Part 21 (1/2)
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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+fted, 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 s.h.i.+fted 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 nave 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 s.h.i.+rt 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.”
Brus.h.i.+ng 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?”