You are under no obligation to me now or in the future.
Lowering the paper on a breath, he turned to the stairs and scrubbed a hand over his face. He understood too clearly. No child . . . No Jane . . . Nothing.
His life was what it had always been. What he’d made of it. He had employment, coin in his pocket, and a roof over his head. It was all a man could want.
So then why wasn’t it enough for him any longer?
“What about the book?” he asked, knowing how much it meant to her.
Miss Parrish huffed and said, “It’s up to me to finish, now. Jane must keep her name from being associated with it because of all the talk of her ruination.”
He whirled around. “What?”
“Do not pretend that you care. You had to have heard of the things Baron Ruthersby said, and yet you did nothing. If I had the power, I’d wish the plague on you.”
Raven hadn’t heard. He’d been blocking out every comment and every whisper in an effort to return to his old life. But there was nothing to return to. Nothing left for him without Jane.
He’d been an idiot not to have seen it before.
“Miss Parrish, I have a favor to ask of you.”
And then, he was going to have a little chat with Ruthersby.
Chapter 36
Jane awoke to the sound of Theodora giggling in the corridor, and light flooding in from below her bedchamber door. Checking the clock on the mantel, she saw that it was not quite seven o’clock in the morning. Exhausted but curious, she slipped out of bed and shrugged into her wrapper to investigate.
Opening the door, she saw the wall sconces were lit all along the corridor, adorned with evergreen and sprigs of holly. Strange. She hadn’t noticed these decorations last night.
Stepping further into the hall, she saw her cherub-faced little sister being lovingly mauled by a little ball of white-and-brown fluff. “The puppy is kissing me, Jane.”
“I see that. But where did you find . . .” Her question trailed off as she saw another ball of fluff gambol down the corridor.
This time, Peter followed—sans clothing, of course—and pointing. “Bird.”
“You’re not supposed to be upstairs yet,” a whispered voice said.
“Ellie? Whatever are you doing here at this time of morning?”
Her friend froze in midstride before she could reach Peter and the puppy. “Um . . . Jane, why are you not still asleep?”
“I believe I posed my question first.”
Ellie looked over her shoulder fretfully and then back to her. “Would it be too much to ask for you to pretend that you’re sleepwalking and simply turn back around?”
“It’s no use, Miss Parrish.” The words were said in an all-too-familiar deep growl, as Raven slowly ascended the stairs like a figure out of a dream. “I knew it would be futile to attempt to surprise someone as clever as Jane.”
He stopped abruptly when he saw her, his gaze holding hers.
Neither of them was breathing. But she could feel her pulse hammering at her throat, and see his doing the same above a silver cravat. His frost-colored eyes heated as he took her in from head to toe, drawing out a twinge of longing from her heart.
She steeled herself against it and tied her frilly wrapper shut. “Why are you here?”
“To wish you a happy Christmas,” he said softly.
“Christmas isn’t for five more days.” She knew this because she was leaving for America in four.
He shook his head and began to walk toward her, the air seeming to crackle between them. The closer he came, the more her skin tingled and yearned.
So she took a step back and held up her hand to stay him, all the while feeling the sting of tears prick the corners of her eyes.
He stopped, his brow knitting together. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. It was only when he drew it away that she noticed the weary exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“Jane,” he whispered, the single syllable spoken with raw agony. “Don’t send me away. Not yet. Come downstairs with me, first, and see what all the children have done.”
He held out his hand. She was helpless to resist.
A static jolt stole beneath her skin when their fingers clasped, curling into each other with achingly tender familiarity. Her breaths came out, stilted and shallow. She moved beside him, trying not to absorb too much too fast.
Perhaps Ellie was right and she was sleepwalking. These days had been nothing more than a cold fog surrounding her. Surely this couldn’t be real.
She turned to her friend as she passed her at the top of the stairs and whispered, “Pinch me, quick.”
Ellie smiled and obliged her. And on her other side, Jane felt Raven relax marginally.
The stairway was woven with evergreen garland and dark red ribbons. The main hall glowed with bright golden light as Theodore and Graham, home from school, were assisting Henry with lighting beeswax tapers by the dozens. Phillipa and Charles were hanging paper snowflakes. But most surprising of all was Mr. Miggins trying to wrangle a tumble of puppies into a shawl-lined basket.
“What is all this?” she asked in wonderment, turning around in a circle.
A hesitant smile curled the corners of Raven’s mouth. “As I said, we’re celebrating Christmas today. And the cook is mixing the batter right now for a fortune-telling cake for your birthday.”
“My birthday is in June,” she said, perplexed.
“I know. Ellie told me,” he confessed, shifting from one foot to the other as if nervous. “I wanted you to celebrate these special days with your siblings, so that you’ll have a memory to take with you.”
“Oh,” she said, dejected. He must have heard the news from Ellie about her parents sending her away. Those blasted tears threatened again. “I don’t know why you would bother. You and I have bid our farewells.”
“I’m making a muck of this,” he said, chagrined. Then he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You were supposed to be asleep for another hour, then it would all be clear. Charles,” he called out across the hall. “Did you take that pouch to the cook, yet.”
Her brother smacked his palm to his forehead, then he trotted over and gave the small leather sack to Raven. “Blast! I knew I was forgetting something. Apologies. Got caught up in watching the twins make snow outside with your new contraption. Too bad it’s all melting. But it makes a great snowball . . . while it lasts.”
Jane looked toward the windows to the side garden just as Sebastian and Tristram strolled in through the door, pushing a familiar wooden box, while wet globs of snow dripped from their heads.
She looked to Raven. “You put wheels on my snowflake maker? That was quite clever of you.”
He shrugged. “It was your design. But this,” he said, placing the pouch in her open hands, “was going to make everything clear. At least, as soon as you had your cake. You see, there was going to be one of these in every slice.”
He untied the drawstring.
A swirling ribbon of hope filled Jane. Then she looked down and . . . frowned.
“You were going to put buttons in every slice?”
“What—” He glanced down, his mouth set in a grim line, just as the twins started snickering. He growled. “Sebastian. Tristram. I can just as easily take away that new toboggan.”