A dark line appeared on the horizon. It remained, growing thicker and more solid with each wave they crested. Ethan’s heart leapt again. There was England. There in England was Jane. And he couldn’t wait to see her again.
Chapter Five
The days rolled by, each one bringing more reports. The French had been routed from the field in Belgium, and Wellington pursued them all the way to Paris, where the French government surrendered. Bonaparte was driven into exile, which spurred another round of celebrations as people dared to believe the war was finally over. Even more welcome were the letters that began arriving from soldiers writing to let their families know they had survived.
To Jane’s intense joy, one arrived for her. It was waiting for her on the table when she got home, and just the sight of her name in Ethan’s bold writing made her heart almost burst. For a moment she simply held the letter close to her chest, weak with relief. When she tore it open, it was brief but still all she’d hoped for: he was unhurt. He said little of the terrible battle beyond the fact that he never wanted to see anything half so violent in all the rest of his life. As yet he had no idea when his regiment would return to England, but it couldn’t possibly be soon enough to suit him. He closed with a commendation to her mother, and the hope that he would see them both again soon.
Jane read it to her mother, who heaved a great sigh of relief with her, and then took the note to her room. She fingered the coarse paper. He was well. That was all she had prayed for, after all, and she was immensely grateful to be assured of that. But…. She traced the smudged ink, imagining him writing on a makeshift table in his tent or in the mess. His relief at surviving and his eagerness to be home in Caxby came through in every word. There just wasn’t any hint of longing to see her in particular.
Well. She put the note aside. “He’s coming home, Puck,” she told the dog, who had followed her. He cocked his head, then wagged his stubby tail. In spite of herself Jane smiled. “I know. I hope it’s soon, too.”
More days went by, accumulating into weeks. She visited Mr. Campbell, as usual, but he had heard nothing else from Ethan. Another soldier from Caxby wrote home of being sent to Paris to enforce the surrender and subsequent peace talks, which made it more likely that Ethan would also be sent there. Even though she kept her chair by the front windows, Jane gradually overcame the urge to glance out every hour or so.
Mrs. Lynch’s shop was busier than ever now, as every lady in town seemed to want a new dress to celebrate the end of the war. All the seamstresses were working from morning ’til night, even Millie, whose seams had grown straighter and tighter with so much practice. Jane began to lose track of whose pelisse she was working on, which gown needed the slashed sleeves, and whether the overskirt of the cream gown was to be blue, or maybe the green net. Her fingers were stiff and sore every night, and her neck ached. If not for Puck demanding to go out every few hours, she’d never leave her chair, she thought one extremely long day.
As if he sensed her thought, Puck lurched to his feet beneath Jane’s seat with a sudden snort, giving the chair a hard thump and almost oversetting her. She started, and the needle slipped right through the heavy fabric into the pad of her finger.
“Ouch!” She stuck the injured finger into her mouth and turned an irritated glare on the dog. Oblivious, Puck had trotted to the center of the room and paused, head cocked to one side. “Puck,” she snapped. “Down!”
He gave a sharp little bark, and ran to the door. He barked again, beginning to turn in a little circle, tail wagging fiercely.
“He just went out,” said Tamsin. She’d taken him down last time, as glad of a break as Jane was.
“It looks like he needs to go again.” Millie was good at stating the obvious.
“And there’s someone below. I heard the bell a moment ago.” Still sucking her bleeding finger, Jane put down the dress and got up to fetch the dog’s lead. “You have to be quiet,” she told Puck as she tried to loop the lead around his neck. “Mrs. Lynch has a customer.”
Puck was wriggling so hard she could hardly get a grip on him, and making a rather desperate-sounding whine. He had started circling around her feet as soon as she crossed the room, and as she fumbled with the lead, he jumped up, his paws on her knee. “I’m trying,” she told him in frustration. “Hold still!”
“He must have eaten something nasty,” said Millie helpfully. “Take him far from the door.”
Jane glared at her. Puck was frantically trying to lick her hand, and she pushed him back down onto all four paws. If Puck had eaten something bad and was about to be sick, she’d have to take him home. Mrs. Lynch wouldn’t tolerate her letting the dog in and out all day.
Puck ducked out from under her hand and jumped up at the door. He pawed at it with the same desperation, but it gave Jane a chance to slip the lead over his head and pull it snug. “We’re going,” she told him. “Get down so I can open the door.”
She already knew there was a client below; now at the door, she could hear the rumble of voices, although it was hard to hear anything over the scratching of Puck’s claws against the door and his increasingly louder whine. So she took a firm hold on the lead and opened the door cautiously. Perhaps she ought to carry the dog down….
But the instant the door was open wide enough, Puck shot through the gap, pulling her into the edge of the door and yanking the lead from her grip. The door hit her cheekbone and Jane gasped in pain, then again in dismay as Puck clattered down the stairs, now whining louder than ever. The lead trailed behind him as he hurtled around the bend in the stairs.
“Oh no,” cried Tamsin.
“Grab him!” Millie squealed, dropping her broom.
Jane was already scrambling after the bad dog, her heart in her throat. Mrs. Lynch would never let her bring Puck to work again. He’d have to be tied up all day behind Mr. Campbell’s house. She prayed the door to the salon was closed, so she could grab him before he disturbed the customers or Mrs. Lynch. She hoped he would run right through the hall to the garden door, which might even be open.
But no. She all but fell down the last few steps, just in time to see Puck’s short tail vanish into the open salon door. She gasped in horror, then bolted after her pet. Please let it be a kind, forgiving sort of customer….
“Puck! Puck, you rascal!”
Jane reached the salon doorway before the voice registered in her brain. She froze, clutching at the door frame for support. Her knees threatened to give way. Down on one knee in the middle of Mrs. Lynch’s elegant salon, dirty and dusty, was Ethan Campbell, laughing and trying to get a grip on Puck, who was trying to climb up him, making a sound almost like a crying child as he licked every inch of Ethan’s filthy campaign coat.
She couldn’t breathe. Her heart might have stopped. He was home.
He looked up then, his eyes the same clear blue she remembered. “Jane,” he said, as though it was the final word of a benediction.
She could only stare at him, mute with joyous shock. Mrs. Lynch stepped forward. “You have a visitor, Miss Barton,” she said unnecessarily. “I’ll leave you alone for a moment. Come along, Puck.” She snapped her fingers at the dog, who ignored her as he continued trying to wriggle into Ethan’s arms.
“Puck can stay,” said Jane faintly.
Ethan glanced away from her at last. “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Lynch.”
She smiled at him and slipped past Jane with a kindly glance. She shooed a wide-eyed Millie, who had followed Jane, back out the door. Jane heard the door latch shut behind her employer, but she stayed where she was, hands knotted in front of her. She had imagined this moment for three years and now didn’t know what to say or do.
Ethan rose to his feet. Somehow he seemed taller than she remembered, and leaner. His hair was lighter, his face browner. But it was his voice, just as she had heard in her dreams every night. “You still bring Puck,” he said, stretching his hand down for the dog to lick some more. “I forgot that he would be with you.”
“Father wrote that you were an invaluable help to him, taking care of Puck.”
She tried to smile and failed. “I tried,” she whispered.
Suddenly he seemed as tongue-tied and awkward as she felt. He cleared his throat and looked down at the dog. “I’d say you succeeded brilliantly. He looks quite well.”
She bit her lip and nodded once. Suddenly it occurred to her that he would take Puck back now. She ought to be glad; Puck worshipped Ethan. Instead she thought of the empty little bed in the corner of her own room and wanted to cry.
He looked up again. “Jane,” he said at the same moment she blurted out, “I’m glad to see you’re well, too.”
He took a deep breath. “Yes. Now I am.”
“Oh!” Her hand flew to her lips. “Were you hurt?”
“It’s hard to be in the army and not be hurt eventually. I have my share of scars.”
“But—but nothing serious?” She scanned him anxiously from head to toe, looking for any sign of infirmity.
“No.” He cleared his throat again. Puck had calmed down enough to have wedged himself between Ethan’s boots, where he sat with his tongue hanging out and a slightly exhausted, happy look on his canine face. Ethan raised his hand as if to run it through his hair, then grimaced at the dog drool clinging to his fingers and wiped it on his jacket.
“Your father must be so relieved,” she said, scrambling for anything sensible to say. “He’s been so anxious for word, after the terrible battle.”
“Yes, I imagine he will be,” Ethan said. “When I go see him.”
“You haven’t seen him yet?” Her voice wobbled. Her heart seemed to be swelling. Had he come to see her first, even before his own father?
Slowly Ethan shook his head. His too-long blond hair, bleached paler than before, flopped over his forehead. “I had to see you,” he said quietly. “Jane, I—I missed you. Your letters kept me from going mad. Sometimes the post would be delayed; I wouldn’t get a letter for a month, and it would seem endless. More than once I began to fear you had ceased writing, no doubt having found some other, more rewarding occupation.” His gaze moved over her face. “Or some other more fortunate fellow to write to.”
Mutely she shook her head.
“And then three or four would arrive at once. It was better than Christmas Day when that happened. I would save them, trying to make them last. Your stories of life in Caxby, which I had once thought so mundane and dull, were like sunshine in the dreary mountains of Portugal.”
He came to see her … to thank her? For writing letters about home? She had written everything she could think of except what she most wanted to say. Her shoulders slumped a little, but she tried to smile graciously. “I am glad they were a comfort.”
“Dash it all.” This time he did run his hand through his hair, flipping it back. “I’m doing this all wrong. Jane—what I mean to say is….” He stopped, just looking at her. Jane blinked hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sheen of tears in her eyes. She had let herself come to hope—believe—for three long years that his feelings might grow to be a match for her own. His letters had been no more tender and romantic than hers had been, but in his absence, it was too easy to let her dreams appear real. This was not how she had imagined his return would be, where he thanked her for taking care of his dog and for writing to him.
“You’re prettier than I remembered,” he said abruptly.
Jane started. “What?”
“I thought I remembered the line of your neck, but I didn’t,” he went on. “I thought I remembered the exact color of your eyes, but they are darker. Your hair is more like chestnut than mahogany, as I told the other men, and your skin is more cream than milk.”
“Cream?” she repeated blankly.
He smiled. “Yes. I missed you, Jane.”
“I—I missed you, too,” she confessed.
“Then is this any way to welcome me home?” Ignoring Puck, who had to scramble off his feet, Ethan stepped forward, one hand outstretched to her.
Gingerly Jane put her hand in his. Slowly, gently, he tugged her closer. Jane let him, anxiously watching his face for any sign of … anything.
“May I have a kiss?” he whispered.
Her heart jumped. She went up on her toes and pressed her lips to his stubble-roughened cheek.
“May I kiss you?” His question was just a breath of sound against her temple. Dumbly she nodded, and raised her face, heart pounding. Would he kiss her on the forehead, as he’d done when he left? On the cheek, as she’d kissed him just now? Or—
On the lips. His mouth was soft against hers. Jane sucked in a deep breath, and his hand cupped the back of her head. “Should I stop?” he breathed, his lips still brushing hers.
“No,” she managed to say before his arm went around her waist and his mouth covered hers again. Oh, heaven—it was heaven. Jane melted against him, curling her fingers into the dusty wool of his jacket to anchor herself to him. To keep him there, kissing her, holding her, forever. His mouth was soft and warm, light and gentle. He tipped her head back, and Jane gasped. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she moaned. He shuddered. And then he kissed her in a way that was neither gentle nor reserved, but more like the kiss of long-lost lovers finally reunited. By the time he lifted his head, she could hardly breathe.
“Jane.” He held her close, his arms warm and strong around her. She felt the rapid thump of his heart beneath her cheek, and couldn’t stop smiling, even before he went on. “I want to court you properly,” he murmured. He stroked her back as if testing her solidity. “I have to settle out of the army—see if I can step back into my father’s practice—find a proper home for a wife….”
“Yes,” she said.
He paused. “Yes?”
She blushed. “I mean—I would like you to court me….”
Ethan grinned, then he laughed. “And you deserve to be courted! But I have to tell you now I love you. I loved you before I left, but I didn’t know how much.”
Jane swore she could hear angels singing. “You know I love you—I always have.”
Something brightened in his eyes. “Always? But you were so reserved, so quiet. Even when I thought of you with great affection, I thought it would take a worthier man than I to win your heart.”
“There is no one worthier, not in all of Caxby.” She touched his face, still in awe that she was standing in his arms. “Nor in all of England.”
He kissed her again. “Will you come with me to my father? He’ll be the happiest of all at the news.”
Jane laughed. “He’ll be happy beyond measure to see you again, but he couldn’t possibly be happier than I right now.”
Ethan grinned. “Actually, Puck may be happiest of all. My left foot is entirely numb from his sitting on it.”
“Mine, too,” she confessed with surprise. “I hardly even noticed he was there, but I cannot move!” And she truly didn’t know when the dog had wormed his way between them so that he lay across both their feet. She’d been entirely distracted by other things.
“I should have known,” said Ethan in amusement. “Once he went to live with you, I should have known I would never get him back without marrying you.” He looked down at his dog, who gave a wag of his tail and licked the hand Jane held down to him. “Good dog.”
“Oh, that’s not true,” she protested. Puck wriggled on her feet, pressing his back to Ethan’s boots. His tail thumped in abject bliss as he licked Jane’s slipper. “Of course you would have got him back.”
“I don’t think so.” He gathered her close again. “But it doesn’t matter. I want you both back.”
“Don’t worry.” She laid her head on his chest. “You’ve always had us both.”
About the Author
Caroline Linden was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software befor
e turning to writing fiction. Ten years, eleven books, three Red Sox championships, and one dog later, she has never been happier with her decision. Her books have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Beanpot Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, and RWA’s RITA Award. Since she never won any prizes in math, she takes this as a sign that her decision was also a smart one. Visit her online at www.carolinelinden.com
Also by Caroline Linden
It Takes a Scandal
Love and Other Scandals
At the Duke’s Wedding (an anthology)
The Way to a Duke’s Heart
Blame It on Bath
One Night in London
I Love the Earl (a novella)
You Only Love Once
For Your Arms Only
A View to a Kiss
Like None Other (a short story)
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction
What a Rogue Desires
What a Gentleman Wants
What a Woman Needs
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
Written in My Heart Page 3