Christmas at Thornton Hall. Lynn Marie Hulsman

wife’s nervous breakdown.

      “That’s true.”

      I waited for him to elaborate, to add to the story. He just sat there on the bed, relaxed and confident, looking like he owned the place. I felt something slowly rising up in me, maybe anger. Or was it humiliation? Wasn’t he going to admit to his part? I might not have proof, but I knew he’d wanted me. Didn’t he? I scanned his face for a clue. Feeling foolish, a distant alarm bell was reminding me that I didn’t know how to handle myself around men. My Achilles’ heel was reading how they felt about me. This discomfort was more than I could bear. Was it better to die old and alone with a hundred cats?

      A few minutes ago, I’d desperately wanted company. If you’d offered me Jasper Roth dressed for bed, I’m sure I would have answered, “Yes, please!” Now I wanted nothing more than to throw him out.

      “All right then,” I snapped, standing up. “I guess there’s nothing more to say.” I crossed to the door, and swung it open, letting in a blast of cold air.

      He rose from the bed, and walked over to where I was standing. “If you say so.” He turned from me, and walked toward the house. “Goodnight, Juliet,” I think he said, but it was hard to tell because he was facing away from me.

      Moments later, I had shut the cottage door behind me and looked around to make sure no one was around to see anything they shouldn’t. The lights in the main house were off, but it looked like Rose and Seamus might still be awake. Losing my nerve, I considered retreating to my bed to lick my wounds in private. Damn Jasper Roth! As a matter of fact, damn all men! I’d give Edward back his handkerchief right now, and then my ties with all of them would be severed. Clean and simple.

       The damp air enveloped me. Was it really twice as cold here as in London, or did it just feel that way? I wasn’t wearing a coat. I had pulled on a robe over my pajamas and slipped my kitchen clogs over my wooly socks. In my domed hand, I carried my tiny keychain flashlight, letting out only as much beam as I needed to find my way. If I shined it any brighter, people would notice me. The ground was lightly dusted with snow and the air was dead silent. The frozen twigs and sticks sounded like bullets as they shattered under my feet.

      I rounded the back of the big house and saw only a dim lamplight in Edward’s cottage. Turn back, there’s your sign, Juliet. He’s already in bed. Leave well enough alone. I have to admit, I was a little relieved. Better to sever the ties without a face-to-face confrontation. I crept up to the handmade wooden platform that served as a porch, laid the handkerchief near the saddle, and weighed it down with a rock. The door opened, and I found myself staring at Edward’s bare feet.

      “I thought you might be Father Christmas come early,” he said as I stood up. “But even through all those red flannel layers, I can see curves the likes of which the old man never hoped to aspire to.” I said nothing, trying Jasper’s trick. I was hoping he’d fill in the gap by talking, but he was too clever for me. He crossed his arms, and leaned against the doorframe, head cocked, smiling.

      Finally, I caved. “I brought you back your handkerchief.”

      “Good job, too. I don’t know how I would have survived the night without it,” he twinkled.

      A light cut through the blackness and I saw that it was from Terrence’s window.

      “Mind if I come in,” I said, pushing past him, over the threshold. “God knows what kind of gossip Terrence will be spreading if he sees me here.”

      “What kind of gossip should he be spreading?” Edward asked, in his coffee-rich voice, crossing to the open-plan kitchen and turning on the flame under the kettle. I shook my head, involuntarily. Is there some law in the British books that cups of tea must be forced on all visitors, regardless of the time or occasion?

      I walked past the sofa where there was a pile of bed pillows, with some rumpled quilts spread around. A hardback copy of the novel The Privileges splayed open on the sofa’s arm. There was half a bottle of red wine and a glass on the coffee table. Aside from that area, where he’d obviously been relaxing, the cottage was tidy for a man’s house. His shoes and boots were lined up in a row by the door and dishes were in the drainer. Through the open door, I could see that his bed was made.

      “Well, he could tell people I’m a liar, and he’d be right. I’m embarrassed to admit this to you, but I don’t know if Ben is fine or not. I should have told you in the kitchen: we broke up. I caught him cheating on me, this morning.”

      He looked right in my eyes. “Did you come to bring me my handkerchief or did you come to tell me you broke up with your boyfriend?” I took him in. He had on a hunter green ribbed turtleneck over a pair of Black Watch plaid pajama pants. On his head was a wooly cap, which looked hip and youthful in a way I hadn’t expected from Edward. The impulse to slide myself into his arms was so strong, I practically swooned. “Or,” he said softly, “is there something altogether different you came to tell me?”

      I clutched the back of a barstool. A breakfast counter separated the kitchen area from the entrance hall. “I…I suppose I came to apologize for lying.” My face was growing warm.

      “Is that another lie?” He leaned across the counter, his face inches from mine.

      “Yes,” I whispered.

      “Your Ben story seems less a lie and more a sin of omission. Anyhow, your secrets are your own to keep.” For half a wild second, I thought he might lean in and kiss me, but he stepped back into the kitchen. Reaching into the cupboard above his head for a mug, he said, “I was making tea, but would you rather have wine?”

      Turn your body toward the front door, and walk out of it, Juliet. Coming here was a bad idea. Mother always counsels her patients who’ve ended a relationship not to start another for one year.

      “I’ve already had a lot to drink, on a relatively empty stomach,” I told him, my feet carrying me around the bar, intending to head for the door.

      “Is that the excuse you’ll give for kissing me?” he asked, taking a wine glass off the shelf and crossing to the sofa. With his back to me, he settled into the cocoon of blankets and poured my burgundy. I stood there, wondering what to do next – although we both knew what was going to happen. I’d known the minute I had made up my mind to give him his handkerchief back tonight.

      After taking his time, Edward flipped back the corner of the quilts, holding them aloft. “You have to admit, it’s cold out there, alone.” I hesitated for a split second. “Come on then,” he said very gently. “Who’re you kidding?”

      Live your least secretive life. Most of all, don’t keep secrets from yourself. My aunt’s voice rang in my head. Since the first conversation I had with him, I have wanted to press my body up against Edward, to cover his mouth with mine, to attack him without any of the shyness or reserve I had with Stephen or Ben.

      “No one,” I admitted, sliding into the warm envelope of blankets, and onto his lap. “Ah,” I breathed out involuntarily. Even though I was terrified of where this might lead, I couldn’t help myself. I’d been waiting so long to press against him that the first thing I felt was something like relief.

      He wrapped me in his arms and I tilted my face up to his, aching for a kiss. He looked into my eyes as we sat melting into one another, breathing the same air. “Please,” I whispered.

      He reached around, stroking the back of my neck with his big, strong hand. Tangling his fingers upward, into my hair, he teased me, holding my head still. Brushing his lips slowly across mine, he moved back each time I tried to drink him in.

      “Edward, please,” I sighed.

      Clamping his mouth down hard onto mine, soft firm lips parted, and he turned my sigh into a moan. The only thing that existed was the warm lushness of his kiss. I was drunk. Our mouths moved together for what might have been minutes or centuries before I surfaced, becoming aware of all the sensations pulsing below my neck.

      Underneath all of our fuzzy, wooly clothes, I could