Page 47 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
‘Merry Christmas, ladies. Don’t let me delay your walk.’ He forced what he imagined was probably a wintry smile. It was the best he could do, however, and he was glad it had the desired effect when the women began to flutter away.
‘Merry Christmas, Lieutenant… And to you too, ma’am.’
He thought he sensed Jane give a weak nod, although he didn’t turn to check. He wanted to be sure they were alone before he encouraged her to take comfort in his arms, soothing the sting of the women’s hurtful ignorance with all the sweet words she deserved, and he watched with narrowed eyes as they walked away.
The wind had died down. The branches no longer scraped and creaked above their heads, which had the unfortunate effect of making it possible for both Jane and Duncan to hear every word the two ladies said as they retreated.
‘That was Jane Stockwell! I don’t recall the last time I saw her face. Did you see those scars?’
‘That’s why she always wears the veil. She was pretty before the accident, but now, poor thing…’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t feel too sorry for her. That was Lieutenant Fitzjames she was with. He can’t like her, though, surely?’
There was a faint laugh, a note Duncan only just caught before its maker disappeared around a frostbitten tree.‘Oh, I doubt it. A man that handsome wouldn’t settle for her when he could have a wife who was more of a credit to him. I know her great-aunt and his mother were friends, so most likely they’re just acquaintances—what chance is there that so mismatched a pair could ever be anything else?’
Chapter Five
Jane’s fingers shook so hard she could barely hold her quill. The neat handwriting her tutors always used to praise when she was a girl would have won no awards now, the scrawl she’d made across the parchment in front of her rendered almost illegible by despair.
Her packed bag stood beside her bedroom door, dimly visible in the light of the single candle guttering on her desk. All that remained was to leave the note she was writing on the post tray for the servants to find in the morning, and then she’d slip out of Mrs Fitzjames’ house before anyone awoke. The night-time darkness would cover her flight and by the time her absence was noticed it would be too late for anyone to try to stop her from collecting the rest of her possessions from Maybury Place and boarding the first coach that could cut through the melting snow, bearing her away to Bristol and leaving Duncan behind to appreciate his lucky escape.
Her eyes clouded with tears but stubbornly she blinked them back.
It’s for the best. I know it is.
Creeping away in the middle of the night was a discourtesy she had apologised for in her note, but it was infinitely better than the alternative. If she tried to leave during daylight Duncan would doubtless feel honour-bound to try to make her stay and she couldn’t allow him to make such a mistake. She had been carried away by a fantasy, almost letting herself believe that her future could be happier than she’d ever thought, but the mortifying encounter in the park the previous afternoon had forced her to confront the truth.
She signed her name at the bottom of the page, hardly recognising her own signature. It was little more than a squiggle but that was all she could manage, and she hoped Duncan would be able to read it as she folded the letter and sealed it with a smear of wax.
She stood up. Her knees ached from sitting still for so long in the cold room as she’d agonised over what to write, but the pain would be worth it. After her explanation Duncan would finally understand everything: why she’d had to turn down his first proposal as well as why she thought it necessary to run from the possibility of a second, and although she knew he’d feel some misplaced disappointment she would not be changing her mind.
With quiet steps, she crossed to the door. The house was reassuringly silent. Not even a servant stirred at this hour and with her throat as raw as her red-rimmed eyes she made herself pick up her bag and tiptoe from the room, taking great care not to glance towards Duncan’s closed bedroom door as she crept out onto the landing.
She stole down the stairs, listening hard for any movement. Her heart was beating far too loudly but nobody appeared as she reached the hall. The post tray stood in its place on the sideboard and she dropped her letter into it, determined not to allow herself a moment to reconsider.
Her insides clawed at her, the pain making her wince, but she didn’t falter. Every time she was tempted to hesitate, she thought again of the two women in the park, who in their unwitting cruelty had given her a glimpse into the future she’d tried to deny.
Duncan deserves more than a wife who’ll be whispered about wherever she goes. He might not mind so much now, but as time goes on…
Her lower lip tried to tremble and she clamped it firmly between her teeth. Crying would solve nothing. Action was what was needed—when she reached Maybury Place she could weep as much as she liked; but she had to get there first, and so with one last burning glance around the holly-laden hall, she reached down her bonnet and veil from their hook beside the front door and, bag in hand, slipped out into the night.
‘Damn it—damn it all!’
Duncan hadn’t meant to shout but boiling frustration made it near impossible to hold himself in check. He’d read Jane’s letter twice now and the second scan didn’t make it any less infuriating, although the growl it tore from him did succeed in bringing his mother into the hall.
‘Duncan.I don’t think the girls need to overhear that.’
She came towards him, her eyebrows knitted into a frown. ‘What’s the matter? Why are you bellowing and pacing about like a lion in a cage?’
Unwillingly, he halted his stride. He had absolutely no desire to tell her why he was uttering profanities in her entrance hall for the whole house to hear. The contents of the letter cut too close to the bone and he didn’t wish to share it while confusion and dismay ran riot, although he had to saysomethingto stop his mother from peering at him with such growing concern.
‘Miss Stockwell has gone back to Maybury Place,’ he answered shortly. ‘She left in the middle of the night, apparently without a word to anyone.’
‘Did she?’ Mrs Fitzjames’ eyebrows raised upwards from their frown. ‘I assume that note in your hand explains why?’
It was too late for him to hide it, but all the same he found himself flattening the folded piece of parchment against his leg. Whatever mess was unfolding with Jane was no one’s business but his and hers, although the sudden roll of his mother’s eyes suggested she disagreed.
‘For goodness’ sake, Duncan. Do you take me for a fool?’
