A long car pulled into the driveway, circling to the front entrance. The first thing to step out of the car was a pair of red Italian heels, their owner a strawberry-blonde woman adorned in pearls and wrapped in a floral dress.
The second thing to step out of the car was Patrick, his crooked smile built into his face as if he was born with it.
"How long has it been, Rose?" he asked, holding out his elbow to escort her. "I feel like this place gets smaller and smaller each time we visit."
"That's because your pockets get deeper and deeper, Patrick," the woman replied without a hint of sarcasm despite her subtle smile.
"They have to," he laughed. "That's where I keep my good character."
He waved to Mrs. Greene, who was opening the door of the house. She lifted her skirts, trotting down to meet them.
"Mrs. Greene!" Patrick said, reaching out to take her hand. "Still the belle of the Griffin Manor, I see."
He leaned in and kissed her cheek as she rolled her eyes at him.
"Your flattery never ceases, does it?" Mrs. Green replied. "But I can't take your praise. This house now has a woman younger and more beautiful than myself."
Rose's heart dropped for a moment, but she hid it behind a polite smile.
"Oh, my dear Miss Elliot!" Mrs. Greene said with a beaming smile. "What a joy it is to see you! You look wonderful as ever."
Rose dipped her head in appreciation. "Always a pleasure, Madam."
"You were no older than nineteen when I last saw you, dear. You've certainly grown into a stunning woman."
"That's the direction most girls go," Patrick interjected, "whether they do it on purpose or not. Unlike the men in my family. We only turn into demons. Where is my dear cousin, Mrs. Greene?"
"Inspecting the latest harvest. I'll fetch him for you, if you'd be so kind to wait in the family room."
"An appropriate place to wait."
The staff took Rose and Patrick's coats, escorting them to the family room. Rose couldn't help but look at the heavy pale blue and white curtains, bringing out the color in the lavish ivory furniture and rugs. The smell of burnt firewood and lemon cleaner brought back childhood memories she had long forgotten, back when the current master of the Griffin Manor was only a child who dreamed to be just like his father.
Years before he was called the Beast of Napa.
"I see Nathaniel still likes French tapestries and Italian rugs," Rose said with a smile. "He hasn't changed a bit."
"Let's hope his affections have," Patrick cut in. "Tha man has loved nothing more than his success and his vineyard for too long."
"That hasn't hurt you any."
"True. But if he doesn't see the beautiful things in front of him," he said, motioning to Rose, "how can I enjoy even more of his spoils?"
She shook her strawberry-blonde curls at him. "You're a mooch, Patrick."
"I'm an investor."
"You're a thorn," a third voice said behind them.
Griffin stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Rose lost her breath when she saw him, unable to hold back the childlike smile he brought out of her. He looked stronger than he ever had, and more human than the newspapers had reported. It put her heart at ease.
What he truly felt in his heart, however, remained a mystery.
Patrick waved a finger at him. "Always the charmer, cousin."
Griffin frowned in return. "You inherited the charm. I inherited the work ethic."
Griffin's eyes stopped on Rose as she fully turned towards him, and he blinked as if he was just realizing who she was. Had time changed them so much?
"And what did I inherit?" Rose teased, breaking the awkward silence.
He swallowed nonchalantly. "I wasn't aware you were coming, Rose."
"I wanted to surprise you."
"I'm only surprised you're still hanging around this con artist."
"He entertains me. And he has the decency to return my letters."
Griffin's eyebrow twitched, but he didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the other side of the room and pulled back the door, revealing a woman with auburn hair braided past her collarbone, holding her knees and leaning towards the door. Her eyes went wide as Griffin towered over her, and she came back to her full height, her shoulders coming nearly up to her ears in embarrassment.
"I don't pay you for eavesdropping," Griffin told the girl.
"You don't pay me at all," she returned.
With a gasp, she covered her mouth with her hand. Griffin raised an eyebrow.
"Who's lurking in the doorway, Nathaniel?" Patrick asked. "I never knew you to speak with the mice."
Griffin cocked his head to the side and girl came forward. She bowed her head in respect to everyone in the room. Rose clenched her jaw. Patrick stepped forward to take the girl's hands.
"Well, well, well," he chattered. "It seems there isn't a mouse, but a dove. What's your name, Miss?"
She folded her hands. "Catriona McCallister, sir."
Patrick looked her once over, curling his nose into a question. "She's wearing working clothes? Nathaniel! Have you put this gentle bird in manual labor?"
Griffin shrugged. "She agreed."
"You were probably a bully about it." Patrick turned back to Catriona. "I'm right, aren't I? No need to answer. I know I am. Nevertheless, I'm impressed you have a woman under the age of sixty here, Nathaniel. You made a good choice in this one, I think."
Patrick stepped forward and cupped her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. He patted it firmly, his touch warm.
"You're insatiable, Patrick," Griffin said, tapping a foot against the ground. "Leave the help alone and come bother me with whatever nonsense you have in your head."
"Thought you'd never ask," Patrick replied. He winked at Catriona. "Until we meet again Miss McCallister. Which I hope is soon."
Rose watched the girl as she disappeared into the kitchen, noticing Griffin's short glace behind her. He turned to Rose, a familiar polite expression across his face.
"It's been quite some time," he said to her. "I'm glad to see you're well."
There wasn't enough enthusiasm in his voice for her liking. She sat on the couch across from him, slipping off her shoes and draping them across the furniture as she always had.
"When Patrick said he was coming to see you, I was tickled pink at the idea of seeing your face again," Rose said. "Where has the time gone? We both got so old."
His lips pulled back for a moment. "The change in the seasons can do that."
She searched his face, seeing how much time really had aged him. Although, maybe it wasn't so much time as it was experience.
"Yes..." she said carefully. "I suppose the seasons change quite frequently."
"So what brings you all the way to California?" Griffin asked, taking a seat on the lone armchair between the couches. "You don't want free wine again, do you, Patrick?"
Patrick laughed, flopping down on the couch. "Of course not! I have enough wine and cheese to make myself a French citizen. I'm here on business. There are a few markets around here looking for a strong label wine. I gave them your name, of course, and offered to come by and speak to you myself about the opportunity."
Griffin tapped his hand against the armrest. "You made a business deal without even asking me first?"
"Not a deal. An opportunity. The deals are yours to make. I just set them up."
Griffin looked up at Catriona as she came back out with a tray full of drinks, offering them to him, Patrick, and Rose. Griffin didn't take his eyes off the girl as he spoke.
"I should be considered during the setup, shouldn't I?" Griffin asked.
"Ah then you'd make some excuse about the rain or moral character and we'd never get anything done." He took his drink from Catriona with a smile. "Why don't you just talk with them about the opportunity with me?"
"Are you inviting me to my own business deal?"
"I'm a generous man."
Griffin scoffed, sipping his drink.
"Have you ran into any difficulties since the new law?" Rose asked, with a polite nod to Catriona for the drink.
Griffin waved his hand. "Not any more than usual."
Patrick laughed. "Yes, we've heard the stories all the way in Chicago. Nathaniel Griffin, the Beast of Napa - creating the devil's wine, bringing down the morality of society."
"Oh, Patrick, you're making up stories now," Rose scolded.
"Embellishing for dramatic effect, maybe."
"The townsfolk have started to protest alcohol consumption," Griffin agreed. "They believe their Utopian society has been hindered by a cup of old grapes. It's the devil in them that prevents their Utopia. I have nothing to do with it."
Rose noticed again when Griffin glanced at Catriona on her way out. It wasn't a lingering stare, but it was an acknowledgment of the girl's existence.
And it was far more glances than Rose had gotten in the last few minutes.
Rose put down her glass. "I think it would be a great time to show off your skills, Nathaniel. You have a real passion for the production of wine, which your investors would appreciate. Anyone in this business isn't in it for the fame anymore."
"Be that as it may," Griffin said, glaring down into his glass, "it's hard to believe that my personal appearance would help sell wine. The wine should speak for itself."
"It's wet grapes in a bottle," Patrick said. "They can't speak for themselves. People don't just want to buy products, they want to buy a person behind it. I say the moment you take that pretty face of yours to the city, women will be flocking to buy your wine."
Griffin sighed. "Do I have to hear this nonsense the entire time you're here?"
"Of course not. Only until you agree to my terms."
"And how long until you think I'll be doing that?"
Patrick smirked. "I give it one week, dear cousin. After that, I'm going to change your life in ways you never dreamed."