Page 31 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
Duncan was aware she’d spoken although her questions barely registered. His attention was on other things, her nearness rendering it impossible to think.
For days, weeks, months he had ached to be close to her again, all the while knowing it would be a mistake, and now that he could have reached out and touched her it was difficult to control the urge.
‘I came to see my mother for Christmas,’ he managed, with at least some semblance of control. ‘I arrived just this morning, although I had to walk much of the way from Salisbury as no carriage could get through the snow.’
Jane nodded, or he assumed the jerk of her head was meant as such. He couldn’t see her expression through the gauzy mask, only a shadowy outline of her features, and his stomach clenched as he recalled the reason why.
It had been a carriage accident, his mother had said in her letter a short while afterwards, one he’d received while preparing to take his broken heart back to sea. Mrs Fitzjames was unaware of the connection between her son and her neighbour’s companion and had relayed the news without any notion of the horror with which it would be received. It had seemed such a shame to his mother that a pretty girl was now so scarred that she’d resorted to wearing a veil to hide herself from prying eyes, although Duncan’s reaction had been far more visceral. He had wanted to return to Wilton at once and challenge anyone who dared make Jane feel ashamed, adamant that nothing could ever detract from her perfection—but of course he had not acted on that desire. She had made it very clear that any understanding between them was at an end and he’d had to accept it, even if the thought of her unhappy and in pain was like a pebble in his shoe that pricked him with every step.
He looked down at her, unable to tell if she was looking back. There was no way to guess what she was thinking or whether she was pleased to see him after so long a time, and his uncertainty allowed other questions to follow in its wake.
Would she still smell the same if he buried his nose in her hair? he wondered. Would she still melt into his arms if he kissed her, the way she’d used to before everything had fallen apart? He wanted to know all these things and more, and yet her veil stood between them as more than a mere wisp of lace. She hid her face from him and her feelings too, both things she had once allowed him to appreciate so intimately, and although everything in him longed to look into her eyes once more, he knew better than to ask.
‘My mother wanted me to deliver this,’ he said hoarsely, holding up the note as if to prove his presence on her doorstep wasn’t his idea. ‘She’s extremely sorry she wasn’t at the funeral. She’s currently recovering from a bout of influenza, otherwise she would certainly have been there. I know she and your great-aunt had been friends for a long time.’
Jane took the note from him. Her hand was bare, he saw, her fingers just as dainty as he remembered, and he wasn’t sure if the tremor in them was due to the cold air or something else.
She didn’t unfold the paper, although she did incline her head again in another ambiguous nod. ‘Please assure her I wasn’t offended. To tell the truth, I was so in a world of my own I hardly noticed who was in attendance and who wasn’t.’
‘That’s understandable.’
Duncan shifted slightly, aware he ought to say something more. Jane’s countenance might be hidden but the quake in her voice was telling and the knowledge that she was hurting was like a knife between his ribs. It was as though the time apart had been nothing at all, all the years and miles between them vanishing—for him, at least—into a meaningless void.
Even during their separation, no other woman had managed to challenge the hold she had on him. His fellow officers had tried repeatedly to introduce him to young ladies they encountered between voyages, each determined to win a smile from the grave lieutenant who had left his heart behind in England, but none had succeeded. He’d only wanted a wife if that wife was Jane, and as that was an impossibility he’d seen no point in being anything other than distantly civil to the pretty misses dangled under his nose. His love had been given and could not be taken back, and he knew it would be cruel to make anyone else Mrs Fitzjames when his affections already belonged elsewhere. Every woman deserved to be her husband’s first choice and that wasn’t a promise he could make, resolved instead to remain alone after Jane’s rejection rather than settle for someone who would surely want more than he could give.
His throat felt constricted, as if he’d tied his cravat too tightly. ‘Please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss. I know you held Mrs Franklin in the highest regard.’
‘Yes. I did.’
Jane’s black-sleeved arms moved to wrap around herself. Probably she was freezing, standing in the open doorway, but she spoke again before he could suggest she go back inside.
‘So,’ she went on, with the definite air of one trying to change the subject. ‘You’re to have a pleasant Christmas with your mother, just the two of you. How agreeable.’
Duncan took the hint. ‘It’s not quite just the two of us. My three nieces are staying with my mother while my sister and her husband are away for his health. With them in the house, the atmosphere is…lively.’
The black bonnet tilted slightly. ‘You have three nieces now?’
‘Georgiana was blessed with twins. Ifblessedis indeed the right word for one who looks so continually harassed.’
A breath of wry amusement came from behind the lace, the hint of a laugh reminding him of how comfortable they’d used to be together.
‘And you? What are your plans for Christmas?’
Jane seemed to hug herself more tightly. ‘I shall stay here until the snow clears enough for me to return to Bristol,’ she said quietly. ‘My cousin Franklin has kindly allowed me until the day after Boxing Day to gather my effects, after which he will come to take possession of the house and everything in it.’
‘Everything? Your great-aunt didn’t make any provision for you?’
The bonnet shook from side to side. ‘She couldn’t. A condition of her late husband’s will. She was allowed to enjoy everything the estate had to offer during her lifetime, but nothing ever truly belonged to her. It was always my great-uncle’s intention that their son would inherit everything, right down to the last silver fork.’
‘I see.’ Duncan just managed to stop himself from frowning. He didn’t have the advantage of a veil to hide his expression and he imagined she wouldn’t want to see his poor opinion of the Franklin men reflected in his eyes.
She had lived there for six years, devoting herself to Deborah, and this was how she was to be treated? He knew John Franklin was unpleasant—everyone in Wilton was aware of his greedy, self-interested nature—but to think of him turfing Jane out of what had been her home was beyond the pale. Deborah had been at her son’s mercy and now it seemed Jane was too, and although he tried to remind himself that her welfare was no longer any of his business, it was still a hard pill to choke down.
‘So, you intend to stay here alone until Franklin comes?’
‘Yes. I’ll have no trouble bearing the solitude.’ She spoke decisively and yet somehow, he suspected she was trying to convince herself as well as him. ‘The time to myself will be useful. I can finish packing and of course I shall help the servants to ready the house. I’ll be so busy I doubt I’ll even notice it’s Christmas at all. It’s what Auntie would have wanted.’
He wasn’t sure he believed her. Deborah had been fiercely protective of her great-niece and would surely have been horrified by the bleak picture Jane had just painted. The old lady would have wanted Jane’s happiness, not for her to be lonely and abandoned at Christmas of all times, but yet again he had to remind himself of his place.
