Snowbound Surrender. Louise Allen

hard for the equilibrium she’d achieved and would not have it upset by what she was sure her brother was about to suggest.

      ‘Happy?’ At this, her brother gave a bitter laugh. ‘He is nowhere near that. If you had seen him, you would be much less cavalier about leaving him to his suffering.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ she said, with a shrug. It was not as if he’d made an effort to come back to ease the pain in her heart, despite certain promises he’d made in moonlight. Nor had he bothered to soften the blow with a letter of warning. One day he had been there. The next, he had been gone, leaving her frightened and alone. If fate had punished him for his faithlessness, it was something almost like justice.

      ‘Since his family will do nothing, it will be up to us to bring him back to himself,’ her brother said, with the same urgency he had used to try to warn her off Jack when he’d first discovered the schoolgirl tendre she’d borne for his friend.

      ‘Major Gascoyne is old enough to make his own decisions.’ Yet, strangely, she was not. Even though she was well past twenty-one, all the important decisions of her life were still left to her brother. For the most part, she had been obedient to his suggestions. But now, he meant to involve her in something she wanted no part of.

      He gave her a pitying look. ‘It surprises me to find you so hard-hearted. At one time, you would have been the first to rush to his defence.’

      ‘Perhaps I have changed as much as he has,’ she said, feeling her resolve begin to crumble. She wanted that to be true. She had made plans for marriage. For a future. But she could feel them slipping away with each word her brother spoke.

      ‘Well, I suggest you change back, for a fortnight, at least. I have invited him to spend Christmas with us.’

      It was what she had been longing to hear for years. But now, when she had finally given up hoping and put childish dreams aside, it was the last thing she’d wanted. She always felt melancholy at Christmastime, perhaps because that was when he had left her. Even the continual attention of the man she meant to marry had not improved her mood. The return of Major John Gascoyne was unlikely to make it better.

      Fred ignored her silence and continued. ‘I want him to meet Millicent. And of course, you will want him to approve of Mr Thoroughgood before that knot is tied.’

      ‘His opinion is the last one I’d solicit when choosing a husband,’ she said. ‘He is far too wild to be a good judge of such things.’

      Fred gave her a curious look. ‘My, but you have changed. There was a time when you thought he hung the moon.’

      ‘And then I grew up,’ she said, firmly, smoothing her skirts.

      ‘Be that as it may, Jack belongs here for Christmas. He has never had more than us as family and should not have to spend his holiday alone.’

      ‘True,’ she said with a sigh, wishing it wasn’t. His parents were dead and his only brother had never been anything but critical of him. If her brother was right and he was truly in need, they were the only ones who could help him.

      ‘I knew you would understand.’ Fred released a long, slow breath of his own. ‘I owe him Christmas dinner, even if I can do nothing else. He is my best and oldest friend. But we did not part as such. I have always regretted it.’

      ‘And why was that?’ she asked, surprised. He had not mentioned a problem before. He had simply come home from London to announce that Jack had bought a commission and was on his way to Portugal. Then he had ceased to mention him at all.

      ‘It was a foolish quarrel.’ Fred looked away from her, not quite able to meet her gaze. ‘Nothing that you need worry about. But I would not want him to think I intended to continue it, after all this time.’

      ‘How noble of you,’ she said without feeling. She and Jack had parted on the best possible terms, or so she’d thought. When last she’d seen him, he’d held her in his arms and promised her a bright future. And then he’d disappeared. If he was miserable, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing that she would not be suffering through the holidays alone. This year, they could both be wretched together.

      Her brother was staring at her with his head cocked and his mouth set in a firm, disapproving frown. ‘Do not be childish, Lucy. Whatever he did to upset you, you have had a good long time to get over it. You are a grown woman now and should know better than to let an old grudge stand between you. He needs our help and we will provide it.’

      ‘Of course,’ she said drily, wondering just what Fred knew about what had occurred right before Jack had gone off to war. It could not have been much or he would not have been so cruel as to make her spend her last days as a single woman with the only man she would ever love, the man who had seduced her and fled.

       Chapter Three

      ‘He is here!’

      As he rode up the front sweep of Clifton Manor, Jack could hear Frederick Clifton announcing him from inside, even before the servants had fully opened the door. Now his host was beaming in the doorway as if the Prince Regent, himself, was favouring the house with a visit.

      Jack had chosen to forgo his carriage and ride alone to Clifton Manor, complaining of a megrim to his manservant and insisting that he needed fresh air after the stifling atmosphere of London. In truth, his headache had started after he’d spoken to Fred and grown stronger as the holidays neared. To ride north on horseback required that he stop frequently to rest his gelding. It gave him an excuse to put off the inevitable arrival at a party that he was a fool to attend. As each mile passed, he prayed that something would occur to prevent the future he feared. Now that he had arrived, he was hesitating as the groom reached for his reins to lead the horse to the stable, still trying to stall.

      Perhaps she would not be as lovely as he remembered. Maybe he would discover that the feelings he had for her were nothing but the memory of what might have been. One last look at her might be all he needed to free himself from the past.

      Since she’d made no effort to contact him in all this time, it was clear that she had forgotten about him. Or perhaps she hated him for the liberties he had taken on the last night they’d been together. If she was about to marry, she had moved on, just as he’d known she would. But, apparently, he needed to see the truth to believe it.

      ‘Stop dawdling with that horse, Gascoyne, and come inside!’ Fred was still standing in the open door, smiling at him as if Christmas had arrived early. So, he did as he was told and went into the house.

      For a moment, it was just as he remembered from a dozen Christmases of his youth. When he crossed the threshold, there was lambswool ale waiting for them along with a hearty clap on the back, shouts of welcome from Fred and friendly enquiries as to the difficulty of the journey and the state of the weather.

      Everything was normal except Jack, himself. He did not belong here any more. His presence would be a blight on the season.

      Then he heard her.

      ‘Jack.’ His name escaped her lips in a breathy rush of joy and relief, sounding too much like it had on the last night they’d spent together. He turned from her brother, searching the room for the source of that single word, making sure that his face was schooled to a socially acceptable level of affection and his posture showed no trace of the urgency he really felt.

      ‘Lucy?’ She was standing in the archway to the dining room and the light from its tall windows made a nimbus around her gold hair that blinded him for a moment. Or perhaps it was her smile that had caught the breath in his throat, just as it had when he was a schoolboy. Her face was as perfect as ever it had been, with the same slightly crooked smile that balanced the too-sombre light in her brilliant blue eyes. There was still a smattering of girlish freckles across her upturned nose. As a child, they’d made her look ready for mischief. As a woman, they called attention to her kissable, pink lips. But it was his own imagination that made him wonder