Christmas with His Wallflower Wife

by Janice Preston

  And he couldn’t do that in front of his stepmother or his brother and sister. Or in front of Jane—the wariness he saw at times in her lovely brown eyes when she looked at him had wrenched at his heart. She was right not to trust him yet... He must work hard to convince her of his love and to prove himself. And he would do so. But this must come first. It had to be a private conversation, and he could only pray the answer would be the one he wanted more than life itself.

  ‘May we sit?’

  Father nodded, and they sat either side of the fire blazing in the hearth. Alex’s gut churned at what he must say.

  ‘I would appreciate it if you will hear me out before you say anything.’

  Again, Father nodded.

  Alex talked for what felt like hours. At one point, Father rose and poured them both a brandy. Alex kept talking. About when his mother died, what he had believed, the nightmares after his visit to the Abbey and the attack on Jane. The horror when his true memories of that day began to emerge.

  His father’s silver-grey gaze fixed on him unwaveringly, his expression giving nothing away until Alex spoke of his memory of walking with his mother that day, to the summer house, and of settling down to play behind the chaise longue. Only then did his expression slip, shock gleaming in his eyes, before he masked his emotions again. But, when Alex related the manner of his mother’s death, the colour leached from Father’s face and he surged to his feet.

  ‘Oh, God, no! Alex...’

  His name tore from his father’s lips. Alex willed himself to sit still. He studied his father’s expression...interpreting the emotions that ebbed and flowed in that normally unreadable visage. Anguish. Concern. Guilt.

  In his younger days, he would have leapt straight to the worst possible conclusion once he recognised that guilt. But...he took his time. And he saw that the guilt could be that of a father whose child had been through hell, the guilt of not being there to prevent the nightmare, the guilt of failure to protect not only his wife, but his son. The guilt flowed towards Alex. It was not directed inwards. There was no hint of shame or of fear that he had been found out.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ Alex said.

  His father’s dark brows snapped together in a frown. ‘Me? Who did you think was me?’

  ‘The man I saw.’

  He had never seen his all-powerful, supremely confident father at such a loss for words. His jaw slack, he stared at Alex, utterly still.

  ‘The killer? You truly thought I could kill anyone, let alone the mother of my children?’

  Alex nodded. ‘When I saw him again, in those visions. In profile. He looked like you.’

  Father paced then, thrusting his hand through his hair in an achingly familiar gesture. He halted before him, staring down and Alex squirmed at the desolation in his eyes.

  Desolation. Not guilt. Not fear. Hope climbed. He so wanted to believe, but he was almost afraid to...afraid to risk the anguish if that hope proved false.

  ‘Me?’ His father’s voice rasped. ‘Why did you say nothing all these years?’

  ‘I told you. I didn’t know. Not until I started having those visions.’

  Father paced away again. ‘It explains, I suppose, why you have always rebelled against me.’ His back to Alex, Father stared out of the window. ‘Deep inside you had that memory, even if you were never consciously aware of it.’

  He turned slowly, capturing Alex’s gaze. ‘It was not me you saw, Alex. I swear to you, on the lives of every single one of my children. It was not me.’

  Alex swallowed, trust and belief battling their way out of the bleak wasteland where his feelings for his father had been trapped for as long as he could remember.

  ‘We discussed it last night and, between us, we think we have worked out the truth. We think it was Lascelles.’

  ‘Lasc—’

  Father swayed, and Alex leapt up, hurrying to his side to catch his arm, steadying him.

  ‘I only ever saw her murderer in profile.’ The words rushed from him. ‘He has the Beauchamp features we all share, but he also had black hair, like you, and black shiny boots, and...when you came...when the gardeners fetched you...your boots...’

  The horror and the fear rose up to claim him and, once more, he was that small boy, shaking with terror, his gaze fixed on his father’s black, shiny boots. Alex reined in those emotions...they were the lies. He was a grown man now, and capable of sifting facts.

  ‘I must have seen your boots and linked them to the killer’s boots. As you said, deep inside, I must have always linked you, specifically, with what I saw.’

  He was still clutching his father’s arm, standing close. He closed his eyes, hauled in a deep breath. ‘I am sorry for doubting you, Papa.’

  He hadn’t uttered that name in eighteen long, lonely years. Emotion rose to clog his throat. Father’s arm jerked out of his grip at those words and, before Alex could open his eyes, he was enveloped in a hug.

  ‘No! You have nothing to be sorry for, Alex.’ Father choked his words out. ‘The fault is mine. I see it now. But...back then...I was so sure I was right. I forbade anyone to discuss that day... I simply wanted us all to forget about it. Cecily...she warned me of the dangers of allowing you to bottle it up, but you didn’t speak at all for almost a year and, once that had passed, I suppose we were accustomed to avoiding the subject.’

  He stepped back, clasping Alex’s shoulders, and his silver-grey gaze swept across Alex’s face.

  ‘It is I who must apologise to you.’

  * * *

  The mood at the Abbey was sombre. The entire Lascelles business had been picked over ad nauseam until they were all convinced he was the murderer. Alex, however—although awash with relief at his reconciliation with his father—remained unsettled, aware of his unfinished business with Jane. Her dismay at his behaviour mirrored his own disgust. He had allowed himself to be manipulated by a killer...been fooled into trusting him, and had turned to him in his troubles instead of to his own wife. It mattered not that his thoughts had been in turmoil. It was not as if Jane was a stranger...she was his old, trusted friend...the playmate who had been by his side throughout childhood...the girl who had always defended him to the hilt.

  And the woman he loved.

  Somehow, it was as though a dozen veils had lifted and he could see himself and his life more clearly than ever before. And he saw a blind, stubborn fool.

  ‘Jane?’

  She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in polite enquiry, but that same caution in her lovely brown eyes pierced his heart. He had pushed a warm, loving, tender woman into becoming this guarded, cool lady. She was still his wife, and he was sure she wouldn’t abandon him—the Jane he knew would not easily dismiss her marriage vows. If he took her in his arms and made love to her, he didn’t doubt she would respond physically. But that was no longer enough for him. He didn’t want her to stay with him simply because they were married and she had little choice in the matter. He wanted it to be the choice of her heart. He wanted her to love him again, and to trust him with her heart and her feelings.

  But her response to him told him louder than words how much grovelling he must do to banish the betrayal and the bad memories.

  ‘Would you care to come for a walk with me?’

  Fear flashed into her eyes. ‘What if Lascelles is out there?’

  ‘Father has men out keeping watch but I doubt he is fool enough to come here. You will be safe with me.’

  Hugo sat the nearest to the two of them and, at Alex’s words, he stood, and brushed the wrinkles from his coat sleeves.

  ‘Dom...you suggested we might go and pay our respects to your mother. I know Livvy is keen to do so.’ He fixed Alex with his dark gaze. ‘Why don’t we all go together? Safety in numbers, after all.’

  Alex glanced around the room, realising from their expressions that his family were cl
osing ranks around Jane. Protecting her. From him. But his spurt of anger soon fizzled out, and appreciation took its place.

  His family. Protective. Always.

  And now Jane was one of them, and they demonstrated their concern as they always did...by being there, as they had always been there for him even though he had given little gratitude for their support. He knew they were concerned he would either sweet-talk or coerce Jane into accepting a lightweight apology. They knew him, knew his easy charm, and they knew Jane was the essence of forgiveness and would seek to understand him first, and to make allowances for him, rather than to think of her own needs. And, in their own way, they were telling him Jane deserved better.

  But he knew that. Accepted it.

  He wanted better for her, too.

  He nodded. He and Jane had time to put this behind them. Now he could truly be part of the Beauchamp family, and was no longer an outsider looking in, they would remain at the Abbey until Twelfth Night. He would spend that time wooing his wife—this time with his heart and mind as well as his body.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘It is a shame there are no flowers to lay in her memory.’

  ‘They would last no time in this cold weather.’ Olivia came to Alex and smiled up at him. She nodded slightly, approval in her silver-grey eyes. ‘But that is no reason not to go.’

  ‘There’s a holly bush with berries out in the copse,’ Father said. ‘Rosalind and I will cut a few branches before joining the rest of you.’

  As diplomatic as ever. His father would allow the children time to pay their respects to their mother in private before joining them with his second wife.

  Alex looked down at Jane. ‘Will you accept my arm, Jane?’

  She smiled, took his hand and rose to her feet. ‘Thank you, yes. I expect it will be slippery in places.’

  * * *

  They swathed themselves in greatcoats and mantles, shawls, scarves and warm hats, gloves and muffs and fur-lined boots, and ventured outside, with Hector and Romeo. The air bit at any exposed skin and their breath condensed in the chill. They huddled together for warmth as they went out through the library on to the terrace and then hurried through the formal garden, to the path and the copse beyond, heading for the lake. Once they were in the copse, Father and Stepmother veered off to look for holly berries, Hector at their heels, and Alex, with Jane on his arm, led the way to the lake and to the weeping willow that marked the spot where their mother had lost her life.

  There was no return of that dark dread that had always dogged Alex in this place, just a feeling of peace and an unwavering resolve to find Anthony Lascelles and bring him to justice. Hanging was too good for him, but Alex would be content with that.

  But that reminded him...he halted. Jane looked up enquiringly.

  ‘Will you be all right, going back to where it happened?’

  ‘I think so.’ A smile flickered around her lips, drawing his attention, heating his blood. How long since he had kissed her? He yearned to hold her in his arms, to show her as well as tell her how much he loved her. ‘I must face it sometime and what better way than with my own support army?’

  They continued, and soon emerged on to the lakeside path, turning towards the willow, where the summer house had once stood. At first, a thicket of hawthorn, elder and brambles masked the lake from their sight but, as it came into view—ice-covered, glittering where an occasional finger of winter sun poked through the surrounding trees, their naked branches still white with frost—Jane halted, bringing Alex to a stop. The others crowded around them.

  ‘Look!’ She pointed at the willow, at the far end of the lake. ‘Is that...? Alex! It is him!’

  A figure, head bowed, knelt by the willow. His silver-grey hair stood out, even at this distance.

  ‘God’s teeth!’ Dominic moved to stand at Alex’s shoulder. ‘How dare he come here?’

  ‘Hugo.’ Alex glanced at his brother-in-law. ‘Stay with the girls. Take care of them.’

  He sprinted as fast as he could, slipping and sliding at times on the frosted grass and frozen mud, Dominic by his side. He bit back his roar of rage—no need to alert that bastard to their presence. He sucked the freezing air into his lungs, his air pipe narrowing, his breath whistling, but he kept going. They rounded another thicket of shrubs, bursting into the clearing around the willow tree and only then did Lascelles’ head jerk up. He leapt to his feet, backing away, leaving his hat and gloves abandoned on the ground.

  ‘Alex...my dear boy...’ He reached out, both hands. ‘It was not what you think. You gave me no chance to explain.’

  Alex flung out an arm to prevent Dominic launching himself at Lascelles.

  ‘He has a knife,’ he muttered.

  Alex followed Lascelles, step for step, aware Dominic was moving diagonally to his left, to cut off Lascelles’ escape. He wouldn’t elude them this time.

  ‘You ran away, Lascelles. It was you who failed to explain.’

  Satisfaction gleamed in Lascelles’ eyes. He plainly imagined he could talk his way out of this, using his usual charm and manipulation. Alex smiled his own satisfaction. The bastard had no clue they now knew the truth.

  ‘I confess I loved your mother and that we were...er...intimate. But our affair was before she married Cheriton, you must believe me.’

  ‘Believe you? Why should I believe a single word that spews out of that filthy mouth of yours?’

  ‘But Alex...my boy...it is the truth.’ Lascelles halted, his face the picture of innocence. ‘And you, I imagine, are here to confront your father?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Alex said grimly. ‘It’s done.’

  ‘Oh, my poor, poor Alex! But it had to be done, my boy. Justice must be served.’

  At that moment, Romeo bounced into the clearing, distracting Lascelles, giving Alex the chance to move closer. Seconds later he heard the others arrive behind him. He glanced round to see the three women approaching him, and he gestured at them to stop. They could do nothing here, and Lascelles was dangerous. Hugo, he could see, was steadily moving to Alex’s right. With the lake at his back, and the three men fanned out before him, Lascelles would soon have nowhere to run.

  He clearly thought himself in no danger, because he actually stepped forward, his smiling attention on the women.

  ‘Oh! Dear Jane is here, I see. I am so pleased you two have made up your differences. Do you know...’ he spoke directly to Jane now ‘...poor Alex was quite distraught throughout our journey. It is no wonder he completely misunderstood what I said, and flew into a rage.’

  ‘Would that be in the same way I misunderstood seeing you try to squeeze my kitten to death?’ Jane’s voice was icily cold.

  ‘You were overwrought, my dear. And who can blame you with Alex’s recent behaviour...but we must hope he can put the past to rest now he has exposed his father as a murd—’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Rage exploded through Alex and he strode towards his father’s cousin, his fists clenched. ‘We know you did it, Lascelles, so you can save your breath for the judge!’

  Lascelles backed away. ‘No. No. You have it wrong...’

  ‘I saw you, you bastard! I saw you!’

  ‘Your father...it was your father...’

  ‘How did you know she was wearing yellow? I didn’t tell you, so how did you know?’

  ‘I...’

  Lascelles could retreat no further with the lake at his back. His eyes swivelled from Alex to Dominic, then swept back across to Hugo, his panic now showing.

  ‘She only married him because she wanted to be a duchess. I should have been the duke, but your father took my title and stole the woman I loved. And then, when I returned to England...our passion...it was as strong as ever. We could have carried on. We could have been happy. But then...then...’ He gulped. ‘It was a moment of madness.’ Tears glittered in his eyes. ‘I didn’t
mean to. I was overcome with passion...surely you understand?’ His hands reached towards them, beseechingly. ‘She drove me to it...she rejected me...all for the chance to be a better mother...’

  ‘And you robbed her of that chance,’ Olivia yelled, her voice cracking. She had moved forward to stand in line with the men. ‘Just like you robbed us of our mother! And now you’ll hang for it!’

  Lascelles’s eyes widened at that. Before any of them could guess his intention, he spun on his heel and ran on to the ice.

  ‘No! You’ll not get away! You’ll hang for it, you bastard!’ Alex charged to the edge of the ice, dodging around Dominic as he tried to head him off.

  ‘Alex!’ Dominic’s roar chased him across the frozen lake as he slid and skidded after Lascelles. ‘No! Don’t be a fool!’

  Alex ignored him, intent on closing the gap between him and Lascelles until, with a loud crack, the ice gave way and Lascelles dropped through into the lake. Alex skidded to a halt, his heart racing. The red mist that had propelled him on to the ice dissipated as he assessed the danger. He heard Jane scream his name from the shore but the urge to bring Lascelles to justice...to see him swing on the end of a rope...was irresistible. He had cowered out of sight like a coward while Lascelles had throttled Mother...he had done nothing to save her. But here was his chance to assuage some of the guilt that had haunted him his entire life.

  Lascelles resurfaced, scrabbling desperately at the jagged edges of the ice.

  Alex shrugged out of his greatcoat, flinging it behind him, and unwound his neckcloth as he inched forward. It was all he had to try to reach Lascelles although he doubted the other man would have strength enough to hold on while Alex hauled him out. He edged forward, testing the ice with each foot before putting his weight on to it.

  ‘Alex!’ His heart clenched at the anguish in his father’s voice as it echoed across the lake. ‘Come back! Please!’

  But he couldn’t. Lascelles slipped below the surface a second time then rose again, trying to hold on as he gasped for breath, his face blue.