Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

by Janice Preston

  ‘Ah...’ Zach breathed. ‘He won’t be coaxed, but he’ll follow of his own accord. He wants to trust Alex, but on his own terms.’

  Nelson continued to follow Alex, slowly nearing him until his nose was mere inches from his shoulder. Alex halted and before very long Nelson was crunching an apple contentedly, juice dripping from his lips, as Alex stroked him, murmuring praise.

  * * *

  Having Aunt Cecily, Zach and Florence to stay proved the perfect distraction to stop Alex fretting over his overreaction when Jane brought those roses into his business room. He’d avoided roses over the years, most likely because they prompted memories of Mother, but he’d learned to control that response. Roses, after all, were almost impossible to avoid completely—all manner of social occasions included flowers, and roses were widely used—but his vow to be reasonable and to control his dark moods had shattered the second that smell summoned such a vivid flash of memory. Nausea roiled his stomach whenever that memory edged into his thoughts over the next few days, but although he consciously thrust it aside, afraid of examining it too closely, he could not dismiss it entirely.

  This time, as with the child’s scream, there had been no image of Pikeford’s attack to warn him, just the instant immersion into...what? The past? A fragment of his old nightmares? He still wasn’t sure, but the fear of that vision being true was now equal to the fear he was losing his mind. All he knew was the scent of roses had triggered the same scene—the yellow gown and slippers, and that pair of gleaming boots, the quietly furious voices, the two figures sinking to the floor. But that image had shimmered, fading, and then a new image began to form—something horrifying; something that stole his breath and made his heart thump in his chest and cold sweat gather on his brow. The cries...the grunts...a slender neck...large hands around it...

  And he’d panicked, dashing the roses aside, petrified of allowing that picture to fully form, some primal instinct screaming at him that it would be disastrous for not only his own peace of mind, but also the future happiness of his entire family.

  Why was this happening to him? Why now? Since Pikeford’s attack it seemed a leak had sprung in the barrier between his conscious mind and the deep well of memories of the day his mother died.

  These visions were driving him close to despair so he welcomed the distraction of having guests to stay and he strived to behave as normally as possible. The intensity of working with Zach on Nelson helped push his worries to the back of his mind and he genuinely loved having his aunt to stay. Little Florence made him yearn for children of his own—he found himself watching Jane, both with and without Florence, and imagining her with their children. That image never failed to bring a smile to his lips and hope into his heart.

  I have so much to be thankful for. I couldn’t wish for a better wife and I have Foxbourne.

  He silently recited the refrain every day, but it never seemed enough to protect against the past that lurked, waiting to leap out and destroy his life if ever he allowed his guard to drop.

  He thought he’d done an excellent job of covering his fears and tension, but he might have known Aunt Cecily and, in particular, Zach would not easily be fooled. On the last night of their visit, as Alex and Zach lingered over their after-dinner port, Zach came straight to the point.

  ‘You are troubled, Alex. Both Cecily and I sense it. Have the nightmares continued?’

  He supposed it was inevitable. The entire family must know his nightmares had returned at the Abbey—it was impossible to keep such a secret when servants gossiped about their masters so freely. But...he eyed Zach. Could he tell him part of the truth? It would be a relief to let some of his worries out. The other man’s calm, non-judgemental attitude positively invited confidences.

  ‘It’s not only nightmares.’ He strode to the window, gazing out on the night. ‘They started again at the Abbey, as you know, but the attack on Jane somehow became muddled into them and they became...worse.’

  He walked back to his chair and sat. Myrtle scuttled over to him and laid her head on his knee, staring up at him with worried eyes. Alex fondled her ear. ‘I do sleep better now I am with Jane, but...’

  He hesitated. How much could he reveal? And would Zach think he was losing his mind? He took a chance.

  ‘It is almost as though, now my nightmares are more bearable at night, they are hovering at the edge of my mind during the day. And something...a sound, a sight, a smell...will suddenly trigger...’ He paused, frowning. ‘I’m not sure they’re even memories; they could just be fragments of nightmares. I don’t know what is real and what is imagined any more. And, at times, I fear I am going mad.’

  But the greater fear now lurked out there. The fear he had actually witnessed his own mother’s murder. And that was a fear he could reveal to no one. Not until he was certain, for how on earth could he voice that other suspicion that prowled around the shadowed edges of his memory? The suspicion fed by those images of his father that followed the visions. He could swear Zach to secrecy, but he and Aunt Cecily were so very close it would be unfair, especially when it could simply be the befuddled recall of a terrified child.

  He swallowed past the knot in his throat. Dragged in a breath.

  ‘They conjure up such feelings. Feelings that have the power...have the power...’ He swallowed again. ‘I am afraid of what I will learn if I allow those memories to surface fully, Zach.’

  His father’s face materialised once again in his mind’s eye.

  And not just for me. For the entire family.

  ‘If the memories are close and if your mind is ready to remember the past, then perhaps you might be wise to allow them to form fully so you can examine them from a man’s perspective,’ Zach said. ‘At least then you would know exactly what memories still haunt you after all these years. Otherwise, how can you ever move on from the past? Is it not worth facing up to your fears for the sake of your marriage? For Jane?’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that. It’s all right for you. You’ve never had—’

  ‘You are wrong.’ Zach’s dark gaze penetrated Alex. ‘I have bad memories that threatened my sanity at times. But I allowed them into the light and they lost some of their power over me. And, with the help and love of your aunt, I confronted my past. Memories cannot destroy us unless we allow them to. They can cause pain and tears and regrets, but once we acknowledge them they are always less powerful than if they are suppressed. If we do not confront our fears, we give them the power to haunt our present and our future. Is that what you want? This dark cloud hanging over you, casting gloom over your life and over your marriage?

  ‘Maybe it is time for you to remember, Alex. You are a man, no longer a seven-year-old child afraid of monsters under the bed. Whatever we speak of tonight will stay between us but, if you will take my advice, you will confide in Jane. She is honest and straightforward. And she loves you.’

  ‘Loves me? I...’

  He paused, his thoughts whirling. He’d never even considered love, but it made sense of how he occasionally caught Jane looking at him and how, ever since he had known her, she had tried to help him, even when he was being foul to her. He’d always thought love wasn’t possible for a man like him, but...he recalled that whisper of hope on their wedding day and the feeling that had grown—the feeling he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. Could it be...?

  But even if what he felt for her was love, how could he confide in her? He was the man of the house. It was for him to be strong—how could he humble himself by confessing to his wife that the terrors of a small boy still had the power to bring him to his knees? How could she love and respect such a weakling?

  Besides, as soon as he admitted he might have witnessed his mother’s murder, the questions would start. Who did he see? Who killed her? He couldn’t face those questions. He didn’t know the answer...he didn’t want to know the answer. The reason behind those hazy images
of his father’s face was what scared him the most, threatening his entire family, and the same reason he couldn’t burden Zach with the full extent of his fears also applied to Jane.

  No. He must deal with this himself.

  ‘Maybe she does,’ he said, ‘in which case I am a fortunate man. And you are right... If I stop trying to suppress what happened, maybe the truth will not be as dreadful as I fear.’ He said the words, but he did not believe them. ‘Your advice, as ever, is sound. Thank you.’

  Dark, knowing eyes surveyed Alex and his stomach squirmed at the directness of that gaze. Zach always seemed to see what others kept concealed in their hearts and Alex knew he had not fooled him. But he also knew Zach would interfere no further. He had said his piece and he would leave it to Alex to decide whether or not to take his advice.

  They finished their drinks in silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few weeks later Alex again awoke bathed in sweat, his head brim-full of incomplete images and his heart hammering with utter terror.

  ‘Alex?’ Jane embraced him, drawing his head to her breast. ‘You’re safe. It’s all right. I’m here. It wasn’t real.’

  But it was real—Mother had been murdered. He just didn’t know if he’d witnessed it or if his imagination had embellished the truth over the years.

  He thrust the memories down and slammed a lid on them.

  ‘Shhh...’

  Cool fingers caressed his forehead. His cheek. Combed through his hair. Almost against his will, his eyelids grew heavy and they drifted shut and his unquiet mind stilled as he sank towards blessed oblivion.

  It was his first thought when he awoke. At some point in the night they had swapped over, and he lay on his back, Jane slumbering peacefully in his arms, her glorious bosoms pressed to his naked chest and one slim leg flung across his. He was already painfully hard. What better way to start the day and banish the nightmare? He tilted her face to his, waited until her lids flickered and she began to rouse, then kissed her. Gently. One thing he had learned about his wife was that she did not awaken all bright and breezy. She took time to surface. But he knew the perfect way to help her, and he stroked the length of her back, tracing each vertebra, watching her face the whole time.

  Her eyes opened, dazed, heavy-lidded. Then widened. She wriggled free and sat up.

  ‘You had a nightmare.’

  ‘Hush. Never mind about that.’

  But Jane stared down at him, utterly awake, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. He put his hand on her thigh and caressed her, moving steadily upwards. Jane placed her hand on his and held it still.

  ‘Janey...sweetheart...’ Quite apart from now wishing to distract her—as well as himself—from the subject of nightmares, Alex simply wanted to bury himself inside his wife. ‘We’ll talk later.’

  Not likely! But she needn’t know that.

  But to his dismay, Jane shook her head. ‘We could talk later, but you forget...I know you, Alexander Beauchamp. You will discover a million and one ways to avoid me until you think I have forgotten. However...’ she wriggled her way down in the bed until she was also lying flat and wrapped her fingers around his length ‘...indulge me now and I shall indulge you afterwards. To your heart’s content.’

  She squeezed, and Alex couldn’t hold in his moan. God, how he wanted her but he would allow no one, not even Jane, to manipulate him. There was nothing anyone could do to help—the suspicion still haunted him that he had indeed witnessed his mother’s murder and, if that was true, he could no longer deny he must have seen her killer.

  And only one man’s face kept appearing in connection with that day.

  His father. The Duke of Cheriton.

  Even just thinking that made his stomach heave, forcing hot, sour bile into his throat.

  It couldn’t be true!

  That inexplicable aversion towards his father had driven him to rebel throughout his youth but, deep down, he had always wanted to love him. Unconditionally. But now...that suspicion gnawed at him endlessly...

  He cupped Jane’s face, smoothing his thumb over her soft skin. He would feed her a white lie, and then he would bury all thought of nightmares and do what he did best...satisfy them both.

  ‘I don’t remember any details—just that I woke up, and you were there.’ He rolled to face her, and laid his hand on her waist. ‘I went back to sleep and I didn’t have another one.’ His hand slid up to her breast and cupped it. He leaned across to press his lips to her naked shoulder. ‘Thank you, my darling.’ He nuzzled her neck, then stopped as Jane’s hand landed on his shoulder, preventing him from lowering his torso to hers. He raised his head. Met her eyes. Widened his. ‘What?’

  Her own eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you play the innocent with me, Alexander.’ Her face softened. ‘Please. I only want to help. Please tell me about it.’

  But there was nothing he could tell her. He knew how the nightmare began but the rest was still murky, and the thought of allowing those fragments of horror to fully form—as Zach had suggested—was enough to break him out into a sweat again. He simply wasn’t ready. Wasn’t brave enough.

  ‘What do you remember? There must be something.’

  He tried not to resent her pushing him, telling himself her intentions were good. Jane was his wife, and she naturally wanted to share his troubles but he was entitled to make the decision not to share them.

  ‘I only remember the very start. It is always the same. I hide from our tutor, Mr Brockley, and then I am outside playing. Then I walk towards the summer house, and then I wake up.’

  But he couldn’t tell her that, in his dreams, his mother walked by his side. Not when everyone believed what really happened was her dead body had been waiting for him in the summer house.

  He was afraid to know if that was the truth, let alone where, and how, his father fitted in.

  His throat thickened but he forced a nonchalant tone.

  ‘See? It’s nothing. I know what happened, because I’ve been told. But I cannot remember, and I have no wish to, either. The nightmare is the dread of what’s inside the summer house. I wake up before I get there, and it’s over.’

  She held his gaze before releasing his shoulder and moving her hand to his chest. He released his breath in relief as her eyes darkened and her lips parted, and he leaned in to kiss her, his prick springing back into life.

  * * *

  Later that day, Alex found Jane outside, discussing the kitchen garden with Scully.

  ‘Would you care to ride with me, my dear? Nelson is ready to hack out and the men are all busy.’ The stallion had come on marvellously since Alex found the key to unlocking his distrust. ‘Pearl will set him the perfect example, she’s so well behaved.’

  Jane beamed. ‘I should love to! Give me ten minutes to change my gown.’

  They were soon on their way, Jane dressed in a deep red riding habit, her hat trimmed with netting. They rode through the estate and then out on to the local lanes, nattering away, but, thankfully, both avoiding the subject of nightmares. Nelson soon settled, after a few excited jinks at all the new sights and sounds. The weather was cold and dull but dry, and there was little wind—perfect weather to try out a green youngster, with no shadows across the ground to goggle at, and no sudden gusts to upset him.

  They stayed out for half an hour and were on their way back, close to home, when they saw a solitary horseman—a stranger, but clearly a gentleman—riding towards them on a rangy black.

  ‘I wonder if that is our new neighbour?’ Jane said.

  ‘It’s about time, if it is.’ Halsdon Manor had been ready since late October, but still no one knew the identity of the tenant and the house remained empty.

  ‘I hope he is a married gentleman with a family. It will be pleasant to have new neighbours.’

  They fell silent as the stranger neared. Alex f
rowned, studying him intently. There was something...

  ‘Hell and damnation!’

  ‘What is it?’

  Alex couldn’t tear his attention from the other rider, now near enough for there to be no mistake.

  ‘Leave the talking to me,’ Alex muttered to Jane. He raised his voice. ‘Lascelles. I was unaware you were back in the country.’

  Anthony Lascelles inclined his head. ‘Alexander. I heard you now live at Foxbourne.’ His teeth gleamed in his tanned face as he smiled. ‘How do you do?’ His dark gaze slid sideways to Jane. ‘I also heard about your recent nuptials. My felicitations to you both.’ He bowed again, and raised his hat to reveal close-cropped silver-grey hair—a contrast to the jet-black it had been a mere five years before. ‘I am charmed to meet you, Lady Alexander.’

  ‘It is Lady Jane,’ Alex bit out, his mind whirling at the awkwardness of this meeting after what Lascelles had done. ‘She’s Stowford’s daughter.’

  ‘Ah. The girl next door. How sweet. And how are the family? I regret my failure to stay in touch while I was overseas but, in view of the misunderstanding before I...er...left so precipitously—’

  ‘Misunderstanding?’ At Alex’s exclamation Nelson sidestepped into Pearl, causing her to bare her teeth at him. Alex smoothed the stallion’s neck to settle him. ‘There was no misunderstanding, Lascelles. You forget. I was there. And you didn’t leave; we put you on that ship.’

  ‘You did. And I am most grateful to you.’

  ‘Grateful? Hah! You expect us to believe that?’

  Lascelles arched one brow. ‘It is the truth, however.’

  ‘Alex...’ Jane laid her hand on his arm. ‘The horses are growing restless. Maybe now is not the time for this discussion?’