“If you insist on playing this game, I suppose I will. Simon has been about forever, working his way up the ladder and chatting everyone’s ears off all the while.”
He leaned his forehead against her. “Jane, you are too good. Too good for the life I’ve lived, for the hell my home can be at times.”
“Please, please tell me what’s happened.” Her hands wrapped around his neck and jaw. Her eyes searched his face for answers.
He pushed away from her and began his heavy climb once more. “The letter did indeed bring bad news. My uncle is quite unwell. After last night, I had decided to remain for the duration of the party, but now… I must return immediately.”
She followed. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“Thank you.” He stopped when they reached his room. “I’ll leave within the hour.”
“Can I do something to help?”
“No.” He dipped and kissed her softly, adoringly, like it was the last kiss he’d ever give her because it very well might be.
She pulled away first. “But the snow. It will be unsafe to travel.”
Unsafe? She did not truly understand the word. But she would if she became his wife.
Chapter 20
Jane watched the snow fall on the drive. Again. And this time George really was driving away from her. The snow fell faster every moment. When would it slow? When would it stop? She imagined it building on the fields and roads between Whitwood and London, cutting her off from George.
He’d not asked her to follow him before he’d left. She’d expected him to but found herself disappointed. She’d not made the request herself. How could she, when his eyes held memories she dared not inquire about? His uncle needed him. Jane could sit patiently at home and wait.
And yet, he’d said nothing to her about their union, when they would next see each other, nothing! Just a slow sweet kiss, a goodbye, and he’d gone. The silence built up between them like the snow. She ached to be with him, to help him, but he’d not asked for her help. And the last time she’d helped without asking, she’d ruined herself.
“Jane?” Lillian stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
Jane nodded and pulled her legs beneath her skirts, making room for Lillian to join her on the window seat.
“What an eventful morning. Is he well, do you think?” Lillian said.
She meant George, of course.
“No, I do not think he is.” Jane’s foot bounced beneath her skirts. “I have this odd feeling I should be going after him. I think it’s the snow.”
“What do you mean?”
“He left without a word. George has always had a word since arriving. He’s never been so silent with me before. Something is wrong.”
“His uncle?”
“Yes, but something else. I don’t know what.” The other foot began to shake. “I do not like this snow. It has barely begun to accumulate on the ground, yet I feel trapped.”
Lillian shrugged. “Go after him.”
“After him? George?”
“Of course, George.”
“I can’t.”
“And why not?”
She frowned. “He did not ask me to. Not this time, I mean. He did suggest it yesterday, but that was before the letter.” The letter seemed to have changed everything, changed him. “It is not my place.”
Lillian shrugged again. “Idareyou to go to London. But we must go now because, as you say, the snow. I’ll tell Mama. She’ll be delighted to return to Papa. They’re in some epistolary spat about gears or some such.”
