Page 45 of A Stormy Season

“Forgive me for saying so,” Jane said, “but you seemed a bit out of sorts at the picnic. Was it only the weather? It has been quite cold and wet this spring.”

Luke stared at the floor a moment, then said, “Truthfully, I wanted to tell you that I think it best you not interact too much with Jeffrey. I don’t wish for him to become attached to you, only to have you disappear from his life when our charade is over.” The words,as his mother did, seemed to hang in the air.

“I see.” And Jane did see. She understood what he meant, and she didn’t even disagree with him. But it stung, an actual physical pain in her chest that took her breath away and made her cheeks burn, to have him warning her away from his son. “I suppose it was a bit much to sing him to sleep and put him to bed yesterday.”

“It is only because we are not engaged. I simply don’t want my son to be hurt. Again. It is not meant as a criticism of you. I—”

“Of course. No. I understand.”

“Forgive me if I sound rude.”

“No, you are right, quite right, I am sure.” But she could not meet his eye anymore and was relieved when he started toward the door.

“I shall see you at dinner,” he said, and practically ran from the room.

Jane’s stomach roiled and her face remained hot with embarrassment. She would never hurt Luke’s precious, handsome, sweet little boy for anything, but it seems she might already be destined to hurt him, if indeed he had formed an attachment to her.

She thought hard about the picnic. The child had smiled and waved to her when he saw her, but he had been much occupied—and fascinated—with Jane’s little niece Lilith. Sally and Luke had hovered around him as well. Was that by design, to keep him away from Jane?

No doubt, Luke was thinking she should never have held Jeffrey and sung him to sleep. But she refused to feel ashamed for doing so. And how dare Luke judge her so harshly simply for being kind and affectionate to his son? Furthermore, she assumed this meant that Luke had absolutely no intention of ever marrying Jane.

Well, if he felt nothing for her, she certainly wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything for him. But it was too late for that, apparently. To think he didn’t even entertain the possibility that they might marry someday hurt so much it took her breath away.

And somehow, even though she and Penelope were staying at his home for several more days, including a ball during which she was supposed to pretend to be engaged, she had to avoid all contact with Jeffrey.

Jane left the bookshelves and slipped outside to the garden.

The cold air felt good on her face. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever been so out of sorts. She was angry and embarrassed and unsure how she should feel. Before this moment, no one had ever told her to stay away from anyone, especially a young child.

She stayed close to the house, not paying attention to the rose bushes or hedges or the little fish pond, as her thoughts kept her distracted. But then she saw a man at the other end of the garden, watching her.

Jane stopped and stared at him, and he slipped into the cover of the trees and disappeared.

She wasn’t supposed to be out of doors alone. But at the moment she felt as if she could fight off two kidnappers at least, with the blood surging through her veins and making her clench her hands into fists.

She stared at the place where she’d seen the man, but there was no other movement, so she went inside.

Telling Luke that she’d seen a man at the edge of the garden seemed like the prudent thing to do, but she felt like she could not face him—not now, and possibly not ever again.

Yet, Jane Gilchrist was no coward. She would see Luke again at dinner and would not hide in her room like someone who had something to be ashamed of.

The man she’d seen was probably the gardener and nothing to be alarmed about.

Chapter Fourteen

Luke could see that his words either embarrassed or angered Jane—probably both—but Jeffrey was his son, and he had to protect him. His son had already lost his mother, though truthfully, Jeffrey hadn’t asked for her in months.

When Luke put Jeffrey to bed the night before, he’d looked up at Luke with those big, innocent eyes and said, “Where Miss Gilch’ist? I want Miss Gilch’ist sing.”

“I can sing to you. What do you want me to sing?”

“No. Miss Gilch’ist sing.”

“Sally will sing you a lullaby.”

The nurse, who was laying out the child’s clothes for the next day, came over and started singing.

“No!” Jeffrey said peevishly. “I want Miss Gilch’ist.” He started crying and rubbing his face, obviously tired. It took several more minutes to settle him down, with him refusing to let either of them hold him. Finally, he fell asleep with a tear clinging to his cheek.