“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I think we can?—”
“It’s a good name. Jane.”
“I suppose. Now, if I could…”
Morgan studied her, head tilted slightly to one side, eyes narrowed a fraction.
Finding herself the object of his intense interest once again, Jane sighed and asked somewhat impatiently, “What is it?”
Morgan would not be hurried. He continued to regard her thoughtfully. “I’m trying to decide if it suits you.”
“Does it really matter? It is my name. It is the one you will have to use if you hope to attract my attention. As you said, it is a good name.”
“Plain,” he said.
“Yes. Which is precisely why it suits. Now, if you would allow?—”
“You believe that, don’t you? Plain Jane.”
Jane said nothing.
Morgan’s eyebrows lifted, and he made a sound at the back of his throat that could be interpreted as skepticism or satisfaction. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”
Jane’s lips parted before she realized her mind had gone perfectly blank. She blinked, and then recovered enough to give Morgan an accusing look. “I have quite forgotten.”
He shrugged. “That happens.”
“Not to me,” she said. “Not until now.”
“Could be a consequence of you being so tired. I noticed your eyelids were drooping back at the saloon.” He held his hat in front of him like an offering plate. “That’s why I collected my things. I’m taking them to the bedroom next door. I’ll sleep there. I expect the bed is comfortable enough. That will give you some time to accustom yourself to whatever it is a bride accustoms herself to. It’s new days, Jane.”
Jane remained perfectly still in spite of the fact that she thought her knees might buckle. All the anxiety she had harbored about sharing his bed had been for naught. He did not want her. She was going to sleep alone on her wedding night. Jane was sure she did not know how she was supposed to feel about that. Relieved? Worried? Frustrated? Offended? It seemed that she experienced all of those things but none so profoundly as unsettled.
Morgan had explained his thinking in a manner that made it seem he was acting out of consideration for her, but it was Jane’s experience that such consideration could mask contempt. She was afraid to trust it. Plain Jane. He had said the words aloud, the ones that had struck at her heart since childhood, the ones that she thought she had accepted, even embraced with the fierceness of ownership.
Cousin Alex liked to tease her that she imagined herself as that other Jane, the Gothic novel heroine who found love with the equally unappealing, but infinitely more tortured, Mr. Rochester. Jane found it best not to respond to Alex’s sardonic remarks, especially when it was liquor that pickled his wit, but there were times she had wondered if there might not be some element of truth in his observations. It was not necessarily uncomfortable to be Plain Jane. Acceptance merely hinged on reduced expectations; not for herself, but for how others regarded her.
Now that he had met her, married her, Morgan Longstreet had reduced expectations. She suspected he was trying to come to terms with them. Jane could appreciate that. She did not make the mistake of supposing he was Mr. Rochester. No doubt he required time alone to master his disappointment.
To stop fiddling with the fabric of her skirt, Jane folded her hands in front of her. “It is new days,” she said quietly. “I am not averse to sharing the top of the dresser with you. I think we might manage to find room for your things and mine. I think you will agree it is a beginning. Sharing. One of the things I expect a bride—and her husband—must accustom themselves to. The bed can wait, if you think that best, but perhaps we should learn to dance in each other’s space.”
“You want me to keep my things in here?”
“I want you to do as you wish. I am merely saying I do not mind if you keep your things here.”
Morgan cradled the crown of his hat in one hand while he raked his hair with the other. He scratched behind his ear. “I’m feeling my way here.”
“So am I.”
“I didn’t expect you to be so accommodating.”
“Compromising.”
“If there’s a difference there, I’m not grasping it.” He held up a hand when Jane would have explained. “It’s all right. I don’t need to learn about it now.” He carefully turned over the Stetson so the objects he collected began to spill out. He arranged them on the left side of the dresser top. “Will that do for you?”
“It will do fine.”
He nodded. “Do you want to use the washroom first? That’s what you meant by learning to dance in each other’s space, isn’t it?”
