“Henrietta Bates, please come in. Have you met Frank Weston?” My father manages a small smile and an awkward nod toward me, letting me know he’s onto me and what I’m planning. The lights in the sitting room are off, so only the glow of the fireplace illuminates the cream walls with theirgolden siding.
I grin, thinking about how good it is to always have him on my side and in my corner even if he isn’t quite on board with marriage. I glance at Knightley as Henrietta and I walk into the room, and his expression is far different from my father’s warm, approachable demeanor. Knightley frowns, his eyes shifting between me and my friend. He obviously knows what I’m up to as well, but where my father is encouraging despite his disdain for marriage, Knightley seems as if the idea of my matchmaking Henrietta with Frank gives him a stomach ulcer.
As we exchange greetings, I’m not subtle in my attempt to size Frank up. While shaking his father’s hand, I notice Frank is tall and lean, sporting chocolate brown hair similar to his dad’s. Though unlike Mr. Grant’s, Frank’s hair is thick and lush. When I embrace Halle in a tight hug, I catch sight of Frank over her shoulder sporting an easy smile with crinkles around his dark eyes.
Then against my will, as I’m attempting to watch Frank greet Henrietta, two large hands wrap around my biceps from behind, spinning me around until I’m face to face with the current thunderous rain on my matchmaking parade.
Face to chest, I should correct.
And I scowl at that broad expanse, refusing to meet his stormy blue tornado-cloud eyes that will hail down disapproval.
“What do you think you’re up to, Emma?” Oof. He single-named me.Big mistake, buddy. I finally lift my eyes, jutting my chin.
“Whatever I so please, Knightley George Austen. So stay out of my way and go ruin someone else’s fun.”
He releases my arms, one hand resting on his jeaned hip while the other runs through his auburn hair. With an exhale, he proclaims, “You can’t run around meddling in the lives of others. Frank and Henrietta? Really? What are you thinking?”
I fold my arms across my chest, meeting his stare and cocking out one hip. “I’m thinking it’s a match made in heaven. Look at them.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Frank pulling out a spare chair for Henrietta. He catches my gaze and nods once, wearing a pleased smile.
“See?” I whip around toward Knightley while my thumb points at the obvious love blossoming behind me.
“Do you even know what kind of man he is? Why he’s back in Hartfield? And think about Henrietta! This is real life, Emma Jane. Not a romance movie where the poor girl gets the hotshot New York man.”
“He’s a perfect gentleman for Henrietta. And would you look at her?” I turn around again, this time maneuvering to Knightley’s side. “She’s got that whole girl-next-door vibe with her wide, almond-colored eyes and simple style. Any man would be a twit to not fall in love with her.”
Knightley’s warm breath tickles my ear. “Then, pray tell, Emma Jane, why does he keep side-eyeing you?”
“He’s suspiciously eyeing the man hovering beside me like an annoying fly.”
I move to stand behind Henrietta, effectively deciding to photo-erase Knightley from this scene. Frank Weston sits across from us, chatting with my father. Grant and Halle sit on the grayornate loveseat together, gazing into each other’s eyes as if they didn’t just get back from their three-day honeymoon.
Henrietta twirls her thumbs in her lap, nervously looking at Frank and then back at her fidgeting hands. Time for me to intervene.
“Frank, it’s so good to see you here in Hartfield again. I feared you’d disappeared on us for good. How’s life back in New York?”
Conversation between Father and Frank ceases as both men acknowledge me with pleasant smiles. Frank clears his throat, man-splaying in the settee before resting his elbows on his knees. “New York is full of life, character, and… stimulation. You would love it there, E. J.”
“Henrietta, haven’t you mentioned before that you were just dying to see what New York looked like outside of the movies?” I place a hand on her shoulder while I fix my gaze on the still-grinning man. “Frank, why don’t you show us pictures of the Big Apple?”
He stands abruptly, and I register his tall, looming frame beside me in seconds. I adjust myself so that he is forced to lean beside Henrietta.
I nudge her arm from the other side, and she pivots her head in my direction. Good. He should catch a whiff of her light floral perfume. When she looks at me with concerned eyes, I encourage her with a smile and a tilt of my head in Frank’s direction, where he has already whipped out his phone and is scrolling through his camera roll. As he begins to show us pictures of the city, Henrietta comes alive, shedding her nerves and stepping into the lovely, down-to-earth woman I’ve grown to know and admire.
By the time I edge away, the two of them are laughing, making pleasant conversation, and immersed in talks of urban life compared to rural life. I finally allow Knightley back into my frame, tossing a smug look of “told you so” in his direction, where he still hovers at the bylines of the room like a gothic hero awaiting to insert himself where he doesn’t belong.
I waltz over to him while humming to myself, and when I’m near enough, I stand on my toes and ruffle his hair. “See? I know what I’m doing, Squire. Don’t doubt my abilities again.”
He sighs in a tone that saysI’m-so-over-you, Emma Jane,pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you have a sick, sadistic wish to see your close friend suffer?”
“Pft. What are you going on about?”
Knightley glares at me, searching for any hint of understanding. When I raise my eyebrows, he runs his hand through his hair, turns his back to me, and then immediately spins to face me again, leaning down so that he’s inches from my face. “Frank Weston is here because he went bankrupt in New York. He’s manipulating his father into selling the family farm and land. And here you are trying to set a pure, innocent soul up with the devil himself.”
My brain doesn’t compute, and I continue to search his eyes for any detection of deceit. Knightley, however, has never been one to lie no matter how impossible he can be toward me. “Why is that not reported in the news? I did a thorough internet search on him days ago when I learned he was coming down. No one has even whispered about this.”
“Do you think every single investment banker on Wall Street is reported about?” Knightley laughs without mirth as hestands to his full height. “Frank’s a big deal, but he’s a small-town big deal. Not a national big deal.”
