Page 36 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
Chapter Three
Duncan tried his best not to stare, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle.
The kitchen was a hive of activity. All around him, maids kneaded dough and stirred bubbling saucepans, the fragrance of festive spices and orange peel scenting the air, and in the candlelight the stray wisp of chestnut hair peeping from the edge of Jane’s extensively frilled cap gleamed like burnished bronze. She was concentrating, her brow slightly creased as she helped his eldest niece stir the mincemeat that was to fill the pie cases they had made earlier that morning, and when she was too distracted to guard her expression she was so lovely he couldn’t look away.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, masking the movement by jiggling the twins perched on his knees. They too were absorbed in the serious task of Christmas pie making, helping to cut the pastry stars that would sit on top with enthusiasm that far outstripped their skill. Some of the scraps of dough on the cook’s huge table were distinctly oddly shaped and there was a great deal of flour scattered where it shouldn’t be, but as he watched Jane’s mouth curve into an unconscious smile any thought of such trivial matters faded away.
Her smile’s just as sweet as it always was. How is it she doesn’t realise?
She’d been anxious about meeting the children, worried they might be wary of the scars she was so determined to hide from the world, but her fears had proven unfounded. Aged just two and a half, Maria and Eliza were too young to look at her with anything other than innocent curiosity, while six-year-old Charlotte was bright enough to be warned to be polite. Aside from a few interested glances when Jane had first arrived, the girls had remained unfazed, their behaviour good enough to put many adults to shame, and the speed with which they had warmed to her had likewise warmed his heart. After only three days under his mother’s roof, it was as though Jane had known his family all her life, and Duncan couldn’t help but wish that could continue for the rest of it.
His insides gave a warning squeeze.
No. Don’t open that door.
He tried to heed his own advice, but it was damnedly difficult when her blue-green eyes were currently so lively, a stark difference to the red-rimmed horror they’d shown in Maybury Place’s garden when she’d realised he had seen her bare face. Of course he’d been shocked at the extent of the pink ridges, vivid against her pale cheek, but in the very next moment he’d known nothing had changed. She was still Jane beneath the layers of black bombazine and lace, any alteration going no deeper than her skin, and if he’d have thought she would have welcomed him telling her so he would have admitted it at once. For all her embarrassment and desire to shy away from being seen Duncan now hardly noticed her scars at all, the only thing he observed when looking at her being the woman he still loved.
Blessedly unaware she was being admired from the other side of the table, Jane scraped around the edge of the bowl.
‘There. I think that’s all mixed now.’
Charlotte nodded in agreement, oblivious to a floury handprint across her nose. ‘I think so too. What’s next?’
‘We need to put the mincemeat into the pastry cases.’
Jane passed his niece two spoons. ‘Scoop up a little bit with this one and push it in with the other. Yes,’ she went on encouragingly as Charlotte dropped a formless blob of filling into the baking tin. ‘Exactly like that. These are going to be perfect.’
All three little girls beamed with pride, even Duncan’s mouth twitching as he caught Jane’s eye.
Her cap hid much of the left side of her face but, even so, he thought he saw her flush at his smile. When she blushed like that, she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen and he only just managed to catch himself in time, the instinct to slide a hand across the table towards her one he couldn’t seem to shake. Once upon a time she’d have twined her fingers around his and he felt a stab of regret that such a thing wouldn’t happen again, the latest in a long line of disappointments he’d suffered since she had arrived at his mother’s house to cause him such unintended trouble.
He watched her discreetly tidy the mess Charlotte had made of the pies, obviously taking great pains not to hurt his niece’s feelings as she repaired the sticky damage. Her kindness was unchanged; misfortune and grief hadn’t sharpened her edges as they might have in someone else, her character still much the same even if the outer shell was different—and that was where the problem lay.
Every time she enters a room it’s as though she’s sucked all the air out of it.
He swallowed a sigh. It might have seemed overly dramatic, but it was the truth. Whenever he was in her presence, he found it hard to breathe normally: she was always either too close or too far away, making him tense when she looked at him, yet frustrated when she didn’t, and the sweet notes of the rose water he knew she dabbed onto her wrists each morning might as well have been specifically designed to make him lose his wits. It made the whole house smell of her, subtle but enough to catch him every time…and yet, despite his discomfort, he knew he’d done the right thing in asking her to stay.
She might have been unwittingly driving him mad, but it was a price worth paying if it meant she’d have a merrier Christmas than she would otherwise. After that she’d return to Bristol and he to Southampton, and the knowledge that they were unlikely to meet again made his stomach feel full of sharp rocks.
His train of thought was abruptly diverted by Maria trying to slide off his knee. Eliza had also started wriggling and he had to act fast to stop both twins from toppling onto the floor.
‘You can’t run about in the kitchen, girls. It isn’t safe.’
There came mutinous whining at being restrained. Cutting pastry stars had been amusing for a few minutes but now his youngest nieces were clearly getting restless and it came as something of a relief when their nurse appeared at the kitchen door.
‘Please forgive the interruption, sir,’ she called, straining her voice to be heard above the clamour of the kitchen. ‘It’s the time Miss Eliza and Miss Maria usually have their nap.’
Carefully, Duncan got to his feet, juggling a twin in each arm. He thought he caught Jane slide him an admiring glance at his grappling skills and had to stop himself from looking too pleased as he carried them to the safety of the door.
‘Here. A delivery for you.’
He set them down just inside the corridor. Immediately, each twin claimed one of their nurse’s hands and she smiled down at them, although he saw her face was pale.
‘I’m sorry I had to take this morning off to see the doctor, sir,’ she said apologetically. ‘My chest is still weak from the influenza, but all the same it isn’t right that you and Miss Stockwell should have to do so much while I recover.’
‘Don’t apologise, Miss Vine. It’s important you regain your health.’
The nurse bobbed respectfully and led the girls away, their slippered feet pattering on the stone floor, and Duncan turned back to the kitchen.
