Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she spun away from him and stalked toward the library doors. When she reached them, she turned back and pointed at him. “You think long and hard about this, and make the right decision based on the facts, not on your wounded pride.” With that, she strode out, slamming the door behind her.
He stared at the dark panels, in shock at his aunt’s outburst. She always controlled her emotions. He’d only seen her like that once before. It had been the day she’d arrived at Burhleigh Park and found out his father had left to live apart from himandthe memories he stirred because he looked so much like his mother. Their butler took the brunt of her tirade that day, but to his credit remained, in full agreement.
Both his parents had abandoned him. His mother first, risking her life to voyage back to America to see her family, only to drown, taking his sister with her. Then his father, who couldn’t stand to live with him and passed three years later. They said he’d died of a broken heart. It was that notion that had him looking for a wife who would fulfill the duties of a duchess and be a pleasant companion, nothing more.
Joanna had abandoned him, too. But she was still alive and her reason for doing so made sense now. But what he felt for her, if he were honest, was far more than simply pleasant. Unexpectedly, his feelings for her had grown deep, deeper than he ever wanted to feel, stronger than anything he’d felt before. That scared him.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee and grasping it. Was this how his father had felt for his mother? That unnerved him. He searched his mind for memories of his parents together before his mother left on her fateful voyage. It seemed as if his memories started that day. The day she took his sister but wouldn’t take him.
Dropping his foot to the floor, he stood. His instinct told him he needed to remember. He needed to know if he were to make the right decision now. Strolling across the room, he stopped in front of the bay windows. The cold morning with the sun peaking in and out of the clouds gave the limited greenery a cold shimmer. It reminded him of his first snowfall. There had only been a light dusting, but he found the sight wonderous and insisted on going outside.
His heart filled with aching warmth as the memory of his mother buttoning his coat filled his head. He closed his eyes and breathed in, almost smelling her light vanilla scent. She’d smiled at him, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement. When she finished, she kissed him on the nose, and rose to don her coat as well. She couldn’t button it because her stomach had grown so large. She was expecting.
She took his hand and they stopped at his father’s study where she opened the door and told his father they were going to play in the snow. His father had frowned, warning her to take care. She’d laughed.
He opened his eyes as her laughter filled his head. He’d forgotten her laughter. It always made him happy. They’d gone outside and within minutes his father had joined them. He had been smiling as he approached them while they tried to catch the snowflakes on their tongues.
Sinking into the closest chair, he concentrated, holding the memory close. He’d forgotten the man could smile. His father watched them for a moment before a low growl came from low in his throat and he wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her.
Stunned at the images floating through his mind, he tried to analyze them, but the memories started to assail him. His mother looking up from a book she read to him as his father walked into the parlor. His father’s gaze filled with love, not shuttering the emotion when his mother looked up at his entrance. His parents walking hand in hand in the gardens at Burhleigh Park as he investigated a frog ahead of them, his sister skipping far ahead. The four of them sitting at the table having dinner together, his mother insisting her children be with them, her American ways, foreign but accepted by his father.
His heart pounded as buried feelings of childhood happiness filled him. He gripped the arms of the wingback chair as those memories dissipated under the onslaught of the usual ones. The next three babies had not made it and he felt his mother’s tiredness, though he didn’t understand it. His mother leaving to visit her family, taking his sister with her. She had struggled to live up to English standards. As a child, he didn’t understand why it mattered that their neighbors had thought her manners were poor and she had odd ways with him and his older sister. He also didn’t understand what she’d meant by the pressure to give his father another child. All he knew is she’d left him to visit her family in America and died in the crossing.
He never wanted to love like his father had. It was far too risky. But Joanna was not American. Nor did she care what others thought of her except to the extent it would affect her family. In fact, she had planned to purposefully challenge society in order to move it forward. She was far different from his mother.
As his logical side kicked in, he stood. All this time, he’d been following society’s dictates. He’d looked for, found, and courted a woman who would fit the role of duchess perfectly and not expect any deep emotion from him in return. While he’d been convinced of Joanna’s argument, he’d still continued on his course to marry Lady Caroline. He was a hypocrite!
He strode back to his desk. In his estimation, there was nothing worse for a well-read man to be than a hypocrite. He wanted to rail at himself, but that was a waste of time and emotion. Joanna’s unwillingness to believe him made far more sense now. She saw that he continued on his old path while professing to believe in women being equally educated. He’d not even considered her, who was the epitome of such a woman, as a wife. He’d been so blind to his own hypocrisy that he’d fallen in love with her despite it.
He stood before his desk, staring at his bookshelf. He’d returned all his books to their proper place, not allowing the staff in until he’d done so, and had closed in the space where the book she’d taken had been. It was as if he could close off his feelings for her, but he couldn’t. He loved her. He knew it now with far greater assuredness than he had denied it.
Walking around his desk, he pulled out a plain piece of paper. He needed to explain what happened, but first he needed to make things right. He dipped the quill in the ink and wrote:
Call on parents of students
Call on Lady Caroline and family
Go to booksellers for a special book as a gift
Call on Lady Joanna.
He set the quill back in the inkstand then reread his list. It made sense. The only task on it that made him uncomfortable being the last. Strengthening his resolve, he stood. His aunt was correct. No matter what he had to go through to have Joanna in his life again, he had to do it because he couldn’t imagine life now without her. Striding to the door, he opened it and bellowed. “Harrison, have my coach brought around.”
Chapter Twenty
James stood atthe window in the parlor. His aunt and cousin alighted from the coach and slowly made their way to the door. He turned expectantly, forcing himself to remain where he was and not rush out into the entry way. He stared at the closed doors of the room, willing them to open.
After fulfilling his list of tasks to win Joanna back, he’d visited Craymore Hall four times in the last week. Each time he’d been told she was not at home. It was obvious she didn’t want to see him, but how was he supposed to explain, if she wouldn’t see him? Finally, he enlisted the aid of his aunt and cousin, who were delighted to be of service.
The parlor doors opened, and his aunt stepped in.
“Well?” He couldn’t keep from taking a step forward. “Did she see you?”
His aunt gave a brief nod. “She did, but only if we promised not to talk about you.”
He turned away, not willing to let his aunt see how much that news hurt. He spoke over his shoulder. “But you were gone half the afternoon.”
His aunt’s chuckle had him turning back.
