by Karen M Cox
He knew this because he had been one of her people, her close friend, and he’d blown it. That discussion at Churchill Downs had been the final nail in the coffin. He’d just realized he wanted her, and then he lost her. Hadn’t Julianne warned him? She said he needed to bring his feelings about Emma to the surface, really take an honest look at them—and address them before he blundered—before it was too late.
Now, it was too late.
He closed his eyes again and startled when the door opened. Light flooded the deck and Isabel stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“George! There you are. I was just coming out to find you. That was Nina on the phone.”
He sat up, all senses on alert. “Everyone okay at home?”
“Yes, everyone is fine, but you will never guess what she told me.”
“If I can’t guess, then you’ll have to spill the beans, honey.”
“Everyone in Highbury is all in a state.”
“Why?”
“Jane Fairfax and Frank Weston eloped last weekend.”
It was as if Izzy had whisked his chair out from under him. “What?”
“Jane and Frank—they ran off to Vegas and got married!”
When George arrived at the house on Hartfield Road, Mrs. Davies told him Emma was out in the gazebo, where she’d spent a lot of her time the last few days.
I wish I’d known everything about Jane and Frank from the moment it happened. My Emma Kate, all alone with her broken heart! If I ever see that rat-bastard again, I’ll pound his head into the sidewalk.
Sprung from his memory with a painful jolt was a conversation he had with Nina, months ago now, when he said Emma needed a bruised heart. Asinine, cruel thing to say! Now that she had one, his own heart ached for her.
He tried not to presume too much, but the refrain kept repeating in his head: Emma is free! Free for me to sweep in and pick up the pieces. But…no. Wait…I don’t want to be her rebound affair, the transition to the next man.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? I’d happily be a rebound if it meant I had a chance. His worry about how his love for her would affect their friendship seemed trivial now. If she couldn’t love him, he had only himself to blame. He willfully turned from her, and when he did, she slipped away.
I could still be her friend, though. I’m here to comfort, not demand. To think of her, not be self-serving. Maybe there’s hope for us to be an “us” someday. Right now, I’ll have to be happy with only possibilities.
The gazebo was several yards from the back deck, in the midst of a few shade trees. He heard her music coming from the inside, suggesting she must have brought her portable record player out with her. He didn’t see her when he first approached because she was lying on the porch swing, her head propped up against the arm rest with pillows. One long leg was bent up so her foot rested on the seat; the other rested on the wooden floor and moved the swing back and forth. She looked so peaceful, reclining there with her eyes closed, holding a glass of wine loosely in her fingers. He stood for a few seconds in silence—admiring, loving, breathing her in. Finally, he called softly to her.
“Emma Kate?”
She leaped up, startled, wine sloshing out of the glass.
“George!” she gasped, clutching her heart. Then she laughed. “Goodness, you scared me! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” She transferred the glass to her other hand and shook off the one wet with wine.
“Sorry.”
She sat back on the swing, leaning over to lift the record needle off the 45. He walked up the steps and sat beside her.
“I didn’t know you were back from Florida.”
“Flew in this morning. I’m surprised Mary Jo didn’t tell you. She made my flight reservation.”
She stiffened, but her only response was, “I haven’t talked to her for the last couple of days.”
They sat for a minute in silence, listening to the crickets chirping their evening song.
“Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having lasagna,” she asked, looking off in the distance toward the house.
“Hmm? Oh… dinner. Yes, thank you. Lasagna sounds good.”
A heavy sigh escaped her, and George eyed her carefully. If she cries, I’ll push Frank Weston’s face in the pavement and break his fingers.
“Oh”—she began, as if suddenly remembering something—“you just got in town, so you don’t know the news.”
“The news?”
“Jane and Frank have eloped. They flew to Las Vegas and got married last week. It’s been quite the uproar around here.”
“Um… yeah. I’d heard that…Nina called Izzy while I was with them in Florida.”
“We were all surprised out of our socks, but I bet you weren’t. You said all along Frank was hiding something. You saw the secret looks between them, and you were right. I was shocked to find out they’d been carrying on, even last fall—and while she was engaged to Mike Dixon too. Unbelievable.”
George reached over and took her hand. “I know you’re disappointed in him.”
“I have to admit I am.”
He brought the slender fingers to his lips and kissed them. She stared at him and then at her hand, but he didn’t care. “Time is the great healer, Emma.”
“Healer?”
“I can’t believe he did this after he made such a big show of pursuing you. And all the while he was secretly trying to convince Jane to leave her fiancé. It’s shameful—the way he treated her, the way he led you on. Ungentlemanly.”
“Led me on…?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. Then her eyes opened wide. “You thought I had a thing for Frank. Nina thought so too.” She covered her eyes with her free hand. “I can’t imagine how inappropriately I must have acted to make both of you think that.”
He squeezed her hand and smiled at her bravado. She’d never admit that Weston had hurt her or wounded her pride. He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, trying not to remember how it felt to hold her that night they danced. He really wanted to hold her now.
“You’re sweet to be concerned, but, honestly, there’s no need.”
He paused, holding her hand in mid-air. “Pardon?”
“I’ve known Frank for years, well enough to see that he will lead people down a primrose path, and let them think whatever they want—as long as it serves his best interests. He’s funny and nice enough, not to mention handsome, but he doesn’t have your honesty, George. He doesn’t have your integrity or your respect for people, especially for women. I told you before you left, you didn’t need to worry about Frank messing with my head. That was the truth. I know you think I’m naïve, and perhaps I am, but I watch people, and I learn. I’m sheltered, but I’m not stupid. And there’s no way I would let someone as unworthy as Frank Weston break my heart.” She laughed, a rueful sound. “Frank—now there’s a man whose name is bound up in his fate. His name is Frank, but he’s not frank at all, the little sneak.”
“How like you to crack a joke at a time like this.” He smiled at her.
“Perhaps it’s karma,” she went on. “The challenge of his life will be to live up to his name.”
George sank back against the swing, and his smile dimmed. “I guess he got everything he wanted, without hard feelings from anyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. He has a fling with a beautiful, young actress while he’s in New York. She’s engaged to someone else, but she falls victim to his charm. In a fit of remorse, or indecision, she retreats to her family. He follows her, and proceeds to treat her poorly. Flaunts another woman in front of her. If he had searched the world, he could not have found another woman who suited him so well. His grandmother continually threatens to cut him off if he doesn’t do exactly what she wants. Then, the grandmother dies. He runs back to his girl and persuades her to elope. His family is happy for him. He has used everyone, and they all forgive him at the drop of a hat. Hmmph. Lucky man.”
“Yeah, Nina and Bob forgave him the i
nstant they realized I didn’t have any hopes for him, maybe even before that. The only person he really hurt was Jane, and she forgave him too.”
“I feel sorry for her, to be saddled with such a husband. I hope she didn’t give up a chance at real happiness with Mike Dixon, all for some fling.”
Emma shrugged. “Who’s to say? It seems like they really love each other. Frank followed her here, after all. He must be crazy about her, because he made more of an effort to get her than he’s made for anything else, ever. She came home to Highbury to get some distance from him and her fiancé too—to get some perspective and make some decisions. Mike Dixon was too busy to follow up, or maybe he was giving her the space she asked for, who knows. Frank was arrogant enough—or cared enough—to pursue her, and I guess eventually, he changed her mind. Poor Jane. I feel bad for her, carrying that secret all alone. If I’d been nicer to her, she might have turned to me.”
“Frank Weston is a selfish, pushy, bratty child. He doesn’t deserve her.”
“Well, we shall see.”
“I guess we shall.” George’s heart started pounding in his chest, as it came to him what this meant. Emma was not in love with Frank! He’d just been given a second chance, and he didn’t want to blow it. “In a way, I kind of envy him, settling down. I’ve thought about it myself.” He let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Hell, I sound like Tim Elton. Unbelievable.” He shook his head, amused.
Emma was silent.
“I’m surprised you won’t ask about that comment, being the consummate matchmaker that you are.” He was trying to tease her, but she didn’t even crack a smile.
“My matchmaking days are over.” She got up, poured the rest of her wine out over the rail, and set the glass down.
“Emma,” he said, more seriously this time, “I have to tell you… I can’t keep my feelings to myself any longer—”
She turned around, putting her hands over her ears. “Just…don’t. Don’t say it. I can’t bear it.” Her eyes filled with tears.
George stopped, shocked. After all that animosity he harbored for Frank, and he was the one bringing on the tears? With his declaration of love for her? “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ve overstepped our friendship. I’m sorry.” He started toward the gazebo archway, desperate to get away and collect his thoughts. He’d taken maybe two or three steps before he felt her hand on his arm.
“George, please…wait. That was selfish of me, and I hurt your feelings. I am your friend, and I care about you. You can say anything you like, and I’ll listen.”
He shook his head. “I—I don’t want to be friends anymore.”
“Please don’t take your friendship from me. Then I’ll have nothing.” Her lower lip trembled. “It would be unbearable. I know I’ve lowered your opinion of me lately—the way I treated Jane, and Helen, and the way I let Frank flatter my vanity. But please, George! Please say you can learn to overlook my flaws. Please say you can still be my friend.”
“I want to be more than friends!” He hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but he’d lost complete control over the words coming out of his mouth. Emma often had that effect on him. He stalked to the other side of the gazebo, then stood there, glaring at her. “Damn it, Emma!”
Her mouth closed, and she just stared as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.
In three more steps, he crossed the gazebo and yanked her into his arms, his lips descending on hers in a rage of emotion. He kissed her, hard. “Say something, damn it!” His voice lowered, deep. “Emma. Please…” The next kiss was soft, lingering, careful, and gentle. She didn’t pull away, or slap him, or run screaming into the house, so he slid her into his embrace and kissed her again. When he pulled away, her eyes were round with surprise. One more, he thought, and he kissed her again, before resting his forehead on hers.
“Have you never wondered why I didn’t like Frank Weston, even before he got here? I said it was because he didn’t treat Bob and Nina right, but mostly it was because I knew they wanted him to be with you. It was agony to watch him flirt with you all spring and summer. And when you were snotty with Helen, I thought that showed how his callousness was rubbing off on you.
“I love you, Emma Kate. Not as a friend. But as a man loves a woman. I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I thought… well, first I thought I was too old for you, and then I thought you and Frank…”
Emma finally found her voice. “But Frank and I dated years ago—it meant nothing, just a high school thing.”
“Then why are you out in the gazebo all by yourself, drinking wine and listening to ‘Color My World’?”
“I’m certainly not here because I’m in love with Frank Weston.” She stepped back and gesticulated with her hands in obvious frustration. “I’m moping around out here because I thought I’d lost you.”
Every sound in the world ceased, except the pounding of blood through his body. “Emma? Is this true?”
“Yes, it’s true.” Her voice started to rise as if in panic. “It’s true. I love you, and I didn’t even realize it until you went away. After Churchill Downs, I thought I’d finally killed your affection for me, that you were gone from my life, even as my friend, and it broke my heart, George, because I depend on you so.”
“You—you do?”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You understand me, and I understand you like no one else possibly could. No other woman should be with you but me. No Junior League Woman of the Month. No brilliant, noble pediatrician. I’m the one who’s right for you, and”—she sniffed, her eyes filling with tears—“I’m yours, George. If you’ll have me.”
And just like that, every thought, every proper feeling lay there between them—honest, open, and right. She held out her arms, and in half a second, he filled them.
“Emma.” He laughed and lifted her feet off the ground. “Emma!” He set her down and took her face in his hands, thumbs tracing her cheeks, her lips. His eyes roamed her face, stopping where his thumbs had last landed.
“I’m nervous,” he said, smiling. “Are you nervous?”
“George Bryan Knightley, I know you’ve kissed plenty of women before.”
“But I’ve just had my last first kiss. I think I’ll take the next one.”
Then his mouth met hers, and all cares dropped away. The world outside the gazebo buzzed and barked and brayed, teeming with life, but inside there was only George, and his darling Emma.
Thirty-Nine
I couldn’t believe how shy I felt around George since our declaration in the gazebo. We caught ourselves looking at each other about forty times during the evening, then we’d both turn away with a smile. It amazed me that Daddy didn’t catch on at dinner. But then, he did spend about half the meal wondering if the lasagna had too much cheese in it to be healthy. In some cases, his tendency toward perseveration came in handy!
After Daddy went to bed, we walked out under the moonlight and stars, holding hands. George leaned back against his Volvo and drew me into his embrace. Clouds drifted across the moon, obscuring his expression, though I had already begun the process of reading his moods and memorizing him in the dark.
“Are you working at the office tomorrow?” I asked, linking my hands behind his neck, then running them down his shoulders and back behind him again.
“Um…no, actually. I’ll be out at Donwell in the morning. Did I tell you our manager is retiring in September?”
“I heard it somewhere. He’s been there a long time.”
“He has. He’ll be hard to replace.”
I fell silent again, not wanting him to go, yet not knowing how to get him to stay. It was so bright, so new, this band of light between us. I couldn’t let it disappear into the night. I looked up at the stars and breathed in the smell of magnolias as the breeze stirred around us. George’s embrace tightened, his lips caressing my cheek, then my ear as he tucked my hair behind it, then down to my neck. His hands roamed my back and finally settled on my
hips.
“You are beautifully made, my darling.”
“So are you,” I answered.
I heard his low chuckle and felt the heat of it travel between us and settle low in my belly, making me giddy and feverish. As I was about to ask him to kiss me again, he did just that, gently at first, then rougher, faster. It was glorious, like riding lightning. As my body seemed to melt against him, his grew more tense and unyielding.
I wanted him. No telling how long this had been building inside me, this wanting, this desire that felt new but wasn’t. Now I had set it free, given it words and actions, and I realized I wanted him very much. I must have said “please” because I heard him say, “Please what, honey?”
“I—I just want you to stay.”
Possibilities hung in the air between us. Then he sighed, a long-suffering sound.
“I can’t stay, Emma Kate. Not like this. Not in your father’s house.”
“It’s my house too.” My voice was soft, but it picked up volume and determination when I repeated, “It’s my house too.”
He wound a strand of hair around his fingers, rubbing circles on my back as if to gentle a wild filly. It had the opposite effect.
Frustration edged my voice. “Don’t you want to stay?”
“Yes,” he said simply, but I knew him well enough to hear the determination behind it. “But…”
“Not in my father’s house.”
“I can’t help it. It doesn’t feel right to me, not until we’re…” His fingers brushed my cheek. “Besides, I don’t want to rush you.”
“Rush me? George Knightley, I’ve waited for you all my life.” I held his palm against my cheek, feeling the warmth and the strength there. “I guess I understand, but…” I stepped back, tugging on his hand. “Come on.”
“Emma,” he protested. “Don’t tease me like this.”
“Teasing’s half the fun, isn’t it?” I led him around the side of the house and opened the gate. “Not the house.” I turned and walked backwards so I could gauge his expression in the lights flickering from under the water in the swimming pool. I saw the realization in his eyes just before I stopped at the box and turned the lights off.
