Chapter Four
Christmas Day began early for Duncan. It was still dark when he heard muffled giggling and shuffling on the other side of his bedroom door, which would certainly have roused him if he hadn’t already been awake.
As it was, the sounds of his nieces preparing to ambush him were welcome indeed, providing a distraction from the other thoughts that swirled relentlessly inside his head.
What did it mean that Jane had let him kiss her? Surely he’d made a colossal mistake, forcing open a window that for the wellbeing of his own heart he should have left firmly barred?
He had no idea of any answers. Ever since their adventure in the snow Jane had been shyer than before, blushing every time he sat opposite her at the dining table or held open a door for her to walk through, and he couldn’t tell whether it signified anything.
All he knew for sure was that he loved watching her cheeks glow that fresh rosy pink, and it was growing harder and harder to curb the urge to kiss her again just to see her colour rise.
The whispering on the landing grew louder. It seemed he was to be burst in on at any moment and he quietly pushed back the blankets and got out of bed, noiselessly pulling on his dressing gown as he crept towards the door.
Without warning, he yanked it open, prompting a chorus of startled squeaks from the other side.
‘Why are you lurking about outside my bedroom? Is something happening?’
All three girls were still in their nightgowns, their hair in disarray, but there was nothing sleepy in their barely lit faces as they bounced up and down.
‘It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas Day!’
‘Oh, yes. Of course it is. Thank you for reminding me.’
He smiled at his nieces’ excitement. Maria and Eliza were hopping from one foot to the other, swept up in their older sister’s enthusiasm, and Charlotte herself seized his hand.
Some lunatic had trusted her with a lantern and the flame bobbed alarmingly as she moved, throwing wild shadows on the wall behind her head.
‘Grandmama said we had to wait for you and Miss Stockwell to come down before we could open our gifts from Mama and Papa,’ she told him urgently. ‘Will you come now?’
‘If I must. There seems little chance of me being allowed to go back to sleep.’
The eager prancing intensified. ‘Thank you, Uncle Duncan! I’ll tell Miss Stockwell too.’
Quickly, Duncan shook his head. ‘No. Don’t disturb her. Let Miss Stockwell come down when—’
He was too late.
Charlotte had dropped his hand and slipped across the landing faster than an eel. Jane’s bedroom door was just a few steps away and he could only watch as the little girl knocked on it smartly, the lantern swinging precariously from her free hand.
‘Charlotte,’ he hissed, trying to convey authority in a whisper. ‘Wait…’
He was cut off by a creaking of hinges. The door opened a crack, and then his heart skipped as Jane’s tousled head appeared round the jamb.
‘Goodness. Is it time to get up already?’
She opened the door a little wider. Maria and Eliza rushed to her, jostling Charlotte out of the way, and if he’d been less distracted he would have worried the lantern might be overturned.
Instead, however, he barely noticed the peril. The girls were babbling to Jane but suddenly he couldn’t make out what they were saying, his attention snatched up by something else entirely.
The light from the lantern wasn’t strong but it illuminated her in the doorway as though she were a painting in a frame.
The intimacy of it made Duncan’s mouth run dry: her face was soft with sleepiness, unguarded and still warm from her bed, some of her hair come free from its plait to surround her in a mass of untidy waves.
Her feet were bare and he saw her shiver as the cool air touched her skin, her nightgown surely too thin to provide much protection from the cold…
She might as well be wearing nothing at all.
He tried to dismiss the thought but it was too accurate to deny.
Jane’s sheath of ivory linen didn’t leave much to the imagination and he had to battle not to let his eye linger on the ribbons at her throat, just one careful pull away from falling open to reveal the dip between her collarbones.
He’d kissed her there before—heatedly, never wanting to stop—and the desire to do so again almost brought him to his knees.
She glanced up. He was afraid she’d see the longing in his eyes despite the gloom and, sure enough, she seemed to hesitate as she caught sight of him at his door, the nod she gave him not quite fully at ease.
‘Good morning. Or should I say, Merry Christmas.’
‘The same to you.’
He sketched a bow, glad of an excuse to avert his gaze. Her nightgown was not only thin but clinging too, giving an excellent idea of what might lie beneath, and every second he spent looking at her was a second of extreme discomfort.
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. His voice 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?’