Christmas With His Wallflower Wife. Janice Preston

      Except they didn’t. First there was breakfast and the goodbyes to the family, who all gathered to wave them off, amid hugs and kisses and promises to see them again soon. Jane’s father was the sole member of her family to come and say goodbye, bringing with him Jane’s beloved satinwood sewing box which had somehow been missed out of her trunk. He put his arms around her and hugged her close. ‘I shall miss you, Jane.’

      Jane hugged him back. ‘I shall miss you, too, Papa.’

      The exchange brought hot tears to her eyes and she ducked her head to hide her emotion, conscious Alex had completed his farewells and waited now to hand her into the carriage. ‘Goodbye, Papa. You will write to me, won’t you?’

      ‘Of course I will, Jane.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Hurry along now. You’ve a long way to travel. God speed.’

      To give the newlyweds some privacy the Duke provided an additional carriage, for Drabble and Peg and the luggage and, as soon as they set off on the journey home to Buckinghamshire, Alex settled back into a corner, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

      ‘You don’t mind, do you, Janey? I’m tired as a dog.’

      What could she say?

      She had saved her questions for later, but Alex, it seemed, always had a plausible excuse for not delving too deep into the subject of his nightmares. But she knew they still plagued him, even though he reserved separate bedchambers at the inns they stayed in during their four-day journey. On the first night, when she heard him cry out, she went to his room only to find Drabble already there, tending to Alex.

      ‘There is nothing you can do, milady,’ Drabble had whispered as he ushered her away from the door. ‘I am used to tending to him.’

      Drabble had been with Alex for years and, before that, he was a footman in the Duke’s household, since before Alex was born. If anyone knew what demons stalked Alex in his dreams, it was Drabble. All Jane could do was bide her time, until they reached Foxbourne Manor. And even on that—surely innocuous—subject, Alex was less than forthcoming. He fobbed off her questions about her new home, simply telling her to ‘wait and see’.

      The only subject he willingly discussed was his horses and, as it was a shared interest, they whiled away the journey by talking about how Jane could help by schooling some of the Foxbourne youngsters to side-saddle, to make perfect ladies’ mounts. She was grateful for the distraction. Periods of silence inevitably resulted in Pikeford creeping into her brain and fear worming its way through her veins. She battled the memory with quiet determination. She refused to become a woman who trembled at shadows just as she had never allowed her stepmother to destroy her spirit.

      Finally, the carriage turned through a wide entrance flanked by massive stone pillars, topped with eagles cast in iron. They followed a carriageway that passed through ancient woodland, in which Jane identified beech, elm and ash trees, before emerging into sunlight and continuing through parkland, much of it divided into paddocks in which horses grazed. Then the carriageway swept to the right and Jane caught her first glimpse of Foxbourne Manor, her new home. Her heart swelled with joy as she took in the many gabled, russet-bricked Tudor manor house, visible over a neatly clipped hedge. Sunlight reflected off the diamond-paned windows of the upper floor and, as the carriage drew to a halt before the front door, Jane turned to Alex in delight.

      ‘I had no idea Foxbourne would be so beautiful! It looks steeped in history. I cannot wait to explore.’

      He grinned at her reaction and hugged her. Other than kissing her—often very thoroughly—he’d barely touched her since their wedding night, telling her he would rather wait until they were home to try again, rather than consummate their marriage in a bed where who knew how many others had slept in the past. She had understood his logic, but the delay had done nothing to quell her nerves whenever she thought about the intimacies to come. She had found pleasure in his touch, but she couldn’t help but be afraid she would freeze again if he touched her between her legs. Yet he must if she was ever to put what happened behind her. She was desperate not to ruin the experience for both of them and strove to hide her increasing fears about the night to come.

      ‘I knew you’d like it, that’s why I didn’t tell you much,’ Alex said. ‘I wanted to see your face when you first saw it. I remember you always loved exploring the Abbey and complained Stowford Place was modern and boring and lacking in character. I only hope you won’t find Foxbourne too old-fashioned, though…it still has much of the original wood panelling and dark beams in some of the ceilings. Or too small. It has only six bedrooms plus a nursery suite—nothing like the size of the Abbey or Stowford.’

      That mention of the nursery suite sent hot and cold flushes rolling in waves through Jane. She wanted children, which meant she must overcome her fear and put aside her distaste for what Pikeford had attempted to do. She loved Alex. He had already proved she could trust him and that he understood how difficult it was for her. He, of anyone, knew how memories of the past could rear up at any time and cast ominous shadows over the present. At least his memories of the past were contained, only visiting him in his sleep—proof, surely, it was possible to suppress horrific events with determination.

      This—marriage to Alex Beauchamp—was her dream come true, even though she would have preferred to win him in a more conventional way. And she would make him happy. Maybe he would never love her, but she had enough love for both of them.

      Jane loved everything about Foxbourne Manor, from the minute she walked ahead of Alex into the spacious hall with its gleaming panelling and wooden staircase that rose to a half landing before turning back on itself. Alex had sent word of his nuptials to the Kents, who looked after the house, instructing them to hire in local help to prepare for their arrival, and the house had been cleaned and polished from top to bottom until it gleamed. It was dark, but not a gloomy darkness—it had the warm, glowing richness of well-cared-for and well-loved wood.