“Provided she’ll have me.”
“Yes. There is that,” Henry agreed. “But you’re titled, young, handsome. She already knows you and…she wasn’t impressed with the selection she was presented with during her seasons.”
“In other words, I am the last resort.”
Henry grinned. “Precisely so, old chap.”
It was impossible not to find some sort of humor in all of this. Edward shook his head with a sigh and chuckled. “Perfect.”
Jane Stuart swiped a stray lock of hair from her forehead and gave the dough a final kneed before shaping it into a ball.
"There," she told Cook, who was putting the final touches on a pork roast for that evening's meal. "That should do it."
Cook raised her gaze to Jane with a smile. "Feeling better?"
"Indeed I am." Jane placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a dish towel so it could rise.
It was no secret that she liked to throw herself into baking when she was upset or frustrated. It helped her work through all that rioting energy in a constructive way, though it went against every grain of Society. Gentlemen's daughters did not do chores. Instead, they busied themselves with ladylike pursuits such as needlepoint, painting, or music. Tasks she'd likely murder in her current state of turmoil.
No, punching away at a pliable blob was without doubt the best course of action and distraction from her agitated nerves. Plus, she now had freshly baked buns to look forward to for her afternoon tea.
Still, her stomach managed to turn itself inside out all over again when she entered the foyer from the servants’ stairs a few moments later. The front door stood open, allowing a glimpse of a carriage. Voices sounded, and then she spotted her brother.
For the briefest moment Jane relaxed as happiness spiraled through her. She started forward and stopped, her breath catching in her throat as soon as she saw him. Edward Reeves, the bane of her existence, was somehow taller, more handsome, and far more striking than she recalled. Her poor heart gave a small shiver of undeniable pleasure at seeing him again after so long.
But since she’d no desire to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d always be the only man for her, she forced her gaze back to Henry with sharp deliberation. Because if there was one thing Edward Reeves did not need, it was a bigger head than the one he already had. Least of all when she knew him to be the sort of man who flirted with anything in a skirt without it meaning a thing. He simply enjoyed it – it was part of his charm, in a way – though it had broken her heart.
“Jane.” Henry spread his arms wide and welcomed her into a tight embrace.
She hugged him back while pressing her cheek to the cool exterior of his greatcoat, chilled on account of the frosty air.
Leaning back, Jane smiled at her beloved brother. “It is so good to see you again, Henry.”
“And me?” Edward asked with a curious mixture of characteristic humor and what seemed like genuine interest.
She glanced at him while stepping away from her brother, and was instantly snared by Edward’s dark gaze. Her pulse leapt and she found herself struggling to maintain her calm. Raising her chin, she told him, “Well, it is Christmas.”
A brief frown creased his brow before he cast aside all hints of pensiveness with a laugh. “Right you are, Jane. And I look forward to spending it here with you and your family.”
An unbidden warmth took root within her at those words. She did her best to rid herself of the unwelcome feeling so she’d not be spellbound by Edward’s charm once again. For the way he’d spoken had made it sound as though he’d come for her sake alone, and this was not the sort of thing she could let herself believe. Not this time.
“Ah,” came Mama’s voice. “I thought I heard voices.”
Jane turned to find both her parents approaching from the parlor. She moved to one side so Henry could greet them properly, which left her standing uncomfortably alone with Edward. Perhaps if she ignored him…
“Why do you have flour on your cheek?” he murmured while Henry embraced his mother. “And your hair in disarray?”
Horrified, Jane swiped at her cheek with one hand while trying to smooth her hair with the other. Meanwhile, she glared at Edward. “I was obviously in the kitchen. Baking.”
Mischief pulled at his lips. He chuckled. “And yet you try to pretend you’re unaffected by my arrival.”
Jane pulled air into her lungs and fisted her hands at her sides. “You are…”
When he raised an eyebrow in challenge, she gritted her teeth. If only she could deny the truth of his words, or somehow swipe that arrogant smirk off his face. Irritated by the effect he still had on her, she walked away, intent on waiting for her dough to rise somewhere else while contemplating a fresh batch of biscuits she’d like to make.
"You're avoiding me," Edward remarked a couple of days later when he encountered Jane in the library. Tucked away in a window seat obscured by a cabinet, she'd been looking out at the gardens as if lost in thought until he'd spoken.
A frown creased her brow as she shifted her gaze toward him. "Or maybe, seeing as we've seen each other for every meal, my desire to be alone has nothing to do with you. Maybe I simply wish to escape all the busy preparations for the Christmas Eve ball."
Edward knew better, but decided not to argue. Instead, he opened the book he'd brought with him and picked up the bookmark made from pressed autumn leaves glued to heavy stock card with shiny lacquer. "Remember this?"
Her eyes widened with surprise. "Of course. I made it when you were last here. I can’t believe you still have it."
“No?”
He crossed to a nearby chair and sat, relaxing into the plush seat with one leg crossed over the other. Jane narrowed her gaze as if unhappy with his intention to stay. An answering ache shrouded his heart. Her wariness of him and his intentions was to be expected. He’d not approached his desire to court her in the right way the last time he’d been here. Arrogantly, he’d addressed her in the same blasé manner he used with every woman he flirted with, and clearly, Jane had believed all he wanted from her was a meaningless dalliance. He had to do better.
Deliberately holding her gaze Edward told her, “This bookmark is one of my most prized possessions. Along with the embroidered handkerchief you once gifted me.”
She made a small huff while crossing her arms. “That was at least five years ago, possibly more.”
“Yet here it is,” he murmured, retrieving the neatly folded piece of white linen from his jacket’s breast pocket. A messy collection of colorful threads decorated one corner.
“Good grief,” Jane murmured. “I dare say it’s a good thing I gave up on needlework after I made that.”
Warmth spread through Edward’s veins. There was something extra perfect about the imperfection in the piece – a glimpse of the girl he’d gradually fallen in love with later. “I never could figure out if this was a duckling, a daffodil, or something else entirely. And I didn’t want to ask you for fear of hurting your feelings.”
She angled her head while regarding him with deep curiosity, only to blink and shutter the emotion beneath a mask of inscrutability. “Mama was asking what to get you for Christmas and now I know. Clearly you are in need of new handkerchiefs.”