Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

by Janice Preston

  Relief coursed through Jane. ‘Thank you, Kent.’

  She stepped into the room. Lascelles was perusing the titles in a bookcase. A movement on the top of the bookcase caught Jane’s eye and, before she could shout a warning, a grey bundle of fluff launched itself, landing on Lascelles’ shoulder. Lascelles swore viciously and grabbed Mist, turning back to the room as he did so. Jane froze, her stunned brain scrambling to make sense of what she was seeing, as Lascelles held the wriggling kitten tightly in his hands. His face distorted into a snarl as his grip tightened...squeezing...

  At Mist’s squeal of pain Jane broke free of her paralysis and charged at Lascelles.

  ‘Let her go!’ She shook his arm in her fury. ‘You evil brute! Let her go, I said!’

  ‘Gladly!’

  Lascelles cast Mist across the room. She rolled several times, leapt to her feet and shot out through the door, fur on end, tail fluffed out to twice its normal size. Lascelles smoothed the sleeve of his coat, and stared down at Jane, eyes narrowed. They were so close the woody, sweet and spicy scent of his bay rum cologne filled her nostrils, and her ears detected his erratic breathing. He might look unruffled, but she suspected he was a mass of tension beneath the surface. That gave her courage, to realise he might be as rattled as her.

  ‘I ought to apologise but I will not. Cats are vicious animals, totally unsuitable as house pets. They belong outside, with the rest of the vermin. That animal attacked me.’

  Jane fought the instinct to retreat. ‘I see no blood.’ She forced the words through gritted teeth. ‘Get out of my house and never come back. Do you hear me?’

  Fury flashed in his eyes. ‘Your house? I think your husband might have something to say about that, my dear. He will not take kindly to you banishing me. Not when I have the information he craves.’

  ‘He will not take kindly to you torturing an innocent animal.’

  Lascelles sneered. ‘Your word against mine, my dear. You are clearly distraught and your imagination is playing tricks.’

  ‘Milady? Is everything all right?’

  Jane didn’t even glance at Kent, determined to hold Lascelles’ gaze. ‘Mr Lascelles is leaving, Kent. Please show him out.’

  Lascelles’ gaze hardened. He reached out, lifting her chin with one finger. Jane refused to flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  ‘Take care, Lady Jane.’ His voice was a menacing whisper. He held her gaze for what seemed like an aeon before pivoting on his heel and striding from the room.

  Jane squared her shoulders, determined not to succumb to her quivering nerves.

  ‘Thank you, Kent. Please tell the rest of the staff Mr Lascelles is on no account to be allowed into the house unless His Lordship is at home.’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘Did you see where Mist went?’

  ‘Upstairs, milady. I hope she wasn’t hurt.’

  ‘So do I, Kent.’

  Jane found Mist trembling under her bed. She coaxed her out and sat on the bed to examine her, petting her and reassuring her. She appeared unharmed physically and, murmuring softly to calm her, Jane carried her downstairs to the parlour, collecting Liberty’s letter on the way.

  She settled Mist on her lap, smoothing her fur. It was an age before the kitten ceased trembling. Eventually, though, she slept, and Jane also dozed off, having already read Liberty’s letter three times, squinting as she deciphered the crossed lines, but reluctant to disturb the sleeping kitten to fetch a book to read to pass the time.

  * * *

  Alex paused inside the parlour door, watching Jane before she was aware of his presence. Her eyes were closed, her lashes a dark crescent against the gentle bloom of her cheeks. Her lips were parted, her chest gently rising and falling with every breath. Her hair had escaped some of the pins, and tendrils stroked her neck, leaving her perfect shell-like ear peeping through. One hand rested on Mist, curled on Jane’s lap, her green eyes on Alex as one ear twitched. In the other was a letter.

  Peace warmed his heart. No matter what horrors his visions stirred from the past, Jane was his life now and he vowed to try even harder to make her happy—their disagreement the other day had shaken him more than he believed possible and he had no wish to repeat it. But Jane hadn’t mentioned nightmares or the past since, and she hated quarrelling as much as he did, so hopefully they could avoid the subject in future and all would be well.

  As he walked towards her Mist suddenly leapt up and shot past him, out the door.

  ‘Ouch!’ Jane woke with a start, rubbing her leg. Her eyes widened when she saw Alex. ‘I didn’t know you were home. Why did Mist run off? Is Lascelles here?’

  ‘Anthony? Why should he be here?’ He crouched down next to Jane’s chair. ‘There’s blood on your gown. Did Mist scratch you?’

  ‘She dug her claws in as she jumped off.’ Jane tutted as she examined the spot of blood. ‘I shall have to change this, and sponge the blood out before it dries.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her jasmine scent, licking the hollow beneath her ear and nibbled her lobe. It was too long since they’d made love, the growing distance between them by day having its effect by night, too.

  But Jane pulled away. ‘Alex... Lascelles called. I caught him torturing Mist. That’s why she ran away when you came in.’

  ‘Torturing?’ Anger brewed. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He was squeezing her. Hard enough to make her squeal. He claimed she attacked him, but she only jumped down onto his shoulder. He...he frightens me, Alex. I’ve told him not to come here again.’

  Alex stood up, torn. He couldn’t abide any kind of cruelty to animals, but...he needed Anthony. He was the only person who could help him know his mother and ultimately make sense of the past. ‘You barred him from Foxbourne?’

  ‘I did.’ Her chin lifted. ‘I hope you will support my decision. I will not be threatened in my own home.’

  ‘He threatened you?’ The anger boiled now. No man threatened his wife.

  She nodded. ‘Maybe not in so many words, but the threat was there.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said, “Take care, Lady Jane”.’

  Alex frowned, and his anger eased. ‘That doesn’t sound threatening, Jane. Are you sure you aren’t imagining it?’

  She’d always been the same with Anthony, reading hidden menace in the most mundane conversation. What had happened to Everyone deserves a chance to prove they’ve changed?

  ‘I am sure.’ Jane’s mouth settled into a stubborn line. ‘It was the way he said it. I don’t want him in my home again. Please, Alex.’

  He folded his arms. ‘I’ll ask him to stay away. I can always go to Halsdon instead.’ Jane’s brows snapped together. ‘I still need to talk to him about Mother, Jane. You must understand that.’

  ‘But you cannot talk to me about her?’

  Alex sighed. ‘I will. One day. Once I understand it all.’

  ‘Understand what?’

  Her cry of anguish wrenched his heart but he turned away.

  ‘Alex? Liberty has written to us.’

  He turned back, relieved by the change of subject. Jane held the letter out to him, but the sight of those crossed and recrossed lines made his head throb. ‘Perhaps you might paraphrase it?’ He was rewarded with a laugh, even though it was strained.

  ‘Firstly, she has shared the happy news that they are expecting their first child. Is that not wonderful? And, secondly, we’re invited to stay at Clystfield Court next week, before we all go on to the Abbey for Christmas. She fears otherwise the weather might prevent us travelling.’

  His heart lurched. He’d still not told Jane they weren’t going to the Abbey. He could think of nothing worse, especially now with his suspicions about his father’s role in his mother’s death.

  ‘No.�
�

  Jane stared. ‘No? What do you—? Pfft! That’s a ridiculous question. I know exactly what you mean by “No”. What I need to ask is “Why”? It will only be an extra week away, and Olivia, Hugo and the twins will be there, too. It will be—’

  ‘I mean, no we are not going to the Abbey for Christmas.’

  ‘What? But...we accepted...we’re expected. Your entire family will be there.’

  ‘Which is precisely why we are not going.’

  Jane stood up and grabbed his hands. ‘I don’t believe you don’t want to see your family. You love them. Why, Alex?’

  He shrugged, pulling his hands from hers.

  ‘Is this what our future holds?’ Her voice sharpened. ‘What if we have children? Would you deny them the opportunity to know their aunts and uncles and cousins? Not to mention their grandparents.’

  ‘I’ve made my decision.’

  Jane stared at him like he was a stranger. His gaze slid from hers and his insides shrivelled until he felt like an empty, useless shell. But he couldn’t face his father. He simply couldn’t.

  ‘What about what I want? Or does my opinion not count? What is it you won’t tell me, Alex?’

  He couldn’t tell her. How could she ever face any of his family again if she knew what he suspected? She would never be able to hide the truth from her eyes.

  ‘If it’s the Abbey...if you’re afraid your nightmares will return...’

  ‘It’s not the Abbey! I can cope with a few bad dreams.’

  ‘Your father then. We could compromise—go to Clystfield and then come home. You wouldn’t even need to see your father...’

  The rest of her words faded as an image of his father erupted in his head.

  He was in profile, his lips drawn back in a snarl. I will never let you go! Alex surged to his feet, utterly shaken. He’d accepted he had witnessed his mother’s murder. He had suspected his father may have been involved but he had hoped...no...prayed it was not so. Prayed that the mental images of his father were simply his child’s memory confusing his father—who had indisputably been there in the aftermath—with the man who attacked his mother.

  But this was an image that shook his very foundations...the first time he had pictured his father actually playing a part in his mother’s death. Not his father as he was now, but as he was then: lean, dark, dangerous. The image of his hands around Mother’s neck. His greatest dread was true. He’d always blamed himself for his prickly relationship with his father. But now...the fault was not his. And that knowledge shattered him. He couldn’t even begin to wonder at the impact of this on the rest of the family.

  Nausea roiled his stomach, turning his legs weak and his breathing shallow.

  ‘Alex? What is it? What’s wrong?’ Jane clung to his arm.

  He needed to be alone.

  ‘We’re not going to the Abbey. That’s my final word on it.’

  How could he possibly go, knowing what he did? The very thought made him long to curl up into a ball and sleep for ever now he had the answer to his aversion to his own father. His father the killer.

  The nausea rose up his throat: acid, burning, threatening to erupt.

  ‘Alex...please...tell me...’

  He must be alone. He snatched his arm free.

  ‘I have work to do.’

  He strode from the room before Jane could reply, and ran outside, hoping the fresh air might help clear his head. And defuse his anger. And obliterate that sudden, horrific image of his father, the sound of those words, gritted out through clenched teeth. Words of fury. Alex’s stomach knotted, screwing tight, as his breathing grew shallow. He headed for the garden, to the arbour that used to support rambling roses but was now cloaked with honeysuckle every summer, and sank on to the bench, leaning forward, his forearms propped along his thighs.

  His throat was thick, aching, and his head throbbed anew as it sank into his hands. He strove to rid his mind of all thought, but the images kept coming. Relentlessly. The yellow dress, the angry voices, the boots and the slippers, the breathless pleading: ‘No. No. Please.’

  All while he had cowered beneath the chaise longue, where his mother had loved to recline on warm days. He’d done nothing to save her.

  His stomach heaved, propelling him out of the arbour to the nearest bush where he retched until his stomach was empty. Tears burned behind his eyes.

  I cannot stand this.

  The visions were now crystal-clear, and that deep, deep dread that had plagued his childhood and that he had managed to keep suppressed all these years—firstly with the help of alcohol and drugs and wild escapades and, latterly, by concentrating fiercely and wholeheartedly on his beloved horses—could no longer be ignored.

  His stomach heaved again, his muscles clenched in pain. They’d had it wrong. Everyone had it wrong. He’d believed them because it had suited him to believe them...so he wouldn’t have to face the truth that he hadn’t just found his mother’s murdered body, nor even that he had watched her being killed, but that he had watched her being throttled by his own father.

  He sank to his knees, oblivious to the sharp sting of the gravel through his breeches. His arms wrapped around his torso as he bent forward and then rocked, images from the past...from that day...tumbling through his thoughts, clearer and sharper and, seemingly, unstoppable. He hadn’t been seen. At no point had his father spotted him, cowering beneath the chaise longue, the floor rough against his cheek.

  All these years. The truth had been there. Inside him. Waiting.

  Again, his stomach clenched, a nest of snakes writhing inside. The lid on that day had cracked, and he had fallen through into a past of horrors. He could never rid himself now of that memory, and he had no choice but to somehow live with it.

  He had watched his own father kill his mother.

  He swallowed desperately, forcing his gorge back down his throat as chills raced across his skin. He could never admit the truth to a living soul, for it would tear the Beauchamp family apart. He thought about Dominic and Olivia, not to mention Christabel and Sebastian. How could he brand their father a murderer? He could never do that to his brothers and sisters, let alone to Rosalind and the rest of the family.

  But how could he allow his mother’s death to go unavenged?

  ‘Alex?’

  Her call was distant. He couldn’t talk to her. Not now. He scrambled to his feet.

  ‘Alex?’

  Nearer now. Panic set in. She knew him too well. Would know something drastic had happened. And she wouldn’t give up...she would keep pushing him for an answer. And what if that rage roiling his insides should erupt at Jane? He couldn’t take that risk, and he hadn’t the strength to put on his customary brave face. He wasn’t ready to bury it inside and pretend nothing was eating a hole in him. Not yet. Maybe in time...

  Because if Jane should learn the truth... He also knew her too well. She could never dissemble with his family, and God forbid she should ever come face-to-face with his father. No. She must never know. But he must get his own emotions under control before he could attempt to fool her into believing nothing was wrong.

  He turned and sprinted for the stable yard, despising himself but helpless to do anything else. He needed time to clear his head, and to work out how he could continue to face Jane—not to mention the rest of the world—with this new knowledge.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Alex regained some semblance of calm during the ride to Halsdon Manor, painfully aware it didn’t bode well for the future of his marriage that he could face Anthony but not his own wife. He should never have wed. He was incapable of making any woman happy for long...his demons were too strong for that. And now he knew why. Anthony was the one person who shared Alex’s distrust of his father and, right now, that’s exactly what he needed. The freedom to admit there was something wrong. If his disdain for Father showed, Anthon
y would accept it whereas anyone else of his acquaintance would—as they always had—immediately try to persuade him he was wrong, and to use guilt to lever him into a filial love he had never felt.

  And now never could.

  He swallowed back a sob.

  It would be better if I were dead. They’d all be better off without me.

  The thought appeared from nowhere, shocking him. Jane’s face materialised in his mind’s eye, her brown eyes warm and trusting. She deserved so much better than him but he could see no way of being the husband she wanted him to be. Not now.

  Servants were hurrying hither and thither when Alex arrived at Halsdon Manor.

  ‘I leave for London this afternoon,’ Anthony said, as he and Alex settled in the pair of wing back chairs in his salon.

  ‘London?’ The news hit Alex like a blow to the gut. ‘I didn’t know you were planning to leave this soon. How long will you be gone?’

  Anthony shrugged. ‘I had no intention of leaving yet, but I believe it will be for the best after this morning’s unfortunate misunderstanding.’

  ‘But...’

  What about me? Who can I talk to if you’re in London?

  Sheer pride kept those words inside but now he felt even more compelled to discover as much as possible about his parents’ marriage. To work out how a man like his father could be driven to murder. He was drowning, and Anthony was his lifeline...the only thing keeping his head above water.

  Anthony speared him with a knowing look. ‘We will talk again on my return, my boy. Never fear.’

  Alex swallowed down his desperation. ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘I know not. Weeks? Months? It depends how long it takes your lady to forgive me, even though she utterly misread the situation.’

  Belatedly, Alex recalled what Jane told him about Anthony and Mist. Shame piled upon shame. What kind of man didn’t leap to the defence of his wife? If Anthony hadn’t mentioned the incident, Alex would have completely forgotten, so bound up was he in his own troubles.