Page 48 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
At his look of bemusement, she pursed her lips. ‘I’ve known you were head over heels for her since the first day you met. If there’s trouble between you now, you might as well tell me. I may be able to help.’
Duncan stared at her. ‘How did…?’
‘One only has to look at you. And at her, for that matter, to see she feels the same.’
Mrs Fitzjames smiled. It was the same shrewd one she’d worn when he had left the parlour for his walk with Jane the day before and he could have kicked himself for not realising what it had meant.
Torn, he distractedly folded and unfolded the paper. Part of him wanted to keep his counsel as he always had, not in the habit of confiding the inner workings of his mind to anyone, but another acknowledged he was in desperate need of advice.
With a sigh that held both trepidation and regret, he handed his mother the letter. ‘I’m not so sure of that.’
Mrs Fitzjames took the sheet without a word. A large, comfortable chair stood in one corner of the hall and she retreated to it, sinking down into the cushions as Duncan resumed his restless pacing at the foot of the stairs.
There was a period of torturous silence as she read.
With nothing else to do, he tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing. It had sped up when he’d first seen the letter and was still fast now, anger quickening his pulse.
If those busybodies at the park had just held their tongues…
His jaw hardened. Why had they felt it their place to comment on Jane’s appearance, or the entirely fictitious effect it might have had on his opinion of her? She had clearly been upset as he had guided her and the children back to his mother’s house, but any attempt to talk to her had been politely rebuffed and he’d resolved to try to speak with her again once she’d had time to gather herself. He’d been so sure he could comfort her by and by, not for a moment suspecting she might think the gossips spoke truth, and it had certainly never crossed his mind that such outright nonsense would cause her to flee—
‘Oh.’ His mother’s voice cut through the silence. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, more to herself than to him. ‘How stupid of me—and Deborah too, come to that.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mid-stride, Duncan wheeled round to face her. ‘What do you mean, you were stupid?’
Mrs Fitzjames’ eyes were still on the letter. She looked as if she was realising something important for the first time, understanding beginning to dawn.
‘Both Deborah and I knew there was something between you,’ she said slowly, still studying the page. ‘Neither of you openly admitted it, but there was no need. We were certain there would be an engagement before you went back to Southampton, but when you left without Jane we thought we must have been wrong about your intentions towards her. I had no idea you’d proposed and she had turned you down, and apparently neither did Deborah.’
Duncan held back a grimace. It wasn’t pleasant to have his past pain revealed; the day Jane had rejected his proposal was one he’d rather forget and he didn’t relish his mother learning of it now. It was an unavoidable discovery if he wanted her advice, however, and he tried not to notice the intense sympathy in her gaze as she peered up at him.
‘My poor boy. And that poor, poor girl!’ Mrs Fitzjames tutted pityingly. ‘She was utterly miserable after you left, you know. We thought she was disappointed you hadn’t asked for her hand, but now I can see her heart was breaking at having to let you go. If Deborah had suspected she’d rejected you for her sake she would have insisted Jane go after you…which, I realise, is the very thing Miss Stockwell wanted to avoid.’
She got up from the chair, the letter still in her hand. Her face was pallid, the after-effects of the influenza lingering, but he could tell it wasn’t only her past illness that made her look so grave.
‘I had no idea about any of this. I’m so sorry you’ve been hurting all this time, bottling up your suffering, and I didn’t see it.’ She held the letter out to him and when he took it, she laid her hand on his arm. There was guilt in her eyes and it pricked at his conscience, aware that any failings were his alone.
He patted her hand with rough tenderness. ‘It isn’t your fault, Mother. I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want anyone to. But however I felt then doesn’t matter. What concerns me is what I should donow.’
He glanced down at the paper, uncertainty and unhappiness clouding his mind. Jane’s signature peeped out from under his thumb, so uncharacteristically untidy he knew she must have scrawled it while in great distress.
‘I never knew her reason for turning me down until I read this,’ he admitted. ‘Now she says she can’t marry me because I deserve a better wife than she would make. Would a second attempt at winning her even be something she’d want? I won’t keep trying to chase her if she doesn’t want to be caught, however much I might desire to.’
It was tempting to sit down on the stairs and put his face in his hands, but Duncan was not that kind of man. Giving up easily wasn’t in his nature—if he’d known for certain Jane would welcome another advance he would already have gone to find her, but he had no such assurance. The very last thing he wanted was to make her feel like prey, hunted against her will, the thought of causing her further upset something he would not entertain.
‘My goodness. And I thought I’d raised you to use your brain.’
His mother’s tut—of impatience this time, rather than sympathy—caught him off-guard. ‘Pardon?’
‘You heard me perfectly well.’ There was more than a touch of exasperation in her tone. ‘Can you really not see? If I were in your shoes, nothing in that letter would give me a moment’s pause. It isn’t that she doesn’t want you—quite the reverse. She loves you so much she thinks you deserve the very best, and if you think that’s her, then surely there’s no cause to delay?’
Duncan’s heart slammed to a stop.
‘Is that truly your interpretation? You really think it would be safe to propose again?’
It would be the one thing he’d been hoping for above all else, and his thoughts must have been obvious by how quickly the shrewd smile he’d glimpsed earlier returned to his mother’s wan face. ‘I believe so. But of course, we both know there’s only one way to be sure.’
Dragging the two trunks packed with all her worldly possessions down Maybury Place’s staircase and into the entrance hall made her arms and back hurt, but Jane didn’t mind the discomfort. The pain in her muscles helped to distract her from that in her heart, although nothing could completely blot out the ache beneath her ribs.
