Chapter Two
For a long time after Rafe walked out the door, Juliana lingered on the salon’s threshold, trying to master the tumultuous feelings his reappearance had engendered.
Not that she was surprised by his return; she’d been anticipating it for several weeks.
Long resigned to her position in his life, she’d felt confident she’d armored herself against any excess of emotion.
But when he’d suddenly and unexpectedly materialized in front of her in the churchyard, that supposed control had vanished.
As she looked up from placing the flowers on Ian’s grave and spotted him, her heart skipped a beat and her chest grew so tight she couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly dizzy, she staggered to catch herself, then stood frozen as he hurried to her, her gaze taking in every detail of his dear, well-remembered face.
A tanned face, with lines etched upon his brow by years of soldiering in the fierce Peninsular sun now matching the crinkle of smile lines beside his compelling dark eyes.
He looked taller, his solid body thinner, evidence of the uncertain supply of victuals available to an army on campaign.
His dark auburn hair, a bit longer than he usually wore it, curled around his ears, the thick wave of it she’d once dreamed of brushing aside with her fingertips shadowing his forehead, just as she remembered.
He’d always been a commanding figure, but he now had an additional air of authority that added to the sense of gravity he’d always possessed, a seriousness balanced by the bent to find amusement he’d so often demonstrated when they’d roamed the hills and forests together as children.
She’d only just kept herself from hugging the breath from him, so relieved and happy was she to have him returned to Thornthwaite, hale and whole. Until she remembered how important it was now, more than ever, to keep such feelings buried.
Still shaken when she recalled the intensity of her reaction to him, she wandered back into the salon and dropped into a chair.
She’d have to be careful, much more careful than she’d anticipated.
Once he’d dealt with Taylor and Higgins and took up her offer of consulting with him, she’d see him often.
Sooner or later he’d have time to reflect on the matter of the wedding that never happened and wonder at the thinness of her excuses for delaying it.
In worldly terms, though she’d not exaggerated the depth of Ian’s despondency, it made no sense that she’d not pushed harder for a marriage that would have offered her status and security.
But at the end, after the reductions Taylor had made to the estate’s income and profitability, she knew if she married Ian, the settlements agreed upon at their engagement years ago when the estate had been thriving would strip Thornthwaite of much of the resources Rafe would need to bring it back to profitability.
He must never suspect that she’d refused Ian’s deathbed offer of marriage, for doing so would either make her look so unworldly as to be demented. Or reveal the truth.
The truth was that she’d fallen in love with Rafe Tynesley as a ragged child tagging after one of the few people who didn’t scorn or dismiss her.
One who’d shared her fascination with the natural world and been patient with her zeal to examine fish, rocks, insects, birds, mammals and all their actions and habits.
The one person who never made her feel she was the oddity she knew herself to be, the ‘unnatural’ girl her mother always railed at.
As she’d grown from child to girl, she’d become increasingly aware of his dynamic physical presence, her love deepening with an attraction that tempted her to linger near him, touch his arm, clasp his hand…dream of having him kiss her.
Dreams that were crushed when she’d watched from afar as he fell desperately in love with Society beauty Thalia Heathcote.
She remembered his shock, apathy and a lassitude worse than anger when he lost that love, his beloved’s family forcing her to wed a man of higher status and greater fortune.
She’d ached, watching him leave, but understood completely the impetus that propelled him to join the army and seize the chance to quit England and distance himself from the pain, grief, anger and heartache.
If only she could have escaped her own heartache and grief.
As she knew from her own experience, such all-consuming love happened only once in a lifetime, whether or not one was fortunate enough to wed one’s beloved. There would never be anyone for her but Rafe.
So she’d hidden that love away—and until seeing him today, thought she’d successfully locked away that distant, bittersweet unrealized dream.
She’d have to make sure she reincarcerated it.
After his departure, she’d resolutely moved on, content to take her sister’s place and marry Ian, for though her love might be unrequited, she still cared deeply for Rafe’s welfare.
She could never reveal to him the secret that she’d agreed to marry Ian partly because she knew there would be no children, that sooner or later, the family property would become Rafe’s.
With his brother indifferent to estate matters, she could protect Thornthwaite’s heritage for him, see him on his occasional trips home and write to him on her husband’s behalf.
But shielded from a resurgence of her feelings by her marriage and her position as his sister-in-law, she could salvage some closeness to him by remaining the odd little girl he’d always treated with indulgent affection.
She’d agreed to be engaged to Ian to protect him as well, knowing the enormous pressure to wed he would face as the heir to property and title.
With the wordless understanding between two individuals, neither of whom conformed to Society’s expectations, she knew their union would shield the gentle man of whom she was so fond from the sort of marriage that would have been a horror for him.
But with Ian gone, this afternoon’s surge of emotion had demonstrated with shocking clarity that she would have to swiftly and brutally resubmerge her feelings.
After she helped Rafe back on the path to restoring Thornthwaite and if her tentative plans worked out, she could then escape and live the rest of her life in quiet exile from Society, her mother’s thwarted expectations and the seductive urge to try to be more to Rafe than the engaging child he now regarded her as.
She was reasonably sure she could keep her emotions bottled up, at least for the length of time it took to sketch out the plans for restoring Thornthwaite.
But she’d have remain on guard to resist her still-smoldering desire for him when they were closeted together, probably often alone, over the next few days or weeks.
The best, the only, thing she could do for him now was to equip him to restore his birthright and quietly slip back out of his life. Distancing herself forever from temptation, as he had in the army outrun his heartache and grief.
Pulling herself from her reverie, she told herself tartly that the more immediate thing she could do for him was consult Baxter about dinner. She was confident, after his clash with Taylor, he would return to the Dower House for company and consolation. Which was all she must allow herself to give.
Juliana was proven correct, and sooner than she’d expected. Night had barely fallen when she heard a knock at the front door, followed a moment later by Rafe, ushered into the salon by their borrowed manservant. ‘Thank you—Mason, isn’t it?’ he said, nodding to the retainer.
‘It is, my lord. Good of you to remember,’ the man said, before bowing himself out.
As he crossed the room to her, an apologetic smile replacing the anger she’d seen on his face as he entered, she thought ruefully that she might be able to school her expression to calm, but she failed completely to forestall the leap of her heart or the stir to her senses.
Thank heaven neither reaction was visible. But she was going to have to do much, much better.
‘Sorry to return so soon, like a bad penny. Could I prevail upon you for another round of tea? As that will likely be all that’s available for my dinner.’
‘Of course!’ she said, waving him to a seat on the sofa. ‘Though I expect by now you might prefer something a bit stronger than tea.’
‘Indeed,’ he admitted with a sigh.
‘We can do better for dinner, too,’ she said, as she rose to pour him a glass of wine.
‘The kitchen maid I harangued Taylor into lending us along with Mason hasn’t quite graduated to performing like a true cook, but she can prepare simple dishes.
We’re having stew tonight, and there will be plenty, if you’d care to join us. ’
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate both the food and the company. But—you had to argue with Taylor to obtain staff to serve the Dower House?’
‘Oh, my, yes,’ she replied, handing him the glass, careful not to let her fingers touch his, vividly conscious of even that slight proximity.
‘I caused such a ruckus it roused Ian from his sickbed to brush aside Taylor’s protest that the Hall was already short-staffed and order him to grant my request.’
‘If the house is short-staffed, that was his doing,’ Rafe retorted.
‘That he would treat my brother’s affianced wife with so little respect makes me doubly glad I just gave him his congé—and his reputed paramour as well.
She answered my request for food and wine by bringing the most inedible cakes I’ve ever had the misfortune to taste!
The rocks in Portugal would have more flavor.
I told them both to be off Thornthwaite land by first light tomorrow, or I’d have them prosecuted for trespassing. ’
‘I hope you removed the coins in the office strongbox before you issued that ultimatum,’ she said, seating herself a safe distance away on the sofa.