Stronger than Yearning

by Penny Jordan

  ‘I’ll have to drive round the back,’ James told Jenna. ‘There’s nowhere to leave the car here at the front.’

  Another lane meandered to the rear of the building with a five-barred gate leading into a cobbled yard enclosed on two sides by the house and on the third by the road. Beyond the cobbled area lay more gardens, and Jenna was aghast when James drove through the gate and parked his car on the pretty cobbles.

  ‘Sacrilege, I know,’ he agreed, smiling at her, ‘but there’s no alternative. My godmother only has one garage,’ he indicated a single-storey building which formed one side of the L-shaped yard, ‘and it houses all her gardening tools plus her extremely ancient and temperamental Bentley.’

  A heavy, wooden, studded back door opened, and a small round woman hurried out.

  ‘Jessie, my godmother’s companion,’ James explained as he opened his door and got out.

  While James responded to Jessie’s warm greeting Jenna got out of the car, and simply stood for a moment breathing in the clear, sweet country air. It was softer here than the air at home, but it still carried the familiar country scents. At this time of the year a combination of hay and sun, mixed with those indefinable smells that only those who know the country can accurately dissect, and then she remembered Sarah and hurried to the rear of the car. James was there before her, lifting his step-sister out. Held in his arms Sarah looked so fragile that Jenna felt her throat lock. Her problems seemed minimal when she compared them with the burdens Sarah had to carry.

  ‘Come on in, and get the lassie settled somewhere comfortable,’ Jessie instructed. Her voice still held the faint burr of her native Scotland and Jenna wondered if she ever longed for the stark beauty of the highlands, here in the lush, chocolate-box prettiness of the South.

  The back door led directly into the kitchen, a large, comfortable room with an Aga, and a quantity of sensible, plain, wooden-fronted cupboards. Quarry tiles shone on the floor, and in the centre of it stood an old-fashioned, bleached pine table. The mouthwatering smell of something cooking filled the room, and Jenna felt hungry.

  ‘We’re a little short on bedrooms, so we’ve put the lassie and yourself in the one room,’ Jessie explained to Jenna opening a door into a narrow hall.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Jenna assured her easily, ‘especially if Sarah finds she needs anything during the night. I’ll be on hand then without having to disturb anyone else.’

  As she spoke she was conscious of Jessie studying her, and when she had finished the Scotswoman nodded her head. ‘Aye,’ was all she said but Jenna felt somehow as though she had just passed some test she hadn’t even known she was about to sit.

  James confirmed her thoughts as he murmured against her ear, ‘Jessie approves of you!’ Jenna turned to look at him and just caught the twinkle in his eye as he added in a voice so low that only she could hear it, ‘And that’s certainly a first—like you, she has no brief for loose women!’

  Jenna let James precede her up the stairs, following at a more leisurely pace as she paused to admire their sturdy oak construction. Although plain, the staircase had its own beauty. The wood had mellowed with age, the treads and banister worn smooth by many feet and hands. When Jenna touched the wood it felt warm and alive, and she paused to daydream for a few seconds, wondering how many other hands had touched the same spot, how many generations of people had lived, laughed and loved beneath this ancient roof. Unlike the old Hall, this house had a very definite aura of having been filled with busy people, of being used to bustle and hustle. It was a family home, Jenna thought reflectively. She could see them in it: the lodgekeeper with his brood of children and his rosy-cheeked wife. The girls would go in service to the big house, the boys on the land…

  ‘Jenna.’ She looked up, shocked out of her trance by the sound of James’s voice. He was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at her.

  ‘You were miles away,’ he told her. ‘I wonder where?’

  ‘Here,’ Jenna told him. ‘Thinking about the people who must have lived here…’

  ‘Mmm, it has a much more robust aura than the Hall, doesn’t it? One gets a far clearer feeling of people having lived here, rather than merely existed.’

  His thoughts mirrored her own so clearly that Jenna found it impossible to speak. It was uncanny how he managed to read her mind—and it would have to stop. She had to have some defences against him, some private part of herself that would always be inviolate and protected.

  ‘I’ll go up to Sarah,’ she said, disconcerted to find herself slightly breathless. James stood to one side as she reached the top of the stairs but because of the narrowness of the landing, Jenna had to squeeze past him. For some reason she half stumbled, falling heavily against him. James steadied her, grabbing her waist, his fingers biting deep into her skin.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  His voice reverberated through her body, and she heard it inwardly rather than outwardly. She felt dizzy and faintly sick. Too long without food, she told herself, remembering her skipped lunch and the long drive.

  ‘Faint from lack of food,’ she told him, forcing a brief smile.

  She could feel her own heart racing, hear its agitated thump. James was still holding her, although less fiercely. Her eyes were on a level with his throat. She lifted them to his face, a curious spasm of sensation curling through her as he smiled down at her.

  ‘Now then, you two, that’s enough of that!’ Jessie’s briskly firm tones broke them apart, Jenna too bemused to be upset by her assumption and James merely laughing at the older woman as he said teasingly: ‘Jessie, you must remember we’ve only just got engaged!’

  ‘Aye, well, in my day engaged meant engaged and not married, and we’ll have no carryings on under this roof, her ladyship wouldn’t like it!’

  ‘Her ladyship?’ Jenna stared hard at James, but he refused to respond.

  ‘You go and check up on Sarah, then, my love,’ was all he said, ‘and then we’ll go downstairs. Knock when you’re ready. That’s my door.’ He indicated a stout wooden door opposite from the one Jessie was holding open.

  ‘You won’t have your own bathroom I’m afraid, miss,’ she told Jenna as she ushered her into her bedroom. ‘We don’t run to that here.’

  Jenna smiled reassuringly, her smile deepening as she viewed her room. It was comfortably large with three small, dormer, leaded windows that immediately overlooked the courtyard and then the countryside beyond it. A pretty rosebud-decorated wallpaper covered the walls. Flounced white muslin curtains hung at the windows, the same fabric being used on the two single beds. The floor was bare, polished boards, with a deep, rich shine, a rag rug in soft faded pinks in between the two beds. Although she and Sarah had no private bathroom the room had a basin set into an attractive vanity unit.

  ‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ Sarah was lying on one of the beds, and although she smiled, Jenna sensed that she was tired and in some degree of pain.

  ‘Very,’ she agreed, ‘typically English cottagey. You look tired. I don’t know what time we’re going to eat.’

  She turned enquiringly to Jessie who told her, ‘Her ladyship said to have dinner ready when you arrived—it’s only home-made soup, cold game pie and salad, so if the young lady would like something on a tray ..?’

  ‘Would you like that, Sarah?’ Jenna questioned, sitting down on her own bed and taking one of Sarah’s hands between her own. She didn’t want to give Sarah the impression that she and James did not want her company. She knew how sensitive she was and was anxious not to hurt her.

  ‘I think so, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all. A tray would be lovely,’ she told Jessie with a smile. ‘What would you like to drink, Sarah? Milk? Tea?’

  ‘Or there’s home-made lemonade,’ Jessie supplied.

  ‘Milk, I think.’

  When Jessie bustled off, Jenna enquired tactfully if Sarah wished to use the bathroom. Watching her colour slightly, Jenna felt a wave of sympathy for her. ‘I can
manage by myself at the flat. I’ve got my chair. But here…’

  ‘Don’t worry. James will bring your chair up. You know that he intends to ask his godmother if you and Lucy can stay here while we’re away. How do you feel about that, Sarah?’

  ‘I think I shall quite like it if Lucy is here too.’

  Her response was obviously genuine and Jenna felt relieved.

  ‘You look to me as though you’re suffering some discomfort,’ she told Sarah bluntly. ‘Do you have something you can take?’

  ‘Yes, some painkillers. They’re in my bag.’

  Jenna got them for her and gave her a glass of water.

  ‘My back started aching in the car, but I didn’t want to take them then. They make me so sleepy. Sometimes I feel as though I’m sleeping my whole life away.’ Frustration edged her voice and Jenna felt compassion ache inside her. ‘Maybe that’s the best thing I can do,’ Sarah added dolefully, ‘sleep myself into oblivion.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jenna retorted crisply. ‘You will get better, Sarah, and in fact, I think that your back aching is a good sign. You’re obviously getting some sensation returning.’

  She could see that Sarah had not thought of that aspect of her pain, her face brightening slightly. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Jenna mentally crossed her fingers that she was right. ‘We must mention it on your next hospital appointment.’ She grimaced faintly and got off her own bed. ‘I’d better go downstairs. James will be wondering what I’m doing. I hadn’t realised his godmother was titled.’

  ‘Yes, she and James’s mother were cousins.’

  In the end she had no need to go and knock on James’s door. He came into her room with Jessie when she brought Sarah’s tray. He talked to his step-sister for a few minutes while Jenna combed her hair, and then said calmly when she had finished, ‘Ready to go down?’

  Almost automatically Jenna bent to deposit a light kiss on Sarah’s forehead before leaving the room. The younger girl flushed, but Jenna could tell that she was pleased. If nothing else was achieved by this marriage, if it helped Lucy and Sarah, that alone would be worthwhile.

  She hadn’t realised how tense she was as they went downstairs, until James murmured against her hair, ‘Don’t worry, my godmother won’t eat you!’

  ‘You mean her ladyship won’t eat me,’ Jenna responded drily. ‘Why didn’t you tell me ..?’

  ‘Because I didn’t consider it to be important,’ came the equally dry response and then James was opening the door into the lodge’s small drawing-room and there was no opportunity for further conversation.

  A tiny elegant woman rose from the sofa and came towards them.

  ‘James!’

  She had a pleasing, warm-timbred voice, the way she said his name conveying a depth of emotion far more poignant than any multitude of gratuitous endearments.

  Jenna watched as James hugged his godmother. She was dressed in a pale lilac silk dress with a high neck and a tiny ruffled collar, rather Edwardian in appearance, silver-grey hair framing a face that Jenna could see had once been extremely beautiful and still was, although its beauty was that of the purity of its bone structure rather than of the flesh. Cool grey eyes surveyed Jenna thoughtfully as James stood back.

  ‘Jenna, my godmother, Lady Lucille Carmichael. Lucille, allow me to introduce Jenna to you.’ James pulled Jenna gently forwards, and for once she did not flinch as he kept her within the curve of his arm. There was something about this sharp-eyed old lady that made her feel every omission in her character was written on her forehead in large characters.

  ‘She isn’t one of your usual empty-headed beauties, James.’

  Jenna felt the beginnings of anger mingle with her apprehension. Her mouth tightened slightly. She didn’t enjoy being discussed as though she were an inanimate object.

  Surprisingly, Lady Carmichael smiled—really smiled—at her, her grey eyes twinkling as she laughed softly. She turned to James and told him, ‘She has a temper, James, I like that. It will do you good. I’m glad you’re not another of his adoring, feeble-minded girls, my dear,’ she told Jenna, extending a hand towards her. ‘Come and sit down here beside me and tell me all about yourself. James, you can go and find Jessie and ask her to bring us all a drink. You can tell her we’ll be ready to eat in half an hour. I don’t want to rush you,’ she added to Jenna with another smile, ‘but the Aga can be temperamental!’

  ‘Go along, James,’ she reiterated firmly, ‘you may stop hovering like an expectant father. I promise you I will not eat your young lady!’

  It amused Jenna to see James treated like a small boy, but she was not deceived by the by-play between the two of them. She could tell quite easily that Lady Carmichael adored her godson, and she suspected that despite her polite exterior, her hostess intended to make very sure that she discovered as much as she could about the woman who was going to marry into her family.

  She grilled Jenna thoroughly but diplomatically, and in spite of everything Jenna discovered that she liked her. She made no bones about the fact that she cared very deeply for James, and Jenna sensed that she was not a woman who placed false values on social position or wealth, but who judged her fellow man on the merits of their personality.

  ‘James tells me that you have a daughter,’ she said at length, when Jenna had told her about her childhood, omitting any mention of Rachel from her tale.

  ‘Yes.’ Jenna held her head up proudly. ‘Lucy is fifteen.’

  ‘Mmm, I see that the gutter press are hinting that my godson is her father.’

  ‘I’m afraid so. The subject of her father is something I cannot discuss with Lucy for…very private reasons. I’m afraid she, too, has convinced herself that James is her father. He does not intend to disillusion her, and in fact one of the reasons we are marrying is——’

  ‘For her sake,’ Lady Carmichael supplied shrewdly, adding when Jenna coloured a little, ‘oh, you need not be embarrassed. I had already suspected it was not what in my day was called a love-match. So…you gain a father for your daughter from the marriage. What does James gain?’

  ‘Someone to help him with Sarah and a share in the Hall—I bought it some weeks ago.’

  ‘The Hall. I see…’ Lady Carmichael suddenly looked older. Troubled shadows darkened her eyes. ‘I thought he had put all that behind him, poor boy. I’ll be honest with you,’ she told Jenna. ‘When James first told me about this marriage I was very disappointed. I’ve been wanting him to marry for a long time but not——’

  ‘To an unmarried mother with a fifteen-year-old daughter and a rather unstable business to support,’ Jenna supplied grimly. ‘Well, I…’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ Lady Carmichael interrupted firmly. ‘But not, I was going to say, to one of the young women he has sometimes brought down here with him—young women far more interested in themselves than any man, young women who look on marriage as a pleasant interlude in their lives, which can be terminated as soon as they grow bored with it. In my day a couple did not divorce simply because they had fallen out of love, because in most cases they did not fall in love in the first place. They married with due regard to the wishes of their family, and entered that marriage as a lifelong commitment. You, I can see, are not a young woman who would enter any commitment lightly. You have had to work hard to support yourself and your daughter, so James tells me. He admires you a great deal.’

  He did! That was news to Jenna, but she supposed it was only natural that James should want to paint a flattering picture of her for his godmother’s scrutiny.

  ‘I am glad you have been honest with me,’ she added with a smile. ‘I like you, Jenna, and I think we shall get on very well together. James will not make an easy husband, but, of course, you must already know this. His mother’s death and the subsequent scandal have left their mark on him. I can’t deny that I was beginning to despair of ever seeing him marry. I can’t like this…obsession he has about the old Hall, of course.’ She saw Jenna
’s expression and said sharply, ‘Hasn’t he told you about his mother?’

  Jenna shook her head, and was just about to ask what Lady Carmichael meant when the door opened and James came in.

  ‘Ah, James. You see your lovely wife-to-be is still in one piece!’

  ‘Which doesn’t mean to say that you haven’t very cleverly dissected her and put the pieces neatly together again,’ James drawled but his eyes were not on his godmother, they were on Jenna, and she could almost believe there was a hint of anxiety in them, as though he were truly concerned that Lady Carmichael might have upset her. It set up a tremulous reaction in the pit of her stomach, a kind of achy, nervous weakness she wasn’t at all used to.

  ‘I see that Jenna has no engagement ring,’ Lady Carmichael commented in a disapproving voice.

  Jenna was just about to tell her that she hadn’t wanted one when James forestalled her. ‘An omission I intended to rectify this weekend, but you’ve pre-empted me somewhat.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small jeweller’s box with one hand, taking hold of Jenna’s with his other. Her fingers trembled slightly beneath the warm contact with his and for some strange reason when her eyes met his, she couldn’t look away.

  She heard the tiny snap of the box being opened, and then felt the cool slide of metal on to her finger.

  ‘You can look now!’ James sounded faintly amused, and that amusement broke the spell holding her in thrall. She looked down at her left hand, went cold and then hot, and couldn’t prevent the small gasp of pleasure leaving her lips as the ornate gold setting and green fire of the Regency betrothal ring glowed back at her.

  ‘James! You shouldn’t have!’ she protested huskily. ‘It was so expensive!’

  She heard Lady Carmichael snort derisively and mutter. ‘What’s that to say to anything? God knows, he’s rich enough to cover you from head to foot in diamonds without breaking the bank. Let me look.’ She studied Jenna’s trembling hand and said, “Mmm, very attractive. You have excellent taste, child. It’s very pretty.’

  To describe the priceless antique she was wearing on her finger as ‘very pretty’, struck Jenna as achingly funny. She wanted to laugh very badly. Hysteria, she recognised wryly, and no wonder.