The Problem Child (Emerson Pass Historicals 4)

Cymbeline

Every Sunday we gathered as a family for dinner. We were expected to sit down in our formal dining room promptly at seven to a meal cooked by our beloved Lizzie. No one dared be late, not even Flynn.

I gestured for Viktor to follow me. Jasper was no longer lurking in the foyer. He was probably angry with me for staying out with Viktor. I did dislike making him anxious for my well-being, but with Jasper one had to accept a certain amount of overprotection.

Our sitting room was made from dark wood and red velvet, with the stone fireplace as a focal point. Rows and rows of books lined the walls. We had a formal parlor reserved for guests, but as a family we spent most of our time in this space that served as a library, Mama’s study, and the central location of family gatherings. In the warmer months, we loved to sit on the screened porch or play on the lawn.

Other than the children, which included my two youngest sisters, Josephine’s daughters, and Flynn’s baby, my entire family was there. Josephine and Phillip, who always enjoyed a night without their children, sat together on the couch. Across from them Mama, Theo, and his wife, Louisa, were engaged in a noisy discussion of a novel they’d all read and passed around. Papa and Flynn were playing chess at the small table by the window. Flynn’s wife, Shannon, large with her second pregnancy, was knitting in one of the easy chairs by the fire. Her fair skin and dark hair glowed in the firelight. Pregnancy suited her.

And my sweetheart sister, Fiona, was at the piano playing a song I didn’t recognize. A gentle song, very unlike the raucous jazz she and Li played at the underground club. She nodded at us, but her fingers continued to sweep over the keys.

What did it all look like to Viktor? Did our big, loud, and imperfect family overwhelm him? Compared with his quiet parents and only brother, were we a spectacle?

“Viktor, how nice to see you.” Mama stood as we approached.

Viktor took her hand. “And how is my beloved teacher this evening?”

“Very well, thank you.” Refusing to succumb to the times, she continued to fix her long hair in a bun with golden tendrils around her face. Papa spoiled her with the finest dresses shipped from Paris. Tonight it was made of purple silk that brought out her brown eyes. “Please come sit. We’re delighted you agreed to join us. It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper chat.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Viktor said as he sat in an empty chair across from Shannon.

I took the hardback chair next to the couch. Why did I feel nervous in my family’s own sitting room? I knew the answer to my own question. Viktor. And my big mouth spilling my jealousy and the secrets of my heart.

“Cym, where have you been? Did Viktor take you for a ride in his new car?” Mama asked, with enough hope in her voice that I inwardly cringed. Even my sisters and Mama couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want Viktor. As accomplished as they all were—Mama’s pedigree as a teacher, Jo having organized our first library, Fiona with her musical gifts and discipline—they couldn’t imagine a scenario in which I’d choose to hang on to the idea that I was meant for more. They were romantics. All three of them. I was not. I could not be, after all. For to admit that love was the only thing worth having meant that I would succumb to the life of wife and mother.

Yet as my gaze drifted once more to Viktor, my resolve weakened. Was this how it happened?

“I was out in the yard for fresh air when Viktor drove up in his new car,” I said to Mama.

“Viktor, you actually did it?” Theo asked.

“Wonders never cease,” Flynn said. “Old money-pincher Olofsson actually bought a car.”

“Frugality is a virtue.” Mama sent Viktor a kind smile. “Don’t let Flynn make you think otherwise.”

Viktor’s cheeks reddened. “I couldn’t walk everywhere forever.”

“Or ask for rides from your friends,” Flynn said.

Shannon’s knitting needles stilled as she addressed Viktor. “A young man needs a car. To woo the young ladies.”

“Not all young ladies are impressed by a car.” Viktor’s gaze flickered toward me. “Some of them can drive their own.”

I flushed as all heads turned toward me, followed by an awkward silence.

“Would anyone care for a whiskey?” Papa asked, looking up from the chessboard. “Flynn is beating me soundly, which has me contemplating my own mortality. It seems like yesterday I was teaching all of you how to play, and now I can’t win a game against Flynn or Cym.” He stretched his legs out long under the table. People outside our family said he had a strong English accent, but I couldn’t hear it. He sounded merely like my sweet Papa.

“You beat me just the other day,” I said.

“Did I?” Fine lines had settled around Papa’s eyes and mouth. Silver was now woven into his dark hair. But if anything, he was more handsome than ever. The kind of beauty my father possessed came from inside. He was a man powerful and gentle. A man who loved his family above all else. A man who possessed such great empathy for his fellow humans that he’d dreamt of an entire town in which families could thrive.

Flynn looked up from the chessboard. “Papa, just because I’m better at chess doesn’t mean you’re declining.” He grinned and looked around the room until he found me. “I’m merely the most clever of us all.”

“Darling, if you insist on saying it out loud then it must not be true,” Shannon said, teasing.

“You’re no fun at all, dear wife, but alas, you keep me humble.” He winked at her. She smiled back at him. They stared into each other’s eyes for a ridiculously long moment. Did they remember we were all here? I almost expected him to sweep her off her feet and take her home. My brother had indeed been tamed by love. We would never have predicted he and pure Shannon Cassidy would be a match. But a match they were. The man who had declared his desire to be a bachelor forever had forgotten all about his pledge after one toss of Shannon’s glossy black curls.

“Mrs. Barnes, would you like your drink to be a two- or three-finger pour?” Papa asked from the bar.

“Definitely four fingers,” Mama said, and then giggled.

“As you wish.” Papa acted as if he would pour her a drink, but at the last second reached for the pitcher of iced tea.

When Mama had first come to us when I was only six years old, Papa had given her a tumbler of whiskey. She’d choked and coughed and swore she would never again touch alcohol. Ever since, Papa had teased her and offered her a tumbler. True to her word, she’d never said yes.

“Viktor? Would you care for one?” Papa asked.

“Yes, please. A small pour. I don’t drink much.” Viktor’s eyes slid to Mama for a quick second. She would always be his teacher, I thought. Even when he was an adult with his own house and car, he still craved her approval.

“Another virtue, dear one,” Mama said.