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Her fears were allayed. A horse neighed, and to her delight, Lieutenant Seton had arrived on horseback, draped in a fur-lined cloak. He strode through the door, doffed his hat, and bowed. Rather than his blue uniform, a fustian woollen jacket, cream breeches, and a golden cravat adorned his body. The wayward curls of his chestnut hair had been tamed and swept back away from his burnished brow, revealing smooth cheekbones and a slightly puckered scar above one eyebrow. She curtsied, very aware of her trembling hands and beating heart. Even without his smart uniform, he looked the part of a gallant gentleman.
His blue-eyed gaze swept from her face to the Christmas Tree standing in a pot next to her. “An indoor tree?”
She laughed. “My great-grandfather was German, and we kept this remembrance of his traditional Christmas alive long after he departed this world. It is a fir, and we decorated it, see?” She pointed at the paper flowers, beads, and wax figures. I do enjoy having it here, and the smell, it is most refreshing, don’t you find?”
Lieutenant Seton stepped closer and inhaled, closing his eyes a fraction. “Yes, it is.”
To her relief, her grandparents did not frown or ask awkward questions of their guest, and he was charming in his politeness, directing his questions to the history of the house and the Templeton family, whose portraits surrounded them in the dining room.
“Such fortune you have acquired through the spice roads of India and China. You should be commended, Mr Templeton.” The Lieutenant treated Jenny’s grandfather as if he were able to understand the conversation.
Giles Templeton’s eyes sparkled, which pleased Jenny. As for her grandmother, Teresa Templeton might not hear every word said, but she seemed at ease with the young officer and thankfully made no reference to the campaigns in Spain. Her only remark was entirely justified.
“I pray this terrible war with Napoleon’s armies will be over soon. It has cost too many lives,” she declared over the plum pudding.
“Indeed,” he concurred.
The pudding was delicious, as was the gingerbread and marzipan that followed the stuffed head of pig and roasted pheasant.
“I must congratulate your cook, Mrs Templeton,” Lieutenant Seton said, patting his stomach. His customary dour expression had eased considerably, but he remained serious and rigid in his demeanour, poised on the edge of his chair, his back upright and his shoulders square.
“I will pass on your kind words,” Jenny said, wishing he would relax and not assume he was in the officers’ mess or wherever he spent his time when not at home.
888
As she had hoped, her grandparents had relocated to the sitting room where the fire crackled and hissed, and they were dozing by the fireplace. Outside, it was already dark, the stars obliterated by a swathe of fog.
“You cannot possibly go home in this weather,” Jenny declared. “It is thick fog, and you will not see the path.”
He rose and peered through the gap in the curtains.
“He should stay the night, Grandma,” she suggested.
“What’s that, my dear?” Susannah yelled, jerking from her slumber.
“Lieutenant Seton. We should offer him a bed for the night. He can’t ride home tonight.” She gestured to the window.
“It’s not necessary, I’m sure—” he began.
“No, please. Your horse might stumble and throw you
,” Jenny persisted. She sensed, given her feverish state of excitement, that the reason for her request had more to do with having the fine officer nearby than the weather.
“I suppose, it is the decent thing to do,” Susannah muttered.
“We’ve plenty of rooms,” Jenny said. She didn’t add that only one might be necessary. How wicked of her to even think such a thing!
He fidgeted with his cravat, then shrugged. “How can I refuse your kind offer, ladies.”
Poor Seton, thought Jenny. He maintained such an aloof manner, and she felt sure it was not his true nature. Something had happened overseas to change him, and she was determined to help him recover his vigour. Dare she, though? And what if she had mistaken his feelings towards her? Would he storm off into the dark night, risking his safety to escape her, or would he allow her to offer him something more than a comfortable bed? She might not have many gifts to give him, but there was one that no passionate man could not ignore—herself.
She lit a candle, and he followed her up the stairs, along the corridor of the east wing, well away from her grandparents’ quarters in the west wing, to the far corner chamber. She rested the candleholder on a sideboard outside the bedroom.
“I’m afraid it might be a little cold. The fire has only just been lit by the maid.”
“I’m used to sleeping under the stars,” he reminded her.
By the door they stood, his hand on the handle, his back nearly resting against the door. Slowly, as he opened the door wider, the light from the fire cast his handsome face in shadows. Only the blueness of his eyes reached out to her. They twinkled, or so she thought. He stayed there, neither in nor out of the room, and the tension in the air riveted her to the spot.
