Carly's Gift (19 page)

Carly snatched the scarf off the floor and stuffed it inside the envelope along with the wrapping paper and ribbon that had been around it.

Damn him for interfering.

Damn him for caring.

But most of all, damn him for letting her believe, even for a minute, that Andrea hadn't forgotten her after all.

Unable to sit still any longer, Carly got up and went to the window. Her warm breath on the cool surface soon isolated her again. Her deepest pain came from knowing Andrea hadn't missed her nearly as much as Carly had believed she would.

Could David be the answer? Why was he being so wonderful to Andrea when he'd promised he would do everything he could to see that she returned home?

The voice of reason surfaced in her emotional storm and put a stop to her panicked railing. She forced herself to take a calming breath. If she was to have any hope of getting through the next few months, she had to deal with what was ahead of her, not waste time and energy on wild speculation.

She heard the sound of the back door opening and realized the time for self-indulgent breast-beating was over. She had a lot of Christmas to get through yet. There would be time enough for leisurely contemplation tomorrow.

“Mom?” Shawn called out.

“I'm in here,” she answered, tucking the envelope and scarf into the bookshelf, behind a leather-bound set of the complete works of Shakespeare, where she was confident they would never be found.

He came into the room seconds later, unwrapping the muffler Andrea had given him from around his neck. “The turkey smells great.”

“It still has a couple of hours to go.”

He sat down on the sofa next to her. “What've you been doing?”

“Some odds and ends, picking up. How come you came inside? Bored with your new skis already?” She smoothed the hair back from his forehead and then, feeling a compelling need for physical contact, let her arm slip over his shoulder.

“Dad and Eric decided to ski over to the pond to see what's going on over there. I didn't want to go.”

“I'm glad. I like having you around.” She gave him a squeeze. “How about a cup of hot chocolate?”

He tilted his head to touch hers. “No, thanks.”

“Not even if I put marshmallows in it?”

He didn't answer. Instead, several seconds later, he asked, “Did Andrea call?”

Now Carly understood the real reason Shawn had come inside. “No,” she said. She might have told him, “not yet,” but after reading Andrea's letter, she didn't want to get his hopes up. It was better to face disappointment now than wait the rest of the day for something that wasn't going to happen.

“Nothing says we can't call her,” he suggested.

In his innocence, Shawn had cut through the protocol that bound Carly. “I think that's a grand idea,” she said. “I've never been very good at waiting myself.” She stood and held out her hand to help him up. “I'll get the number and you can make the call.”

“Shouldn't we wait for Dad and Eric?”

“If they want to talk to her when they get back, we'll just call her again.”

He grinned. “Thanks, Mom.”

She gave him a quick hug. “No, Shawn,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

Sixteen

Andrea stared with
disgust at the bright pink spot the punch she'd been drinking had left on the skirt of her white silk dress. If David hadn't been so worried about her having a real Christmas dinner, she would have tried to talk him out of coming tonight. The day had turned out even harder than she'd imagined, and she had imagined it would be pretty awful. She'd been looking at her watch all night and thinking what time it was back home and what everybody was doing.

She'd almost cried when she opened her packages and saw that her mom had gotten her the Eddie Bauer sweater she'd been saving to buy for herself. Andrea couldn't remember telling Carly about the sweater. It was a good thing she'd broken down and sent her mother the scarf, or she'd have felt like a bigger jerk than she already did.

She'd thought her mom would call when she got the package. Christmas Eve Andrea had made a show of listening to the carols being sung on the radio by the King's College Chapel at Cambridge while in reality she was waiting for her cell to vibrate. She'd waited again on Christmas day, right up until they'd had to leave for dinner. David must have guessed what she was thinking because she hadn't even said anything when he told her that courier services messed up sometimes, too.

Wondering where he was now, she glanced around the enormous living room and found him deep in conversation with the gray-haired man who had greeted them at the door when they'd arrived. When David had said they were having Christmas dinner with a few friends, she'd thought he meant a casual get-together with a couple of his neighbors. She should have been suspicious when he'd come downstairs in a tuxedo—something she'd only seen at proms and weddings before coming to England.

The last time she'd bothered counting, there were over thirty people standing around waiting for dinner. She couldn't imagine a table big enough to seat everybody or a turkey big enough to feed all of them.

Deciding the spot on her dress would be less noticeable if she were sitting down, she sidled over to a big, ugly chair with carved arms and sank into the overstuffed cushion. A boy David had introduced her to earlier, Murdock Armstrong, sat opposite her listening to a woman in a green dress.

As soon as they realized she was there, they turned to include her in their conversation.

“You're David's daughter, aren't you?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” Andrea answered.

“From America, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, but I can't seem to recall which state you said you were from,” Murdock said.

“Ohio,” she told him.

The woman frowned thoughtfully. “I don't believe I know Ohio.”

Andrea wasn't surprised. No one she'd met since coming to England had the foggiest idea how the states were arranged between New York and California. “It's across Lake Erie from Canada.” She waited to see if the added information was enough to spark recognition. When it became clear it wasn't, she added, “A couple of hundred miles southwest of Toronto.”

“Ahh,” the woman said.

They all smiled politely while Andrea tried to think of something else to say. Finally, she focused on Murdock. “Do you go to school around here?”

“Eton,” he said.

“Is that close?” she prodded, thinking he would be flattered at her interest. Instead, what she got was a barely concealed look of disdain.

“Eton is across the river from Windsor,” came a voice from behind her. The young man attached to the voice stepped around Andrea's chair and perched on the arm of the sofa next to Murdock. “Murdock forgets not everyone is as caught up in name dropping as he is.” He extended his hand, “I'm Jeffery Armstrong, this oaf's brother.”

Andrea placed her hand in his, and returned his smile. He had the most remarkable eyes, and she had to remind herself not to stare. They were light blue in the middle, surrounded by a deeper, almost navy blue. The color was a startling contrast to his black hair and bronze skin. “Andrea Hargrove.”

He brightened. “David Montgomery's daughter—I should have known.”

She nodded.

“I've been hearing about you for days now. It's nice to be able to put a face to the name.”

“You've been hearing about me?” She could just imagine what was being said—poor David, saddled with a daughter he didn't even know he had. And poor, poor Victoria. She'd certainly never signed on for something like this when she married David.

“All wonderful, I can assure you.”

Murdock stood up and smoothed the wrinkles from his pants. “If you'll excuse me, I think I'd like a bit more of the eggnog.” He gave a slight bow. “Is there anything I can get anyone?”

“No, thank you,” Andrea said. With her luck, she'd have a cream-colored spot to go along with the pink.

“I'll just go along with you,” the woman said, gracefully excusing herself.

When they were gone, Jeffery returned his attention to Andrea. He smiled. “Looks like it's just you and me,” he said. “Hope you don't mind.”

She was attracted by his smile but captivated by the twinkle in his eye. “Not at all,” she said, making an effort to sound casual. “As a matter of fact, if
you
wouldn't mind, you could answer a few questions for me.”

“Fire away.”

“What is Eton?”

He put his hand over his heart and feigned a horrified look. “It's customary to bow your head and lower your voice when you say the word aloud.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “It's a school for the sons of very rich, very influential, very well-connected men. There are, of course, a sprinkling of high achievers from the state schools, and then there are the King's Scholars, but for the most part, we're very careful about keeping out the riffraff.”

“ ‘We're?' ” Andrea questioned.

“I'm afraid that I, too, am one of those impossibly spoiled young men.” He broke the rigid line of his tuxedo when he pulled back the jacket to stuff his hands into his pants pockets. “Next question?”

Andrea leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, forgetting all about the pink spot on her skirt. “How come everyone else here looks like they've never seen the sun and you look like you've spent the past month on the beach?”

“And here I thought no one had noticed.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean—” David had warned her that it was considered impolite to ask personal questions.

He chuckled. “Don't apologize, Andrea. I'm not the least offended. In fact, I've been dying to tell someone all about the fantastic week I spent skiing in Verbier,” he leaned closer, “but everybody I know is too bloody polite to ask.”

She shook her head. “Everything is so different over here. Back home, if somebody went on a trip, it would be rude not to ask them about it.”

David propped his shoulder against the door frame of the study and surreptitiously watched Andrea. He was pleased to see that she and Jeffery Armstrong had finally connected. Jeffery was a terrific kid, unusually mature and sensitive for a seventeen-year-old, the perfect friend for Andrea while she was in England.

David still hadn't been able to figure out whether Andrea was a master at disguising her feelings or if she just hadn't reached the point of homesickness yet where swallowing her pride was secondary to seeing her family again.

She was a remarkable young woman, bright and curious, eager to see everything. Even though he was months behind on his book and had no business acting the tour guide, he'd found an almost addictive pleasure in discovering London again through her eyes. He would miss her when she was gone.

As if she'd somehow picked up on his thoughts, Andrea turned her head and looked directly at him. She flashed a quick smile and then went back to her conversation with Jeffery.

David was stunned at the memories and emotions her action unleashed. For a heartbeat, it hadn't been Andrea he'd seen in the youthful, upturned face, but Carly.

He stood upright, squared his shoulders, and looked for someone to talk to, something to distract him.

Nothing had changed. Nothing would. To believe anything else was self-destructive.

Andrea was unusually quiet on their way home that night. Finally, just as they were pulling onto the road that led to the house, she said, “Do you suppose Mom didn't get her scarf?”

“Why do you ask?”

She hesitated. “Because she didn't call. Maybe she thought I forgot her after all.”

“And you're afraid you might have hurt her feelings?” David asked carefully, not sure how far he could push without having Andrea slam the door between them.

“She probably saw there wasn't anything for her under the tree as soon as she got home from the airport. She notices things like that.”

“Is that why you did it?” he asked, holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

“I was really mad when I left.”

“I think it was more that you were really hurt. With everything that happened, that's understandable.”

“Do you think Mom understands?”

“I've never known anyone more willing to make allowances for the people they love than your mother. Carly doesn't have it in her to hold a grudge. Especially not against you.”

“She hardly ever gets mad, even when she has lots of reasons to.”

“Like what kinds of reasons?” David asked, suppressing the guilt he felt for prying, for wanting to hear about the intimate details of Carly's life he had no right to know.

She went on as if she hadn't heard the question. “I should have sent the package sooner.”

“Maybe she called while we were away.”