Snowbound Surrender. Louise Allen
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had filled out the gamine angles into soft, huggable curves.
He was across the room in two steps before remembering that she could never be more than the best part of his youth. The man worthy of her hand had disappeared somewhere on the way to Waterloo. Before he could stop himself, he had caught her by the waist, lifting her high into the air and saying again, with even more fondness, ‘Lucy.’ He spun her once, making her laugh.
For a moment, he imagined letting her slide slowly down his body, until her lips were level with his so he might take the kiss he wanted from her. Then, common sense returned, and he set her back on her feet again and kissed her quickly on the cheek before taking both her hands in his. ‘You are lovely as ever.’
She laughed, dropping into a curtsy. ‘And you, Major Gascoyne, are just as handsome.’ It was just the sort of greeting he had been hoping for, yet it was not. There was no sign in it that she was any more serious than she would have been to another old friend. Nor did it make him think she had felt the loss of him as strongly as he had of her.
‘Do not be so formal,’ he muttered, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Call me Jack, just as you used to.’ He forced a grin to take away the hint of desperation in the request, then added, ‘And I believe the term you are searching for to describe me is dashing.’
‘Incorrigible, more likely,’ she said, pulling a hand free and giving him a playful slap on the arm. ‘Women are supposed to be the vain ones, not men.’
There was a moment of silence between them as their casual greeting ran out of words. Perhaps she was sincere in her superficiality. But if he was not careful, he would take her by the hand and lead her away, to a place where he could unburden his heart of things that could not be said in front of her overprotective brother.
As if he noticed the awkwardness, Fred interrupted it. ‘Speaking of women, there is one here that you have not met.’
‘Your fiancée,’ Jack supplied, turning away from Lucy to look for her. The other woman had been standing next to Fred all along and he had swept past her as if she had not existed.
‘Major Gascoyne, may I present Miss Millicent Forsythe,’ Fred announced, nudging her forward to accept the introduction.
Jack stepped forward as well, to take her hand and bow over it. She was a pretty enough girl, he supposed, with plump curves, dark eyes and shiny brown hair. ‘Miss Forsythe,’ he said, kissing her hand. ‘How nice to see that Fred has provided me with a such a delightful Christmas present.’ He steeled his nerve and looked back at Lucy with an expression that betrayed none of his true feelings. ‘Lucy and I played together as children. She is like a sister to me.’ He looked back to the other woman. ‘I hope, in time, you will come to view me like a brother as well.’
Finally, he felt some sign of the past between them for he heard a soft intake of breath behind him, a hissing of air between clenched teeth. But when he turned back to Lucy, she was smiling, just as she had been. ‘Surely these introductions do not have to be made in a draughty entrance hall. Come into the house proper, Jack. There is a storm brewing outside and I will not have you catch your death on our doorstep.’
He glanced outside, where the slate-grey sky had begun spitting snowflakes. ‘You are probably right. And it appears you have other guests arriving.’
‘You are the first of many,’ Fred announced. ‘The Manor will be full to the rooftop by the time they are all here. We are having a proper house party to celebrate your homecoming.’
Jack had no desire to be anyone’s honoured guest. But it was probably for the best that this house was to be crowded. Jack and Lucy had been together for only a few minutes, but the two of them had already begun to feel the strain of each other’s uninterrupted company. Then Jack realised that the next man through the door was to be the local Vicar.
Since Jack had no right to designs in her direction, Mr Thoroughgood could not really be considered a rival for Lucy’s affection. All the same, he felt a slow burning jealousy at the man’s pale good looks and perfect manners. There was something a little pompous in the way he went directly to Lucy, favouring her with a deep and respectful bow and enquiring after her health. Then he offered any assistance she might require in the settling of the guests, reminding her that he was ever at her service. His confident smile and quiet voice were exactly the traits that would win her brother’s approval when the offer finally came. Mr Thoroughgood would be the perfect husband.
For most young ladies, at least.
Jack’s insides clenched. He wished he were back on the battlefield. There he could strike out against this interloper, removing him from the field with a single blow. This was not the man for Lucy. Not for his Lucy. She needed someone with spirit, someone who could make her laugh, hard and often. Someone who could make her happy.
The Vicar was not that man. But then, neither was he. Jack was the last man on earth to give a woman a joyful future. So he turned away from her, just as he had once before, and went to find his room.
Once all the guests had arrived, the crowd adjourned to the parlour, where a buffet of sweets awaited to refresh them after their journeys. Lucy had arranged for an enormous silver bowl to be filled with Regent’s punch and set trays of mulled wine and eggnog beside it. Next to those were heaps of mince pies, thickly sliced cakes and enough nuts and oranges to satisfy even the greediest child.
She watched the happy people around her with numb satisfaction, wishing that she could enjoy it even a tenth as much as they did. She pretended to smile in response to William Thoroughgood’s prattling, nodding in time to it without paying much attention. But though she should be ignoring him, her eyes followed Jack Gascoyne around the room, observing as he made polite conversation with the other guests.
She could still feel the flush of anger in her face from Jack’s greetings for her, though she had assured William that her colouring was caused by the heat of the fire. She was a sister now, was she? He had chosen to forget the best night of her life and act as if she was simply a childhood friend. She had held that night in her heart and mind like a diamond to be treasured. It had helped her get through the lonely years he’d been gone and kept the hope alive that he might still return to her.
But it had meant nothing to him. The diamond had been glass all along.
There was no point in revealing it to him or showing him the hurt he had caused her. She could not announce in front of anyone else what the problem was, since such an indiscretion should never have happened at all. The truth would ruin her.
So she waited. Guests came and went and she greeted them, saw to their needs and had servants show them to their rooms.
The hours passed, the afternoon ended and the room was nearly empty, except for Millicent Forsythe, standing in a corner, looking rather lost as the last group of friends abandoned her to dress for dinner.
Before Fred could claim her again, Lucy went to her and held out her hands. ‘You must be tired, Miss Forsythe. Do not be afraid to treat our home as your own. No matter what happens, you will always be welcome here, just as Jack is.’ She had meant to give a warm greeting to her future sister, but the result had sounded dire, as if she was expecting a disaster.
Now Millicent was staring at her, obviously puzzled, and looking far too miserable for a woman who was weeks away from her wedding. ‘Nothing has happened,’ she said firmly. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Of course not,’ Lucy responded, feeling like a fool for infecting the girl with her own dark mood. ‘Your room is at the end of the hall on the first floor. My brother is in the entrance hall. I am sure he will help you find your way, should you ask him.’
Millicent gave her a nervous smile. ‘He should not even know the location of my