Chapter 13
Nicola was surprised she was still standing upright and making “conversation” with Jack. After the shock she’d just received, she should be lying on the sofa with a bottle of smelling salts at the very least.
Heretofore, she’d never given much thought to coincidences. Or kismet, for that matter. But she was in Puddling because of the railway accident, and so, it seemed, was Jack.
She didn’t dare tell him—she’d already been enough of a fool inviting him to her bed. He had refused her, as a gentleman of his caliber should. She could blame the liquor-soaked fruitcake for her unseemly offer, but knew in her heart she would have made advances toward him anyhow if she’d never touched a brandied bite. Kissing him had unlocked something within her that she really didn’t want to shove back into a dark corner. Nicola felt alive, prickly with desire, ready to cast away twenty-six years of modesty.
However, he was not smitten enough to abandon his principles. Nicola should be grateful, but wasn’t. The cloud, as he called it, prevented him from living his life.
Jack felt the accident was his fault, which was ridiculous. He didn’t pour the iron into the forms personally. He didn’t erect the girders. It’s not as if he drove the train over the unsound bridge determined to kill all the passengers.
It was an accident. A mistake. People made them all the time. Governments too. The world was a dangerous place, and no one in it was perfect.
How could she help him see that?
She had not once held any one person responsible for the train wreck. How could she? A number of unfortunate events had collided, and she was simply one unlucky bystander. Nicola might have left London a day early or a day later. She didn’t blame herself for making the choice she had. There was no point in trying to change history, wondering “what if.” It wasn’t as though she’d intended the present outcome.
Nor had Jack. He was torturing himself over something he’d ultimately had no control over.
She could write him a letter, if she managed to organize her thoughts. If she spoke, it would be even better. That might be months, or, God forbid, years from now.
Damn. This was so frustrating! She vowed to do all the breathing exercises before bed. To imagine she was at a dinner table asking for the potatoes to be passed. To shout out a warning to a child who chased a ball into the street. To order Tippy not to jump on the gentleman’s trousers. Silly scenarios, all, but much of life was made up of the mundane.
Jack still stood in his coat, holding the disastrously decorated shrub. Nicola didn’t want him to leave—she should be mortified or embarrassed, but somehow wasn’t.
Don’t go.
Jack lowered his eyes to the absurd tree. “I cannot…do as you asked. Though I’m very flattered.”
Never mind about that. I was stupid to have suggested such a thing, and hope you will forgive me. I treasure our friendship too much to spoil it. I shall play for you and you can relax. She made a great show of striking out the five desperate words she had written, then tore the whole page out for good measure.
“Play?”
My piano. Put that plant down and sit.
Nicola knew she was being bossy, but she wasn’t ready to face the evening alone. She crumpled those damning words and tossed the paper into the fire, then spread her skirts on the piano bench. After a few moments, Jack set the bucket back on top of the piano, took off his overcoat, and went to the sofa.
“I’ve heard you before, when I’ve been out walking. You have real talent.”
Her music had been everything to her since the accident. It was the one thing that proved she was still the same person, not the silent diminished creature that drove people away from her.
She acknowledged his compliment with a shrug and a smile, then set her fingers to the keys. She played from memory, a song she’d learned as a little girl from her first piano teacher. It had a simple refrain, yet she’d added chords and varied the tempo to make it her own. She moved on to another, then another, familiar old favorites that had kept her company for years.
A quick look over her shoulder showed her that Jack’s eyes were closed. Perhaps he was asleep, and that was fine. He’d said he had trouble sleeping, and often looked on the edge of exhaustion, so if she could soothe him in any way, she would. They were linked together in their unhappiness.
What would he do if he found out she was a victim of his firm’s carelessness? He had an over-keen sense of justice. Would he try to “save” her in some way? He was a gentleman.
Would he go so far as to ask her to marry him, to somehow make up for his role in her failure to speak?
Nicola didn’t want to be married out of pity or duty. She stumbled over the notes and forgot what came next. Her hands stilled on the keyboard, her brain reeling.
Jack thought she had finished and clapped politely. “That was beautiful. I could listen all evening.”
It was black as pitch outside now, the moon covered by clouds. It had been the oddest Christmas Day of her life, yet she would hold it in her heart forever.
He rose from the sofa, looking comfortably rumpled. She had played for more than an hour, losing herself in the music. He had probably been bored to near death.
He leaned over her as she sat frozen on the piano bench. “We are still friends, aren’t we?”
Nicola nodded.
“I had thought earlier—well, I wondered if I should leave Puddling, even before my time is up. I would hate to think you hold me in aversion because of what happened. With me refusing your generous offer. And the train accident too.”
Idiot man. Did he think she went around inviting men to her bed because she disliked them? But she’d done that before he confessed why he was here. She’d been so stunned she had no idea how what her reaction had looked like or how he’d interpreted it. Nicola had felt faint at his news, had an ominous ringing in her ears, and had seen scattered black spots. She’d almost fallen down to the carpet. But he couldn’t see all that inner turmoil.
She’d pricked her finger purposely on a sharp leaf to bring herself back to life, then coiled a bit of wire, arranging her face to be as smooth as an egg. He must not suspect what had caused the cessation of her speech, or his part in it.
Truly, he had no part. Her problem was hers alone. But would he see it that way?
She picked up her notebook. Don’t go, she wrote again.
Don’t leave Puddling, she added to clarify. He had to go home to Tulip Cottage at some point. Nicola was worn out from her foray into the kitchen and trying to keep up with the Countess’s arch conversation, plus thinking so very hard through the music this past hour. She looked forward to going to bed, even if she would be alone in it.
“I don’t know if it’s doing me much good. I have two more weeks of it. You’ve been here over two months—I cannot stay that long. I’ll go mad. Madder. More mad? I’ve lost my grammar here.” He gave a rueful grin.
You are not mad.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. And thank you for everything else today. I…hold you in the highest esteem, Nicola. Please remember that.” He held his hand out to shake hers.
A handshake? A good-bye kiss would have been much better, but Jack was resisting temptation tonight. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. She drew him back into the kitchen pantry for the jar of peaches.
His face lit. “You do know the way to a man’s heart. I’ll have to hide this from Mrs. Feather.”
If he was going to get into trouble, she might as well make it worth it. Nicola held up a finger, then began to wrap up a few slices of ham, three leftover rolls, a thick wedge of cheese, and a slice of fruitcake. Tucking everything in a basket she hoped Mrs. Grace wouldn’t notice was missing, she handed it off to Jack.
“You are an angel! Now I know what to have when I awaken at midnight. Which I probably will.” He sighed.
Her fingers went involuntarily to his cheek. She stroked his beard, wishing she could comfort him somehow.
But he wouldn’t let her. Wouldn’t engage in an affair that would bring relief to them both. She felt a flare of heat every time she saw him, and his kisses…well, they promised pleasure that she was quite unversed in. Nicola should thank him for guarding the virtue she was so hasty to get rid of, but was still a bit resentful of his superior control.
She had two weeks to seduce him. Redeem him. There were four jars of peaches left on the pantry shelf, and they might come in handy. She would use every resource at her disposal.