His and Hers

by Dawn Calvert

  "Things have been going—fast."

  "Too fast for you." She was pleasantly surprised to realize it didn't hurt to say it. That much, anyway.

  He didn't reply, but she glanced at him long enough to see his nod and then the hesitance as he tried to figure out whether or not he should be agreeing.

  The DJ started the music. People around them raised their champagne glasses. Jane lifted hers. "It's fine. Really. We had a great time, but I think we're done now," she said lightly. A small, sad smile curved at her mouth, but not for the reason Byron would have thought.

  She'd lived half a lifetime in that few minutes she'd been gone to Afton House. Byron had his good qualities. Handsome. Generous. Adept at sneaking out of a room undetected.

  What he wasn't… was Curran.

  Holly passed by several feet away. She looked at Byron, then back to Jane and mouthed, "Are you all right?"

  Jane gave the smallest nod she could. "I'm sorry, Byron, but I need to go. Being a bridesmaid has its responsibilities and all that." She turned and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "It was great seeing you."

  "Jane." He put a hand on her arm. "Thanks for being so understanding."

  She gave him a rueful smile, then a shake of her head. "It's not that I'm so understanding. It's just that…"

  Trying to figure out how to say it, she finally settled for, "A lot of things have changed."

  He cleared his throat. "Maybe—"

  "I could enter the wild and wacky world of bridesmaiding? What a good idea." She smiled as a small knot of regret formed somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. She wished she could fall, and stay, in love with Byron like she had with Curran. If she thought things would still work between them, she would stay and fight for him. Instead, she gave him a gotta-go smile. "So I'd better go rescue Holly from her sisters. If she names her first daughter Polly, I'm never speaking to her again."

  Byron lifted his hand.

  Jane lifted her own hand, allowing a sense of sadness to curl her fingers.

  Then she walked away. Knowing his eyes were on her, she kept her chin high and put an extra oomph into her hips, which were tightly encased in the sheath dress. Just because she could. She might be alone, a spinster-to-be, but she could do it with class.

  As she put down her glass of champagne and prepared to do her round of hugs and congratulations, there was only one thought uppermost in her mind.

  No matter what happened now, she was going to be okay. Better to have loved and… well, not exactly lost, but the same general idea… than never to have loved at all.

  "Jane!" Holly's mother was folding her in an enthusiastic hug, no doubt fueled by relief that Jane held nothing in her hands.

  "Mrs. Devon." Jane hugged back. "It was a beautiful wedding."

  "Oh, I'm so glad it's over," Holly's mom breathed without conviction. She squealed, "Hi" in a few different directions over Jane's shoulder, fluttering her fingers. Mrs. Devon was English and even when she squealed "Hi," it came out sounding formal. She turned her attention back to Jane. "I was terribly worried when Kevin stopped all of a sudden. I could only hope that nothing had gone wrong."

  "Nothing went wrong, "Jane assured the woman, "It was just a really long aisle."

  "Yes. Well. We were so lucky to get this church." Another high-pitched "Hi!" over Jane's shoulder.

  "I'm just going to find Lolly and Molly and see if there's anything we can do to help," Jane said. It was the first excuse she could think of to leave Mrs. Devon in her element.

  "Oh, that would be lovely." Then, as Jane began to turn away, Holly's mother grabbed her arm. "Wait. Could you do me a favor, dear?"

  "Of course." Knowing Holly's family, a favor could range from putting an apron over the bridesmaid dress and pitching in to serve appetizers to taking over for the lead singer in the band. No musical ability required, only proximity to Mrs. Devon when she thought of the idea. Jane braced herself.

  "My nephew is here. It's wonderful, really. He came over from England to represent the family. He doesn't know anyone but us and we all have so much to do. Could I introduce you, dear? Would you make sure he gets something to eat and has someone to talk to?"

  Great. Man-sitting. She'd have to hope some traits didn't run in the family.

  Something to the side of Jane caught Mrs. Devon's attention. "Oh, look, it's the Carltons," she said in delight. "Hello!" Behind her hand, she whispered to Jane, "My husband's boss. His wife's a stuffy old bag. But I must go over there." Then she grabbed Jane's hand. "Andrew's a bit quiet, but you won't have any trouble with that, will you, Jane?"

  Quiet could be a welcome relief after the British freight train that was Holly's mother. Besides, Jane was still in the do-anything-to-make-up-for-the-dress mode.

  "Andrew!"

  A tall man with thick dark hair stood by the window. When he turned at the sound of his name, Jane caught her breath. His eyes. Those dark pools of mystery, confidence, vulnerability… that could melt her insides on sight. And did.

  Curran's eyes.

  Her knees buckled beneath her and she had to stumble to keep from falling.

  Andrew reached out to steady her. Mrs. Devon, her eyes on another part of the room, didn't notice. "Jane, this is my nephew, Andrew. Andrew, this is Holly's friend Jane. They've known each other since they were children. I thought you might enjoy… Beth! Beth Carlton. How lovely you could come." And she was gone.

  Jane was barely aware of the woman leaving since her stomach was performing somersaults so energetic she had to press her arm into her middle. How had this man, who looked so much like Curran, suddenly dropped into her life? "What did you say your name is?" she managed.

  "Andrew." He put out a hand. "And you are Jane, childhood friend of the bride."

  She watched her hand reach toward his as though it were detached from the rest of her. But when his skin met hers, there was nothing detached about it. His hand was strong and warm and his clasp on hers caused a symphony of violins inside her to begin a frenzied riot. Omigod. She hadn't thought that would ever happen again.

  "I am—am." She stammered. "Sorry, I just—You look very much like someone I know—knew."

  "Ah." He nodded his head. "I presume you must have liked this person since you have not run screaming from me?"

  "Very much." Her answer gushed out with heartfelt honesty.

  He didn't seem to mind. "Then I am the fortunate one." With a grin, he released her hand, leaving her feeling suddenly bereft.

  Time to regain her ability to function. If only he wouldn't look at her like that, with those eyes that turned her all squishy and unable to think. He even had a nose like Curran. A jawline… And his hair… "Have you ever read a book called Afton House?" she blurted.

  He started, obviously taken aback. "How very odd that you should mention that book. I wasn't aware anyone in the States had ever heard of it."

  So it had been completed. Written. He knew the book. "By Mary Bellingham?" She had to be sure they were talking about the same one. The book that had changed her life.

  "Yes. Mary Bellingham." He nodded. "It was the only book, I believe, that she ever wrote."

  "How do you—?" Jane straightened her traitorous knees, willing them to do their job and keep her upright. She put her hands on her hips, trying her level best to appear casual when she was anything but. "How do you know the book?"

  He smiled, glancing away and then back at her. The effect of the smile buckled her knees so that she had to grab on to his arm or sprawl on the ground in her sheath dress.

  "Are you all right, Jane?"

  "Yes." Nooooo. "Just, you know, lost my balance for a minute." But she didn't let go.

  He laid a hand over hers, helping her hold on and graciously ignoring the fact that she seemed unable to make her limbs work. "Afton House. It's been a book of some discussion in my family, for generations."

  "Why?"

  He lifted one eyebrow, which caused an utterly adorable wrinkle in his forehead. Goose bu
mps ran up and down Jane's arms.

  "It is said that a character in the book was based on an ancestor of mine."

  "It was! "Another reaction without thinking.

  Andrew laughed, showing white, perfectly even teeth. "And you know this? Do you know my family?"

  "Maybe." The one word was soft, barely audible.

  He heard it. "Then you know that this ancestor was, in fact, the villain of the story."

  "But he wasn't one. Not really."

  "Really? I quite enjoyed the idea that he was. And it has been the stuff of family legend for some time, now. I would hate to think it not true." He motioned toward a waiter's passing tray of champagne. "May I offer you a glass?"

  "Yes. Please." God, yes.

  His voice lowered. "I actually have long suspected he was not quite as villainous as made out to be in the book because he ended up giving a great deal of his family money to charity when he passed away. He never married, though, which might indicate something." He handed her the glass of champagne and took one himself.

  Jane took a gulp. Then another. "He never married?"

  Andrew shook his head. "Some sort of heartbreak early on. Lived to a grand old age, though. Curran, his name was. Curran Dempster."

  "Dempster." Mary hadn't even tried hard to mask the name. Good thing there weren't libel suits in those days. This time, Jane's knees gave up entirely. She sank toward the floor, the glass of champagne going with her.

  Andrew caught her before her bottom hit, holding her up with strong arms and helping her to a chair in the corner. Taking the glass of champagne and setting it on the floor, he squatted down before her, balancing on the balls of his feet. "Jane, are you ill?"

  Someone else had asked her that. Years and years and only days ago.

  "I'm going to be fine," she answered truthfully. "Just fine." Taking his hand, she managed to stand up. "I think I need to get some air."

  "It would be my pleasure to accompany you." His smile said he meant it.

  Once they'd left the noise of the reception behind, they strolled the hotel's deck, finding a place to stand and look at the water. "Tell me about where you're from?" Jane asked.

  He began to talk, telling her about the rolling hills of the countryside where he lived, the family connection with Mrs. Devon and what it was like to grow up in England. After a time that seemed way too short, he said, "Your turn. I want to hear about you."

  She talked slowly at first, but then more easily, telling him about her own life and about knowing Holly. She even found herself telling him about the red wine and the wedding dress. Funny thing was, it didn't hurt quite so much in the retelling this time. In fact, once he laughed, she did, too. And then it turned into a bigger laugh.

  It felt good, the sun in her face, the water sparkling before her eyes and Andrew Dempster's gently rumbling voice beside her.

  And best of all, being able to laugh about Holly's dress.

  "Are you going to tell me about this person I resemble?" he asked.

  She looked into his dark eyes. Familiar, but different. "Someday. Maybe."

  Epilogue

  Two years later

  The hills of the Dempster estate were indeed rolling and Jane loved strolling through them. She'd adapted pretty fast to life in England and had never felt the need to tell Andrew why it felt much like coming home.

  There was a lot she didn't have to tell him. A lot that he seemed to just know somehow. Including the odd coincidence of her name and the name of the heroine in Afton House. That character, though, Jane had pointed out, didn't look anything like her.

  After a thorough search of bookstores, he'd located a rare copy of the book and presented it to her on their first wedding anniversary. Nostalgia had hit her in waves when she'd touched the cover, opened the fragile pages and read the words. She'd gently run her fingers along the paper, over Curran's name. And her own.

  And then she'd closed the book. And that chapter in her life.

  To start a new one.