him. I merely tolerate him.’
‘Is that why he was sprawled across your lap last night when I arrived? He was fondling Romeo’s ears, Janey, and murmuring sweet nothings.’
‘Rubbish! I was doing nothing of the sort. I’ll see you both later.’
Alex watched Dominic stalk away, his mouth curved in a smile that managed to be both mischievous and satisfied at the same time, before switching his attention back to Jane. She tore her own gaze from his lips, that telltale heat building again in her cheeks.
‘How does it feel being back after all this time?’
Alex’s top lip curled. ‘Same as ever. I arrive and then I can’t wait to leave.’
‘You can’t mean that, Alex. It’s years since you’ve been home. And the entire family is here…surely you want to spend time with them?’
His eyes roamed across the crowd as Jane spoke and she noticed them pause as they reached his father, the Duke, his gaze turning wistful as it often did when he watched his father. She suspected he longed to have the same easy rapport Dominic had with their father, but that he simply did not know how to change—their relationship had been tetchy for as long as Jane had known him. That wistfulness didn’t last long. His expression soon hardened.
‘I do mean it. This is no longer my home. Foxbourne is. Let’s not talk about that, Janey. Tell me, how is Pippin?’
Jane’s throat tightened, aching at the mention of her beloved mare. ‘She died, Alex. Last year.’
Genuine shock and sympathy played across Alex’s features. ‘Last year? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘When would I tell you? You are never here and, in London…it’s not the same somehow.’
‘But… Oh, God, Janey. I’m sorry. What are you riding now?’
Horses had always been their shared passion and they were the love of Alex’s life. He bred and trained horses at Foxbourne Manor and had built a solid reputation for producing first-class riding and carriage horses.
‘Sandy.’
‘Sandy?’ Alex burst out laughing, but quickly sobered. He searched Jane’s expression, a frown knitting his brows. ‘I thought you were joking, but you’re not. How can a plod like old Sandy be a suitable mount for a rider of your quality?’
‘Papa said it’s not worth me having a new horse when Sandy is there doing nothing.’
‘Your father said that? Now I know you’re gammoning me—he’s always been so proud of your skill as a horsewoman. It was the old witch, wasn’t it? What is her game?’
Jane burned with humiliation. Her stepmother’s game was to make Jane’s life so intolerable she would view marriage to Sir Denzil as preferable. But she wouldn’t discuss such a subject with Alex of all people.
‘Shall I have a word with your papa, Janey? I’ve got a filly at Foxbourne that would be perfect for you… I’d give him a good price. Half what she’s worth.’
Alex hadn’t changed. He’d always been ready and willing to take up cudgels on Jane’s behalf whenever she was treated unfairly. To see that protective streak still in evidence infused her with a warm glow. She might not have Alex’s love, but he did care for her. With that, she must be content.
‘I would rather you said nothing, Alex. He’ll only tell Stepmama and you know how cross she’ll be if she thinks I’ve been complaining about my lot. It’s not worth the upset, but I do appreciate the offer.’
‘You’re too forgiving, Janey. I’ve always said so. Look at the number of times you’ve forgiven me!’ He winked at her and they both smiled at the shared memories. ‘But I’ll not say anything if you prefer me not to. Now, I really ought to mingle. Not that I want to, but I did promise Aunt Cecily and my stepmother I would be sociable.’ Alex’s father had remarried five years before. ‘I’ll see you later, I expect.’
Off he strode, leaving Jane deflated and with a headache pinching her forehead. She rubbed it absently. The thought of joining one of the loudly chattering groups clustered around the lawn held little appeal. Stepmama was talking to Sir Denzil Pikeford and Jane turned away before Stepmama could wave her over. She really couldn’t face that bore with her emotions in such a raw state.
She slipped through a gate into the apple orchard next to the lawn and on into the copse beyond, on the far side of which was the Abbey lake where, it was said, the monks used to raise fish to supplement their diet. The fresher air by the water would hopefully help her headache. And no one would miss her.
Tension gripped Alex as he made polite conversation with his father’s guests. He didn’t belong here. Even in this crowd, even among his family, he felt alone. Separate. For ever the outsider.
He hadn’t been back to the Abbey since Olivia’s wedding and was only here now because it was the first time in over four years the entire Beauchamp family had all been together under one roof. The rest had been here a month already and he had only finally agreed to attend the annual Abbey garden party because Dominic threatened to drive up to Foxbourne to fetch him. He’d arrived yesterday and fully intended to leave tomorrow.
An hour or more of small talk and sipping cider-apple punch was enough to try any man’s patience and Alex had less than his fair share of that. When dealing with people, at least. Horses…now that was another matter. There, his patience knew no bounds. With a smile and a gesture towards the house, he extricated himself from an in-depth conversation about last year’s appalling weather—still the main topic of conversation for country folk—and he slipped away, feeling his tension dissipate as he left the crowds behind. Once inside, he hurried through the library, and out on to the terrace that hugged the east wing of the Abbey. Down the steps, along the stone-flagged path that bisected the formal garden, through the arch cut into the beech hedge and out on to the path beyond. It took less than a minute to reach his goal: the small gate that opened into a copse of ornamental trees.
He closed the gate behind him.
Alone. As always. As he liked it.
Nothing but trees. No need to put on a charade. No need for polite conversation about trivialities.
He leaned back against the trunk of a copper beech and closed his eyes. It had been as painful as he feared, coming back. The family had all come out to greet him. Alex had tolerated hugs from his aunts and his sister, but when Father had come forward, his arms opening, Alex had thrust out his hand for a handshake, quashing his guilt at his father’s sorrowful expression. He couldn’t explain the aversion he felt for his father, but it was undeniable. Every time they met, Alex felt like a cat having its fur rubbed the wrong way and he couldn’t wait to get away.
Then last night, in his old bedchamber, the dreams returned. Not as badly as in his childhood, but enough to unsettle him and for him to wake this morning with that old feeling of impending doom pressing down on him.
It
