare through the ferns just beyond the stone wall, where she could just make out the drying house. The harvest was still in its earliest stages, with the field hands cutting the ripe cane stalk by stalk with the curved knives they called bills. She didn’t know much about refining sugar, only that it was dangerous work. It wasn’t uncommon to lose several men a season, especially when it came to grinding the cane. Workers had to take great care when they fed the cane into the rollers or else they would also be pulled through and crushed.
“Emma? How did you think I’d react?”
She plucked a vibrant orange hibiscus from its stem. “I thought you’d react just as you did. I hoped you wouldn’t, I but didn’t expect miracles. I understand why, but I wish you could see the joy in this.”
Now his boot heels scuffed against the weathered marble. She stiffened, but he never touched her. Instead, he faced her, perching carefully on the edge of the railing. “I never lied to you, Em. I told you we shouldn’t have children. And you agreed.”
“And I didn’t try to talk you out of it, nor did I manipulate you into this,” she shot back, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him.
“I know. I’m not angry with you, but I’m furious with myself.”
“I know. And I wish you wouldn�
��t be.” She pulled off one of the crepe-like petals and let it flutter to the ground. When she looked over at him, her heart gave a painful lurch as a sense of loss filled her. But that was silly. In order to feel loss, she had to have had him at some point. And despite all they shared, she wasn’t at all sure she’d ever had even the smallest part of him.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck. “You know why I feel how I do.”
She shook her head. “I do. And perhaps it’s wrong of me, but I wish I could change it. I wish you could be happy about this.”
“I’m trying.” He sank onto the stone wall beside her. “And I have to admit, I don’t know what the right thing to say is.” He twisted and reached out a hand to brush a wayward tendril of hair from her face. “The last thing I expected you to say was you were pregnant. It’s ridiculous that I should be surprised. Even without my moment of weakness—for lack of a better word—I should have expected this. I’m still surprised.”
“You aren’t the only one who was surprised, Julian.” she whispered. His fingers lingered over her cheek, and her heart picked up its pace as he leaned toward her.
He covered her lips with his in a gentle kiss. She sank into him, grasping his shirtfront with both hands as the last of her irritation drained away. His arm slid about her waist, pulling her closer, and that was it, she had no choice but slip her arms around him.
He broke the kiss to brush his lips along her cheek and then over her ear. Without thinking, she snuggled against him. Part of her expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped both arms about her. “It scares me, Em.”
“I know.” She looked up. His eyes were closed, his mouth was tight, but when she squeezed, his expression softened.
He opened his eyes when she pulled away. “I wish I could be like you, always looking for the silver lining.”
She took his hand and gently tugged. “I wish you could, too, Julian. It would make things so much easier for me. This is just like that day at the wishing well. I cannot entertain the notion that things won’t work out the way I hope they will.” She tugged again and smiled when he fell into step behind her.