Heartwishes (9 page)

Gemma got off the stool. “Now that Isla and Kirk are gone, I’d love to have breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Frazier.” Pausing, she looked back at Rachel, her face serious. “Is there anything I should know about these people? I’m going to be here quite a while.”

“They’re nice. A bit spoiled by too much money, maybe, but they’re good people. Stay away from Lanny—unless you want to become a notch on his bedpost, that is—and let Shamus draw you. And when Pere comes home, don’t fall for him. His parents don’t know it, but his heart is already spoken for.”

Gemma ran her hand along the cool countertop. “What about Colin?” When Rachel didn’t answer, she looked at her.

Rachel wasn’t smiling but her eyes were dancing. “Colin is the best of the lot. But you need to know that he is fantastically loyal and . . .”

“And what?”

“Jean owns him. Remember Shrek fighting the dragon to get to Princess Fiona?”

“Yes.”

“That dragon is a delicate little butterfly compared to Jean. Unless you plan to fight to the death, stay away from Colin.”

“Thanks,” Gemma said and started toward the door. “What about some doctor? Tristan, was it?”

Rachel waved her hand in dismissal. “Dr. Tris is not to be had. The impossible dream. The mountain never climbed. If you even get a date with him, consider yourself lucky, but if you set your heart on him, it’ll be broken.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows. “What an extraordinary town this seems to be,” she murmured as she went into the dining room.

Mr. Frazier was sitting at the head of the table, reading a newspaper. “ ’Bout time,” he said without looking up. “I’m starving.”

“Sorry but it’s just me,” Gemma said as she sat down beside him. “No food. But Rachel was frying a piece of ham the size of a small pond.”

Mr. Frazier put down his newspaper and grinned at her. “That sounds right. After last night I need sustenance. Did Rachel fill you in on all the gossip?”

“I take it Isla won’t be invited back.”

Mr. Frazier chuckled. “My wife believes that our sons are being seduced by every woman they speak to. Although I must say that Lanny is the only one who consistently says yes. If he ever—”

Gemma knew what he was going to say and cut him off. “I spend most of my days with very healthy young men. I can handle myself.”

“Good!” he said, then looked up to see Rachel entering with a tray full of food. “I lost ten pounds waiting for you.”

“You could stand to lose twenty,” Rachel said, unperturbed. “Where’s Mrs. F?”

“On the phone. She has half a dozen friends to call to tell about the job and Gemma and the latest of what some girl did to Lanny.”

Rachel shook her head. “Nothing ever changes. You want raspberry or peach jam? No. Wait. You want both.”

“Why not? We have Gemma’s arrival to celebrate.”

“Any excuse,” Rachel said as she went back to the kitchen.

As soon as they were alone, Gemma and Mr. Frazier began filling their plates.

“What kind of car do you want?” Mr. Frazier asked.

“A Duesenberg,” she said quickly.

“That’s a doozy of an idea.” His eyes were laughing as he let her know he knew the origin of the word.

“Gemma,” Mrs. Frazier said as she entered the room and sat down at the opposite end of the table. Leaves had been removed so it was shorter than it had been last night. “I warn you not to make car jokes in this family or they’ll never stop, and you’ll not be able to come up with a reference that will stump them.”

“That’s a challenge to a historian.” She looked at Mr. Frazier. “What about Duryea?”

“Duryea Motor Wagon Company,” Mr. Frazier said. “Founded by Charles and Frank Duryea. They built the ‘Ladies Phaeton’ in 1893, and won the
Chicago Times-Herald
race two years later. But, alas, the brothers fought. Bad ending.”

“I can see that I’ll lose this one,” Gemma said.

“Did you know that Shamus Frazier, the one who came here from Scotland about 1770, made the wagons for George Washington’s troops at Valley Forge?”

Gemma’s eyes opened so wide they were circles. “Really?”

“It’s been passed down in my family that the man was passionate about wagons. Today we’d probably say that he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder and send him to therapy. But back then he just built the best wagons anybody had ever seen.”

“Good enough to help win a war against a big enemy,” Gemma said. “A hero.”

Mr. Frazier looked at her with almost love in his eyes.

“For heaven’s sake, Grinny,” Mrs. Frazier said, “let the girl eat. You two have years to talk about history.” Her words sounded displeased but her eyes glistened with happiness. “Right now we need to discuss practical matters. Gemma has to move to Edilean, so we have to figure out how to get her things here.”

“I could lend you a pickup truck and you could drive there and back,” Mr. Frazier said. “But I guess it depends on how much stuff you need to bring back.”

“I thought I’d fly out tomorrow morning,” Gemma said, “and rent a car to drive back. I don’t have much to bring here.”

“Not even books?”

They looked up to see Colin standing in the doorway. He smiled at Gemma as he took a seat across from her and helped himself to scrambled eggs.

“I do have a few books,” she said, smiling back at him. He looked rested and happy. “But not as many as you’d think.”

“You must want to say good-bye to people,” Mrs. Frazier said, and they all looked at Gemma. “Last night Isla seemed to imply that there were a lot of young men in your life.”

“Only my students,” Gemma said. “And . . . This is embarrassing, but they were so sure I’d get the job that they gave me a party when I left.” She looked down in memory. Her athletic students had surprised her, and it had been a joyous event. They’d given her gag gifts of tiny boxing gloves and a T-shirt with the bottom half cut away. They’d often teased her because when she trained with them she always wore large, concealing clothes. After an hour of hilarity, one of the biggest of the young men had hoisted her onto his shoulder and carried her back to her apartment. The others had followed so that she’d been surrounded by over a ton of young, muscular male flesh. It had been an exhilarating experience.

“That settles it,” Mrs. Frazier said, “we’ll have everything sent here and Gemma won’t have to leave.”

“I’m not sure . . .” Gemma began.

Mr. Frazier was looking at his wife as though he were confused about something.

“I think it’s the perfect solution,” Mrs. Frazier said as she got up and went to the sideboard, opened a drawer, and withdrew a couple of keys on a ring. She handed them to Gemma. “These are to the guesthouse and the garage. If you’ll give me all the pertinent information I’ll arrange for movers to pack and ship all that you’ve left behind.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose like that,” Gemma said.

Mr. Frazier leaned toward her. “I can attest that my wife is brilliant at having things packed and shipped. England must be empty after all that she had sent home.”

Gemma was torn between not wanting to cause anyone extra work or expense, and wanting so very much to stay. She looked at the keys in her hand. They were on a ring for Frazier Motors and she held them so tightly they bit into her hand. “Okay,” she said at last, “but if I’m going to stay here, I need to buy some toiletries, and—”

“Colin will take you,” Mrs. Frazier said quickly. “Whatever you need, wherever you want to go, he’ll take you there.”

Mr. Frazier looked at his wife in speculation, then turned to his son. “Take her into Williamsburg and get her a car.”

“And she’ll need office supplies,” Mrs. Frazier said.

“Colored pens, for sure,” Colin said, his eyes teasing.

“Yes, now go,” Mrs. Frazier said. “I have a lot to do today and you two will just be in my way.”

Colin looked across the table to Gemma. “It looks like we’re unwanted.”

Gemma smiled. She would love to spend another day with him!

The minute Colin and Gemma were out of the room, Peregrine Frazier turned to his wife. “Alea,” he said slowly, “what are you up to?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he ran his hand over his face. “It seems like lately I’m asking you that every other day.”

Alea still didn’t reply, just sat there looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read.

“I gave in to you on those old papers, and now I’m paying the salary and living expenses of a student. I know that we can well afford that, but you’re up to something with our eldest son and I want to know what it is.”

Alea gave a sigh. “You and I have been married for over thirty years, so you must know what I want most in the world.”

“To get someone in England to declare you a lady?” he asked, his voice a symphony of frustration. He hated it when his wife did this to him. It was as though she was saying that if he truly loved her, he’d intuit what she was thinking.

“If you believe that’s what I deeply and truly want most in life, then you know nothing about me.”

Peregrine resisted the urge to look at his watch, but he knew from experience that doing so would cause a fight. He just wanted to go to work, finish a couple of contracts, then play golf with his friend, Dr. Henry Shaw. But at the same time, he wanted to know what his wife was truly after because, sometimes, her schemes caused problems. Even though, with the exception of wanting to make herself into a countess, her plots had all been for him or their children, they hadn’t always done what she meant for them to.

In high school, when their daughter, Ariel, cried because she didn’t have many friends, Alea became the sponsor of the cheerleaders—which included purchasing the uniforms—but only if Ariel was put on the team. That had worked out well. When Lanny, at sixteen, was so shy he wouldn’t even go to a dance, Alea arranged for him to spend
a summer in Paris studying ballet. He’d been the only heterosexual male in the class. That had not worked out so well.

“Alea,” he said patiently, “I really don’t know—” He cut himself off because he remembered something she’d said years before. When Colin was about four, she’d said, “I think he’ll give us smart, beautiful grandchildren.” It had been such an odd thing to say, considering the child’s age, that it had stuck with him.

“Grandchildren,” he whispered. When Alea smiled warmly at him, he knew he’d answered correctly, but he still didn’t understand. “Are you saying that you don’t care about being a countess?”

“Of course not! That my own family thinks that I’m such a shallow person that I’d want that—” She couldn’t seem to find words to describe how bad that had made her feel.

Peregrine leaned back in his chair. “How long have you been working on this . . . this plan? Whatever it is?”

“Ever since Eleanor Shaw’s first grandchild was born,” she said quickly. As energy surged through Alea, she stood up. “Every woman in this town has grandchildren.”

He knew what she meant. Not
every
woman, but nearly every woman who had grown children and was a descendant of the seven founding families did have grandchildren.

“Ellie Shaw has three grandchildren and her youngest daughter, Sara, is already pregnant. She’s only been married a few months. Then there’s Helen Connor. Twins! And her daughter-in-law named them after her grandparents!”

Alea was a tall woman, and she was top-heavy—a physical trait that he’d always loved—but when she pulled herself up to her full height, she could be downright intimidating.

“All of them have grandbabies to spoil and adore,” Alea continued. “Helen has only one child but
two
grandchildren—and more to come. What do I have? Five children and not even the hope of a grandchild.”

“Ariel is probably going to marry that guy Frank Thiessen,” Peregrine said meekly. He’d had no idea this was a problem to his wife. His belief was that these things would happen and it was best to let nature take its course.

Alea threw up her hands. “Our daughter hasn’t finished her residency yet and when she does, do you think she’s going to want to jump right into motherhood?”

“She might—”

Alea glared at him. “Don’t you think I haven’t talked to her about this? You think we haven’t had a mother-daughter talk about her having children? The age of her eggs, the age of the man she wants to marry—this time, that is. Frank is what, the third man she’s been seriously involved with?”

Peregrine kept his face straight but he vowed to call his daughter ASAP and tell her he loved her just as she was.

“And then there are our boys,” Alea continued. “Lanny will
never
marry. He likes to . . . I don’t want to think about what he does. Pere prefers to sit back and let women make fools of themselves because of his pretty face. He’s not going to trade that pleasure in for some woman who expects him to help with the housework.”

Peregrine felt as though entire lives had been going on in his house that he knew nothing about—and he was fascinated. “Shamus?” he asked.

“Have you seen him go out on a date? Even once?”

“No, I haven’t,” Peregrine said, but he also hadn’t thought about it. He knew the cheerleaders sometimes used Shamus as the center for a pyramid, which meant that five pretty girls in short skirts climbed on him. But Peregrine had never heard Shamus say anything about the trick, certainly not in a lusty way.

“Which leaves Colin,” Peregrine said. When his wife’s face turned red with emotion, he knew he’d hit on the center of all her distress.

Alea sat down and lowered his voice. “That ‘boy’ is thirty years old.”

“He has Jean.”

Alea stared at him.

“You don’t think he and Jean will get married?”

“Married, then divorced,” she said.

Peregrine’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I thought you liked Jean.”

“I love her second only to my own daughter. I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve spent with her. She makes me laugh. I love talking with her. She’s a joy to go shopping with. But she’s not right for Colin.”

“Don’t you think he should decide that for himself?” When she was silent, Peregrine stared at her. Her eyes seemed to be trying to tell him something, but he didn’t know what it was. How did all the things she’d just revealed relate to one another?