“I see you’re still working with glass,” he said, looking down at her hand with all of its little wounds in various stages of healing.
“Yes.”She tugged it free, clasping it together with her other.“But the cuts don’t hurt.”
“You always said that.”
“I don’t want to talk to you, Rowan,” she said, surprised at her own rudeness.
“And why is that?”he wondered, having the gall to look hurt while her cousins drank in his every word.“We were so close when we were young.Why all of a sudden did you decide I am worse than a case of head lice?I’m aware that at a certain age girls are obligated to hate boys, but certainly you’ve long since outgrown that folly.”
How could he not know?“Do you not remember saying something that might have convinced me to keep my distance?”
“No.”He frowned, his gaze narrowing.“No.If I hurt your feelings, I apologize.But whatever could I have said?”
He didn’t remember?Her memory of that day was still powerful enough to instantly bring heat to her cheeks, but he didn’t even remember.
Splendid.Justperfect.
She could recall Rowan’s exact words, for they had been burned into her childish, love-addled brain.More than a decade ago, after his sister’s wedding, the women in Rowan’s family had been bantering about the future, blithely planning his wedding to—
“Jewel?”Young Rowan’s emerald eyes had widened in alarm.“I’m not going to marry Jewel!”
He’d gazed upon Jewel with such horror, she’d shrunk back.
She’d wanted to die.
She’d wished the earth would open up and swallow her.
Rowan’s newly married brother-in-law had aimed an indulgent smile down at him.“You’re only eleven.Wait till you’re older—”
“Never!I’m not going to marry Jewel!NEVER!”
Those words had haunted her for months.Years, even, for she’d spent much of her adolescence convinced she was unlovable.It had seemed that if the boy she loved—or thought she loved—could reject her in such a public and hurtful way, there had to be something wrong with her.
Whilst she had long since realized she was worthy of love, long since let go of the pain he had caused, she had never forgotten those words.
But apparently Rowan had.
The worst day of her childhood had meant less than nothing to him.
A bell rang, saving her from answering.“The holiday supper is about to begin,” she said stiffly, suspecting her face was as red as her gown.“I must take my seat.”
In a swish of crackling taffeta, she turned and made her way to the dining room, sensing him following behind her.
Twenty-Nine
Caithren
CAITHREN WASN’Thungry.
Not even for plum pudding (not that any had been served yet).
Jason still hadn’t shown up.Although she had a little of everything on the plate that sat before her, she felt too anxious to eat.She was sure she couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat.If Jason didn’t return soon, she didn’t know what she would do with herself.
Still and all, she couldn’t help noticing that Christmas Eve Supper was a veritable feast.
One of the advantages of taking turns hosting Christmas was the menu changed from year to year.Tonight’s table was laden with all of Violet’s family’s favorite holiday dishes: A colossal Christmas pie filled with turkey, chicken, and bacon swimming in butter; fish cooked in wine and butter; buttered cauliflower seasoned with cinnamon; buttered artichoke hearts seasoned with ginger; and a potato pudding swirled with butter, onions, and spices.Beside an enormous bowl of sallet, hot loaves of fresh white manchet bread sat on a board with a knife.
And a large crock of butter, of course.
