Part 1 (1/2)

Windemere.

The McKenzie Brothers.

Kimberly Nee.

Dedication.

For my mother-in-law, Peg. Thank you for everything.

Prologue.

Brunswick, NJ, July 1812.

”SUCH A TRAGEDY.”

”A terrible shame.”

”And to lose them both that way.”

”Horrible.”

Emma McKenzie didn't want to stare at the two older ladies standing at the sideboard, their heads bowed together, their voices soft, but not soft enough. After each sentence, each one let out a tsk, tsk sound. What was the point in listening to them? She already knew that terrible shame, already knew what the horrible tragedy was. Not to mention, the tsking annoyed her.

Without making a sound, Mary eased up to her. ”Em, Momma is looking for you.”

Emma peered down at her younger sister, trying not to be irritated. After all, Mary was only nine. She couldn't help that she turned up at the most inopportune moments.

Moments such as this.

The two ladies offered sympathetic smiles as they moved down along the sideboard, filling their plates. Thankfully, neither one mentioned the terrible tragedy again.

”Emma.” Mary tugged at her sleeve.

Normally, Mary was as nosy as Emma was, and for her to pull on Emma's sleeve meant whatever she wanted had to be important enough to interrupt. She gave Mary her full attention. ”Why is she looking for me?”

Mary's thin shoulders lifted in a slow shrug. ”I don't know. She said something about Drew. No one else seems to know where he's gotten to.”

”I'm one who hasn't seen him. Not since church, anyway. But Garrett might know. He always seems to. You should go find him and ask.”

Mary glanced over her shoulder toward the empty doorway. ”Fine.” She shrugged again and skipped through the dining room and into the parlor, deftly avoiding the gathering of somber-looking adults.

Emma watched her disappear and wished she felt like skipping. How lucky Mary was, to still feel lighthearted under such sad circ.u.mstances. Of course, she'd been pasting fake smiles on her face every time a serious-looking adult smiled indulgently at her, so perhaps Mary was pretending as well.

In the end, it hardly mattered and now Emma's ears practically twitched in search of a good conversation to listen to. Lord knows there were enough people in the house, and all of Brunswick buzzed about The Tragedy.

But she wasn't interested in The Tragedy. Too much gossip. Too much speculation. It just made her even sadder and stole the small thrills that accompanied overhearing things she oughtn't-such as Amanda Hastings scolding one of the maids about stealing kisses from one of the stable boys.

It wasn't often people gathered at Stonebridge for such a solemn occasion, and she wished they would just leave. They came for food and drink, and of course gossip. And she'd eavesdropped enough to hear the offerings of sorrow that were given, stood close enough to hear the words that were never meant to reach Julian's ears.

Julian.

She might not know where Drew was, but she'd find Julian. At least, she was fairly sure she knew where he'd be.

Emma wound past the throngs of people cluttering the dining room, and ignoring the stares of the cook and several kitchen maids, made her way out through the kitchen. There, the lawn sloped down, toward the stretch of thick woods just beyond the rough wood fence of Stonebridge's western border. Laundry was laid out to dry here, although it was bare of clothing today.

She paused at the kitchen doorway, her hand hovering at the handle. The last she'd seen Julian, he was pa.s.sing by the parlor window, and she knew where she'd find him.

At the rear of the house, just before the corner of the ballroom, a small stone wis.h.i.+ng well stood, and Emma knew the tall man leaning against the lopsided stone edifice anywhere.

She'd known Julian McCallister almost as long as her brothers. He and Garrett were closer than even Garrett and Drew. She couldn't remember a time when Julian didn't come around Stonebridge. She didn't know when it began, but lately, it seemed her heart skipped a funny beat whenever she caught sight of him.

Even now, her heart did that odd flutter as she crested the small slope to the wis.h.i.+ng well and he looked up. He was dressed in mourning black, and despite the heat, his neckcloth as fresh and crisp as it was that morning at the funeral. If the stifling weather bothered him, it didn't show. It was the steamiest July anyone could recall, but his forehead wasn't s.h.i.+ny, and the only effect the thick humidity had on him was to make his wavy, dark hair a little curlier.

”Are you hungry?” She held out the small plate of food she was in the process of fixing when Mrs. Chandler and Mrs. Morris started in the horror of The Tragedy. It wasn't much-a slice of bread, a small chunk of ham, and a small pastry-but she hadn't seen him eat anything since returning to the house.

His eyes, which normally hovered between blue and gray, now looked almost as dark as the broadcloth of his frock coat. They were red, but dry as they flicked to meet her gaze. Normally, he teased her, just as Drew and Garrett lived to tease her. But not today. Instead, he just shook his head. ”Thank you, but no.”

”I'll just leave it. In case you change your mind.”

He dropped his gaze to his hands, which were resting against his thighs, fingers interlaced.

She stood there, s.h.i.+fting her weight from one foot to the other. The silence was uncomfortable, and yet she didn't know how to fill it. The situation didn't call for idle chatter, but the right words just wouldn't come. Everything seemed pointless today. Inane and hopeless. Perhaps saying nothing was exactly the right thing to do.

The perfume from the honeysuckle winding through the wis.h.i.+ng well's canopy tickled her nose. Papa called it a nuisance and wanted it all removed, but she wheedled him into relenting. She adored honeysuckle. It was one of the most wonderful scents of summer, almost as delicious as the delicate lilacs that bloomed in May, and it thickened as she stepped up alongside Julian to set the plate on the uneven stone.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully hoisted herself onto the well's lip. The blocks were wide enough that she still fit on them, although it wouldn't be long before that became a thing of the past. The stone's rough edge caught at her skirts, and she winced as she s.h.i.+fted and the fabric sc.r.a.ped. ”What are you going to do now?”

He shook his head, not looking up. ”I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead.”

”Did Garrett tell you that you're welcome to pa.s.s the night here?”

”He did, but I doubt I will. I have things waiting for me at Cheltenham. Papers to sign. Belongings to-” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. ”Things to do.”

”I can help.”

He smiled, but only at the corners of his lips. ”Shouldn't you be off giggling with your friends?”

”I can do that later.” She leaned into him, b.u.mping his upper arm with hers. ”I'd rather stay here if you need me.”

He glanced down. ”You shouldn't be here without one of your brothers.”

”Why?” She c.o.c.ked her head to the right. ”Am I in danger being alone with you?”