Emma, Mr. Knightley and Chili-Slaw Dogs by Mary Jane Hathaway

Author:Mary Jane Hathaway
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books

We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more angry.

—EMMA

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A light knock sounded in the living room and Caroline bolted from the couch. It was a week to the day since the garden party, but it had seemed much longer. Her mother was retreating to her room more and more often, spending hours at a time locked away. Caroline felt as if she lived alone most of the time.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes! I wondered if the thought of more garden parties had made you change your mind about moving back.” Caroline swung the door open wider and grinned to see Brooks standing there, holding a pink cake box. Absalom wiggled beside him, wagging his tail furiously. She’d actually expected them yesterday, but Brooks must have been busy. He couldn’t come running back home the minute classes were out.

“No, it was a fairly run-of-the-mill torture session. Except for watching you wander around in those heels, it was boring, boring, boring.”

“Well, I’m glad I was entertaining. What do you have there?”

“My little celebration for being done with the term. I knew you’d be happy to see this.” He held up the cake box, the pale blue forget-me-nots printed on the lid announcing this was no normal offering of baked goods.

“I would never refuse anything from Bravard’s. Come on in.” She waved him inside and tucked her knitting under one arm. She reached down to give Absalom a nice, long welcome. Brooks sidled into the living room and put the Bravard’s box on the side table. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as if he were out for a stroll. Absalom licked every inch of skin he could reach, and when she was tired of dodging his frantic greeting, she stood up.

“Are those . . . knitting needles?” He cocked his head, dimples showing.

“Knitting is all the rage right now.” She waved her project, bright pink loops dangling crazily. “I’m trying to get good enough to make some mittens for Christmas. A pair for everyone. Better choose your color before all the good ones are taken.”

“Mmm-hmmm. I can’t say I’ve ever minded the cold.”

“Smarty-pants. Are you meeting someone?” She gave Brooks the once-over, loving every line of his well-dressed self. Nicely pressed tan suit, check. Freshly shaved, check. Smelling delicious, check and double check.

“You look so nice.” She picked up the box and playfully flipped his tie on her way past. “And this is new.”

“Ever-changing tie fashion is a thorn in my side,” he said, smoothing it down.

“My daddy wore ties from the 1960s all the way until the week he died. You don’t have to be a slave to fashion.” She tried to keep her voice steady but it wavered just a bit. She had so many good memories but it was still hard to talk about the little quirks and habits that made her daddy dear to her.

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