Kitabı oku: «Snowbound Surrender», sayfa 2
Chapter Three
‘He is here!’
As he rode up the front sweep of Clifton Manor, Jack could hear Frederick Clifton announcing him from inside, even before the servants had fully opened the door. Now his host was beaming in the doorway as if the Prince Regent, himself, was favouring the house with a visit.
Jack had chosen to forgo his carriage and ride alone to Clifton Manor, complaining of a megrim to his manservant and insisting that he needed fresh air after the stifling atmosphere of London. In truth, his headache had started after he’d spoken to Fred and grown stronger as the holidays neared. To ride north on horseback required that he stop frequently to rest his gelding. It gave him an excuse to put off the inevitable arrival at a party that he was a fool to attend. As each mile passed, he prayed that something would occur to prevent the future he feared. Now that he had arrived, he was hesitating as the groom reached for his reins to lead the horse to the stable, still trying to stall.
Perhaps she would not be as lovely as he remembered. Maybe he would discover that the feelings he had for her were nothing but the memory of what might have been. One last look at her might be all he needed to free himself from the past.
Since she’d made no effort to contact him in all this time, it was clear that she had forgotten about him. Or perhaps she hated him for the liberties he had taken on the last night they’d been together. If she was about to marry, she had moved on, just as he’d known she would. But, apparently, he needed to see the truth to believe it.
‘Stop dawdling with that horse, Gascoyne, and come inside!’ Fred was still standing in the open door, smiling at him as if Christmas had arrived early. So, he did as he was told and went into the house.
For a moment, it was just as he remembered from a dozen Christmases of his youth. When he crossed the threshold, there was lambswool ale waiting for them along with a hearty clap on the back, shouts of welcome from Fred and friendly enquiries as to the difficulty of the journey and the state of the weather.
Everything was normal except Jack, himself. He did not belong here any more. His presence would be a blight on the season.
Then he heard her.
‘Jack.’ His name escaped her lips in a breathy rush of joy and relief, sounding too much like it had on the last night they’d spent together. He turned from her brother, searching the room for the source of that single word, making sure that his face was schooled to a socially acceptable level of affection and his posture showed no trace of the urgency he really felt.
‘Lucy?’ She was standing in the archway to the dining room and the light from its tall windows made a nimbus around her gold hair that blinded him for a moment. Or perhaps it was her smile that had caught the breath in his throat, just as it had when he was a schoolboy. Her face was as perfect as ever it had been, with the same slightly crooked smile that balanced the too-sombre light in her brilliant blue eyes. There was still a smattering of girlish freckles across her upturned nose. As a child, they’d made her look ready for mischief. As a woman, they called attention to her kissable, pink lips. But it was his own imagination that made him wonder at the body hidden beneath a rather drab and serviceable day gown. Despite the high neckline, he could see that time had filled out the gamine angles into soft, huggable curves.
He was across the room in two steps before remembering that she could never be more than the best part of his youth. The man worthy of her hand had disappeared somewhere on the way to Waterloo. Before he could stop himself, he had caught her by the waist, lifting her high into the air and saying again, with even more fondness, ‘Lucy.’ He spun her once, making her laugh.
For a moment, he imagined letting her slide slowly down his body, until her lips were level with his so he might take the kiss he wanted from her. Then, common sense returned, and he set her back on her feet again and kissed her quickly on the cheek before taking both her hands in his. ‘You are lovely as ever.’
She laughed, dropping into a curtsy. ‘And you, Major Gascoyne, are just as handsome.’ It was just the sort of greeting he had been hoping for, yet it was not. There was no sign in it that she was any more serious than she would have been to another old friend. Nor did it make him think she had felt the loss of him as strongly as he had of her.
‘Do not be so formal,’ he muttered, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Call me Jack, just as you used to.’ He forced a grin to take away the hint of desperation in the request, then added, ‘And I believe the term you are searching for to describe me is dashing.’
‘Incorrigible, more likely,’ she said, pulling a hand free and giving him a playful slap on the arm. ‘Women are supposed to be the vain ones, not men.’
There was a moment of silence between them as their casual greeting ran out of words. Perhaps she was sincere in her superficiality. But if he was not careful, he would take her by the hand and lead her away, to a place where he could unburden his heart of things that could not be said in front of her overprotective brother.
As if he noticed the awkwardness, Fred interrupted it. ‘Speaking of women, there is one here that you have not met.’
‘Your fiancée,’ Jack supplied, turning away from Lucy to look for her. The other woman had been standing next to Fred all along and he had swept past her as if she had not existed.
‘Major Gascoyne, may I present Miss Millicent Forsythe,’ Fred announced, nudging her forward to accept the introduction.
Jack stepped forward as well, to take her hand and bow over it. She was a pretty enough girl, he supposed, with plump curves, dark eyes and shiny brown hair. ‘Miss Forsythe,’ he said, kissing her hand. ‘How nice to see that Fred has provided me with a such a delightful Christmas present.’ He steeled his nerve and looked back at Lucy with an expression that betrayed none of his true feelings. ‘Lucy and I played together as children. She is like a sister to me.’ He looked back to the other woman. ‘I hope, in time, you will come to view me like a brother as well.’
Finally, he felt some sign of the past between them for he heard a soft intake of breath behind him, a hissing of air between clenched teeth. But when he turned back to Lucy, she was smiling, just as she had been. ‘Surely these introductions do not have to be made in a draughty entrance hall. Come into the house proper, Jack. There is a storm brewing outside and I will not have you catch your death on our doorstep.’
He glanced outside, where the slate-grey sky had begun spitting snowflakes. ‘You are probably right. And it appears you have other guests arriving.’
‘You are the first of many,’ Fred announced. ‘The Manor will be full to the rooftop by the time they are all here. We are having a proper house party to celebrate your homecoming.’
Jack had no desire to be anyone’s honoured guest. But it was probably for the best that this house was to be crowded. Jack and Lucy had been together for only a few minutes, but the two of them had already begun to feel the strain of each other’s uninterrupted company. Then Jack realised that the next man through the door was to be the local Vicar.
Since Jack had no right to designs in her direction, Mr Thoroughgood could not really be considered a rival for Lucy’s affection. All the same, he felt a slow burning jealousy at the man’s pale good looks and perfect manners. There was something a little pompous in the way he went directly to Lucy, favouring her with a deep and respectful bow and enquiring after her health. Then he offered any assistance she might require in the settling of the guests, reminding her that he was ever at her service. His confident smile and quiet voice were exactly the traits that would win her brother’s approval when the offer finally came. Mr Thoroughgood would be the perfect husband.
For most young ladies, at least.
Jack’s insides clenched. He wished he were back on the battlefield. There he could strike out against this interloper, removing him from the field with a single blow. This was not the man for Lucy. Not for his Lucy. She needed someone with spirit, someone who could make her laugh, hard and often. Someone who could make her happy.
The Vicar was not that man. But then, neither was he. Jack was the last man on earth to give a woman a joyful future. So he turned away from her, just as he had once before, and went to find his room.
Chapter Four
Once all the guests had arrived, the crowd adjourned to the parlour, where a buffet of sweets awaited to refresh them after their journeys. Lucy had arranged for an enormous silver bowl to be filled with Regent’s punch and set trays of mulled wine and eggnog beside it. Next to those were heaps of mince pies, thickly sliced cakes and enough nuts and oranges to satisfy even the greediest child.
She watched the happy people around her with numb satisfaction, wishing that she could enjoy it even a tenth as much as they did. She pretended to smile in response to William Thoroughgood’s prattling, nodding in time to it without paying much attention. But though she should be ignoring him, her eyes followed Jack Gascoyne around the room, observing as he made polite conversation with the other guests.
She could still feel the flush of anger in her face from Jack’s greetings for her, though she had assured William that her colouring was caused by the heat of the fire. She was a sister now, was she? He had chosen to forget the best night of her life and act as if she was simply a childhood friend. She had held that night in her heart and mind like a diamond to be treasured. It had helped her get through the lonely years he’d been gone and kept the hope alive that he might still return to her.
But it had meant nothing to him. The diamond had been glass all along.
There was no point in revealing it to him or showing him the hurt he had caused her. She could not announce in front of anyone else what the problem was, since such an indiscretion should never have happened at all. The truth would ruin her.
So she waited. Guests came and went and she greeted them, saw to their needs and had servants show them to their rooms.
The hours passed, the afternoon ended and the room was nearly empty, except for Millicent Forsythe, standing in a corner, looking rather lost as the last group of friends abandoned her to dress for dinner.
Before Fred could claim her again, Lucy went to her and held out her hands. ‘You must be tired, Miss Forsythe. Do not be afraid to treat our home as your own. No matter what happens, you will always be welcome here, just as Jack is.’ She had meant to give a warm greeting to her future sister, but the result had sounded dire, as if she was expecting a disaster.
Now Millicent was staring at her, obviously puzzled, and looking far too miserable for a woman who was weeks away from her wedding. ‘Nothing has happened,’ she said firmly. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Of course not,’ Lucy responded, feeling like a fool for infecting the girl with her own dark mood. ‘Your room is at the end of the hall on the first floor. My brother is in the entrance hall. I am sure he will help you find your way, should you ask him.’
Millicent gave her a nervous smile. ‘He should not even know the location of my room. We are not yet married.’ Then she gave a single, apprehensive glance in the direction of her fiancé.
Lucy knew from experience that it was possible to get into a surprising amount of trouble without ever leaving the ground floor. ‘I am sure he can guess it,’ Lucy replied. ‘He has lived here his whole life. But if he gets lost, he can knock on doors until he finds your maid.’
‘But if I go, you shall be alone with Major Gascoyne,’ the girl said, blinking. ‘Do you wish me to find someone to chaperon you?’
Lucy gritted her teeth and pressed her palms flat against her bombazine skirt. ‘Chaperons are not necessary. I do not flatter myself to think his mind would turn in that direction over me.’ She looked across the room to where Jack stood, looking out of the window at the snow which was battering the windowpanes. ‘As he said before, apparently, Major Gascoyne is like a brother to me.’ Before Millicent could question her further, she gave the girl a gentle shove in the direction of Fred.
When her brother saw his beloved, his face lit up with a smile brighter than a ballroom chandelier. The sight was all it took to make Miss Forsythe evaporate like hoarfrost, leaving Lucy alone with Jack.
As she looked over at him, the years seemed to drop away, revealing the boy she had fallen in love with. His shoulders were broader, perhaps, his legs muscled from riding and his features had lost their boyish softness. But other than a thin scar on his chin, he was physically unmarked by the war. His eyes were the same clear grey, though more sombre than they used to be, and his chestnut-brown hair was shorter and cut in the style of a man who did not have time to bother with fashion.
‘Let us drop the pretence,’ Jack said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Miss Forsythe was correct. We should not be alone together.’ He had obviously been eavesdropping.
‘I do not see why not,’ she replied. ‘You have not bothered to speak to me since that hypocritical greeting when you arrived.’
He crossed the room and glanced down the hall to make sure that Fred and Millicent had gone upstairs before wheeling on her with a stern frown. ‘You know perfectly well how risky this is. Have a care for your reputation.’
‘I suppose I should mind my honour, since you never did,’ she said, then spoiled it by pushing past him to close the parlour door, leaving them shut in together. As there had been the last time they were together, there was a kissing bough hanging in the doorway. That year, it had been an elegant arrangement of ivy, mistletoe, apples and ribbons, that she had made with the express purpose of trapping Jack Gascoyne in a kiss.
It had grown less involved with each year he had been gone and she had come to dread the preparation of it, not wanting to think about kissing him or anyone else. This year, despite the fact that her house was full of company, there was but a single red ribbon holding a sprig of mistletoe, the berries of which could be numbered on her fingers.
He turned slowly to face her and waited to see if she would speak again, giving no indication that he had noticed her anger. Then, at last, he said, almost to himself, ‘I should not have come here. But I could not refuse your brother’s invitation without a reason.’
‘Without a reason?’ She resisted the temptation to shriek like the mad old maid her brother was afraid she had become. ‘What happened between us before you went away is reason enough for you to avoid this house.’
‘Some would say it was reason to come back,’ he corrected.
‘If you had returned earlier, perhaps I would believe you,’ she snapped. ‘But to appear after six months in England, only to call me a sister?’
He shrugged. ‘You made no effort to contact me, in all the time I was gone.’
‘Because you dishonoured me,’ she replied.
By the way he started at the words, she could almost believe that he did not realise what he had done. Then his composure returned. ‘You seemed to enjoy it well enough at the time.’
‘Only because you tricked me,’ she said, blushing. ‘All I wanted from you was a kiss.’
And she had got one. But after? It was a lie to blame him for what they had done together. She could not quite remember how what had begun as an innocent kiss under the mistletoe had ended with him sprawled over her on the floor as she clung to him, begging for more. He had sworn that he would never leave her, if only she would give him the most precious of gifts. And she had said yes, without a moment’s hesitation.
‘What happened between us was not intentional, I assure you,’ he said with a wolfish grin. ‘I was as surprised as you by the way it ended.’
‘Which part?’ she asked with a sceptical grimace. ‘When you seduced me? Or when you abandoned me?’
‘Is that what you thought?’ he asked. Now he seemed honestly shocked by her interpretation of events.
‘You took my maidenhead and assured me that no harm would come of it. Then you left and I never saw or heard from you again until this night.’
For a moment, his face had no expression at all. Then his brows knit in honest confusion. ‘Your brother did not explain to you?’
‘He told me that you joined the army,’ she said, her voice breaking with the memory. She had not wanted to believe that he could be so cruel as to do so without as much as a goodbye. But as time had passed with no word from him, she had been forced to admit that it was true. ‘I waited for three weeks, terrified that I might be carrying a child whose father would not claim it.’
Now he looked as if he had been slapped. Had he not given a single thought to the consequences of his departure? Then his hands reached out to comfort her, only to drop as she stepped clear of them. ‘You have nothing to be concerned about,’ she said, though the fact should have been obvious by now. ‘You have no hidden bastards in this country, at least.’ Then she added, ‘That I know of. I have no idea how many other girls you might have left in a similar manner.’
‘I did not mean to leave you,’ he said. ‘I went to your brother as soon as we had parted. After what we had done, I thought a speedy marriage might be necessary.’
‘You told him?’ she said, mortified.
‘I would not be alive if I had. He would not have bothered with a duel. He would have shot me before I could finish my offer. And I would have most heartily deserved it.’
‘You offered for me?’ Now she was the one who was shocked.
He nodded. ‘I gave him no indication of what had happened. I simply told him that I had loved you since we were children and asked for your hand.’
‘And he refused you,’ she said, as suddenly everything became clear. ‘It is so nice to know, after all this time, that you intended to do your duty by me.’
‘It was not duty,’ he insisted. ‘It was...’ Then he stopped as if he could not quite manage to say the word ‘love’ a second time. It was just as well. They both knew it was far too late for such an admission.
‘Your reason for offering does not matter,’ she said brusquely. ‘Fred said nothing of meeting with you.’ But now, at least, she knew the subject of the argument that her brother had just recently admitted to and his desire to do right by Jack if the war had damaged his spirit.
‘He told me that you were too young and I was too irresponsible to take care of you,’ Jack replied.
‘I’d have run away with you, had you asked,’ she reminded him. An elopement would have proved her brother right. As time had passed, she had realised that neither of them had been ready for marriage. It was probably for the best he had left her. But that did not change how she’d felt, at the time.
‘Fred said I was too wild,’ he muttered, like the sullen boy he had been. ‘He did not trust me with you.’
‘It was a bit late for him to come to such a conclusion,’ she said with a laugh. ‘We had known each other all our lives and he had made no effort to keep me safe from you. In fact, he always thought your outrageous behaviour to be excellent fun.’
‘Not always,’ Jack said. ‘Apparently, such things are not nearly so amusing in a brother-in-law as they are in a friend.’ He scuffed the toe of his boot on the rug and she saw the other side of him, the handsome, young imp who had stolen her heart. Without meaning to, she put her hand out to touch his sleeve, then dropped it away again as she remembered the risk of getting too close to him.
‘But why did you leave me without explanation?’ she whispered.
‘You did not know that, either?’ He looked up at her sharply, surprised.
She shook her head.
‘I left him a letter to give to you. When I did not get an answer...’ His voice fell away just as her hand had earlier.
‘What did you say?’
‘That, if we did not marry, I could no longer trust myself in your presence.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps not the right words to leave in a missive that was probably read the moment I left the room. But I made no mention of what had gone before.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I made it very clear that I did not trust myself with you outside of the sanctity of marriage and that I meant to return, when you were older, and I had made my fortune, or at least after I could assure Fred that I had settled sufficiently to be worthy of you.’
She let out the breath she had been holding in a slow sigh.
‘I asked you to write to me, if you needed me,’ he said with a significant raise of an eyebrow. ‘And even if you did not, I begged you to tell me that you were willing to wait for me.’
‘I was angry that you’d left without word,’ she said.
‘So, of course, you did not write,’ he said with understanding, but no emotion at all.
‘But I did wait,’ she reminded him.
‘And I did not,’ he said gruffly. ‘I gave up hoping.’ The look he was giving her now said that the past was the past and that anything between them was finished.
But it didn’t have to be. If he wanted her, she was still free, as was he. For the first time in ages, hope fluttered in her breast and she imagined a future quite different from the orderly marriage and life of service that awaited her as a vicar’s wife.
It might hurt William’s pride, should she decide against him. But his wooing thus far had smacked of expediency, not ardour. His heart would be undamaged if she called an end to their courting. And hers would breathe a sigh of relief.
But the man in front of her seemed to have nothing more to say on the subject of love, either. Apparently, she would have to prod him to life. ‘These stories of the past are all very enlightening,’ she said. ‘But it is the present we must contend with. And the future,’ she added with significance.
‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘Your brother says you are near to making a match with Mr Thoroughgood.’
‘So it would appear,’ she agreed.
‘I spoke with him briefly. He is a most serious and learned fellow...’
‘I will relay your compliments to him,’ she said, praying that there was more to the sentence.
‘But I do not think he is right for you.’
She knew that as well. But she had waited for Jack until her options were limited, hoping for love. When Waterloo had come and gone with no sign of his homecoming, she had settled.
But now he was home. She smiled, realising that they still stood in the doorway, under the mistletoe. ‘Do you have someone in mind that would suit me better?’
Perhaps she was being too obvious in her questions. But she wanted some hint that he had come to make things right between them and he was playing far too coy.
She was not expecting the answer she received. ‘I know no one who will suit. But I know you well enough to think that you need a man with spirit and a sense of humour, and someone who will appreciate those qualities in you. Thoroughgood is wrong on all counts.’
‘What?’ It was all she could manage, for the answer he had given rendered her near to incoherence.
He gave her a firm and somewhat puzzled smile, as if he felt he had been perfectly clear before and should not have to repeat himself. ‘I would not offer advice on the matter, if your choice seemed more appropriate. But I have known you so long that I cannot help but be concerned for your future happiness. I fear you would make an abominable vicar’s wife and would make yourself miserable by trying.’
She shook her head, amazed. ‘You return after all this time and have nothing more to say than that?’
‘If you were expecting something more—’ his brow furrowed ‘—then I must remind you that it has been five years,’ he said. ‘Things have changed.’
‘“Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.”’ She touched her cheek, wondering if she was really so different from the girl he had once wanted. ‘If they are so easily forgotten, then the feelings you claimed for me were not as deep as you claimed.’ It made her feel all the bigger fool for succumbing to him then.
‘It is not you,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘You are every bit as lovely as you were on the day I left and just as hard to resist. It is I who have changed.’
‘Of course you have,’ she laughed. ‘You are a war hero now. If I am to believe what I have heard, you are quite well off and no longer dependent on an allowance from your brother to cover your bills.’
‘I have changed for the worse,’ he argued. ‘Ignore the nonsense about my being an officer and a gentleman. One cannot be a good soldier and remain untouched by the brutality of the profession.’ He turned away again, staring into the fire, and his hand gripped the mantel until his fingers went white.
‘But that is over. You are home now,’ she reminded him.
He smiled sadly. ‘Would that a change of location was all it took to return to the man I was.’
‘Time will help,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘It will not change what I have already done. And the man who could behave in such a way is not a man worthy of your affection. Now, if you will excuse me, I must wash for dinner.’ And he left the room, walking beneath the kissing bow without even looking up.
