Vicky pressed a hand to her chest against a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted to spend time with him, but she shouldn't. "I've only just woken up. I'm not dressed yet."
"Oh. Sorry to disturb you. Hope it isn't too early." Jonathan frowned. "I tend to get up when Honey does."
"No, it's not you, it's me. I'm late getting up. I didn't sleep well."
"I hope the bed's comfortable."
"The bed's wonderful. I just have things on my mind."
Jonathan backed off a pace, sympathy written on his face, obviously thinking she was referring to her husband and son, just as she'd intended him to.
His shoulders dropped and he pushed the ball in his pocket. "Maybe I'll see you later then." He turned and walked away, tapping his cane on the wall. Guilt flashed through her, and she hated herself for disappointing him.
"I want to have a run this morning," she said, raising her voice. "Perhaps we can do something this afternoon?"
Jonathan stopped and turned, the grin back on his face. "I'll give you the guided tour of the house, if you like."
"That would be great."
"A guided tour it is then, followed by tea and cake."
Vicky dressed in running gear and did her muscle stretches on autopilot. Her thoughts lurched from Colin and Josh to Jonathan and back, her emotions a snarl of grief, guilt, hope, and a low-burning excitement that brought on more guilt. She ran down the stairs and burst out into the frosty air, her breath steaming as she jogged along the path around the house and headed to the long route that followed the boundary of the twelve-acre garden.
She needed to push herself to the limit and exhaust herself so she couldn't think. Yet the harder she tried to ignore her troubling feelings, the more they crowded in on her. Even with music pounding in her ears at full volume, thoughts of Jonathan crept into her mind—how understanding he'd been when she bared her soul in the pub, his obvious joy at meeting the puppies, the gentle way he'd touched and kissed her.
She staggered to a halt on the ridge above Rosemoor Hall and bent, hands on her thighs, chest heaving, sweat pouring off her. This wasn't achieving anything except nearly killing her.
Gradually she recovered her breath and straightened. She turned her back on the house and stared unseeing at the idyllic rural view.
Would Colin be upset if he knew she had feelings for another man? Stupid question. Of course he wouldn't. He'd tell her to move on and live her life. He'd want her to be happy again. But that was so unfair. Why had he been taken when he was such a good, kind man, and such a loving father?
Tears flooded Vicky's eyes. She slumped down on a block of stone, pulled off her gloves, and rested her head in her hands. Her memories of what Colin and Josh looked like had faded. Soon her two boys would only exist in photographs.
Vicky must have spent hours huddled on the rock, her arms wrapped around her knees. When she heard Jonathan calling her name, the sky hung low, gray and overcast. Dusk had come early, shadows casting dark menacing blotches on the path.
Stirring, she rose, her muscles too stiff to run, her hands so cold she could hardly bend her fingers. She trod carefully down the slippery steps, already icing over in the late afternoon chill, and headed across the lawn. Jonathan stood outside the back door, under the arc of the security light. Honey bounded over to greet Vicky, and she smoothed the dog's fur with numb fingers.
"Sorry," she said as she drew closer to him. "I lost track of time."
"You've been out for hours. Aren't you cold?"
She could hardly feel her feet and realized she was shivering. "Just a bit."
When she reached Jonathan, he extended an arm and touched her shoulder, sliding his hand down to hers. "Your fingers feel like ice. Come inside. I'll make you a cup of tea."
He kept hold of her hand as he turned back to the door and nudged it open with his shoulder. "Come on, Honey. Time to go inside. Come on, girl."
The dog trotted in obediently, pausing to sniff Vicky as she passed.
They went upstairs, and Vicky followed Jonathan into his apartment. She felt silly now, like a child who'd run off and sulked. Jonathan had probably been waiting for her all afternoon, wondering where she was.
He fetched a thick green sweater from his room and made her put it on. She curled her hands inside the long sleeves and pressed them to her face. The knitted fabric smelled of him, sort of spicy and clean. She sniffed again, loving the thought this was his sweater she was wearing.
While he went to the kitchen, she sat on the rug in his blissfully warm sitting room, put her arms around Honey's neck, and rested her cheek on the dog's head. As if Honey knew she was needed, she sat still and played doggy hot water bottle.
Jonathan brought in a tray with cups of tea and buttered toasted tea cakes, and set it on an end table. "Where are you?"
"Sitting on the floor."
He settled on the sofa and patted the cushion at his side. "Come and sit with me."
She did and he folded his arms around her, hugging her close, warming her with his body. "Tell me what's wrong," he said.
Vicky rested her head in the curve of his neck and breathed in his fragrance of fresh air and spice, her mind stalling. "I can't." How could she tell him he was pushing Colin out of her thoughts, and she was frightened of losing her husband?
Jonathan held her for long minutes, then loosened his grip and felt for the tray. "Have a warm drink and something to eat."
She accepted a cup of tea and a buttered tea cake. As the tea went down and the food settled in her stomach, she did feel better. The outer warmth of the room sank into her chilled body, bringing with it a peace and restfulness. There was something calm and steady about Jonathan that gave her strength.
It was nearly dark outside now, only the faintest light leaking in the windows. She reached across and switched on a table lamp.
"I know what'll take your mind off your troubles, a tour around Rosemoor Hall."
"In the dark?"
"It makes no difference to me," Jonathan said with a chuckle. "Anyway, it's more fun in the dark. I can tell you about the ghosts that are supposed to haunt the place."
Chapter Eight
Jonathan took Vicky's hand and led her along the corridor. Her slender fingers were warm in his grip, thank goodness. He'd been worried about her when she finally came in after hours outside, trembling, with hands like ice.
He smiled and chatted, telling her stories about his ancestors in the portraits on the walls, trying to distract her from her worries. Was her sad mood caused by her unhappy memories of her husband and son, or was something else bothering her?
He counted his steps, checked his direction with his cane, noting when the thick, newly laid carpet in the guest-bedroom corridor gave way to the thin, much older carpet at the top of the stairs. He slowed, touched a hand to the carved wooden paneling at the top of the landing, and stopped when his foot met wooden floorboards.
"This carved wood paneling is three hundred years old and depicts angels keeping watch over the house."
Vicky laughed, and a little of the tension inside Jonathan eased. Maybe she was feeling better. "It's great to hear you laughing, but I don't remember it being funny."
"I can't see anything, Jon. It's dark here."
"Oh." He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Sorry. I didn't think. The light switch is a little way back on the right by the last painting."
"I'll get it." Vicky let go of his hand for a few moments, then returned. "That's better. I can see it now. Amazing."
He told her the history of the angelic carved panel that was one of the house's treasures, before he led her on a few steps to the top of the stairs. This time he remembered to switch on the next set of lights. Hand in hand, they walked down the magnificent wide staircase. Vicky's sudden indrawn breath told him the exact moment they reached the point where the great hall came into view.
"Oh my goodness. This is spectacular. The fireplace is simply wonderful, and the carved
angels at the bottom of the stairs are amazing."
In his mind's eye, Jonathan pictured the high ceiling with its geometric plaster design, the massive central oak roof beam, the row of narrow leaded windows with stained glass sections at the top, and the huge carved wooden fireplace surround that framed the blaze that had always been the welcoming heart of the house when he was a boy.
He gave his tour guide spiel, peppering it with more personal memories than he normally did. Remembering the times he slid down the banisters, and the priceless vase—brought back from some exotic locale by a forebear—that he'd shattered with a soccer ball.
When he reached the foot of the stairs, he halted and reached up to touch one of the carved angels that topped the newel posts. They were reputed to bless those who were in love, and he wanted their blessing for his budding relationship with Vicky.
In his mind's eye, the great hall was forever arranged how it had been the day he left home to join the army, with comfortable chairs set around the blazing fire and an arrangement of fresh flowers on a table. Yet it hadn't been like that for years.
Sometimes he concentrated very hard and tried to sense what was around him, but it was a waste of time. However much he wanted it, he did not have a psychic sense of his surroundings.
"How's the room set up?" he asked.
"It's empty. There are some conference-style chairs stacked against the outside wall."
He imagined the room full of rows of chairs for a business conference or a wedding. That was the norm since his brother inherited the house. When their parents died, he and Marcus had discussed ways to pay the crippling inheritance tax bill and still manage to keep Rosemoor Hall in the family. They'd both agreed the only way was to open to the public.
"So the floor area is clear?"
"Yes, just a large expanse of ancient floorboards."
Jonathan collapsed his telescopic cane and hung it on his arm by the loop on the top. He led Vicky into the center of the room and slipped his arm around her back. "Let's dance." Feeling her hesitation, he gave her a moment to relax before he drew her closer, his mind racing with memories of their kiss yesterday.
"My parents had grand social events here when I was a boy. I would creep out of bed and watch through the panel above the tapestry of the Roman scene." He felt her head turn as she looked for the tapestry and the peephole pattern in the wall above. "That seems like a different world now, the ladies in their glittering jewels and the men in evening dress."
"Have you danced here with anyone before?"
He laughed, his mind retrieving a jumble of memories from long ago. "I messed around with my friends in here. Sometimes there were girls and we danced. I was away at school most of the time."
Dancing like this with Vicky held close, Jonathan almost felt as though the last few years of seismic change in his life hadn't happened. He remembered the way his parents pushed the chairs and tables aside when they had a party, how people gathered, laughing and sipping their drinks, the dancing firelight and glittering chandelier casting a magical light over the people.
He imagined he'd closed his eyes for a moment and in a few seconds he would open them and stare into the beautiful face of this angel in his arms, and they'd laugh. But he would never stare into Vicky's hazel eyes or see her smile.
The chill in the room penetrated his clothes, making him shiver. When he was young, this room had been the warm heart of the house, the huge fireplace always burning. Now it was empty and cold like his life. Suddenly he didn't want to be in this room anymore, with the ghosts of happier times floating around to remind him what he'd taken for granted in the past.
"Come on. I'll show you the library, then we can take a look at the drawing room and chapel. Those are the rooms that haven't changed. The rest has been modernized as much as the planning authorities allowed, so the place can be used for functions."
• • •
Even in the dim light of a few electric lamps, Vicky could see that the great hall was incredibly special with its ornate ceiling, a multitude of gold-framed portraits, carved wood panels, and tapestries. She'd have liked a more detailed explanation of the room, yet she sensed that being in here made Jonathan sad. His normal vitality and enthusiasm had fled, leaving his voice flat.
She took his hand and led him to the door. As they walked around, she made a conscious effort to focus on the house and enjoy the experience. Thanks to Jonathan, it helped to cheer her up.
The library was a treasure trove of books, spines of burgundy, green, navy, and brown filled shelves in six arched alcoves. The wood-paneled walls were painted Wedgewood blue with a pattern of twisted vines and leaves picked out in white along the top. Gray velvet chairs stood beside tables with ornately carved legs and although the room was lit by electricity, the candle-shaped lights cast a warm glow over the antiques and patterned ceiling.
Next Jonathan took her to the drawing room with plum velvet sofas and coordinating striped cushions. Paintings, ceramics, and antique furniture filled the room, and the ceiling was decorated with a plaster pattern of twisted vines and roses.
"It must have been amazing growing up in a place like this."
"I took it for granted. This was normal to me."
Being with Colin had been normal for Vicky. From the age of fifteen, her childhood sweetheart had been the most important part of her life. Yet after he'd been snatched away, she couldn't bear anything that reminded her of that life. "What happened when you went away and realized this isn't normal, and there's a harsh world out there?"
Jonathan shrugged. "I adapted to the change. That's what life's all about, coping with the challenges, adapting, and moving on. I believe that all life experiences are valuable and make us who we are."
"Yes, but you never had to go through…" anything as horrible as I did she was about to say, but the defensive words died in her mouth when she realized what she was blurting. "Sorry," she whispered, mortified to be so thoughtless. How could she be so wrapped up in herself that she'd forgotten what happened to Jonathan? Was she really that self-absorbed?
A burning wash of guilt carried a memory of her parents, pleading with her to visit them at Christmas. She hated going back to the village where she'd lived with Colin half a mile from her parents' house. Was she being selfish staying away? She knew her parents worried about her.
They looked in on the chapel, then toured some of the old corridors below stairs, peeping into pantries and food prep rooms that were no longer used and frozen in Victorian times. Finally, they circled back to the corridor that led to the back door Jonathan used.
"Thank you," she said as they reached the top of the wooden stairs on the way back to their rooms.
"You're welcome. Would you like to go to the pub for dinner?"
Vicky's instinctive reaction was to say no, but she checked herself and drew in a deep breath. It would be mean to shut Jonathan out when he was alone at Christmas. Anyway, being with him helped her. "Yes. That would be lovely. Thanks."
Jonathan laughed. "You'll be taking me, I'm afraid."
"It'll be my pleasure," she said, realizing that she really meant it.
Chapter Nine
The next two days flew by while Vicky spent nearly every waking hour in Jonathan's company. She gave up running alone and instead they took long walks around the Rosemoor gardens together, throwing a ball for Honey and laughing at her exploits as she tracked rabbits and tried to climb a tree after a squirrel. Every day they ate lunch or dinner at the Fat Goose, chatted with Shelly, and visited the puppies.
Jessie was an adorable, mischievous bundle of golden fur. She had worked her way into Vicky's heart, and she couldn't wait to take her baby girl home. Jessie already seemed to know who her new mum was. When Vicky walked into the kitchen at Holly Cottage, her puppy would scramble out of the big dog bed and scamper across the flagstones to be scooped into Vicky's arms, eager for kisses and cuddles.
On Christmas Eve, Vicky and Jonathan went to the supermarket together
and bought ingredients for a special dinner of Moroccan lamb. Vicky had seen the recipe in a magazine and read it out loud to Jonathan. When he said he'd like to try it, she decided to prepare a romantic meal, with candles on the table and soft music playing—something she hadn't done for years, not since before she had Josh.
She scored the shoulder of lamb, coated it in a mix of olive oil, garlic paste, lemon juice, and ras el hanout, a fragrant mix of Moroccan spices, and put the joint in the fridge to marinate while they walked. Later she put it in the oven on a low heat to cook slowly.
Jonathan wanted to help, but she banished him to his study to write the book about the history of Rosemoor Hall he was working on, so she could make the meal herself as a treat for him. She put tea lights in pretty glass holders she bought specially, ones that were difficult to knock over and wouldn't burn Jonathan if he accidentally touched them. Then she fitted her MP3 player in his dock and chose romantic music to play.
Once she had taken the lamb out of the oven and served, she went to Jonathan's study to fetch him.
"It smells delicious," he said as she led him through by the hand.
"We're eating by candlelight. There are two candleholders about three inches tall in the middle of the table. One is purple and the other is yellow, and the flames on the tea lights are glowing inside the glass. They're really pretty."
As they shared dinner, Vicky confided how she felt terrible about being so distant with her mum and dad. Jonathan reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
"I would go to see them more often, but they have so many photos up that I can't bear to see, tons of Josh, and some of me with Colin and Josh. They even have my wedding photo at the top of the stairs."
"Have you told them how you feel?"
"I did mention the photos to Dad. He said he'd speak to Mum, but it's not just that. Mum and Dad still live in the house where I grew up. I started dating Colin when I was fifteen. Part of our history together is in that house, and when we got married we lived in the village. When I go there, I'm overwhelmed by memories."
Golden Christmas Page 5