Christmas With His Wallflower Wife

Alex unclenched his jaw with an effort. ‘Well… I hope you will wish us happy, sir.’

Father stared at him for several seconds, his eyes troubled, before pouring them both a glass of brandy. He handed one to Alex and gestured for him to sit in one of the pair of wingback chairs either side of the unlit hearth.

‘You’ve had time to think this through, Son. Marriage is a big step—it is not something that should be rushed into on a whim.’

‘It was not a whim.’ As ever, he instinctively opposed Father.

One dark eyebrow flicked high. ‘Did you know this morning you would propose to Lady Jane Colebrooke today?’

‘Of course not! I—’

‘Then it was a whim.’

As Alex opened his mouth to protest again, Father held up one hand. ‘Hear me out, Alex, before you shoot me down again.’

Alex subsided. How he wished he could emulate Father’s cool, calm control. Nothing ever seemed to rattle him whereas he… Alex…flew into the boughs at the slightest provocation. He must learn to control that tendency with a wife to consider.

His insides clenched. A wife! Marriage! He’d never, ever imagined marrying. He knew himself too well to believe he could ever make a good husband.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind, Alex. Once you exchange your vows, you will be together for life.’

‘My mind is made up,’ Alex muttered.

‘Nevertheless you should listen to what I am about to say, not only for your own sake, but for Jane’s, as well.’

‘Jane’s sake?’

Father didn’t reply, but held Alex’s gaze with his own.

‘Jane will be happy to get away from that witch of a stepmother of hers.’

‘Granted. But if I can guarantee you that Jane will never have to return to her father’s house, will you reconsider your decision?’

Alex stared at his father. ‘How?’

Hope warred with resentment inside. Hope, because marriage was irrevocable. His father was right, although Alex would never admit that aloud. Resentment because…well, resentment was his habitual reaction to everything his father said or did.

‘I will undertake to find her a decent husband.’

He didn’t like the sound of that. How could his father possibly know a man’s character, or how he might change? Once Jane was wed, that would be it. She’d be bound for life to some stranger she didn’t even know. Every fibre of his being rebelled against that idea… Jane was his friend. He’d always protected her, right from when they were children.

‘You think I couldn’t make her a decent husband? We’ve been friends a long time.’

‘I am aware of that. But…you’re only five-and-twenty, Alex. It’s a young age for a man to take such a big step.’

‘Dom is only a year older than me. He got married this year.’

‘He thought it his duty. But then, thank goodness, he fell in love. Besides, you and Dominic are very different characters.’

Alex scowled, biting back the urge to rip up at his father. The truth hurt sometimes.

‘You were only eighteen when you married my mother.’

‘The circumstances were very different. My father was dying and fretting over the succession of the dukedom. I married for him.’ Father thrust his hand through his hair. ‘Alex…this is not wise… Allow me to find a good husband for Jane… Don’t rush into this. You might both live to regret it.’

Alex drained his glass and rose to his feet. ‘And we might not! This is my decision. I leave for Exeter first thing to obtain the licence.’ He’d already arranged for Dominic to drive him in his curricle. ‘The wedding will take place as soon as possible.’

Then he could leave this place with all its threatening memories and go home to Foxbourne where he was happiest.

‘I intend to make the same offer to Jane tomorrow.’ Father’s voice was clipped. ‘She deserves to know she has a choice.’

Alex’s simmering temper boiled up at that. ‘There is no need for you to involve yourself—I don’t want you pressuring Jane just because you think you know what is best. You cannot manipulate us to your bidding like you manipulate everyone else. I bid you goodnight.’

His temper raged until he was halfway to his bedchamber when—as so often happened where his father was concerned—it cooled as suddenly as if doused in a bucket of icy water, leaving shame behind. He contemplated rejoining the family downstairs but couldn’t face having to act the part of happy brother, nephew and son. Not to mention happy prospective bridegroom. He couldn’t face his family. Couldn’t face his father again. He continued on to his room, eyeing the bed with disfavour, already anticipating the restless night to come.

Why was life never straightforward?

He’d refused his father’s offer, driven by that familiar but inexplicable defiance, but that didn’t mean he knew exactly what he did want.

He was torn.

He’d been fully reconciled to life as a bachelor, with no need—or wish—to share his life with anyone. And as for marriage to Jane—she was like his little sister! No. She was more than that. She was, and always had been, his friend. But…marriage? Didn’t that mean sharing his feelings and his innermost thoughts? That was unthinkable. He kept those to himself. Always had. He was an island—even when he was out with his friends, carousing, he was always separate, somehow, and that was how he liked it.

But, strangely, now he was faced with it, a part of him—a newly emerging, hesitant and hazy part of him—quite liked the idea of marriage. To Jane. At least she knew him and knew about his past. And at least she never looked at him with that infuriating mix of sympathy and pity he all too often identified in his family’s expressions. He and Jane were friends—surely they could at least be comfortable together, as long as he learned to suppress his black moods. He could do it with the horses…when he worked with them it was as though nothing else existed. No past. No future. Just him and the horse. Could he learn to do the same for Jane?

And Jane loved horses as much as he did—he was sure she would be as happy at Foxbourne as he was.

It would be a better start than many couples experienced.

Jane must have slept right through to the next morning because she vaguely recalled waking at one point to find it was night-time, but now, as she propped herself up on her elbows, she could see daylight limning the curtains. Memories of the previous day loomed—Pikeford following her, his attack, his strength…so much more than she could have imagined. It was frighteningly impossible to fight him off and then, just as she despaired of ever stopping him, Alex had rescued her.

She flopped back on to the mattress, biting her lip against the hot sting of tears. How long had she dreamed of him seeing her as someone other than simply good old Janey, the girl next door? How many years had she fed her fantasies with images of him realising, at last, that he loved her…proposing to her…?

But not like this. Never like this!

Sick dread clogged her throat. She was in an impossible situation. If she protected Alex against his spontaneous, quixotic gesture then she must go home, to the stepmother who would not hesitate to marry her off to Sir Denzil Pikeford. And he would be perfectly willing…

She shuddered, rolling on to her side, curling into a ball, her arms wrapped around her torso. She would die rather than end up as Pikeford’s wife. Her stomach roiled in disgust.

I cannot lie here for ever. I must face this some time.

She forced herself to rise, crossing to the window and pulling back the curtains. It was early, the sun still low in the sky. A movement caught her eye and she saw a curricle with two male occupants heading away from the Abbey. She couldn’t be sure, but she suspected the passenger was Alex and she recognised Dominic’s matched bays. She frowned. Where were they off to so early? Would Alex leave in order to avoid her? He had run away rather than face unpleasant consequences when he was younger, but she couldn’t believe Dominic would aid and abet him.

There’s only one way to find out.

After dressing—a trunk containing her belongings had appeared as if by magic at the foot of her bed—she ventured downstairs only to find it was too early for the rest of the family to be up and about. She refused breakfast, too embarrassed to eat when none of the family was present. Ignoring her growling stomach, she selected a book from the library and settled in an armchair to pass the time until someone else appeared.

That someone, to her dismay, was the Duke of Cheriton. Jane shot to her feet, nerves churning her stomach. The Duke had never been anything but courteous to her, but he was a formidable and powerful man and some of Alex’s feelings about his father had inevitably rubbed off on her over the years.