Chapter Two #2
The memory of that fateful conversation was no less revolting even after the passing of three years and still it made her lip curl as she trudged across the frozen grass.
What kind of man openly confessed his desire for the death of his mother, just so he could possess her wealth?
In that moment the scales had fallen from her eyes: she couldn’t leave Deborah undefended, not once she’d realised the depth of Franklin’s contempt and neglectful intentions.
After everything her great-aunt had done for her, taking her in when her family had been in distress, there was no way she could have abandoned Auntie to such malice, although the price for her devotion had turned out to be higher than she ever could have known.
Jane’s face crumpled. Of all her regrets, not being able to tell Duncan the real reason she had rejected him was the biggest. Great-Aunt Deborah would have been horrified to learn Jane had refused him on her account, but it had been the only thing to do.
The old lady would have suffered otherwise, her own son caring for nothing but the inheritance he valued far more than his ailing mother, and although it had crushed Jane’s heart into dust to let Duncan slip away without a proper explanation, she’d refused to take the selfish path.
He’s probably glad I let him go. I can’t imagine any man wanting to be tied to me now.
The thought was devastating and yet she couldn’t deny its accuracy.
Duncan must have celebrated his good fortune in escaping now he had seen her again, relieved to have been spared a wife he could take so little pride in.
He was free to choose another woman with whom he wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen, and although his solitary presence at his mother’s house for Christmas suggested he hadn’t yet wed, Jane was sure he couldn’t be alone for long.
She stumbled slightly, blaming the snow but knowing it was really despair that made each step an effort.
After three years apart, Duncan was unexpectedly within arm’s reach, yet as untouchable as if he’d still been at sea.
The desire to see him again was suffocatingly strong…
but wouldn’t she just be hurting herself if she sought him out, causing herself even more grief on top of what Deborah’s death had already heaped upon her like a heavy mound of earth?
She only realised she was crying when the tears made her cheeks feel cold. The house loomed over her as she trailed across the garden, now a forlorn, empty shell of the home it had been when her great-aunt was alive, and all of a sudden the idea of going back inside it filled her with dread.
Now they’d begun, it seemed the tears didn’t want to stop. They made her throat ache, the freezing air joining forces with them to make it difficult to breathe, and it was only the sound of boots crunching through the snow behind her that helped to stem the flow.
Hurriedly wiping her face with the flat of her palm, she turned around. ‘Yes, Ellen? Was there something—’
The rest of her sentence died in her mouth.
‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Duncan held up a steadying hand. He stood hardly any distance away, clearly concerned by the way she had flinched back on seeing him, her reflexive pleasure at recognising her unexpected visitor veering immediately into dismay.
Jane stayed very still, horror pinning her to the spot.
Her face was bare and her head uncovered and there was nothing she could do to stop him from seeing the full extent of her scars, her disfigurement laid out before him, stark red against white.
She saw his eyes flicker over the network of raised skin and felt a vivid wave of shame wash over her, the back of her neck growing warm despite the icy ground.
So. Now he knows.
Mortified heat flared in her cheeks. She wanted to cover herself but she seemed to have lost the use of her hands, only able to stare in silent torment as Duncan bowed.
‘Forgive me for calling unannounced. Your maid let me in and as she seemed busy, I took the liberty of going to look for you myself. I hope I’m not intruding.’
He straightened up again, his dark hair gleaming as he moved in the pale sunshine.
His eyes met hers: after that first lightning-fast glance at her scars his gaze didn’t waver again, although Jane knew he had already seen too much.
His expression was carefully controlled, whatever he was thinking well concealed behind his usual good manners, but she was no fool.
He’d be feeling the same combination of pity and distaste as everyone else who had caught a glimpse of her since the accident and her heart sank that any sweet past memory of her he might still have carried would now be soured by the present’s unpalatable truth.
‘Not at all,’ she managed faintly. ‘Will you come inside?’
Privately, she prayed he’d refuse, but she wasn’t to be granted any reprieve.
‘Only if it’s convenient. There’s something my mother would like me to ask you.’
‘Of course. Let’s go in.’
She gestured for him to walk ahead of her.
She had no idea what Mrs Fitzjames could want to ask her and even less real interest. Duncan’s presence and the feeling of oppression that soaked into her as she entered the great gloomy house were overwhelming, grief and embarrassment obliterating everything else.
It was an odd feeling, caught between delight at seeing Duncan again and wishing he would leave, and she wasn’t sure which side would triumph as she followed him into the parlour and waved him towards a chair.
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘No, thank you. I won’t stay for long.’
She sat in her usual place on the sofa, glad to be able to angle herself away from him. Her heavily frilled cap lay on the table next to her and she itched to put it on, only the thought of drawing more attention to her face stopping her from snatching it up.
Duncan settled himself in his seat. He looked slightly ill at ease but was clearly trying to hide it; the sole giveaway was in the way he constantly spun the brim of his hat through his fingers as he shifted in his chair and, straightening her skirts, Jane risked another glance at him out of the corner of her eye.
I recall us sharing that armchair, a dangerous little voice piped up in the back of her mind. He’d wait until Auntie went to bed and then draw me onto his knee, his hands pushing into my hair as he turned my face to his—
Her fingers locked together on her lap in a punishing squeeze.
Stop that. Thinking such things will do no good whatsoever.
She’d never thought to see him in Maybury Place’s parlour again and it was difficult to keep the memories under control.
At one time there would have been such tension between them she could have tasted it, their need to touch each other simmering just below a surface so exhilaratingly fragile it might have broken at any moment.
As soon as Deborah left the room they would be pulled together as if by a magnetic force, Duncan’s kisses chaste to start with, but rapidly growing in passion until they’d had to break apart to stop things from going too far.
Jane tightened the vice-like grip of her hands.
She would have given anything to be able to fall into his arms again, but of course that was a wish that wouldn’t come true.
Duncan had seen her for what she was and any nostalgic fondness he might have entertained for her would never again kindle into desire.
Pain had begun to grow deep inside her. It was a dull ache, building every time she moved, but she tried to push it aside.
‘You mentioned your mother had a question for me.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded, looking away from her to examine the glossy black silk of his hat. ‘She was wondering…that is, if you still had no more pressing engagements…if perhaps you would do us the honour of joining us. For Christmas.’
He shot her a swift, unreadable look, still holding his hat in front of him like a shield, and Jane felt her eyes widen.
‘Spend Christmas with you?’
‘And my mother and nieces,’ Duncan amended hastily. ‘I can’t promise it would be a very restful time, but it might perhaps be more agreeable than the alternative.’
Jane’s heart leapt against her ribs. A whole week with the Fitzjameses? Day after day of waking to know that Duncan was never more than a few rooms away?
She took a breath. It was the most agonisingly tempting offer she’d received since he had proposed three years earlier and she felt the same powerful urge to accept as she had when he’d turned to her on one knee.
A change of scene would allow her some respite from the unceasing burden of her grief, she thought dazedly.
Any distraction from her unhappiness was certainly a strong inducement to take Mrs Fitzjames up on her invitation—but she’d be lying if she pretended it was the only one, her yearning to be close to Duncan a threat she couldn’t ignore.
It would be a mistake to spend more time with him. My feelings would grow stronger whereas his would not, leaving me even more sorrowful than when I arrived.
He was watching her, the dark eyes she admired so much trained on her face. He still hadn’t taken another glance at her scars; they might as well have not been there at all for all the notice he took of them, his tactful kindness raising a lump in her throat.
‘Thank you. It’s an extremely generous offer, but I’m afraid I cannot accept.’
She paused uncomfortably. What reason should she give for her refusal? She could hardly tell him the truth of why she didn’t dare return with him, and yet it would be the height of bad manners to reject his mother’s generosity without an explanation.
Inspiration struck.
‘I fear my appearance might unsettle the children,’ she said reluctantly, grimly satisfied that her excuse wasn’t a lie. ‘I wouldn’t be so rude as to wear a veil in your mother’s house and I worry your nieces would be frightened.’
Her hands were still grasped in her lap and she preferred to look at them rather than her guest, not wanting to see him realise that she was right.
‘They would not.’ Duncan’s voice cut through her rising shame. ‘I would explain to them,’ he stated simply. ‘The twins are too young to understand, but their older sister is a tender-hearted girl and would be happy to accept anyone I call a friend.’
Jane’s breath caught. ‘A friend?’
‘Yes. If you would allow me to think of you as such.’
His gaze was so direct it made her flush. It was hard to read his expression but she knew what hers must be, all the blood in her body suddenly rushing to her face.
He would still be my friend? Even after I sent him away without really telling him why?
Her throat dry, she managed a nod. ‘That would make me happier than I have been in a long while.’
‘Then friends are what we shall be.’ The set of his countenance changed a fraction. ‘Your happiness is still something I care about…even now.’
Jane stilled, unsure she had heard him correctly. He’d muttered the second sentence, making it difficult to catch over the crackle of the fire between them, and she thought she must have been mistaken when he briskly went on.
‘So. Are you resolved, then, to spend this Christmas alone?’
She hesitated, two responses teetering on her tongue.
Going with Duncan would be painful. She’d have the torment of being in his presence while knowing she had no right to expect anything but unforeseen friendship from him, unable to touch him where he had once placed her hands himself.
He was out of bounds and she had to respect it, her previous rejection of his proposal and now her injuries ensuring his romantic feelings for her had long since died.
There was nothing left for her to cling on to…
and yet still she couldn’t turn her back.
I’ll be miserable anyway, she acknowledged bleakly. Nothing will make me forget Auntie’s loss, and if I’m to be sad whatever I do, perhaps I should throw caution to the wind.
Pretending to study her fingernails again, she snatched a glance at him through her downturned eyelashes.
He was so handsome, everything about him just as appealing as it had been when they’d first met, and the full extent of how much she’d missed him hit her like a runaway carriage.
No other man had ever meant so much to her and never would, and in spite of everything that urged her to be careful, she knew her decision had already been made.
‘No.’ It was a struggle to speak, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he must be able to hear it. ‘If your invitation still stands, I’d be pleased to accept.’
Caught up in the whirl of her feelings, she couldn’t tell Duncan’s reaction, although she was aware of a short pause before he replied.
‘Good. In truth, you’d be doing me a favour. It’s fallen to me to help entertain my nieces and I would very much appreciate some help.’
Slightly dazed by her own recklessness, Jane nodded.
Assisting with the children would be a welcome task.
It would make things less awkward if she was useful, there for a purpose rather than as a burden not of Duncan’s choosing.
There was still the chance the girls would be apprehensive at the sight of her but she tried not to think about it, the desire to leave Maybury Place’s sad shadow—and, if she was entirely honest, to spend more time with Duncan—overcoming her fear.
‘I’ll go to gather a few things, then. As most of my belongings are in bags already, it shouldn’t take too long.’
She stood up. Immediately, Duncan rose likewise, his usual courtesy bringing him to his feet—which also happened to bring him abruptly within a few inches of Jane’s face.
She didn’t mean to make a noise. She meant to turn and leave the room, but somehow instead her breath fled at finding him so close, escaping in a sound worryingly like a gasp.
There was barely a hand’s span between them, something she thought she saw him realise at much the same moment she did.
Three years ago, he would have bent down and kissed her if she’d stood gazing up at him like that, his arms sliding around her to draw her against the firm plane of his chest, and her insides shuddered now as she watched his pupils dilate.
Doubtless it was the memory of that former passion that made his eyes darken rather than any current want, although her own wish that he would stoop down to claim her lips was every bit as strong as it had been long before.
Far too late for any veneer of dignity, she managed to find her tongue. ‘Excuse me,’ she mumbled. ‘I won’t keep you waiting.’
To her relief, Duncan stood aside. ‘Take all the time you need. There’s no cause to rush.’
With another mumble that she hoped he’d interpret as thanks, Jane stepped round him, heading for the door. It might well have been the case that he was in no hurry, but she certainly didn’t delay as she scurried from the room.