Janice Preston - Christmas With His Wallflower Wife

They were all being so kind, but Jane dreaded to think what they really thought of her. She knew Alex had stopped Pikeford in time, but did anyone else believe her? She shuddered at the memory of his hand painfully squeezing her breast…his fingers between her legs… Her stomach roiled, pushing the contents up. She ran to a nearby bush, bent double and vomited. Tears blurred her eyes. She could not stop retching, even after her stomach was empty and sore. Gradually, the heaving slowed and she became aware of hands supporting her, holding her hair back.

‘Better now?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.’

‘Then let us make you respectable again and return to the house.’

They avoided the lawn at the rear of the Abbey, where the garden party continued, by following the lake around until they met the grass path that wound up through the copse towards the formal gardens leading to the terrace and the library. The Duchess peered through the hedge into the gardens before smiling encouragingly at Jane.

‘They’re empty. When the Duke told me what had happened, I ordered bath water to be heated and a bedchamber prepared. You must be exhausted. Come.’

She slipped her arm around Jane’s waist and they hurried through the gardens and up the steps to the terrace, where one of the French doors into the library stood open. Within minutes the Duchess had whisked Jane upstairs.

Father, as was his wont, moved swiftly to avert any scandal. Pikeford had already left for Plymouth, escorted by two footmen to ensure he took passage on the first ship bound for the Continent, thus thwarting Alex of the chance to thump the bastard again. But Father did not broach the subject of Alex’s impending marriage until after dinner that evening, when he invited Alex to join him in his study.

Alex braced himself for the interrogation, every muscle locked tight, as though his body was preparing itself for physical battle.

‘Well, Alex?’

Alex unclenched his jaw with an effort. ‘Well… I hope you will wish us happy, sir.’

Father stared at him for several seconds, his eyes troubled, before pouring them both a glass of brandy. He handed one to Alex and gestured for him to sit in one of the pair of wingback chairs either side of the unlit hearth.

‘You’ve had time to think this through, Son. Marriage is a big step—it is not something that should be rushed into on a whim.’

‘It was not a whim.’ As ever, he instinctively opposed Father.

One dark eyebrow flicked high. ‘Did you know this morning you would propose to Lady Jane Colebrooke today?’

‘Of course not! I—’

‘Then it was a whim.’

As Alex opened his mouth to protest again, Father held up one hand. ‘Hear me out, Alex, before you shoot me down again.’

Alex subsided. How he wished he could emulate Father’s cool, calm control. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him whereas he… Alex…flew into the boughs at the slightest provocation. He must learn to control that tendency with a wife to consider.

His insides clenched. A wife! Marriage! He’d never, ever imagined marrying. He knew himself too well to believe he could ever make a good husband.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind, Alex. Once you exchange your vows, you will be together for life.’

‘My mind is made up,’ Alex muttered.

‘Nevertheless you should listen to what I am about to say, not only for your own sake, but for Jane’s, as well.’

‘ Jane’s sake?’

Father didn’t reply, but held Alex’s gaze with his own.

‘Jane will be happy to get away from that witch of a stepmother of hers.’

‘Granted. But if I can guarantee you that Jane will never have to return to her father’s house, will you reconsider your decision?’

Alex stared at his father. ‘How?’

Hope warred with resentment inside. Hope, because marriage was irrevocable. His father was right, although Alex would never admit that aloud. Resentment because…well, resentment was his habitual reaction to everything his father said or did.

‘I will undertake to find her a decent husband.’

He didn’t like the sound of that. How could his father possibly know a man’s character, or how he might change? Once Jane was wed, that would be it. She’d be bound for life to some stranger she didn’t even know. Every fibre of his being rebelled against that idea… Jane was his friend. He’d always protected her, right from when they were children.

‘You think I couldn’t make her a decent husband? We’ve been friends a long time.’

‘I am aware of that. But…you’re only five-and-twenty, Alex. It’s a young age for a man to take such a big step.’

‘Dom is only a year older than me. He got married this year.’

‘He thought it his duty. But then, thank goodness, he fell in love. Besides, you and Dominic are very different characters.’

Alex scowled, biting back the urge to rip up at his father. The truth hurt sometimes.

‘ You were only eighteen when you married my mother.’

‘The circumstances were very different. My father was dying and fretting over the succession of the dukedom. I married for him.’ Father thrust his hand through his hair. ‘Alex…this is not wise… Allow me to find a good husband for Jane… Don’t rush into this. You might both live to regret it.’

Alex drained his glass and rose to his feet. ‘And we might not! This is my decision. I leave for Exeter first thing to obtain the licence.’ He’d already arranged for Dominic to drive him in his curricle. ‘The wedding will take place as soon as possible.’

Then he could leave this place with all its threatening memories and go home to Foxbourne where he was happiest.

‘I intend to make the same offer to Jane tomorrow.’ Father’s voice was clipped. ‘She deserves to know she has a choice.’

Alex’s simmering temper boiled up at that. ‘There is no need for you to involve yourself—I don’t want you pressuring Jane just because you think you know what is best. You cannot manipulate us to your bidding like you manipulate everyone else. I bid you goodnight.’

His temper raged until he was halfway to his bedchamber when—as so often happened where his father was concerned—it cooled as suddenly as if doused in a bucket of icy water, leaving shame behind. He contemplated rejoining the family downstairs but couldn’t face having to act the part of happy brother, nephew and son. Not to mention happy prospective bridegroom. He couldn’t face his family. Couldn’t face his father again. He continued on to his room, eyeing the bed with disfavour, already anticipating the restless night to come.

Why was life never straightforward?

He’d refused his father’s offer, driven by that familiar but inexplicable defiance, but that didn’t mean he knew exactly what he did want.

He was torn.

He’d been fully reconciled to life as a bachelor, with no need—or wish—to share his life with anyone. And as for marriage to Jane—she was like his little sister! No. She was more than that. She was, and always had been, his friend. But…marriage? Didn’t that mean sharing his feelings and his innermost thoughts? That was unthinkable. He kept those to himself. Always had. He was an island—even when he was out with his friends, carousing, he was always separate, somehow, and that was how he liked it.

But, strangely, now he was faced with it, a part of him—a newly emerging, hesitant and hazy part of him—quite liked the idea of marriage. To Jane. At least she knew him and knew about his past. And at least she never looked at him with that infuriating mix of sympathy and pity he all too often identified in his family’s expressions. He and Jane were friends—surely they could at least be comfortable together, as long as he learned to suppress his black moods. He could do it with the horses…when he worked with them it was as though nothing else existed. No past. No future. Just him and the horse. Could he learn to do the same for Jane?