Mackenzie Family Christmas (The Perfect Gift)(44)

"This vicar was your old friend?"

"All too glad to expose a sinner. Dr. Pierson has a fine sense of humor, I am happy to say. A truly good man--there aren't many. By the way, you owe him five hundred guineas for his church roof fund. They'll be able to start their repairs thanks to your generous--and anonymous--donation."

"I'll have Wilfred draw him a cheque when he returns," Hart said without changing expression.

"I told Glastonby I could square it with the vicar to keep silent, especially to his wife and the earl's upright friends. My price, one Ming bowl. Glastonby took me to his house and nearly threw the bowl at me. I'll never be received in his home again." David laughed in delight. "Thank God."

Hart relaxed. The ever-reliable David had done his job. "You're a devious snake," Hart said.

"Indeed," David gave him a modest nod. "I was taught by the master--Lord Hart Mackenzie, now the lofty Duke of Kilmorgan. You might know him." He drained the last of the coffee from the cup and rose. "Shall we deliver the gift to Beth? Let me hand it to her. I want her kiss of gratitude."

*** *** ***

Ian removed the first layer of paper then of straw, feeling Beth's breath on his cheek. The warmth of it made him want to push the box aside and lead her away from all the people who'd gathered in the dining room. Why did they hover as though whatever Hogmanay gift Beth wanted to give him was any of their business?

He carefully lifted out another layer of straw and set it aside. His brothers, their wives, Daniel, David, Louisa, the McBrides, and Beth, leaned forward.

Inside the wooden box, nestled on another layer of straw, lay a Ming bowl. Ian lifted it out with gentle fingers--one never knew with porcelain how brittle it had become over the years.

It was a decent specimen, a bit small, but with finely painted dragons flowing among vine leaves. A chrysanthemum decorated the bottom of the outside. The blue was good, not as brilliant as the Russian gentleman's bowl, but a similar shade.

"This was the Earl of Glastonby's," Ian said, turning the bowl in his hands. He sniffed the porcelain--it was authentic. Some aristocrats in need of money had copies of their antiques made before they sold the originals, then forgot to mention that what they owned was the copy. Ian had seen this bowl before, when Glastonby had opened his home to show his collection, to raise money for one of his wife's charitable works. "He refused to sell it to me."

"I know," David Fleming said. "Prying it out of him was an onerous chore, but one I happily performed."

"It wasn't necessary," Ian said. "It's not as good as many of my others."

Beth leaned to him, distracting him again with the touch of her breath, her voice like an alto flute, the softness of her breasts against his shoulder. "Do you not like it?"

She wore the expression Ian had come to understand meant she was worried and trying not to show it. Worried about what? That he didn't want the bowl? Of course, he wanted it. Ming bowls were his passion.

"I will add it to my collection."

Ian thought his answer would close the matter, but his family remained staring at him, and Beth's expression grew more anxious. "It is like the one I broke." She touched the design. "With the dragons, and the flowers, and the blue."

What was she talking about? This bowl was nothing like that one--perhaps it was similar in design and color, but with a completely different character and age.

"It isn't the same," Ian said, trying to make Beth understand. "The leaves on the vines are different, and at the bottom is a mum, not a dragon. This bowl is about fifty years newer than the other." He carefully returned it to the straw. He'd have to rearrange the collection a little to fit it in, but no matter.

Hart broke in. "I'm sorry, Ian. My fault. I thought it would suffice."

Suffice for what? A new bowl was always welcome, and the fact that Beth had tried to buy him one warmed him.

"Are you saying this is not the one you wanted?" David asked, his voice too loud for Ian's taste. "Not that I didn't enjoy my task, but are you not the least bit happy we wrested a prized possession from Glastonby? Now you have it, and he doesn't."

Words began to knock together in Ian's head. He couldn't follow the undercurrents of the conversation, and his old frustration started to rise.

"If I'd wanted Glastonby's bowl, I would have had it," Ian said.

David slid a flask from his pocket and took a drink. "But you just said he wouldn't sell it to you."

"He would have. Eventually. If I'd wanted him to."

Ian turned to Beth, ready for his family to go and leave them alone. He stopped, his confusion escalating, when he saw the tears in her blue eyes.