Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Jewel
BY THE TIME Jewel’s parents returned and took their places near the harpsichord, Uncle Ford’s tall case clock had chimed the quarter-hours at least three times, maybe four. Which meant that more than an hour had passed.
An hour filled with lackluster caroling.
Jewel observed a marked lack of enthusiasm, especially compared to the family’s singing yesterday. She wished they could stop, and even ventured to suggest it, but Aunty Violet was insistent.
The light had faded, and candles had been lit. Despite Violet’s valiant efforts to keep mulled wine flowing and holiday nibbles nearby, Jewel heard stomachs rumbling. It was well past time for supper.
Unfortunately, Uncle Jason still hadn’t appeared. No doubt feeling pressured by expectations, Aunty Cait had changed into a fancy turquoise gown that looked too bright for her current demeanor. She was curled miserably in an oversized chair.
As often happened during family gatherings, Jewel was wedged on a couch between eighteen-year-old Elspeth and sixteen-year-old Diana. Outnumbered by uncouth boys, the older girls had always stuck together. Diana plaited Jewel’s hair over and over while the desultory caroling droned on.
When a loud banging of the door knocker interrupted, Jewel found herself immensely relieved.
“Jason!” Aunty Cait cried, jumping up from her curled misery.
“I’ll get him,” Uncle Ford said and left the room.
But it wasn’t Uncle Jason at the door. Instead, Ford returned with…
Jewel blinked.
Rowan Ashcroft?
Could that tall man be her childhood friend Rowan, Aunty Violet’s brother?
Although her family visited Uncle Ford and Aunty Violet rather regularly, Jewel hadn’t seen Rowan in what felt like forever.
Certainly more than a decade, and that had suited her just fine.
Quite recently, in a casual conversation, Henry had mentioned that he and Rowan were friends—which she’d found a little unsettling, because she’d done her best to put Rowan out of her mind.
Diana’s fingers ceased plaiting. A hubbub broke out as everyone rose. Ford’s children squealed, running to hug their youngest uncle.
“What a welcome!” Rowan told them, gathering the three youngsters into his arms. “I’m so happy to see you all, too.”
“Who is that?” Elspeth whispered to Jewel.
“Their uncle.” Jewel pulled her fingers through her hair to unravel it. “Aunty Violet’s little brother.”
“Little?” Diana scoffed. “He’s so tall! And so handsome!”
“You can have him,” Jewel muttered as Rowan finally disentangled himself and glanced around.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t drop into the floor or otherwise disappear. Also unfortunately, he noticed her nearly immediately.
“Good evening, Jewel,” he said. He looked to her left. “And Lord and Lady Greystone,” he added, walking toward her parents. “You two never seem to age.”
As he reached them, he bowed and kissed her mother’s hand, smooth as silk.
Beside Jewel, Elspeth all but swooned.
“Lord Tremayne.” Mama all but glowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you after all these years.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Rowan returned, a twinkle in his emerald green eyes.
He’d changed. He’d grown up. His voice was deeper than Jewel remembered, his shoulders wider. Unlike her family, he wasn’t dressed up for the holiday festivities, but his blue-black hair skimmed the collar of a perfectly cut midnight blue suit that was appropriate for traveling.
Her mother was still beaming at him, clearly captivated.
Well, he could captivate Mama and Elspeth and Diana, but he wasn’t going to captivate Jewel. He hadn’t captivated her since she was ten.
“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly.
“Yes, what are you doing here?” Aunty Violet echoed with a puzzled frown.
“Ford invited me for Christmas Eve supper.”
“He did?” She turned to her husband. “You did?”
Uncle Ford looked wary. “Your mother thought you’d enjoy the surprise.”
“Ha!” she said with a huff. “I suspect she feared I’d see through her matchmaking machinations.
” Wondering what she had meant by matchmaking machinations, Jewel watched Aunty Violet put a smile on her face.
“It’s not that I don’t want you here, Rowan.
But I’d have appreciated some notice. And you’d have been late if we’d started on time. ”
“I’m sorry,” Ford and Rowan said simultaneously.
Despite herself, Aunty Violet laughed. “Well, there’s no sense in sitting here hungry all night. I’ll go tell Hilda to set another place, then we’ll begin whether Jason has returned or not.”
As Violet departed, Rowan moved closer. “How are you, Jewel?” he asked, reaching for her hand.
In unison, her cousins dropped back on to the couch, gazing up at him with dreamy expressions.
When Jewel tried to draw her hand away, he held on tighter and raised it, bending to press his lips to the back.
Warm lips. She heard the girls’ sharply indrawn breaths, and her skin seemed to tighten, like it had when she was a child.
Like it hadn’t since. How annoying.
She was really better off avoiding him.
“I see you’re still working with glass,” he said, looking down at her hand with all of its little wounds in various stages of healing.
“Yes.” She tugged it free, clasping it together with her other. “But the cuts don’t hurt.”
“You always said that.”
“I don’t want to talk to you, Rowan,” she said, surprised at her own rudeness.
“And why is that?” he wondered, having the gall to look hurt while her cousins drank in his every word.
“We were so close when we were young. Why all of a sudden did you decide I am worse than a case of head lice? I’m aware that at a certain age girls are obligated to hate boys, but certainly you’ve long since outgrown that folly. ”
How could he not know? “Do you not remember saying something that might have convinced me to keep my distance?”
“No.” He frowned, his gaze narrowing. “No. If I hurt your feelings, I apologize. But whatever could I have said?”
He didn’t remember? Her memory of that day was still powerful enough to instantly bring heat to her cheeks, but he didn’t even remember.
Splendid. Just perfect.
She could recall Rowan’s exact words, for they had been burned into her childish, love-addled brain. More than a decade ago, after his sister’s wedding, the women in Rowan’s family had been bantering about the future, blithely planning his wedding to—
“Jewel?” Young Rowan’s emerald eyes had widened in alarm. “I’m not going to marry Jewel!”
He’d gazed upon Jewel with such horror, she’d shrunk back.
She’d wanted to die.
She’d wished the earth would open up and swallow her.
Rowan’s newly married brother-in-law had aimed an indulgent smile down at him. “You’re only eleven. Wait till you’re older—”
“Never! I’m not going to marry Jewel! NEVER!”
Those words had haunted her for months. Years, even, for she’d spent much of her adolescence convinced she was unlovable. It had seemed that if the boy she loved—or thought she loved—could reject her in such a public and hurtful way, there had to be something wrong with her.
Whilst she had long since realized she was worthy of love, long since let go of the pain he had caused, she had never forgotten those words.
But apparently Rowan had.
The worst day of her childhood had meant less than nothing to him.
A bell rang, saving her from answering. “The holiday supper is about to begin,” she said stiffly, suspecting her face was as red as her gown. “I must take my seat.”
In a swish of crackling taffeta, she turned and made her way to the dining room, sensing him following behind her.