Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

by Janice Preston

  She was right. Both horses were young and green and if Alex was tense it would harm their progress.

  ‘Your lady is correct,’ said Lascelles.

  Alex longed to snarl at him that it was none of his business but he held his temper.

  ‘Might I...?’ Lascelles hesitated, looking uncertain—an uncharacteristic expression for the man Alex remembered. Five years ago, Lascelles had been smooth and assured with, it seemed, the thickest of skins. He was the only man Alex had ever met who openly mocked and challenged his father. Not many dared.

  ‘Well? What is it? I want to keep our horses moving.’

  Between his thighs Nelson was quivering with nerves...not helped by Lascelles’ horse, who snaked his head in Nelson’s direction several times. Although his teeth clashed harmlessly in mid-air, Nelson was on edge.

  Lascelles cleared his throat. ‘I should appreciate the opportunity to clear the air with you, Alexander, as we are to be neighbours. Might I perhaps accompany you back to the Manor and explain. I am aware I owe you, and your parents, an apology.’ He smiled ruefully at Jane. ‘A man can change, can he not? Do I not deserve the opportunity to make amends?’

  Alex knew exactly how Jane would respond to that—she always wanted to see the best in people.

  ‘Alex?’ Her brown eyes pleaded with him.

  It went against his better judgement but it wouldn’t hurt to hear the man out—they were to be neighbours after all, so they must learn to rub along together somehow. ‘Very well. Come to the house. We can talk over a drink.’

  Lascelles smiled, and reined his black aside to allow Alex and Jane to ride ahead of him.

  ‘Thank you,’ Jane whispered. ‘Surely everyone deserves a chance to prove they’ve changed.’

  * * *

  Superficially, Anthony Lascelles could not have been more charming. Jane had ordered refreshments—a tea tray and Madeira—and they settled down to talk. He declined the Madeira in favour of a cup of tea. Jane poured the tea and passed him a cup.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are welcome, sir.’

  ‘Oh, you must call me Anthony.’

  He surveyed Jane and she suppressed an involuntary shiver. His eye were the nearest to black she had ever seen. They gave the impression of staring into an abyss.

  So empty. I wonder what is really going on inside his head.

  She scolded herself for that fanciful thought, feeling guilty that she was judging him after such short acquaintance, but she couldn’t shake off the odd feeling that assailed her. He looked every inch the gentleman but there was something about him—now he was in her home—that set the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Surely, though, it was only Aunt Cecily’s warning that was behind her instinctive distrust of the man? She vowed to quash her doubts and to give Anthony Lascelles the chance he had asked for—the opportunity to prove he was a changed man.

  Lascelles sipped his tea before addressing Alex directly, giving Jane the opportunity to study him as they talked. Tall, without an ounce of superfluous flesh on him, he was a good-looking man for his age, which she judged to be near to fifty. He was unmistakeably a Beauchamp, with the same cast of features shared by all the Beauchamp men. Lascelles’ face and hands were tanned and he looked healthy and vigorous, his silver-grey hair lending him a distinguished air. But there was also a suggestion of arrogance. Well concealed beneath the charm, but there none the less. That was hardly sufficient to condemn him though. Many gentlemen in their world emanated that same air of superiority although, in Lascelles’ case, that conceit seemed at odds with his illegitimacy.

  Still. His father was a duke. Maybe he should be forgiven a little arrogance.

  Jane concentrated on the men’s conversation.

  ‘I mentioned an apology, and an explanation as to my past behaviour, Alexander. Allow me to offer the apology first—I am sorry for what happened. Events spiralled out of my control. Has that never happened to you?’

  His tone implied he knew the answer to that question all too well, for five years ago Alex had been on the brink of losing everything, from what Jane’s stepmother had gleefully announced on her return from the London Season. That had been the year before Jane’s debut.

  ‘On occasion.’ Alex remained brusque.

  ‘The trouble is...your father and I always enjoyed a similar taste in ladies. I was smitten by Rosalind but the best man won.’

  Alex merely grunted as he stared into his glass of Madeira, reverting to the prickly, monosyllabic man he became whenever he was with someone he did not trust. The same man, Jane realised, he became in his own father’s presence. She was still hoping Christmas at the Abbey might provide an opportunity to begin healing that rift between the two of them.

  ‘It is humiliating to confess—particularly within hearing of your charming bride—but I became somewhat obsessed by Rosalind and, when it seemed I was to lose her to your father, it became too much to bear. Looking back, I see that I temporarily lost my reason. I became determined to win her at any cost and behaved in ways I now bitterly regret.’

  He paused as though hoping for some response from Alex. When none was forthcoming, he continued, ‘I hope to offer my apologies to your father and stepmother at the earliest opportunity but, in the meantime, I should deem it a favour if you refrain from telling them of my return. I should much prefer to meet them on neutral territory, such as in London, rather than suddenly appear at Cheriton Abbey.’

  Alex raised his head at that. ‘You could write to them.’

  One corner of Lascelles’ mouth lifted in a half-smile. ‘I have thought of that, but this is something I need to do in person.’

  An awkward silence fell, which Jane felt obliged to fill. ‘Where did you go, when you went overseas, Anthony?’

  Alex barked a harsh laugh. ‘He didn’t leave of his own free will, Jane. He had no choice. We put him on a ship bound for China, and Father paid the captain very well to ensure his new crew member had no opportunity to abscond until they reached their destination.’

  ‘Ah...’ Lascelles drained his teacup and placed it with its saucer on a nearby side table. He smoothed one hand along his breeches-clad thigh. ‘Dear Captain Cheng. We struck up quite a rapport, don’t you know, and he—in return for a substantial further payment I was fortunate enough to be in a position to make—allowed me to disembark in Cape Town.’

  Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe you. Where did you get that sort of money?’

  Lascelles smiled. ‘Alex... Alex...you cannot blame me for making my plight less desperate, surely? Granted, I was imprisoned upon that ship until it sailed, but the Captain understood very well I might have need of replacement clothing and so forth and, as luck would have it, I had planned to leave London that very day. My trunk—containing cash and banker’s drafts to cover my expenses—was ready packed. One of the crew went to my house to collect my trunk, for which kindness I rewarded him substantially.’

  Alex’s mouth twitched and reluctant admiration lit his tawny eyes. He shook his head, and his mouth widened in a reluctant smile. ‘Uncle Vernon said you always come up smelling of roses.’

  Lascelles smiled back. ‘It is a talent. A useful one.’

  ‘Would you care for another cup of tea, Anthony?’

  Jane rose to pour a fresh cup for herself.

  ‘I think not, dear lady. I have said what I came to say and I can only hope we might start afresh, Alexander. Just because your father and I have never been on comfortable terms is no reason for us not to get along, I should hope.’

  ‘You’ve always resented Father.’

  ‘It is true I have always begrudged the circumstances of my birth as, I think, would most men in my position. My father and mother were together for many years and, if he had married her, I would be the duke and my life would be very different. I have never denied my resentment, but the
se past five years I have realised that to cling on to that bitterness hurts me more than anyone.’ His gaze flicked down, and then back to Alex. ‘I also blamed your father for your mother’s untimely death.’

  The colour drained from Alex’s face but he made no sound.

  ‘Your father and I might never have seen eye to eye, but Margaret and I were friends long before she wed your father. I didn’t know if you were aware of that.’

  ‘No. I know nothing about you, other than what happened five years ago. I don’t recall you visiting the Abbey.’

  ‘I visited once or twice in the early days of their marriage but it was clear I was unwelcome and, because your father and I often argued, Margaret asked me to stay away. Shortly afterwards, I went to the Americas. Now,’ Lascelles stood, ‘I have outstayed my welcome, so I will bid you good day.’ He bowed to Jane. ‘It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Jane. I hope we shall meet again soon.’

  There was a slight questioning lilt to his final words and, before she realised what she was doing, Jane said, ‘You must join us for dinner some time.’

  Lascelles smiled. ‘But what a generous invitation. When did you have in mind?’

  Jane glanced at Alex, who shrugged. ‘Um...well...what about next week?’ she said. ‘Tuesday?’

  Lascelles’ smile faded. ‘Unfortunately I have a prior engagement.’

  Jane’s relief was short-lived as he added, ‘I am, however, free on Thursday.’ His teeth gleamed in a smile.

  Jane forced herself to return it. ‘We shall look forward to it.’

  ‘I’ll walk you down to the stables,’ Alex said.

  When he returned, Jane expected him to be annoyed she had invited Lascelles to dine, but he merely laughed when she apologised.

  ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘We’re neighbours and I don’t want to be on bad terms with him, so it will do no harm. Besides, it will be interesting to talk to someone who knew my mother—none of the family ever talk about her and my memories are...’

  He trailed into silence, his expression darkening. Jane put her arms around him.

  ‘I’m sure it will help to replace your memories with happier images of your mother, even if they are secondhand.’

  She pressed against him, a thrill running through her at the feeling of his lean hard body against hers. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her closer still to graze his lips over hers. Lascelles was soon forgotten as passion overtook them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They returned to the subject of their new neighbour over dinner.

  ‘I have been thinking,’ said Alex.

  ‘About?’

  ‘Lascelles. I might call upon him tomorrow. I should like to talk to him about my mother and I think he will talk more freely if it’s only the two of us.’

  Disquiet threaded through Jane.

  ‘I am in two minds about him, Alex. I find him... Oh, I don’t know...disconcerting, I suppose.’ The word wasn’t quite strong enough, but it would do until she knew him better. ‘However, I couldn’t help but sympathise when he spoke of his father. It would surely be enough to make any man bitter. But...do be careful.’ The warning left her lips before she could help it.

  Alex stared for a moment, then laughed. ‘Careful? What do you think he might do? Abduct me like he abducted Susie and tried to abduct Rosalind?’

  Jane’s cheeks burned. He was right. Alex was no child, he was a grown man, but...Lascelles...there was something...

  ‘Your aunt is the least judgemental person I’ve ever met, and she warned me to be cautious if we should ever meet. And your father—’

  ‘My father has nothing to say about who I associate with.’ Alex scowled as he spooned gooseberry pie into his mouth.

  Jane bit her lip against the urge to probe Alex’s touchy relationship with his father. He was already irritated with her.

  ‘I am just...uneasy about Lascelles, Alex.’

  And now she was irritated with herself. What had happened to her resolve to speak her mind in this marriage?

  ‘And I do not like him asking us to keep his return from your family. Are we meant to keep it secret when we go to the Abbey for Christmas? That will be difficult...and, when your father finds out—’

  ‘Don’t start worrying about something that may never happen.’

  Jane stared at Alex’s sharp tone. What had she said? ‘Alex... I—’

  ‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.’ Alex laid down his knife and fork and reached for Jane’s hand. ‘You goose. Lascelles is just a man. He’s no threat to me, but he does give me the chance to learn more about my mother.’ He folded his fingers around hers and gently squeezed. ‘Dear Honeybee. I can see you’re still fretting but please believe me—I know what Lascelles is capable of, and I promise I shall stay on my guard.

  ‘I want you to be happy, Janey—not constantly worrying over me. If you keep this up you’ll have me wondering how on earth I’ve managed all these years without you to watch my back.’ His grin took the sting out of the rebuke, but she recognised it as such nevertheless.

  She squeezed in return. ‘I am happy, Alex. More than you know.’

  And it was true. Mostly. But the shadows were there, nipping at their heels. Shadows that hid Alex’s past. A past he was no nearer to sharing with her, as far as she could see, and a past that seemed to be steadily widening the rift between them. Against that, the problem of Lascelles seemed trivial.

  Alex stood, and tugged her to her feet. ‘And I am happy, too, sweetheart. Now, come. I have a wish to listen to music.’

  * * *

  That night, Alex lay on his back staring up through the darkness, mulling over the day’s events. Who would have thought Lascelles would return? Father would be furious. That fact alone made his mind up—he would tell none of the family, because it would bring Father straight to Foxbourne to confront Lascelles.

  And Alex did not want him here. He had enough to contend with, with these confounded dreams, or memories, or whatever they were. They continued to plague him. More and more frequently. More and more vividly, bringing him nearer and nearer the brink of a place he didn’t want to be. Instinct told him Father’s presence would make them worse, not better, and then how would he find the strength to hold back the vision that threatened destruction for his family?

  He was afraid his suspicions would show in his face.

  He simply couldn’t face his father at the moment. He recalled Jane’s worry about hiding Lascelles’ return but that was the least of Alex’s concerns. He’d never intended to go to the Abbey for Christmas but now he had even more reason to shun the place and his family. But he must break the news to Jane soon. He really couldn’t keep shirking that difficult conversation.

  Lascelles, though...he might prove a Godsend. What if talking to him about Mother could help Alex sort fact from fiction? If he learned more about her life might that help overshadow the day of her death? He had no wish to revisit that day, merely to forget it all together. Was that really too much to ask? He had overcome his nightmares before. Why was he finding it so hard to do so again?

  He had so much to look forward to and he’d do anything to stop these terrible suspicions—and the shocking speculation they spawned—ruining the happy future within his grasp.

  With this thought, he turned to snuggle close to Jane. Finally, he slept.

  The following day he rode Frost to Halsdon Manor, studying the brick-built house as he trotted up the drive, its three-bay central section crowned by a pediment and flanked by symmetrical wings. A flight of stone steps led to the central front door which, as he neared, opened. Lascelles himself emerged.

  ‘Alexander! What a pleasant surprise. Is this a fleeting visit, or will you come inside?’

  Alex dismounted. ‘I’ll come in if I may?’

  ‘But of course, dear boy. Burnl
ey?’ A footman appeared behind him. ‘Take Lord Alexander’s horse to the stables and tell Watkins to do what’s necessary.’

  Inside the house, Lascelles preceded Alex into the entrance hall where a maid took his hat and gloves.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Lascelles. ‘Or something stronger? I would value your opinion on a claret I recently discovered, if you care to try it?’

  ‘Claret sounds ideal.’

  ‘Carter! Bring a bottle and two glasses to the salon.’

  The maid curtsied. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Alex followed Lascelles into a salon, lavishly decorated in red and gold.

  ‘The décor is sadly outmoded, I am afraid. I have plans to refurbish the place, however.’ Lascelles gestured to a chair. ‘Please, do take a seat. I am delighted you have called... I find it so much easier when there are no females around to restrict the conversation, don’t you?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Alex had come here to establish a rapport with Lascelles so it suited him to agree. He knew many men felt the same, hence the popularity of the gentlemen’s clubs in Town.

  They discussed general topics—politics, their estates, agriculture—until the claret had been poured and the door closed behind the maidservant. As soon as they were alone, Lascelles raised his glass.

  ‘To neighbourliness, and to new beginnings.’

  They touched glasses and then sampled the claret.

  ‘This is excellent,’ Alex said, diverted by the quality of the wine. ‘You must tell me where you got it.’

  ‘A backstreet vintner in Bordeaux. I returned to England with a couple of cases, and he has agreed to supply more. I shall send a case over to Foxbourne.’

  ‘No! That is far too generous. I cannot possibly accept.’

  Lascelles smiled, and leaned back in his chair. ‘Oh, but I insist. We are family, after all, as well as neighbours. It is the least I can do, for one of dear Margaret’s sons, and I dare to hope we, too, might become friends in time. Gifts between friends come with no hidden agenda, is that not the case?’ He leaned forward, grasping Alex’s knee. ‘Allow me to do this, m’boy—it would give me pleasure and I hope before long you will see I have truly changed.’ His mouth pursed, and a tiny frown stitched the skin between his brows. ‘I do know I have to prove myself to you, Alexander, before I earn your trust. I hope you will give me that chance. Your father might never be able to forgive me, but...’ He paused. Shook his head. ‘No. I should not ask... I cannot expect you to act contrary to what your father would want. It is unfair of me to even suggest it.’