Part 9 (1/2)

”Good morning to you, too, Mr. McCallister.” Mary smiled up at him, and Emma wondered if her own face showed the same moonstruck expression that lit up Mary's face. She hoped not. Words written across her face couldn't give her away more easily.

Her stomach jumped when Julian smiled at them. Her skin tingled. How was that even possible? The runny eggs were tasteless in her mouth, so she swallowed convulsively to get them down. She coughed again and reached for her tea.

”Are you all right?” Momma asked, rising.

Emma nodded, waving for her mother to remain in her seat. She forced down another mouthful of lukewarm tea. Her windpipe cleared and she managed to croak, ”I'm fine. It just went down the wrong way.”

Although she didn't look entirely convinced, Momma lowered back into her chair. When it was clear Emma wasn't about to drop dead out of her chair, Momma's forehead smoothed and she looked from Emma to Mary. ”So what do you girls have planned for today?”

Mary dropped her fork into her plate to bury her face in her hands. Her voice was m.u.f.fled as she groaned, ”I'm still fighting with that lace. I just can't get it straight, Momma.”

”I can help you,” Emma offered. She didn't know how much help she would be, but at least it would help pa.s.s the time. Her own gown was laundered and pressed and ready for the next day.

The McKenzie Christmas festivities were one of Emma's favorite events. Her family didn't host many parties or b.a.l.l.s, but she couldn't recall a Christmas where Stonebridge wasn't alive with her family's closest friends. And this year, with everyone home for the first time in several years, it would be even more special.

Julian would be here.

”Would you? I'd like that.” Mary stood to add her plate to the growing stack on the sideboard then paused in the doorway to add, ”Momma, may I add something to your list?”

Momma smiled. ”I was wondering when you'd ask. What is it?”

”Scotch's had the most wonderful rose-scented perfume in these beautiful little bottles. All the way from France.”

Momma sighed, but nodded. ”How many bottles did you want? Or is one enough?”

Mary let out an airy laugh. ”One is fine.”

”And you, Emma?”

She shook her head. ”I'm fine, Momma. I still have the perfume Papa brought me back from the West Indies.”

”That one that smells like fish oil?” Mary asked.

”It doesn't smell like fish.” Emma stacked her plate atop Mary's and slid her fork into the basket beside the plates. ”It smells like coconut and I love it.”

”It's awful, Em.”

”Why? Because it doesn't smell like roses? Everyone smells like roses. I, on the other hand, don't want to. Besides -” she tossed her knife into the basket with a little more force than was necessary ”-you like roses. I don't. I prefer coconut. Is that so terrible?”

”Enough,” Momma broke in before Mary could respond. ”One is no better than the other, and both are lovely in their own right. Now, Emma, before you go up, I'd like a word with you. Mary, you may go now.”

Mary's brows rose as she looked at Emma. She angled her head toward their mother, and gestured with it as if to ask, What's going on?

Emma shrugged.

”Mary.”

”Yes, Momma.” Mary left the room without looking back.

Emma moved to the chair closest to Momma's. ”Is something the matter, Momma?”

”Is something troubling you? You still seem a bit flushed. I know you don't have a fever, but how do you feel otherwise?”

”I'm fine, Momma. I woke up with a headache, that's all.” Perhaps it should have bothered her, how easily the lie rolled off her tongue, but since the truth was far scarier, it didn't bother her at all.

Still, guilt rose up as her mother's expression went from stern back to concern, her eyes softened and worry lines creased her forehead. ”Another one? Perhaps we should send for the doctor.” She leaned across the table to press her cool hand against Emma's forehead.

Emma swallowed hard. She should have said anything other than not feeling well.

”That isn't necessary, Momma. They usually go away before supper, and this one probably will, too.” She forced a smile to her lips. She didn't like lying to her mother, or to anyone, for that matter. It would be a relief when the time came when she wouldn't have to lie, when she could beam in Julian's presence and pretend to be horrified and shocked when someone made a joke about Julian being the reason for her glow.

But until that happened, she'd have to lie and hope she didn't get her stories mixed up.

Her explanation seemed to mollify Momma. She lifted the silver tea service to refill her cup. ”If you say so. I suppose I'm worrying over nothing. Why don't you go up and help your sister before we're sending her to an asylum over something as silly as lace?”

”I am, although we know how skilled I am with a needle and thread. You might wish to offer up a small prayer for her.”

”I just might do that.”

Emma moved to the door. ”I'm going to have Amanda send us a tray for lunch. I've a feeling it's going to be a long afternoon for the McKenzie sisters.”

She darted from the room before her mother could think of any other reason to call her back. Even after she moved beyond earshot, she hurried along the narrow hall to the rear staircase, the one closest to her room. An afternoon wrestling stubborn lace into place. It was going to be a long afternoon, indeed.

Chapter Nine.

CHRISTMAS DAY STARTED OUT the same as it had for as long as Emma could remember, with Amanda breezing into her room, a warm, ”Happy Christmas, Miss McKenzie” on her lips.

Emma eased down from her perch on the corner of the low chest near the window, where she'd been watching a beautiful cardinal nestled in a pine tree. ”Happy Christmas to you, too, Amanda.” She crossed back to her bed. ”Am I the last one awake?”

”No. Hardly.” Amanda went to the wardrobe, opening it to lay out Emma's clothing for the day. ”I believe your brothers and Mr. McCallister are still abed. I think they were out late last eve,” she added in a low, conspiratorial voice.

She said this just as Emma was drawing her night rail over her head, and the words made Emma freeze halfway out of the gown. Julian had gone carousing with her brothers? That left a bit of a burn in her belly, one that brought a sour taste rising up in the back of her throat. She swallowed hard against it and hoped her voice didn't squeak as she replied, ”Were they?”

”Oh, I think so.” Amanda whisked the night rail the rest of the way off Emma and draped it over one arm. ”Dunstan was muttering about how the only thing that smells worse than stale smoke is-” She cut herself off and cleared her throat.

A hint of a blush stained Amanda's cheeks as she hurriedly deposited the night rail in the basket by the wardrobe and then returned with a fresh chemise, which she held out. ”I beg your pardon, Miss McKenzie.”

”It's all right.” Emma donned the chemise then turned away from Amanda so the maid could lace her corset. From there, she dressed in a gown of soft peach and was ready to go below.

Two hours later, the McKenzie women were in the carriage, while the men rode on horseback, and off they all went into town. Emma sat beside Mary, who smelled lovely wearing her new rose-scented French perfume, and across from her mother.

Momma seemed to frown at first, but then the frown disappeared and Emma wondered if she'd only imagined it. Besides, what could her mother be frowning about? Emma couldn't figure out why her mother should be upset. Her father had given her mother a pearl cameo on a delicate green velvet choker, so she couldn't be upset at him. Emma had given her a bottle of perfume similar to the one Mary wore now, so she couldn't be upset at her.

So if her frown was real, what could have caused it?

Emma bit back a groan. Did Momma suspect that she and Julian- Oh, please. Not that.