A Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift(33)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

"How can I explain this? Beth feels terrible that she broke your blasted bowl. She’s been hunting everywhere for one like it, Hart bullied half the country until he located a Ming bowl with blue dragons on it, and he sent Fleming to lure Glastonby into a compromising position so Glastonby would hand it over. Fleming rushed it to Hart, who rushed it to Beth, who rushed it to you. She wanted to make up for what she’d done. Do you see?"

"But the bowl was irreplaceable," Ian said. Perhaps if he spoke slowly, he could make himself clear. "It was very rare. Glastonby’s is not as good."

"Not the point. Beth was very unhappy that she broke the bowl. She knew how much it meant to you. Hell, for months you wouldn’t talk about anything else. And then she broke it. The woman who loves you broke it. How do you think that made her feel?"

"I know Beth was upset. I told her it was all right."

Mac scraped his hands through his hair. "Yes, yes, you told her. But every time she thought of a way to make up for it, you said she never could. You told Curry he needn’t have bothered sticking the damn thing back together, as Beth asked him to. And now, she goes to the trouble of finding you another bowl, and you tell her it isn’t good enough."

"It isn’t as good. But I said I’d keep it . . ."

"And I want to break the bloody thing over your head. Focus, Ian. Look at me."

Ian shifted his gaze, which still rested on the door that blocked him from Beth, to Mac’s copper-colored eyes.

"Beth is hurting," Mac said. "Because she thinks she hurt you."

Bewildering. "She didn’t."

"But she doesn’t know that."

Ian couldn’t look away from Mac as his thoughts spun around and the events straightened out in his head. A mathematical problem. A = x and B = y; if A + B = C, then C = x + y.

"She thinks she hurt me because she broke the bowl," Ian said.

"Yes!" Mac threw up his hands. "Ian wins the race."

"What race?"

"Never mind. Forget about races. Let’s return to Beth being upset. You love your bowls, and Beth destroyed something you love." A + B = C. Except that A was flawed.

"I don’t love the bowls."

"You’re overly fond of them then."

"No." Ian thought a moment. "They please me." Uniform, their gentle shape, the intricacy of the designs.

"Fine. Beth destroyed something that pleased you. Therefore, she is unhappy."

Ian did not like Beth being unhappy. Her sorrow was his, he ached when he saw her tears.

Ian looked again at Mac, his unruly, teasing brother, the one he understood least. Mac was the opposite of Ian–he was impetuous, reckless, volatile, wild, whereas Ian needed his life to be neat and exact, his routine unbroken unless absolutely necessary. Mac’s artistic talent had earned their father’s wrath, and he’d run away from the cloying household at a young age. Ian’s exactness had also earned his father’s wrath, the old duke believing Ian mad, and punishing him for it.

"What do I do?" Ian asked. He was swimming, uncertain, trying to find the current.

"Tell Beth you’re not upset at her for breaking the bowl. Simple as that."

"But I told her."

"Tell her again. And again. As many times as it takes for her to believe you. Explain why you are not upset. In great detail–you are good at details."

The dining room door was beckoning to him, because behind it lay Beth. All the bowls in the world could crumble to dust, and it wouldn’t matter, because he could lean down and kiss Beth’s cheek, smoother than any porcelain.

Talking to Beth was an excellent idea. Talking to her alone, an even better one.

He turned away from Mac, who let out another long sigh, and opened the door.

Beth looked up from the circle of family who were trying to comfort her. Ian went to her, ignoring all in his way, swept up the wooden box with the bowl in it, took Beth’s hand, and tugged her back toward the door. Hart started to follow.

"No," Ian said. "Only Beth."

Hart, the man who’d helped Ian through his worst moments, gave him a hard look. Mac stepped in front of Hart, blocking his way. "Let him go."

Ian never broke stride. He took Beth down the hall, around the corner to their private wing, and up the stairs to the Ming room. Ruby, who’d been napping on the sunny landing, climbed noisily to her feet and followed them inside. All the dogs knew they were allowed only a foot or so inside the Ming room, so Ruby lay down again, blocking Ian’s ability to close the door.

No matter. The entire wing was theirs, and he and Beth were alone.

Ian moved to a cabinet in the middle of the room, in which another bowl reposed, and set the box on top of it. "We’ll put the new bowl here. This one will move to that space, and that one there." He pointed.

"How do you decide where to put them?" Beth asked. She still had tears on her face, but she spoke unwaveringly.

"Size, color, year." Ian touched the box. "This one belongs here."

"Ian." Beth stood close enough to him that he could breathe in her fragrance, but she didn’t touch him. "If you don’t want the bowl, I will have Hart return it to the earl."

Ian didn’t answer. He let his gaze travel over the bowls in their cases, each perfect, exquisite, their presence like a ripple of cool water.

"Remember when I told you why I started collecting the bowls?"

Beth nodded. "You saw the first one in Paris, and it enchanted you."

"The world was a confusing place. Is a confusing place. I look at the bowls, and the confusion goes away. It gives me . . . silence."

"That’s why I feel so awful, Ian. I took that away from you."

Ian traced a pattern on the box. "Focusing on the bowls helped blot out the darkness. I could sit here, I could look at them, and the darkness went away. For a little while." He looked up at Beth. "And then I met you."

She gave him a watery smile. "Do not tell me the darkness went away the moment you saw me. Flattering, but I know that is not true."

"It flowed away like an avalanche." Ian focused on her eyes, the blue he’d seen the night he’d met her. He’d known instantly that he needed this woman in his life, that she’d come to him like a gift from God. "And it’s never returned. Not like before."

Beth’s voice went soft. "I hope I have helped you. I love you. I want to help you."

She still wasn’t understanding. "I don’t need the bowls to give me peace anymore," Ian said. "I have you. And Jamie, and Belle. If all the Ming bowls in the world were smashed, I’d still have you." He took her hand, the one with the gold ring and band of sapphires he’d bought to replace the simple gold ring he’d slipped onto her finger when he’d married her in the Parisian pension. She still wore the simple gold with the more expensive one, and Ian kissed them both. "You broke the bowl, and it is gone. But you are here, and whole. Nothing else matters."