everything.
“Aunt Margo, are you going to stay now that those bad things happened to you?”
“I don’t know.” Margo set down her lipstick with a little click.
“I’m glad you came home.” Ali wrapped her arms around Margo’s neck.
“So am I.” The unstable emotions were stirring again. She rose quickly, grabbing each child by the hand. “Let’s go down and see if there’s anything fun to eat before dinner.”
“We’re having hors d’oeuvres in the front parlor,” Ali said loftily, then giggled. “We hardly ever get to stay up for dinner with hors d’oeuvres.”
“Stick with me, kid.” She stopped at the top curve of the stairs. “Let’s make an entrance. Chins up, eyes bored, stomachs in, fingers trailing carelessly along the banisters.”
She was halfway down behind the girls when she saw her mother at the bottom landing. Ann stood with her hands folded, her face solemn.
“Ah, Lady Allison, Lady Kayla, we’re honored that you could join us this evening. Refreshments are being served in the front parlor.”
Ali inclined her head regally. “Thank you, Miss Annie,” she managed before she bolted after her sister.
It wasn’t until Margo had reached the bottom that she caught the twinkle in her mother’s eyes. For the first time since her return, they smiled easily at each other.
“I’d forgotten how much fun they are.”
“Miss Laura is raising angels.”
“I was thinking the same thing myself. She’s done everything right—everything I haven’t. Mum, I’m sorry—”
“We won’t talk about it now.” But Ann laid a hand briefly over her daughter’s on the newel post. “Later—but they’re waiting for you now.” She started to walk away, then paused. “Margo, Miss Laura needs a friend just now as much as you do. I hope you’ll be a good one.”
“If something’s wrong, tell me.”
Ann shook her head. “It’s not my place. Just be a goodfriend.” She walked away, leaving Margo to enter the parlor alone.
Ali was already crossing the room, her tongue caught in her teeth, her hands full of a flute of fizzing champagne. “I poured it for you myself.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to drink it.” She lifted the glass, scanned the room. Laura had Kayla on one hip, and Kate was sampling the finger food arranged on Georgian silver. A sedate fire flickered in the hearth framed by rich lapis. The stunning curved mirror over the mantel tossed back reflections of glossy antiques, delicate porcelain, and rosy light from globe lamps.
“To being home with friends,” Margo said and sipped.
“Eat some of this mini quiche,” Kate ordered over a full mouth. “It’s outrageous.”
What the hell, Margo thought, her weight was hardly a burning issue any longer. She took one bite, hummed in pleasure. “Mrs. Williamson’s still a wonder. Lord, she must be eighty by now.”
“Seventy-three last November,” Laura corrected. “And she can still whip up the most incredible chocolate soufflé.” She winked at Kayla. “Which, rumor has it, is on for tonight.”
“Daddy says Mrs. Williamson should be retired and we should have a French chef like the Barrymores in Carmel.” Because Margo had, Ali sampled a quiche.
“French chefs are snooty.” To demonstrate, Margo put a finger under her nose to lift it into the air. “And they never make jelly tarts with leftover dough for little girls.”
“Did she do that for you, too?” The image delighted Ali. “Did she let you flute the edges?”
“Absolutely. I have to admit, your mother was the best at it. According to Mrs. Williamson, I was too impatient, and Kate worried too much about getting it just right, but your mom had a feel. She was the champ jelly tart maker.”
“One of my major accomplishments.” Margo heard theedge in Laura’s voice and lifted a brow. With a shrug, Laura set Kayla on her feet. “That’s a fabulous dress, Margo. Milan or Paris?”
“Milan.” If Laura wanted the subject changed, she
“Aunt Margo, are you going to stay now that those bad things happened to you?”
“I don’t know.” Margo set down her lipstick with a little click.
“I’m glad you came home.” Ali wrapped her arms around Margo’s neck.
“So am I.” The unstable emotions were stirring again. She rose quickly, grabbing each child by the hand. “Let’s go down and see if there’s anything fun to eat before dinner.”
“We’re having hors d’oeuvres in the front parlor,” Ali said loftily, then giggled. “We hardly ever get to stay up for dinner with hors d’oeuvres.”
“Stick with me, kid.” She stopped at the top curve of the stairs. “Let’s make an entrance. Chins up, eyes bored, stomachs in, fingers trailing carelessly along the banisters.”
She was halfway down behind the girls when she saw her mother at the bottom landing. Ann stood with her hands folded, her face solemn.
“Ah, Lady Allison, Lady Kayla, we’re honored that you could join us this evening. Refreshments are being served in the front parlor.”
Ali inclined her head regally. “Thank you, Miss Annie,” she managed before she bolted after her sister.
It wasn’t until Margo had reached the bottom that she caught the twinkle in her mother’s eyes. For the first time since her return, they smiled easily at each other.
“I’d forgotten how much fun they are.”
“Miss Laura is raising angels.”
“I was thinking the same thing myself. She’s done everything right—everything I haven’t. Mum, I’m sorry—”
“We won’t talk about it now.” But Ann laid a hand briefly over her daughter’s on the newel post. “Later—but they’re waiting for you now.” She started to walk away, then paused. “Margo, Miss Laura needs a friend just now as much as you do. I hope you’ll be a good one.”
“If something’s wrong, tell me.”
Ann shook her head. “It’s not my place. Just be a goodfriend.” She walked away, leaving Margo to enter the parlor alone.
Ali was already crossing the room, her tongue caught in her teeth, her hands full of a flute of fizzing champagne. “I poured it for you myself.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to drink it.” She lifted the glass, scanned the room. Laura had Kayla on one hip, and Kate was sampling the finger food arranged on Georgian silver. A sedate fire flickered in the hearth framed by rich lapis. The stunning curved mirror over the mantel tossed back reflections of glossy antiques, delicate porcelain, and rosy light from globe lamps.
“To being home with friends,” Margo said and sipped.
“Eat some of this mini quiche,” Kate ordered over a full mouth. “It’s outrageous.”
What the hell, Margo thought, her weight was hardly a burning issue any longer. She took one bite, hummed in pleasure. “Mrs. Williamson’s still a wonder. Lord, she must be eighty by now.”
“Seventy-three last November,” Laura corrected. “And she can still whip up the most incredible chocolate soufflé.” She winked at Kayla. “Which, rumor has it, is on for tonight.”
“Daddy says Mrs. Williamson should be retired and we should have a French chef like the Barrymores in Carmel.” Because Margo had, Ali sampled a quiche.
“French chefs are snooty.” To demonstrate, Margo put a finger under her nose to lift it into the air. “And they never make jelly tarts with leftover dough for little girls.”
“Did she do that for you, too?” The image delighted Ali. “Did she let you flute the edges?”
“Absolutely. I have to admit, your mother was the best at it. According to Mrs. Williamson, I was too impatient, and Kate worried too much about getting it just right, but your mom had a feel. She was the champ jelly tart maker.”
“One of my major accomplishments.” Margo heard theedge in Laura’s voice and lifted a brow. With a shrug, Laura set Kayla on her feet. “That’s a fabulous dress, Margo. Milan or Paris?”
“Milan.” If Laura wanted the subject changed, she
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