Oh, that kiss. Her parents had seemed consumed in one another, every inch of their bodies that could touch, touching. They breathed the same air and lived by the beating of the same heart.
She’d sought her first kiss not long after, hoping to know what it was that pulled her parents inexorably toward one another. What she’d experienced had not proved very inspiring, a continuing trend if her kisses that afternoon were considered.
But others seemed to enjoy the activity. Kisses, it seemed, depended on the two people doing the kissing. Was that why her father followed Christiana around like a lost puppy? Her kiss? Was a kiss enough to make a man close his eyes to infidelity?
Her father gestured to a chair by the fire. “Shall we sit?”
“No. This should not take long. I simply… wished to know how things with Christiana are going.” She blushed brighter. “But I see they are going quite well.” But would everything be daytime trysts and giggling if he knew what Jane had seen that day?
Her father flushed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. His eyes, so like her own, blinked and sought sights away from her. “Quite well. Thank you for taking an interest.” Her father took a step toward her, then hesitated at the beginning of a second. He must have decided against it because he put the foot back where it had come from. “I know you do not like her much. And she has not tried overly to make friends with you, though you are almost of an age. Does that bother you?”
Jane sighed. “That is perhaps something you should have asked me before you married her.”
“I would have married her no matter your answer. A woman like her… I never expected her to replace your mother. She’s so young and vital. She was not an innocent. I knew that.”
Jane wanted to interject… something. But she could not think what, so shocking were here father’s words.
“It is one of the reasons I married her. She needed me. And then after the wedding”—he shrugged—“she no longer did. A good thing in the end. The child’s parentage would always have been in question. A six-month babe healthy as a nine-month one?” He scoffed.
“Why are you telling me this?” Jane had come looking for answers, but she’d never thought to discover them with such ease. And then no longer want them.
“I’ve seen you looking at her. And at Sharpton. You’ve always been intelligent. I knew you’d come to me, eventually. Jane, she was always going to stray. I knew that. And not many people at our station of life remain loyal to one another in marriage. Your mother and I were an exception, not a rule. You must not hold it against her.”
“And why not? Is this what you wish for me? For yourself? It sounds a misery!”
“You must understand, Jane. I have been dying.”
Every muscle in Jane’s body seized at once. She peered into her father’s face. He looked old, older than she’d ever seen him before, but not dying. “You… are dying?”
“I’m making a hash of this. No. Not in any sort of immediate way, but before Christiana, I wished I was. And I did nothing to keep it from coming. I welcomed death. So I could join your mother.”
“If you loved mother so much, why remarry? And why Christiana? She’s… she’s mercenary and does not hide it.”
“I suppose that’s what appealed most. I knew what I was getting. A young, vibrant woman to distract me from my death wish, to bring me back into the world of the living. And she needed my help. You understand, don’t you? You’ve always been the first to offer a hand to anyone in need.”
Jane gripped her skirts like they were the edge of a capsized boat in stormy waters. “Not at the expense of my own happiness.”
Her father’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You are being forced to marry, from a very small pool of men you clearly have no feelings for, because you ran off to help your friend.”
“It was my fault!” Jane cried. “Whatever Christiana’s ills, you did not cause them.”
“I am sorry I’ve upset you, Jane. I wish you could understand.” Her father stepped closer She thought he might wrap his arms around her, but he stepped around to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “You've always been a good girl, Jane, loving and kind. I hope whoever you choose to wed treats you kindly.”
“Do you not care who I marry?”
He winced. “Not Lord Sharpton. But the others, those sent by Lord Abbington, are acceptable enough.”
“Have you tried to get to know any of them?”
“No. But Lord Abbington is a good man. I trust him to choose good men for you. You should too.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I love you, Daughter, I do.”
Funny way he had of showing it, foisting his parental responsibilities onto the shoulders of another man.
Briefly, his brown-eyed gaze rested on her, full of sorrow. “You look very much like your mother. Same nose and mouth, same way of moving about the world. You and Edmund both are very much hers. A friend once told me I should look at my children and see how she still lives through you.” He turned from her, his pallid face pinched beneath his salt-and-pepper hair. “Yet, when I look at my children, I remember only that she no longer lives.” He moved past her toward the door. “Choose a husband, Jane. It will be a happy Christmas. You’ll see.” He left her.
She did not turn to watch him leave. He closed the door so quietly and walked with so light a step, he made not a sound; he might as well be a ghost.
Mayhap he was. A man slayed by the loss of love.
