Page 32 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
She didn’t want him, he told himself as he watched her rub the cold black silk of her arms. Any connection they’d once shared had died on the day she had turned him away and he had no right to intrude, even if seeing her again made him want to catch her up and kiss away the sorrow she was trying so hard to keep from her voice.
He cleared his dry throat. ‘You’ve had a difficult day. I won’t detain you any longer when I imagine you must want to be alone.’
He half wanted her to ask him to stay, and he couldn’t deny a pang of disappointment when instead she nodded. ‘Thank you. And thank you for bringing the note.’
‘You’re welcome. With my mother ill and most of her servants busy wrangling my nieces, I think I may have to fill the role of postmaster for some time yet.’
Jane stepped back, retreating closer to the open door. The house behind her was perfectly still and silent as a tomb, no movement stirring anywhere other than the slight ripple of her veil in the December breeze.
There was a pause. By the subtle upward angle of her head, he thought she must have been looking into his face, and not for the first time he wished he could do the same to her.
‘You look very well, Duncan,’ she said softly, the words almost lost amid her swathe of black lace. ‘It’s a pleasure to see it…and you.’
Duncan swallowed painfully. Did she mean that? She sounded so sad and tired but pretending not to be and it caught him in the vulnerable place seeing her again had torn open like an unhealed wound. Every feeling he’d had for her three years ago rose up, trying to burst their banks, and turning away with a hurried bow took almost all the strength he had left.
I shouldn’t do this again, he thought severely as he made himself walk back down the path he’d never intended to revisit, determined not to look over his shoulder.I think it’s best that I stay away from her for the short time I’m here. Anything else will just make things worse—for me, if not for her.
Chapter Two
Mrs Fitzjames looked up from her invalid’s bowl of blandly nourishing porridge, towards where her son was seated opposite her across the breakfast table. ‘I’ve decided to ask Miss Stockwell to come here for Christmas,’ she informed him. ‘From what you told me yesterday, it seems she’ll have a lonely time otherwise. It’s the least I can do, given how long Deborah and I were friends. Will you please call to tell her once you’ve finished eating?’
Duncan choked on his coffee. ‘What? You want to invite—?’
‘Miss Stockwell. Yes. It’s only charitable, and besides, you may need the help.’
Blotting spilled coffee from his lap with his napkin, he stared at his mother. ‘Help? With what?’
‘Looking after the children.’ Mrs Fitzjames pushed aside her bowl with an unenthusiastic glance at its contents. ‘I’m still too exhausted to run around after them and their nurse has recently been ill herself. The poor creature is only just returned to her post and can hardly keep up with them. My servants are busy with the extra work Christmas brings, so I’m afraid any additional entertaining must fall to you…and perhaps, if she’s willing, Miss Stockwell.’
She gazed at him expectantly, but Duncan didn’t speak.
He didn’t trust himself to. If he opened his mouth, his mother would hear the horror in his voice, and that would prompt questions he didn’t want to answer.
There was no way on earth he could go back to Maybury Place to see Jane again, he thought with absolute certainty. He hadn’t meant to encounter heronceduring his brief visit, let alone spend an entire week in her presence, a thought so wildly tempting he didn’t dare consider it.
One encounter had been enough to bring the full might of his weakness for her roaring up from the depths to which he had pushed it, and if he let himself go to her a second time there was no guarantee he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. He hadn’t slept all night for thinking of her, her sad, black-draped figure ceaselessly invading his mind, and eating was out of the question, the coffee he’d just spluttered over the tablecloth the only thing he’d managed to force down since he’d found himself face to face—or at least, face to veil—with the woman he still considered the love of his life.
‘She’s grieving,’ he muttered, concentrating on his stained napkin rather than his mother. ‘Doubtless she would much rather be alone than here with us.’
‘You could be right. On the other hand, a distraction might be just what she wants. Do you have any idea what she’s likely to prefer?’
Duncan stiffened slightly. ‘Why would I know that?’
Mrs Fitzjames spread her hands. ‘I thought I recalled the two of you were friends during the time you spent here previously. What was it—two years ago?’
‘Three.’
‘Oh, yes. I remember now.’
Duncan twisted the napkin between his fingers, immediately regretting correcting her so quickly. There was something in her tone he didn’t quite like; it was a little too knowing, and if there was one thing he wanted to avoid it was his mother getting ideas about things he had no desire to discuss.
‘You have no objection to my asking Miss Stockwell, then? Other than suspecting she might not accept?’
Very carefully, Duncan poured himself another cup of coffee, buying a moment in which to think.
Of course he had objections, he thought distractedly. He had almost nothing else! To have Jane in the same house as him, sitting in the same rooms and breathing the same air, would be torture he didn’t know if he could withstand. For a full week he’d have to see her without touching, hear her speak without being able to kiss her petal-soft lips, forcing himself to keep his distance while wanting to get closer with every beat of his heart. It was a hopeless situation every instinct told him he had to avoid…and yet something inside him held back.
She’s so unhappy.
