Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

by Janice Preston

  Lilley led out the bay mare, and Alex cupped his hands to help Jane mount. The mare behaved impeccably as Jane put her through her paces, and Sir Henry looked impressed.

  ‘She cuts a neat figure on horseback,’ Theobald commented as Jane executed a perfect figure of eight on the mare.

  ‘She’s a talented horsewoman,’ Alex replied. ‘One of the best I’ve seen.’

  ‘That is praise indeed, coming from a member of your family,’ Anthony said. ‘I’ve never yet met a Beauchamp who is not a skilled rider.’

  ‘That is true.’ Theobald smirked. ‘And your mother too...she was an exceptionally skilled rider, is that not the case, Tony? I remember—’

  ‘She put the rest to shame on the hunting field, for certain.’ A muscle ticked in Anthony’s jaw, and Alex caught the scowl he directed at the other man. ‘And she could handle a horse as well as anyone.’

  ‘Oh, indeed,’ said the other man smoothly.

  Alex tamped down his anger...he knew damned well what Theobald implied and, although he knew of his mother’s reputation for taking lovers, he didn’t appreciate having the subject thrust under his nose by some uninvited, insensitive sneaksby. He was grateful for Anthony’s intervention... He wanted to conclude a deal with Sir Henry, not frighten a customer away by thumping Theobald on the nose. Anthony had interrupted Theobald at the perfect moment for Alex to pretend he’d missed Theobald’s insinuation. He shot Anthony a grateful look and received a wink in return.

  Jane halted the mare, and Sir Henry crossed the paddock to examine her. Alex took two paces, then slammed to a halt as a vision—sudden and shocking in its intensity—flooded his mind, freezing all coherent thought.

  The perfume...roses...voices, arguing. That yellow skirt flowing around a pair of elegant ankles. The polished boots, back and forth, in step with a pair of yellow slippers. A woman’s pleas. A slap, and the rip of cloth. Two figures sinking to the floor.

  Alex clamped his hands to his ears, desperate to block those sounds, but they were coming from inside his head.

  I will never let you go. You won’t abandon me again.

  A man’s voice. Harsh. Vicious.

  A cry...Mother...large hands around her neck...the desperate rasp of choking.

  He saw again the blackness when he screwed his eyes shut. Felt the rough wooden planks chafe his skin. Smelled again her scent of roses, then felt the burn of his lungs as he held his breath. Then a heartfelt groan, and the scrape of boots against the floor, followed by a terrifying silence, broken only by his own tortured breaths.

  He relived the shudder that racked him when he finally opened his eyes to the froth of her crumpled yellow gown. Yellow that filled his vision. A naked leg. One hand out-flung, fingers slightly curled. Still. Oval nails, smooth and perfect.

  Alex’s head throbbed as he fought to banish the images, sounds and smells of the past. Then gorge erupted, forcing its way up his throat as that horrific scene was replaced by an image of his father’s face. His stomach cramped as he desperately scrabbled his way out of the nightmare vision and back to reality, battling the urge to drop to the ground and curl into a ball, one thread of his mind still linking him to the present and screaming at him to keep it hidden.

  An arm landed across his shoulders. ‘What is it? You’ve turned ghostly, m’boy. Are you quite well?’

  Anthony’s voice. Low. Concerned. Alex couldn’t muster a reply, his head pounding with questions.

  Why the hell has this happened now?

  There was no scream or scuffle. No scent of roses. Nothing. Except a random mention of his mother.

  How could any sane mind conjure up such a vision? Am I going mad?

  ‘Alex?’

  He forced his attention to Anthony.

  ‘I’m all right.’

  He looked across the paddock to where Theobald had followed Sir Henry over to Jane and the mare. Thankfully neither man seemed to have noticed what happened, although Jane glanced over several times even as she responded to Sir Henry’s questions. He would face an interrogation later, that was for sure. How much longer could he fob her off? He couldn’t tell her about this. It would be utterly unfair, for he could no longer avoid thinking the unthinkable—what if he hadn’t just discovered his mother’s body all those years ago, as everyone had told him?

  What if he had been there? Seen and heard what happened?

  He felt sweat bead his forehead and upper lip. What if he had seen her killer? His lungs heaved, dragging in breaths that simply did not satisfy his need, as though he had been running full tilt. His vision swam. His legs felt like jelly. Anthony gripped his arm, guiding him to a nearby fence he could lean against for support.

  ‘Take a minute,’ he murmured before calling to the others: ‘We’ll be with you in a moment.’ He lowered his voice again. ‘I’ll tell them we’re discussing business and, if that does not fool them, I shall blame it on your unaccustomed excess of alcohol the other night. Make a jest about you being a sober and upright citizen these days. So very insensitive of Colin to bring up the subject of your dear mama in that way. Such a blow to a young child, to lose a parent to such a heinous crime. I presume your father did tell you what happened to her?’

  ‘I found her.’ The words came out before Alex could swallow them. ‘I found her body.’

  ‘You found her? But...what were you doing there? I... From what I’ve been told, she was in the summer house. Were you not in lessons?’

  ‘I was meant to be. I hid from our tutor so I could play in the copse. I... I don’t remember what happened. They say I found her body. The gardeners heard me screaming.’

  ‘Oh, you poor, poor boy.’ Anthony squeezed Alex’s shoulder. ‘But it was fortunate you did not run into the scoundrel who killed her.’

  ‘Yes. I was lucky.’

  He avoided eye contact with the other man as he lied. How could he ever admit his visions of that day? He wished...oh, how he wished it would all go away. He dragged in a deep breath and levered himself away from the fence, the muscles in his legs still shaky. ‘I’m sorry. Please forget this—it’s in the past. I don’t want to think about it. I’m more interested in learning about my mother when she was alive, if you will talk to me about her?’

  ‘Of course I will, my boy. I shall be delighted.’

  ‘When did you last see her? I know you have lived abroad much of your life.’

  ‘That is true. I left England soon after your parents’ marriage and returned...now, let me see...it was the year before your mother died. I intended to settle in England but I grew restless and left just a week before dear Margaret’s death. I was back in America when I received the shocking news. I have never been so distressed, but I was grateful I’d had the opportunity to renew our acquaintance.’

  They headed towards the others, Anthony’s hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Your mother was a very special lady; one I fear your father never fully appreciated. But, then, he was so young when they wed... I daresay he would treat her differently now. With greater understanding.’

  They left the subject while Alex concluded the sale of the mare to Sir Henry, and then their visitors left, leaving him and Jane standing outside the stable yard, watching the three men ride away.

  ‘What happened?’

  No preamble. Trust Jane... No skirting around the subject, but straight in. He wasn’t surprised...she’d never been afraid, in her quiet way, to challenge him and hold him to account. But neither did she used to pity him, and he could read that emotion more and more in her eyes. In her voice. In her expression.

  In her words.

  And he loathed it.

  ‘Nothing. It was the alcohol from the other night.’

  ‘Still?’ Jane’s voice rang with scepticism. ‘Alex...do you need a physician? Please...I am worried. These turns you’ve been having...what if it’s nothing to do with visiting t
he Abbey and your old nightmares but something more serious? Something medical?’

  ‘It’s not medical. Stop worrying. I am perfectly well. If you must know, Theobald made some derogatory remark about my mother, and I had to take a few minutes to stop myself from punching him on the nose.’

  He looked at the worry in her kind eyes. Resentment twisted through him even though he knew that was unfair and he despised himself for it. The early part of their marriage, when they had grown closer and closer, seemed a far-off memory and the dangers in marriage to someone as perceptive as Jane were ever more apparent. He knew she was trying to help but he couldn’t allow her to stray into those areas of his life where nobody was allowed. The distance between them was widening, the barriers between them solidifying, in his attempts to hide the slowly emerging truth of his past because he knew, instinctively, that once those memories fully surfaced the pain they would cause...the heartbreak...would destroy the family he loved more than life itself, even if he couldn’t always show that love.

  He touched her cheek. ‘Janey. If I thought I needed a physician, I would tell you. I promise.’ He tried a grin but her expression told him she wasn’t fooled. ‘You know what I can be like. Unpredictable. You’ve said it yourself. Can we not count it a success that I didn’t thump Theobald? You know in the past I wouldn’t have hesitated.’

  His attempt to reassure her hadn’t worked, judging by the worry and, again, pity he could read in her expression. How long would it be before that was all she saw when she looked at him? A mass of troubles...the sum of his past rather than the successful horse breeder and trainer he had worked so hard to become? He had struggled all his adult life to leave the past behind him but his family still watched him, on tenterhooks in case he slipped back into old habits. Must he now expect the same from his wife?

  Well, he was damned if he’d let that happen.

  ‘You should thank Anthony for stopping me doing something I might regret, Jane. I for one am most grateful to him.’

  Jane’s mouth set in a tight line, but he’d spoken the truth. What might have happened had Anthony not been there? At the very least he would’ve made an utter fool of himself. At the worst... He didn’t like to think of the worst.

  He was starting to believe Zach was right—if he tried hard to recall that day, would knowing the full truth—the identity of the killer—help? God knows it couldn’t be worse than this speculation.

  And if his suspicions were true then he would have to learn to deal with it.

  On his own. As always.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After experiencing Anthony’s talents as a host on Saturday, Alex was unsurprised he proved an entertaining dinner guest on Thursday. Jane, he could see, warmed to Anthony during the meal and laughed out loud several times as he regaled them with interesting tales of his time living overseas.

  ‘I shall leave you to your port.’

  Jane stood to leave the room when they finished eating. Both Alex and Anthony rose to their feet and Alex waited for Anthony to suggest they drank their port in the drawing room rather than leave Jane on her own. He said nothing, however, and Alex felt obliged to follow his guest’s lead.

  ‘We will join you shortly, my dear,’ he said as Jane left the dining room.

  Once the port was poured, Anthony leaned back in his chair and sighed contentedly. ‘You keep a fine table, my boy. My compliments to your cook.’

  ‘I’ll pass them on.’ Alex sipped his port. ‘I suggest we finish these quickly and join Jane.’

  He found himself the focus of those dark eyes and a knowing smile. ‘Yes. I gathered from our conversation after church that your good lady rather expects you to dance attendance on her.’

  Alex frowned but, before he could frame a suitable retort, Anthony continued, ‘Oh, not that I blame either of you—it is natural for young lovers to wish to spend every minute together, after all.’ His head tilted, and he adopted a sympathetic air. ‘But it is...disappointing...when the wife of a dear friend... Now, how may I put this? When she seeks to curtail that friend’s enjoyment in the company of other gentlemen in the fear he has not outgrown his youthful indiscretions.’

  ‘My youthful indiscretions?’ Alex found it hard to believe Jane had discussed any such thing with Anthony.

  ‘Dear Jane... It is understandable that she will worry about your welfare, Alexander. I am convinced she will learn to trust you.’

  It was true. She constantly worried about him, much to his annoyance. He wondered exactly what she had said to Anthony—he would not lower himself to ask but neither would he rush to finish his drink and join her. Dance attendance on her indeed.

  Instead he persuaded Anthony to talk of his mother, and his memories of her youth. Finally, Alex drained his glass and stood up, but then sat again abruptly as he recalled something Anthony said that had been bothering him.

  ‘The first day we met, you said you blamed my father for my mother’s death. What did you mean?’

  Anthony frowned. ‘It is hardly a proper subject to discuss with you, Alex. Leo is your father, and deserves your respect.’

  ‘Allow me to decide who deserves my respect, Anthony. It was a simple question. Did you have a reason for saying that, or was it your dislike for my father that prompted it?’

  He held his breath as he awaited the answer although quite what he expected he didn’t know. After a long pause, Lascelles shrugged.

  ‘I was fond of dear Margaret...as a friend, of course. I daresay I am somewhat prejudiced against your father but, over the years, I have often wondered how some vagrant happened upon the summer house, where I understand she was killed.’

  Alex suppressed his shudder at the mention of the summer house.

  ‘It was, after all, in the middle of the estate and not so very far from the Abbey itself. How, I wonder, did the killer find his way there? And why? Think of the risk... If he’d wanted to ravage some poor, unsuspecting female he could surely have found a less risky target?’

  Alex’s mouth dried and his heart pounded. He felt sweat dampen his brow, and he wiped it with his handkerchief.

  ‘There...’ Anthony rounded the table to put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. ‘I’ve upset you, speaking of such painful matters. Come. Let us join your charming wife.’

  ‘You go ahead, Anthony. I shall follow soon.’

  He couldn’t face Jane just yet. She would see in a moment he was upset, and she would, of course, blame Anthony. But this was Alex’s fault. He had asked, after all.

  * * *

  Jane had dreaded Anthony Lascelles coming to dinner, but he’d proved excellent company and she felt quite in charity with him as she waited for the men to join her, although she was disappointed they left her alone for such a long time. Finally the door opened but only Anthony entered. He strolled across to where she sat on the sofa, Mist curled on her knee, and bowed.

  ‘I do beg your pardon, my dear Jane. I suggested we brought our port in here to keep you company, but dear Alex...well, it is natural for a man to crave the release of other male company from time to time, I am sure you agree?’

  Jane fought to conceal her hurt. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I hope you will forgive us—I should hate for you to be reluctant to extend invitations to me in future in the fear I will always monopolise your husband.’

  He tipped his head sideways, with an ingratiating smile that did not reach his eyes. Jane nodded, suppressing her involuntary shiver. No matter how entertaining his raconteur skills, he still made her uneasy.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, Anthony. I’ve been quite content with my book and with Mist for company.’ She laid her hand on the kitten’s soft fur, and was rewarded with a rumbling purr.

  ‘What a sweet kitten.’

  ‘Where is Alex?’

  ‘He will join us soon, my dear. He... Ah, here he is now. Alex, dear boy
, your good lady has forgiven our lapse in manners in not joining her sooner, and I dare to hope I shall still be welcome in your lovely home in future. I shall look forward to further reminiscences but, for now, I shall say my farewells.’

  ‘Will you not stay and take tea before you leave, Anthony?’

  Jane voiced the invitation from obligation, not from the desire to extend the time in Anthony’s company. Alex clearly noticed her reticence, darting a glance of disapproval at her, but Anthony appeared oblivious.

  ‘I thank you, dear lady, but I shall decline. I make no doubt you young newlyweds are finding an old man like me distinctly de trop.’ He bowed and, as he straightened, his dark gaze pinned Jane. ‘I shall leave you both to your pleasures...’ He paused long enough for Jane to question his true meaning, then—with a flash of teeth—he smiled and added, ‘...for I am certain you are eager to discover what happens next in your novel.’

  Jane stretched her lips in a smile. ‘Then I bid you goodnight, Anthony.’

  Alex clapped Lascelles on the shoulder, shaking his hand. ‘Thank you for answering all my questions—you’ve been very patient.’ He shot another reproachful glance at Jane. ‘And most helpful. I’ll show you out myself.’

  He said nothing, however, when he returned.

  ‘Shall we go up?’

  Jane frowned. ‘Will you not tell me what you’ve been talking about? Did you learn much about your mother?’

  ‘Yes, a great deal but I shan’t bore you with it. After all, you didn’t know her.’

  Jane tried hard not to care. Alex had always been this way—always kept the different parts of his life separate. She didn’t doubt he cared for her but she was still excluded from parts of his life...parts of him...and she had no idea how to reach the core of the man trapped behind that barrier.

  She swallowed back her disappointment. ‘I am tired,’ she said. ‘I think I will go up now.’

  Alex didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘Now I think about it, though, I’m not ready to retire just yet.’ He helped Jane to her feet and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Sleep well.’