Snowbound Surrender. Louise Allen

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      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 room. We are not yet married.’ Then she gave a single, apprehensive glance in the direction of her fiancé.

      Lucy knew from experience that it was possible to get into a surprising amount of trouble without ever leaving the ground floor. ‘I am sure he can guess it,’ Lucy replied. ‘He has lived here his whole life. But if he gets lost, he can knock on doors until he finds your maid.’

      ‘But if I go, you shall be alone with Major Gascoyne,’ the girl said, blinking. ‘Do you wish me to find someone to chaperon you?’

      Lucy gritted her teeth and pressed her palms flat against her bombazine skirt. ‘Chaperons are not necessary. I do not flatter myself to think his mind would turn in that direction over me.’ She looked across the room to where Jack stood, looking out of the window at the snow which was battering the windowpanes. ‘As he said before, apparently, Major Gascoyne is like a brother to me.’ Before Millicent could question her further, she gave the girl a gentle shove in the direction of Fred.

      When her brother saw his beloved, his face lit up with a smile brighter than a ballroom chandelier. The sight was all it took to make Miss Forsythe evaporate like hoarfrost, leaving Lucy alone with Jack.

      As she looked over at him, the years seemed to drop away, revealing the boy she had fallen in love with. His shoulders were broader, perhaps, his legs muscled from riding and his features had lost their boyish softness. But other than a thin scar on his chin, he was physically unmarked by the war. His eyes were the same clear grey, though more sombre than they used to be, and his chestnut-brown hair was shorter and cut in the style of a man who did not have time to bother with fashion.

      ‘Let us drop the pretence,’ Jack said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Miss Forsythe was correct. We should not be alone together.’ He had obviously been eavesdropping.

      ‘I do not see why not,’ she replied. ‘You have not bothered to speak to me since that hypocritical greeting when you arrived.’

      He crossed the room and glanced down the hall to make sure that Fred and Millicent had gone upstairs before wheeling on her with a stern frown. ‘You know perfectly well how risky this is. Have a care for your reputation.’

      ‘I suppose I should mind my honour, since you never did,’ she said, then spoiled it by pushing past him to close the parlour door, leaving them shut in together. As there had been the last time they were together, there was a kissing bough hanging in the doorway. That year, it had been an elegant arrangement of ivy, mistletoe, apples and ribbons, that she had made with the express purpose of trapping Jack Gascoyne in a kiss.

      It had grown less involved with each year he had been gone and she had come to dread the preparation of it, not wanting to think about kissing him or anyone else. This year, despite the fact that her house was full of company, there was but a single red ribbon holding a sprig of mistletoe, the berries of which could be numbered on her fingers.

      He turned slowly to face her and waited to see if she would speak again, giving no indication that he had noticed her anger. Then, at last, he said, almost to himself, ‘I should not have come here. But I could not refuse your brother’s invitation without a reason.’

      ‘Without a reason?’ She resisted the temptation to shriek like the mad old maid her brother was afraid she had become. ‘What happened between us before you went away is reason enough for you to avoid this house.’

      ‘Some would say it was reason to come back,’ he corrected.

      ‘If you had returned earlier, perhaps I would believe you,’ she snapped. ‘But to appear after six months in England, only to call me a sister?’

      He shrugged. ‘You made no effort to contact me, in all the time I was gone.’

      ‘Because СКАЧАТЬ