A Christmas Wedding Wager (16 page)

Jack watched Emma's face become animated. It was as if he had given her a diamond bracelet. Or a load had rolled off her back. He had not been able to sleep last night, and he had read the report. He had also seen the neat notations Emma had made in the margins. Those calculations were accurate, unlike the ones he had questions about.

Exactly who had made those first calculations? It seemed incredible that the Edward Harrison he knew would make such a basic error.

'Do you mean that?'

'Nothing is certain.' Jack ran his hand through his hair. More than ever he wanted to make her smile like that again, but this time at him, because of him, not because of the bridge.

'But you will retain the keep? It is important. It is a symbol, and symbols matter.' She had pressed her hands under her chin, and her eyes were shining.

'I cannot promise anything, but the river appears slightly narrower, and it is possible that we could have seven piers in the water instead of the nine that your father originally planned.

Nine is just too many. It will add to the cost enormously.'

'I see.' Emma spoke around a tight lump in her throat. She should be happy that Jack was even considering moving the bridge. But he was also changing the design, and it appeared that he planned on being here much longer than she had first anticipated. Was this something else that he'd forgotten to tell her?

Exactly what did her father and Jack have planned? She should be furious, but her heart was rejoicing. She wanted to spend time with Jack. After last night, when she had danced in Jack's arms and then his lips had touched hers, it seemed as if the world had become a different place, bright--sparkling with the possibility of adventure.

She had lived too long in her own safe world, with limited horizons. Suddenly her future horizons appeared vast and enticing. She concentrated on filling her lungs with air. She had to be cautious and not say too much. The last thing she wanted was to reveal everything, to ruin everything.

She had to remember that Jack Stanton had the potential to be her enemy. She had been wrong about Davy, but she had no firm idea about his intentions towards Harrison and Lowe.

One wrong word, one slip, and she knew the vultures would start to circle. How many companies had he swallowed on the way to his fortune? But he was moving the line of the bridge.

'Seven arches instead of nine, but the design would remain the same?' she said, struggling to keep the excitement from her voice.

'It is a good solid design, despite the unusual combination of iron and concrete.'

'It is important to get this bridge right.'

'I plan on having it standing...' Jack paused and his smile broadened '...for at least the next one hundred and sixty years.'

'One hundred and sixty years?'

'Yes. Think of what someone might think in 2007 as their train passes over this bridge.'

Emma stared across the grey water moving under the low-level bridge. She tried to see her bridge and think what Newcastle might look like then. She screwed up her eyes and shook her head.

'I can't think that far ahead. It is beyond my capability to think that far in the future.'

'Think of your great-great-grandchildren riding on a train crossing the bridge.' He leant forward, pointed, his eyes alight with a hidden fire. 'Can you see it now, Miss Emma? The lit carriages? The girl with her nose in a book? What do you think she is thinking about? Do you think she even wonders how the bridge got here, or suspects you might have had something to do with it?'

Emma looked, but all she noticed was how close Jack was, and the shape of his mouth. One kiss stolen and she was thinking about more. She had to stop building bridges in clouds.

Bridges needed firm ground and strong foundations. With Jack, here and now, she felt as if she were about to slip over a precipice.

'I am unmarried,' Emma replied quickly. She was a spinster. There would be no children, let alone great-great-grandchildren. The thought depressed her. She had wanted children once.

'Miracles do sometimes happen.'

'Not those sorts of miracles, Mr Stanton.'

Emma toyed with her glove. If she allowed herself, she would start to build iron bridges in the air. Marriage was something she had given up hope of long ago, when she had decided it was far more important for her mother to spend her last years being looked after by someone who loved her. And by the time she had died Emma had become aware that such opportunities had passed her by. Men were interested in younger, prettier women, not women who read books on civil engineering and were inclined to speak their mind.

'Are you not being hard on your prospects? You may meet someone one of these days. Such a thing is not beyond the realms of possibility.'

'As I have said before, Mr Stanton, I enjoy being a spinster. It gives me freedom.' Emma raised her chin and directly met his gaze. 'I am not looking for anything beyond friendship.'

'Who are you trying to convince, Miss Harrison?'

The wind ruffled his hair slightly, sending it across his forehead. Emma's fingers itched to touch it. She forced her body to turn. She gazed out at the swiftly moving river.

'You are relying on Davy's help,' Emma said firmly. 'Are you sure he can do this with his leg?'

'He has a very quick mind. I think he will make a first-rate civil engineer if he gets the schooling he needs.' Jack put his hands on his hips. 'I intend to impress on him the benefits of education, night school. He can work and learn.'

'Are you planning on remaining in Newcastle for a long time, then?' Emma disliked the way her insides trembled. She was torn. She wanted him to stay, but not at the risk of losing her father's company.

'Somebody has to oversee the bridge and co-ordinate the building of the central railway station,' came the enigmatic reply.

'But my father will be well soon.'

'I do hope so.'

Emma watched a plume of breath come from Jack's mouth. 'I have some books--old schoolbooks. I could give them to Davy. They are cluttering up the schoolroom my sister and I used.'

'He will refuse anything that gives the slightest impression of charity. It would have to be skilfully done, but it is a good thought.'

Emma bit her lip as she watched Davy determinedly cross the yard. 'What do you suggest? I would like to do something for him, to encourage him.'

Jack was silent for a moment. The sun sparkled off the white frost, dazzling her eyes. Emma pulled her bonnet more firmly on her head.

'Are you familiar with German Christmas trees?' he asked at last.

'Yes, they have reached Newcastle--just.' Emma gave a small laugh. 'My father and I put one on the table in the drawing room last Christmas Eve. I have ordered one from the confectioner's already for this year. It is to have oranges, lemons and sugar-iced grapes on it.

But what do Christmas trees have to do with Davy not accepting charity?'

'A party I attended at the London Mission Hall last year had an exhibition of German Christmas trees--trees of love. At the end of the party the presents adorning the trees, and one or two below, were handed out.'

'It is just perfect.' Emma clapped her hands together, her mind quickly turning the idea over.

She could almost see the scene before her. 'Why hadn't I thought of it? I can remember reading about it in the Illustrated London News. Is there time? The feast is less than two weeks away.'

'If you will find the presents, I believe I can find the tree. And I think a tree as large as the hall at the Institute of Mechanical Engineers can take, rather than a series of small pinetops.

Shall we do it, Miss Emma? Will you work with me on this project?'

'Consider it done.' Emma's mind raced. She tried to list everything that needed to be done.

She had been wrong. He had changed. It was such a lovely thought to do that for Davy and the others. It would allow them to accept a bit of charity. 'I will get a list from Mrs Mudge and Mrs Newcomb. They will have an idea about what the children might need.'

'It would not have to be elaborate. Nuts and fruit go down well.'

'And I can ask my father to play Old Christmas now that he is more fully recovered. He can hand the presents out. There is a green robe somewhere in the attic, and I can easily find a Yule log to strap to his back. I am sure Mrs Newcomb can fashion him a holly crown.'

'I can see your father as Old Christmas somehow. His hair is the right colour, and he is thin enough.'

'I can't think why I did not think of this before. It will make a capital end to the feast.' Emma clasped her hands together, resisting the urge to throw her arms about him.

'Sometimes we need others' help to achieve our dreams.'

Emma stared at him. His eyes glittered with banked fire, though his hand was loosely wrapped around the ebony head of his cane. The words had a deeper meaning. Did he understand about the bridge?

'This was supposed to be a tour of the site.' Her voice sounded strained to her ears, and her insides trembled.

'Why don't I show you some of the experiments? Unless you find such things deadly dull?'

'I would like that.'

Jack's fingers brushed her elbow as she scrambled down the bank. A bolt of heat seemed to pass from him to her. Emma went still, concentrated on breathing. The wind blew the ribbons from her bonnet across her face. She pushed them away, and nearly turned into him. She could see his pearl collar stud. She became aware that they were alone here, without her father. The shouts of the workmen were distant sounds. Her lips ached.

A seagull rose from the river and the spell was broken. She hurried down to the river on her own.

In the cold, the river moved sluggishly, and a faint layer of ice was apparent in the shallows.

Emma's eyes widened at the array of instruments. Some of the experiments she had not even considered necessary, but once Jack explained the reasoning, she knew they had to be done.

She asked a few questions, and heard the growing note of respect in Jack's voice.

'Some people consider a bridge to be stationary,' Jack said. 'But it is not. Bridges are constantly moving. They need to be able to withstand the stress of changing forces.'

'I know that.'

'There is a world of difference between the practical and the theory. What works in theory may not work in practice.'

'Are you trying to tell me something?' Emma went over and righted one of the sticks being used to measure the height of flooding.

'Making an observation, that is all.'

'I do understand the practical side of bridge-building,' Emma replied.

'You say you do, but I wonder...'

'You wonder what?'

His eyes flashed with hidden fire, and a mischievous dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. Emma realised with a start that she had forgotten about the dimple, and the way it showed when he was very pleased about something. 'Would you like to go to the theatre with me?'

'What does the theatre have to do with bridge-building?' Emma's voice sounded breathless.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that they were quite alone by the river. The shouts and cries of the men were distant noise.

'There is an educational pantomime at the Theatre Royal, looking at several bridges and points through history as well as other sights for the amusement of onlookers. We could discuss them.'

'You wish to take me on my own?' Emma said the words slowly. The treat was tempting, but impossible. Surely Jack knew that. They were not even courting, let alone engaged. There was no understanding between them. Exactly what was her father playing at? Having failed with Dr Milburn, was he trying his matchmaking skills again? The temptation was there, but the obstacles were insurmountable.

'I have discussed it with your father. A party will be going. Your friend Lucy Charlton and her husband are included. You will be properly chaperoned.'

'I had no idea you were that well acquainted with Henry Charlton.'

'He has a business that he wishes me to invest in. For old times' sake I have agreed to listen, to hear what he says.'

'But you have your doubts.' She could well remember the drawling tones of Henry when he had first encountered Jack, and the way he had once humiliated Jack over his ready-made suits and strong Newcastle accent. She had been surprised when Lucy had married Henry, but--as Lucy said--she had chosen security and contentment over happiness.

'Why would you say that?' Jack's eyes had taken on a granite look.

'You were hardly friends. It surprises me that he seeks to draw on past acquaintance in that way.'

'I thought you had forgotten everything that happened seven years ago.' He tilted his head to one side. 'I had barely any recollection of him.'

'I had put it from my mind, but I do remember the way Henry Charlton behaved. It bothered me how some of them treated you. I never liked him very well after that. It is only because I am so fond of Lucy that we remain friends.'

'I cannot change the past, Miss Harrison. But I can change the future. It is the future that concerns me, not the past. I will invest if the business plan shows promise.'

And where do I belong? Emma longed to ask. What we shared last night--was that linked to the past or the future?

Instead she swallowed hard and pressed her gloved fingers together. She had to contain her emotions. She had to look at this dispassionately, as no doubt he was.

'You have discussed this trip and the pantomime with my father and others. Is there anything else you have committed me to that I should know about?'

'I am not in the habit of betraying confidences, Emma. Perhaps you can enlighten me. What else should I be planning to do?' His eyes twinkled with some unseen mischief. 'Put mistletoe in your hair? Forgive me, Emma, but I don't think you would take kindly to that happening to you twice.'

'I have no idea.' Emma clutched her reticule more tightly and resolutely turned her gaze from his mouth. Even the mere mention of the kiss caused a ripple of warmth to infuse her body. 'I shall have to see if my father is too ill...'

'Your father has recovered quickly for a man of his age and disposition.'