Christmas With His Wallflower Wife. Janice Preston
Honeybee, and how are you today?’
Honeybee…the affectionate nickname he had given her when, as a child, she was for ever buzzing around, like a bee around a flower. He sauntered over to the table and picked up one of the lilies still to be placed in the vases.
‘I am well, thank you, Alex. You…you’ve been gone a long time.’
‘Oh, I got the licence, all right and tight, if that’s been plaguing you,’ he said. ‘But I must ask you—’
His jaw snapped shut as the Duke and Duchess came into the hall together and Jane’s heart sank, knowing Alex wouldn’t continue with his father present.
‘Alex. You’re back,’ said the Duke.
‘As you see.’ Alex replaced the lily on the table, its petals now mangled, and withdrew a document from his pocket. ‘With the licence.’
‘So, you still wish to proceed?’
‘Of course!’ Alex took Jane’s hand. ‘As long as you aren’t about to back out on me, Janey?’
She shook her head. Alex grinned, only slightly settling her nerves. She couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was going on inside his head.
‘We’ll leave you in peace.’ The Duchess linked her arm through her husband’s and they disappeared into the drawing room.
‘Sorry about that flower.’ Alex nudged the stem of the lily he had destroyed. ‘Shall I go and cut you another?’
‘No. We already had more than sufficient. But thank you.’
He grinned again, flicked her nose and headed for the staircase. ‘I must change my coat and boots. I’ll see you later, Janey.’
‘What was it you wanted to ask me, Alex? Before your father came in?’
He paused, then turned back to her. ‘I just wanted to know if you have everything you need.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
She doubted that had been his original question. She watched him bound up the stairs, hope and dread warring in her breast as she wondered what their future held.
Alex stood in the local church the next morning at eleven, waiting for his bride. He stared at the floor, Dominic by his side, still torn by what was about to happen. Every time his doubts had edged him close to backing out of this marriage, his father had said something that made him leap straight back into those slowly closing leg shackles. And besides…there was Jane to think about. Now she’d been compromised—and the whispers had already started—she must marry someone and quickly. And Alex could not condemn her to marriage with a stranger. That same boyhood instinct to protect her that had spurred him into that rash proposal made sure of that.
‘This takes me back,’ Dominic whispered. ‘Waiting at the altar, fretting that Liberty might not show up, but mark my words…’ he gripped Alex’s shoulder, and squeezed it ‘…all your worry will fly away as soon as you set eyes on her.’
Except Dominic married Liberty for love.
Alex half-turned, eyeing the members of his family, sitting in the pews, waiting to witness his marriage to his childhood friend. The only one missing was Olivia, who was attending the bride. Lord Hugo Alastair, her husband, had his hands full coping with their two-year-old twins, Julius and Daisy, helped by Liberty. Alex’s father and stepmother were there, with three-year-old Christabel and two-year-old Sebastian—his young half-sister and half-brother—and Susie, their adopted daughter. Further back were Uncle Vernon and Aunt Thea, with their three—Thomas, four, Sophie, two, and one-year-old George—and Aunt Cecily and Zach with three-year-old Florence.
Every one of them had married for love. But Alex, yet again, would be different.
Apart. Alone. Always the outsider.
Except you’ll never be alone again. You’ll have Jane.
And a whisper of…was that hope?…stirred in his heart. He forced down the doubts that clogged his throat, longing for that whisper of hope to be true.
The organ music changed and Alex turned to watch his bride walk up the aisle. Another lump filled his throat…not doubts this time, but concern. She looked desperately uncertain. A wave of protectiveness washed through him. Filled him. She was his responsibility now…her happiness depended on him and he would do all he could to stop her regretting their marriage.
Her gown was beautiful: peach-coloured silk that hugged her slim figure and complemented her mass of shiny conker-brown hair, held back with combs and interwoven with delicate white jasmine flowers, leaving loose tresses to wave down her back—and it was almost as though he were looking at her for the first time, which was absurd because he’d known her for ever. She was two years younger than him, his neighbour and his childhood playmate…he’d known her all her life. Taught her to ride. Led her into plenty of scrapes. And yet, here…now…he seemed to really see her. As his friend, Jane, yes…but also as a woman. An attractive woman. Not beautiful, maybe, but her figure was…mouth-watering.
And then all thought and conjecture ceased because she had reached his side and he turned to face the Reverend Padstow, his bride by his side, her sleeve brushing his.
Afterwards, he endured the congratulations and the backslapping outside the church, plastering a smile on his face. He felt like public property. This day couldn’t be over soon enough for him. But he kept Jane close by his side, his hand resting at the small of her back. She was part of him now. They were a partnership. She was his wife. And when her father, stepmother and half-sisters approached and he felt her tense, he slid his arm around her waist and held her even closer.
‘Well, Jane. This is a happy day indeed.’ Lord Stowford thrust out his hand. ‘You are a very welcome addition to our family, Alexander. You must visit us whenever you choose.’
Alex ignored the hand and inclined his head. ‘I rarely visit Devonshire these days, sir, so you need not fear we will darken your doorstop with any regularity.’
We’ll visit you over my dead body.
But it was his wedding day. He was the bridegroom. He must be polite to the guests, even when every nerve in his body craved solitude.
He nodded coolly at Lady Stowford and her daughters, and said to Jane, ‘Come, my dear. Our wedding breakfast awaits and our guests must be hungry.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered as they walked to the carriage waiting to drive them back to the Abbey. Alex handed Jane in and then collapsed on to the seat beside her, shutting his eyes.
‘Are you finding this very trying, Alex?’
He cranked his eyelids open to find her watching him, her eyes filled with concern. They were lovely eyes, now he came to study them properly. Warm brown and thickly lashed and full not only of concern, but of kindness and understanding. And wasn’t that typical of Jane? All her worry was for him. Even on her wedding day.
‘A bit,’ he replied.
He straightened. They would be home shortly…except he never thought of it as home any more. Foxbourne was his home now and had been for close on five years. His father had bought the estate, together with its breeding stock, five years before. Alex moved in later that year and, two years later—once he proved he could be trusted to run the place—his father signed it over to him. He loved Foxbourne and he couldn’t wait to return. To go home.
He laid his hand against Jane’s cheek, registering the softness of her skin.
‘Shall you object if we leave here tomorrow? I cannot wait to show you Foxbourne Manor, although I fear it lacks