I was fond of him. I admired him. I was grateful to him, but … but I didn’t love him. I couldn’t marry him. He deserved a love as rare and unselfish as his own, and I couldn’t provide that. There was room in my heart for only one … No, Jane, don’t start thinking about that. You’ve accepted it. You’ve resigned yourself to it. There’s no need to think about him, to wonder, to nourish this foolish hope.
I got up and started walking slowly along the beach. To my right, beyond the beach and the wide street, the hotels were spangled with gold and silver lights, and I could hear music drifting out from one of the ballrooms. The breeze fluttered my hair. My light muslin skirt billowed. He hadn’t come to see me. He hadn’t written. He hadn’t shown the least sign of interest. He was busy, of course. The mill must keep him fully occupied. After eight months he must have initiated all those changes he’d been talking about. He had no time for anything else, probably, and … and it was foolish to dwell on it. That part of my life was over. I must think about the future.
I could become a teacher, perhaps, or perhaps I could be a governess. Recently, I had been helping Gavin with his book, keeping his files in order, transcribing notes, doing some background work. Perhaps I could become a secretary, or … or a librarian. A few women were being hired in these positions, although it was still highly unconventional. I would find a job. I would support myself. I would savor the miracle of life and enjoy all the blessings most people took for granted. I would try to forget him, and perhaps someday I would succeed.
I saw the man walking toward me. He was far away, a distant silhouette moving in my direction. I paid no attention at first. As he drew nearer, I stopped, staring at him, and I knew it couldn’t be true. I knew it couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be Brence.
It was.
“The good doctor is worried,” he said lazily. “He was getting ready to come looking for you when I arrived. I told him I’d find you and I have … Hello, Jane.”
“Hello, Brence.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yes.”
“You’re looking—very well.”
“Thank you.”
So stiff. So formal. So awkward.
“Why did you come?” I inquired.
“He sent for me. I told him to let me know the minute you were—uh—the minute you were—well, cured, I suppose. Every week he sent a report on your progress. He kept me well informed. Day before yesterday he sent a letter saying you were—ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to come back,” he said simply.
“I’m not going back, Brence.”
“Did you know the good doctor is in love with you?” he asked, ignoring my comment. “It’s as plain as the nose on his face. He wants to marry you. I asked him about it just now. He said he loved you, and you know what I said?”
“What?”
“I said may the best man win.”
I made no comment. I didn’t trust myself to say anything.
“I’ve changed, too,” he said. “That night, when I was fifteen years old, I saw the west wing collapse, and I saw my father standing out in the yard, watching it. The look on his face—I knew. DuBois told everyone he was asleep at the time. I knew, but I refused to acknowledge it. I almost told you about it that day in the woods when we were having the picnic. I’d wanted to tell someone for such a long time—” He paused, a pained expression on his handsome face. “I knew my father was a murderer. Deep down I knew, and it tormented me. It—well, I drank and caroused. I got into fights. I threw tantrums. And all the time I was trying to run away from that knowledge, that fact I couldn’t accept. It wasn’t very admirable of me, and I wasn’t a very admirable chap. All those things you said about me were true. I’ve tried to make amends, Jane.”
“Have you?”
“I’ve worked hard. I’ve initiated a lot of changes at the mill. I’ve worked right alongside the men many a time. And I haven’t touched a drop of liquor—though God knows there’ve been times when I was sorely tempted. I think you could respect me now. I think you could even love me, Jane. I’m a damned good bargain.”
“Are you?”
“Sure,” he replied. His voice was light and jaunty now. “I’m rich and devilishly good looking and thoroughly reformed. And I love you. We’re going to be married.”
“You loved Jamintha.”
“I sure as hell did.”
“Jamintha is gone, Brence. She’ll never return.”
“Who needs her?” he said flippantly.
“Brence—”
“I love you, wench.”
“How could you? You don’t—”
“Look, I still have a bad temper. I’m about to lose it. Let’s not argue. I’ve built a fine new house on the edge of town. It’s a grand place, and it’s waiting for you. Danver Hall can sink into the bog for all I care, but the new house—I built it for you, Jane. Susie’s been keeping house for me, but that damned Johnny Stone’s been after her to marry him and the minx is going to abandon me. I need you.”
“To keep house for you? No, thank you. You can find some—”
He swung me into his arms. He kissed me for a long, long time there on the wet beach with the waves slapping the sand. His arms held me tightly against him, and his mouth worked hard on mine, and all the strength and resolution left me and I clung to him. He released me and jammed his hands into his trouser pockets and looked at me with an infuriating grin.
“Convinced?” he said.
“I—I don’t know.”
He scowled. He reached out for me again. The second kiss was even more persuasive than the first. I rubbed my hands over his back, feeling hard muscle beneath the silk. Still holding me, he drew his head back and looked down into my eyes.
“I intend to have you,” he said gruffly, “and I’m going to keep right on kissing you until you give in. Shall we try it again?”
“By all means,” I said.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1975 by Tom Huff
Cover design by Julianna Lee
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9836-9
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Jamintha Page 23