Page 43 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
Fortunately, his nieces had no understanding of either tact or timing.
‘So you’ll come down now? Both of you?’
Three pairs of keen eyes flicked from Duncan to Jane and back again. It would have been a challenge for any suggestion of romantic tension to survive such scrutiny and he wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when Jane took a half-step back into the darkness of her room.
‘Yes. Just give us a few minutes to dress. I’m sure I speak for your uncle too when I say we wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.’
‘That’s right.’ Duncan took a matching step towards safety, although not before temptation got the better of him. One last glimpse of her made his throat tighten, the barely concealed line of her waist and hips firmly imprinted in his mind as he shooed the children away. ‘We’ll be down very soon.’
The church was full, as Jane had expected, and her usual unease at being out in public wasn’t helped by how often members of the congregation kept turning to stare.
She was used to that, of course, but on that snowy Christmas morning she knew her veiled face wasn’t the only reason she was attracting attention. The man sitting beside her in the pew was to blame for that, if blame was the right word to use, but all the same she couldn’t suppress a thrill every time Duncan’s leg brushed against her skirts.
Is it wrong to feel like this in church? And on Christmas Day, no less?
With her hands clasped demurely in her lap, she hoped nobody would guess how much she wanted to slip one into his palm. There had been much muttering when Miss Stockwell had arrived arm in arm with the still pale and tired-looking Mrs Fitzjames, and when she’d seated herself beside the older lady’s son the ripple of interest among the congregation had grown stronger, those with long memories recalling how at one time an engagement had seemed inevitable. It would be nothing short of a miracle if Lieutenant Fitzjames renewed his addresses now though, Jane imagined her audience was thinking, not since her face had been damaged beyond repair, while he was still the most handsome single gentleman in not only Wilton but possibly Wiltshire and beyond. They would make an odd pair and there was no point in trying to deny it…although after what had happened when they’d taken Charlotte sledging, perhaps it was possible that Duncan wouldn’t be swayed by something so skin-deep…?
She’d barely been listening to Reverend Dawkins’ festive sermon and she started when Duncan suddenly rose to his feet, a starburst erupting in her stomach as his hand grazed her arm. Apparently, it was time for the final carol and she scrambled to stand, almost dropping her hymnbook as the organist struck up the first notes of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’.
The singing began and she was forced to bite back a laugh as Charlotte led Eliza and Maria into an enthusiastically loud but entirely tuneless rendition that hardly resembled any carol ever heard. Mrs Fitzjames peered at them in mild alarm and their nurse tried to impose order with a stern look from the end of the pew, but Duncan’s eyes creased at the corners, his mouth curling upwards in the way Jane loved most.Hisvoice was a pleasure to listen to: deep and resonant, it was everything his nieces’ squeaking was not, and she could have stood and let it wash over her all day if he hadn’t subtly bent his head in her direction.
Under cover of the organist’s tinkling, he muttered into her ear, ‘Voices like angels, don’t you think?’
The nearness of his lips to her lace-covered cheek almost made her shiver, but all the same it was impossible not to smile. ‘Absolutely. I assume, from the similarity in pitch, they must have inherited such talent from you?’
Duncan laughed, converting it hurriedly into a cough when his mother slid him a sideways glance. There was something in Mrs Fitzjames’ expression that Jane couldn’t quite place, and she quickly turned her attention back to the hymn before she could receive an impenetrable look of her own.
The sermon came to a close and Yuletide greetings and Merry Christmases echoed around the church as the congregation filed out into the cold sunshine. Several people turned in Jane’s direction and she made sure to keep her head down as she guided Maria and Eliza through the open door, their nurse and grandmother following closely behind. Charlotte walked ahead with her uncle, her hand entirely swallowed by his, the sight of him carefully escorting the little girl making Jane’s heart melt anew.
He really would be the most wonderful father, she thought longingly. If only there could be a way—
‘Jane?’
A voice from behind made her turn. Someone was strolling towards her, a tall figure in an expensive black hat, and her spirits plummeted as she realised who it was.
‘Cousin Franklin. A Merry Christmas to you.’
Her second-cousin spared her a brief bow. He was looking at the twins with only the barest of interest and she found herself bristling at his dismissive nod.
‘Whose children are those?’
Jane inclined her head towards where Duncan’s mother stood near the churchyard gate. She was watching with polite patience, although Jane thought she caught a glint of dislike in the other woman’s eye. Mrs Fitzjames evidently recalled how Deborah had been treated by the callous son who thought only of his inheritance, her mouth pressed into the thinnest of lines. The twins didn’t seem to care much for Cousin Franklin either; they pulled on Jane’s hands, trying to drag her away, and she was obliged to let them be scooped up by Miss Vine and borne off to join their uncle, who had likewise turned back to watch.
‘I’m staying with their grandmother, Mrs Fitzjames, for Christmas,’ Jane explained unwillingly, conscious of Duncan’s attentive gaze. ‘You might recall your mother speaking of her. They were good friends.’
‘I can’t say that I do.’
Franklin shrugged. His indifference couldn’t have been more obvious and it stoked the resentment already circling in her chest. He cared nothing for what had been important to his mother, she saw all over again. To him, Deborah had been nothing more than an obstacle between him and his father’s fortune, and she felt a fresh spike of anger that such a strong, compassionate woman had been valued so little by her only son, the very man who had forced her to sacrifice her own happiness in order to stave off his malice.
‘I’m glad to have seen you,’ he went on, oblivious to her rising emotion. ‘I wanted to remind you of our agreement. You remember you need to have removed yourself from Maybury Place permanently by the twenty-seventh of this month?’
Jane’s insides shrank. ‘Yes. I remember.’
‘That’s only two days from now. I wouldn’t want you to feel you hadn’t had enough notice.’
Franklin’s scant pretence at consideration wouldn’t have fooled a child. There was a hint of a threat behind his false smile and she felt it keenly, the sorrow she’d managed to push to the back of her mind while spending time with the Fitzjameses returning sharply to the fore.
Her face was covered but a glance at Duncan showed she must still have somehow betrayed her discomfort. A light frown creased his brow and he began to move towards her, casually enough not to draw attention but so unmistakably resolute she felt her pulse begin to flutter.
