Emma, Mr. Knightley, And Chili-Slaw Dogs Part 4

"Not at all. We're going to begin in the atrium in a few minutes. The leaded gla.s.swork was preserved beyond anything we imagined. Brooks, you should give our contractor's name to your father. He mentioned Badewood needed some repairs on that gorgeous portico."

"I will. And I thought I saw Manning's car out front."

"He was talking to Colonel Bradley about next month's field maneuvers." Mrs. Werlin frowned, as if the words she'd heard hadn't made much sense. "Something about how the Bahala Rifles regiment kept several goats for milk and he thought it would be more authentic to bring a few along for the weekend. Your sister-in-law reminded them her role as Company H cook did not extend to milking goats."

Caroline laughed. "Perhaps the men could perform that task and give Debbie Mae the milk for cooking."

"I can't see Manning milking a goat," Brooks said. He was a Civil War enthusiast, not a farmer.

"Hey, you two." As if on cue, Manning appeared and gave him a brotherly punch to the shoulder. "Where's Dad?"

"He didn't feel up to it." He resisted rubbing the throbbing spot and wished he could lob a punch right back. Manning was younger but Brooks had always been the better athlete. An old-fas.h.i.+oned head-lock sounded like it might fit the bill. Later.

Manning raised his eyebrows. "He hasn't been feeling up to a lot."

"That's too bad. You give him our love, hear?" Mrs. Werlin patted him on the arm and turned to speak to a young man hovering at the edge of their small group.

"How have you been, Manning?" Caroline gave him a quick hug. The guests in the room seemed to be s.h.i.+fting around them as more attendees arrived. He saw a lot of familiar faces and old acquaintances.

"Gooder'n grits", he said, laughing. "Debbie Mae's got me training for a triathlon. We're doing the Gator Bait in August."

"Glad to hear it! I dragged your brother out for a sunrise run a week ago and he still hasn't stopped complaining."

Brooks snorted. "I stopped complaining within a few hours."

"I want you to meet someone, if I can catch his eye." Manning waved toward a cl.u.s.ter of well-dressed women. From the center of the group, a young man disentangled himself. He smiled his way out of their reach and crossed the room, bright teeth flas.h.i.+ng in the light. A pinstriped three-piece suit paired with an outrageously patterned tie and bright red silk made Brooks think of entertainers and politicians. He felt immediate remorse for the unkind comparison and fixed his face into a friendly expression. Maybe the guy couldn't help having perfectly straight teeth and overly styled hair. Well, he could probably help the hair.

"I'd like you to meet Franklin Keene. He and Debbie Mae went to grade school together. He came up from Oxford to celebrate the completion of the renovations," Manning said.

"Pleasure to meet you." Frank reached out and grasped Caroline's hand, flas.h.i.+ng that toothpaste smile. She said nothing, and for a moment Brooks wondered if she might be fighting back an impulse to laugh. But when she spoke her voice was a bit breathless.

"Caroline Ashley," she said. He was still holding her hand and he smile grew wider, if possible. Brooks swore he could see every tooth in the man's mouth.

"This is my brother, Brooks." Manning continued as if he hadn't noticed Caroline and Frank were having a moment.

Frank withdrew his hand, slowly lifting his gaze to acknowledge the other person in the group. "Lucky man. A brother like Manning and a date like Caroline." The words included Manning, but they all knew who was being complimented. Brooks felt his jaw tense. This kid was getting on his nerves.

He shook Frank's hand, resisting the petty urge to grind his knuckles a little bit. "You and Debbie Mae are good friends?"

"I moved away from Th.o.r.n.y Hollow in sixth grade when my father was transferred to Nashville, but this place has always been like a second home to me." He motioned around the expansive ballroom.

"Mrs. Werlin is his aunt," Manning clarified.

"I don't remember you." Caroline put a finger to her chin and gave Frank a long look. "Unless... you were that skinny kid that always rode the green bicycle around the end of our driveway. You had gla.s.ses and hair that..." She made a movement above her head that seemed to indicate either a severe cowlick or intentionally dramatic styling.

Frank laughed and leaned forward. "You do remember me. I was uglier than homemade sin. Let me tell you that skinny little kid was so in love with you that he tried to tattoo your initials onto his own arm with a ballpoint pen."

Her eyes went wide and she raised a hand to cover her mouth, laughing. "You weren't! You didn't!"

"Miss Caroline Ashley, I a.s.sure you I was and I did. My daddy wupped me for it. I was so in love with you, I'd ride my bike to the end of your driveway every day in the summer time, waiting to see if you'd be coming to Mr. Hardy's store for a c.o.ke. I'd pretend the chain had slipped if anyone drove by. I never could figure out a pattern to your comings and goings. Most days I went home without a glimpse of you and a near dose of heat stroke."

"I'm sorry I was mean." Her brows drew together. "I'm pretty certain I was. At least, I remember telling you to go dunk your head."

He laughed, all those teeth on display again. Brooks was beginning to hate the sound of Frank's geniality. "I probably deserved it. I just wouldn't leave you alone."

"Well, I promise not to repeat my bad manners. I'll be good." She looked up at him from under her lashes and Brooks almost choked. She was flirting with this fancified newcomer!

"I'm not sure I can return that promise." His eyes went half-closed and he was inches away from her. Brooks cleared his throat, hoping to remind them there were other people in the room.

"I think the tour is about to start." Brooks took Caroline's elbow and tried to steer her toward the atrium, but her feet were planted.

"I didn't hear any announcement."

He looked at Manning, who shrugged. "I'll go find Debbie Mae." He was gone in the next moment.

Brooks took a deep breath. There really wasn't any reason to be so annoyed. He was clearly a schmoozer and a charmer, but not seriously dangerous. Surely, Caroline saw through him from the first moment and was just being kind. He glanced at her as Frank launched into another story from his childhood spent chasing the dream of Caroline Ashley. Her face was flushed and her bright green eyes reflected the faceted crystal chandeliers above. She laughed, a sound that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat, and laid a hand on Frank's arm. For a moment, he saw her as a woman, not as the girl he'd always known. Gone was the kid who preferred cherry popsicles to green ones and who painted her bedroom walls pitch black without permission and who started her own tiny newspaper as a high school senior.

Brooks felt something stir in his chest, like an animal being roused from sleep. It wasn't a pleasant feeling and he pushed it away, refusing to surrender to petty jealousy. Caroline should go out more often. He'd just said so himself not even an hour ago.

He forced his expression into something he hoped would pa.s.s for relaxed, but it probably landed somewhere near sullen. Really, it was natural to feel a bit left out when your friends started a new relations.h.i.+p. When Manning started dating Debbie Mae, months stretched between his trips to Midlands College to visit. Now he hardly saw him unless there was a reenactment, and apparently Debbie Mae would be there, too.

It was just exactly the same situation. He said this a few times to himself as Caroline beamed up at toothy, perfect-hair Frank. He said the words, but the truth was quite different and deep down, Brooks knew it. He hadn't been jealous of Manning's new girlfriend. He hadn't even minded the brotherly excursions being curtailed for the new wife.

Franklin Keene had landed firmly on his bad side and there was no way he could make friends with the man. It didn't matter how interesting he turned out to be or how many stories he told of his childhood in Th.o.r.n.y Hollow. They would never be friends; the reason had nothing to do with Frank's style and everything to do with the woman standing between them.

"Why not seize the pleasure at once? -- How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!"- Frank Churchill

Chapter Six.

Caroline was struck by the realization that this was the very best thing that had happened to her in months. A party on a perfect summer evening combined with a brand new and very interesting man had the effect of coating her entire life with the stardust of satisfaction. Of course, all was rosy before you really got to know a person, but so far, Franklin Keene was about as perfect as a man could get. She tried not to stare, but he was breathtaking in his effortless elegance. Obviously cultured, Southern, and handsome, all he needed to do was to say he spent his days doing something impressive, like researching cancer cures.

"Well?" Frank was smiling down at her, deep brown eyes intense.

She blinked, scrambling to recall his last few words. He'd been telling some story about meeting her grandfather and she'd lost the thread of the conversation. She opened her mouth to apologize but Brooks cut in.

"She's a freelance journalist working on the Great American Novel," Brooks said.

She turned to frown at him but Frank was already speaking. "Fascinating! I've been dealing with quite a few freelance writers lately. You might know some of them. Scott Drexler? Terry Lewis?"

"No, I'm afraid I've been very bad about keeping up my professional contacts lately." Her face felt hot but she kept the smile fixed to her face, hoping he wouldn't interpret her words to mean living-in-my-mom's-house-and-eating-ice-cream-out-of-the-carton, which was the truth of it.

"I understand. It's become such a trial for writers, with all the marketing. That's why I have an entire team devoted to keeping them happy, although the days of Th.o.r.eau's cabin in the woods are over. Tell me you at least go on Twitter once in a while."

She blinked, wondering why on earth a writer would need to be on Twitter. Honestly, with only a hundred and sixty characters, there wasn't a lot they could impart. "I leave Tweeting to the Haiku masters."

Frank laughed, a lovely warm sound that made a s.h.i.+ver zigzag from the top of her head to her toes. "There, that would have been perfect. More of that and you'll have a platform in no time. To make your marketing effective, I advise aiming for at least five thousand followers."

Brooks made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan covered by a cough. Well, he could dismiss the idea all he wanted, but maybe Frank had a point. If she really wanted to get back into freelance work, she needed to build her connections. "Do you work in public relations, then?"

"Me?" He looked shocked, brown eyes wide under that unruly wave of hair. "No. I work in publis.h.i.+ng. Cutting edge. We buy foreign rights and get them ready for American distribution. Strictly digital, no paper copies. "

"So, you hire translators?" Caroline felt her cheeks growing hot. She couldn't quite grasp what Frank did, exactly. A journalism degree covered a hundred different separate categories and she desperately searched her memory for anything related to foreign rights.

He c.o.c.ked his head and smiled, as if she'd said something charming. "Not quite that. Our publis.h.i.+ng house is pretty specific and only acquires rights to manga books."

"Those comics that start at the back page?" Caroline remembered Debbie Mae reading those when they were in high school. There was a whole series about a girl who found out on her sixteenth birthday her real father was a bird and she could fly. The absurdly large eyes and very shorts skirts made her wonder if it was secretly targeted toward teen boys. She'd never bothered to open it, since reading a comic version of any book seemed a travesty of literature.

"Right. We hire young, fresh writing voices to help spruce up the dialogue. We have in-house translators but they're not writers." He leaned forward a bit and deep brown eyes locked on hers. "You'd be perfect for our team."

It had been a long time since she's been part of anyone's team. Caroline felt herself warm to the idea, even as it took shape in her mind: a group of young, hip professionals gathered around a conference table throwing ideas at each other with rapid-fire genius, and herself there in the middle of it all.

"You've never read anything she's written." Brooks spoke into the moment, his voice dry.

"I can remedy that." She smiled tightly, refusing to look at Brooks. "Let me know when and how. I'd like to know more about your company."

Frank pulled out a card and handed it over. "I can tell you right now, this is going to be epic." He said the word without any hint of embarra.s.sment.

"Caroline and Brooks", a voice exclaimed right behind Caroline's left shoulder. She turned, almost b.u.mping into Mrs. Reynolds. She was holding a large champagne gla.s.s and clutching the elbow of a strikingly beautiful woman. "I want to introduce my granddaughter, Lauren Fairfield. She's working on a book about Th.o.r.n.y Hollow."

"Oh, Nana, I wish it was just Th.o.r.n.y Hollow." She smiled ruefully, one bare shoulder lifting, the delicate strap of her cream-colored summer dress slipping an inch or two. Her skin wasn't tanned by the sun, but she had a natural color that paired perfectly with the fabric. "But my editors know I have family here and agreed to let me spend a bit more time on this lovely area."

Caroline forced her face into a pleasant expression and worked at hiding her surprise. Of course, Lauren wasn't just brilliant, well-connected, and preparing a coffee table book on their home town history. She was beautiful. Not an ordinary beautiful, no, but enormous gray eyes rimmed with dark lashes, set over sculpted cheekbones. A rippling sheet of dark, glossy hair hung in waves on either side of her face. Not just beauty, really, but elegance and sophistication. She smiled and Caroline wanted to roll her eyes at the sight. Lauren's matching dimples framed an impossibly sweet smile and white, straight teeth. It was the icing on her jealousy cake.

"Are you related to the Elliots of Badewood?" Lauren's voice was soft, even a bit musical.

Brooks seemed pleased that she had recognized his estate by the mere mention of his name. "It's my family home."

"It would be wonderful to visit Badewood. I'm particularly interested in the outbuildings."

"We'd be happy to have you." His slow smile was genuine and Caroline wondered how he could be so happy with the idea of a photographer tramping around the place. Maybe it would be a different matter if Lauren was an ugly toad. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd use his attention as a point in her favor, but Caroline had to admit that Lauren was everything Mrs. Reynolds had said she would be. And more. She couldn't blame Brooks for giving her more than a pa.s.sing glance.

The two rambled on a bit about Badewood and the local historic buildings, but Caroline had the distinct impression that Lauren was practically reading from a script. Maybe she was nervous, or intimidated.

"Miss Fairfield, I've heard that your publisher is close to being swallowed up by a larger imprint. Is that true?" Frank's question seemed straightforward, if a bit awkward, but Lauren's reaction was swift. Her cheeks deepened in a blush and she blinked several times, as if struggling to find words.

"Mr. Keene, I'm sure that I know very little about the financial state of the company." Her words were stiff, clipped. She turned to Mrs. Reynolds. "Nana, let's get closer to the atrium before the tour starts. We don't want to be left behind."

They murmured their goodbyes and waited in silence while Lauren moved away, her dark hair swinging in a silky curtain around her shoulders.

"She seems a little defensive," Caroline mused. Surprising that Frank could elicit a response with one sentence.

"Everyone in traditional publis.h.i.+ng is. With the digital market, we're on the cutting edge. Anytime we have to partner at all with them, it's like using the Pony Express. Absolute waste of time and energy." His lip curled as he spoke, his eyes followed Lauren across the room. "I'm glad I don't have to work with that sort of backward att.i.tude."

"Perhaps a partners.h.i.+p would be the wisest course." Brooks spoke in that calm, slow way he had when he completely disagreed with someone but was too polite to say.

Frank considered his words for a moment and shrugged. "I'd better go apologize, then. I'd hate to burn any bridges. You can never tell when you'll need to ally yourself with a bloated, tyrannical publis.h.i.+ng company."

Reaching out, Frank touched her elbow. "Call me and we can go to lunch. I'm based in Spartainville for the next few months."

She nodded, feeling a rising sense of purpose for the first time in a long while. "I will."

He was gone a moment later, back into the swirling group of guests making their way toward the Atrium. She watched him go, his dark hair and tailored clothes standing out, even though the room was filled with elegantly attired guests. He turned just before he rejoined his friends, catching her eye. A wide smile crossed his face and Caroline felt her cheeks go hot.

"Don't tell me you're actually going to call him."

Whirling, she frowned up at Brooks. "Why the sudden negativity? You wanted me to get back into the loop. Well, a small press could be just the thing."

"Right. Because working on a manga comic would be totally epic."

She raised her chin. "You're being petty and it doesn't become you."

"I don't care if it becomes me. I think brains are more important than looks, remember?"

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "You're implying that I gave Frank attention because he's handsome?"

"You can't deny that he's preoccupied with his own appearance."

Manning hurried to their group, breathless. "I think we've got about two minutes before the tour. Debbie Mae is stuck over with Mrs. Kropp and she says if you two leave without seeing her, she'll hunt you down." He called over his shoulder, already on his way past them. "Don't think she doesn't mean it, because she does."

Caroline snorted. "Mrs. Kropp is a black hole of Southern sweetness. Once you've wandered into her orbit, she'll keep you trapped there forever."

They were slowly making their way through to the Atrium, as fellow guests murmured around them, holding gla.s.ses and small bone china plates piled with half-eaten canapes. "I've never seen a s.h.i.+nier suit outside of Nashville. He looks like one of those people that scout for models in the local mall on Sat.u.r.day afternoons."

"That's harsh. I expected more from you." Her jaw went tight. "About the slang, he's probably surrounded by college kids and is more flexible in his word choices. You know, the days of those author and editor teams like James Thurber and Harold Ross are gone. An author can have dozens of editors over the years and they're all going to be about age twenty five. You can afford to stagnate in academia as a revered professor, but the rest of us are fighting the inevitable slide into obsolescence. "

"Stagnate?" The calm in his face warned her she was pus.h.i.+ng his b.u.t.tons, but Caroline didn't care.

"I'm sure when you were younger and working toward tenure, you had to be up on all the current news. But now you're comfortable and secure. You're looking down your nose at him because he's trying to stay relevant."

Brooks stood still, eyes narrowed. Caroline knew she was being a little unfair, but Brooks was out of line. Frank seemed no worse and no better than most of the people in the room.

"I guess time will tell whether I'm just a dull and lifeless academic, too comfortable to rouse myself from the reveries of my youth." He paused. "But I can tell you that if I'm right, and Frank is part snake oil salesman, part publis.h.i.+ng hack, then you'd best be staying far away."

They stood there, gazes locked in anger for the second time that evening. Caroline wouldn't back down. He had an annoying habit of bossing her around and she was perfectly capable of making decisions for herself. Just when she felt her resolve begin to wither, his eyes flickered past her and his expression s.h.i.+fted to a neutral smile.

"Dr. Stroud, how nice to see you here. This is Caroline Ashley." Brooks put a hand on the small of her back, while reaching past her to extend his other hand to an elderly man with the brightest blue eyes Caroline had ever seen. A white three piece linen suit was perfect for the early spring heat, but with the man's gray hair grown long to his collar, he looked a bit like Mark Twain.

"I think Caroline and I have met once before. At a party quite like this one, I believe." He turned to her and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. "Your friend Shelby Roswell and I discussed the many methods in which a Civil War soldier could lose a limb. When you made a graceful exit, I realized how inexcusably rude I'd been. I'm glad to have the opportunity to offer my apologies for my shocking behavior."

Caroline gasped, laughing. "I remember you! When you mentioned necrotic tissue, I was forced to retreat to the pink lemonade table."

"I hope all is forgiven. I hear Miss Roswell has moved to Jackson?"