The Summer of You (33 page)

Jane was still rather groggy, so it was a bit of a surprise to her to have Jason leaning over her, as kindly as he could, supporting her weight against his arm.

“Take it easy,” Jason whispered, as she winced with every little movement. “Drink this.” He put the flask of water that Nevill handed him to her lips. She sputtered but managed to get a few sips down. “Careful,” he cautioned.

“Byrne . . .” she croaked, looking about. Oh, turning her head like that hurt.

“What did he do?” Jason asked quickly, his eyes narrowing.

“He saved me,” she breathed.

Then he was there.

Limping madly, blood caking the side of his face, but he was there.

“Are you all right?” Byrne asked wildly. Then, turning to Jason, “Is she all right?”

“She was unconscious,” Jason grumbled. But Jane waved him away, her eyes never leaving Byrne as he knelt before her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, seeing the state of his face for the first time. He nodded gruffly, reaching out to touch her, his roughened palm gently playing over the side of her face.

Suddenly, every emotion and worry that Jane had been keeping at bay broke forth, tears falling freely. Byrne swept her up in his arms, cradling her as she sobbed and sniffed and shook like a vibrating wire.

“I was so scared,” she cried, the shoulder of his coat becoming her handkerchief. “I tried to get away, but he caught me.”

“I know, love. You were so brave. I’m sorry he touched one hair on your head. I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time,” Byrne whispered in her ear.

“You came. You saved me.”

“Actually, Victoria saved you. And me,” Byrne replied, which made Jane’s shoulders shake in a laugh. He rocked her back and forth, giving and taking calming comfort in each other’s arms. Sanctuary found and held.

Privy to this intimacy was Jason Cummings, mostly due to the fact that the moment Jane and Byrne saw each other, they had forgotten he was there. And Jason Cummings had a realization of his own.

He had thought to protect his sister from a mistake, one that she would come to regret. But he’d failed to understand one fundamental truth.

He couldn’t protect his sister. Not from herself and not from this. Not from a man who would fight dragons for her, storm the gates of the Cottage and brave her family.

And he didn’t want to. Jane had chosen. She had chosen a man who was recalcitrant, brooding, and injured. She had chosen a man who showed caring and kindness in unexpected ways—playing chess with his father and saving the life of a small boy. She chose a man who loved her without boundaries.

She had chosen well.

As Jason stood, relinquishing the care of his sister to the man who loved her, he overheard one final exchange.

“I won’t give you back this time,” she breathed. “So don’t let me go.”

“Never, love,” he replied with a smile. “I’ll never let you go.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, Big Jim spewed his venom at the assembled party but was quick to reassign blame, pointing his finger at his associates, Dobbs and Mr. Cutler.

Within the next hour, Mr. Cutler was found in his home, as he was throwing silver trays and candlesticks into a trunk, intent, it seems, upon fleeing from his sleeping wife and seven children.

Within the night, Jason managed to find the wherewithal to shake Byrne Worth’s hand. After, of course, the two guards that had been left at Byrne’s door and subsequently knocked unconscious, were found relatively unharmed.

Within the next few days, Jane, Byrne, and Big Jim recovered from most of their wounds. Big Jim, of course, did this from inside a Manchester prison, awaiting deportation.

Within the next few weeks, the whole of Reston returned, in most part, to its normal self, as did the weather. It was harvest time, after all. The Morgans had graciously allowed the cow path, and Reston had begun parading their livestock along it. Michael and Joshua Wilton, no longer able to swim daily, were caught by Mr. Davies red-handed, as they pilfered some of his overstock of red ink. The church bells rang on the hour, and Lady Wilton’s knitting circle met for tea.

The days became shorter and shorter, and the tourists became fewer and fewer, both the sun and the travelers abandoning Merrymere for southern climes. But one thing, in all the time that passed, in all the days and weeks and years to come, never happened.

Byrne never let Jane go.

BITE stung the air of the Lake District by the end of October. There was no hope for a warm breeze or a lazy shaft of sunlight dancing across the lawn to momentarily remind them of that heady summer they had spent together—the days being too short, sunbeams too precious. But there was no shortage of smiles or jubilation or conversation.

Two conversations in particular stood out.

The first took place between Mr. Byrne Worth and Lord Jason Cummings, Marquis of Vessey, as they awaited the approach of the former’s bride and the latter’s sister, standing as they were, at the front of the church.

Byrne’s brother Marcus, acting as best man, stood between them, so some maneuvering was done to allow for this conversation. It began thusly:

“I have a proposal to put forward to you, Worth,” Jason stage-whispered, leaning around the tall form of Marcus to make himself heard.

“Oh?” Byrne replied. “I’m curious to hear it.”

“I’m school friends with the son of the Chancellor of the Duchy,” Jason began, alternating between leaning forward and backward around Marcus. “He appoints the magistrates in this county.”

Byrne’s gaze shot immediately to Sir Wilton, who sat in the front row of the church next to his wife and Victoria, whose arm was locked with Dr. Berridge’s. Sir Wilton was watching the badly whispered conversation closely enough to hear it—but instead of seeming angry or embarrassed, he nodded ever so slightly, ever so encouragingly.

“I’m aware of the role of the Chancellor of the Duchy, Jason,” Byrne drawled, leaning around Marcus to address him. “But I don’t feel that—”

“Why not?” Jason asked immediately.

“Would you care to exchange places with me?” Marcus asked Jason, bemused. “I am more than happy to slide down a spot and facilitate this conversation.”

“Not necessary, Marcus,” Byrne answered.

“No, of course not,” Jason agreed. “Just say yes to being Reston’s new magistrate and be done with it.”

Byrne smiled and shook his head. “I cannot say yes, Jason, but thank you.”

“Why not?” Jason asked.

“Yes, why not?” Marcus echoed.

“First of all, the town has a magistrate,” Byrne argued.

“Sir Wilton is considering retirement and would very much like to take you under his wing, show you the ropes,” Jason answered offhandedly.

Byrne shot a glance to his brother, hoping for some commiseration but not receiving any. Instead, there was an upshot eyebrow and a wry smile. Byrne looked to Sir Wilton, who was still following the conversation intently but pretending to casually listen to Dr. Berridge . . . who wasn’t actually speaking.

“Magistrates have to be men of property,” Byrne replied. “And I doubt my little house qualifies.”

“No, but the Cottage does,” Jason countered with a preening smile. “We’re giving it to you as Jane’s dowry.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Surprise.”

“Surprise,” Marcus added with the same finger wiggle.

“I don’t want the Cottage given to me,” Byrne said with a small frown.

“Why ever not?”

“Yes, why ever not?” Marcus repeated.

“Would you stop repeating everything he says?” Byrne snapped at his brother.

“Sorry, I’m simply curious.”

Byrne’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want you to give me the Cottage, because I’m not marrying your sister for your house. And she would agree with me.”

Byrne actually didn’t know if Jane would agree with him; he had a sneaking suspicion she fully expected to still live at the Cottage . . . but there was the small matter of his pride.

“Fine,” Jason said, backing off immediately. All three men stared ahead, watching the doors at the end of the aisle, festooned in bowers of fall blooms, oranges and reds that guarded Jane from the audience that eagerly awaited her.

“But,” Byrne conceded, “I might be willing to buy the Cottage from you.”

“You wish to buy the Cottage?” Jason asked, taken aback.

“At the discounted family rate, of course.” Byrne grinned. “Do you think that can be managed?”

Jason just looked from one brother to the other, the elder smiling and the younger shrugging.

“I still don’t know what one does during a war to earn so much money.” Jason sighed and luckily missed the look shared by the brothers at the altar.

“What’s taking so long?” Jason grumbled, as he checked his pocket watch, echoing the sentiments of the assembled crowd. Everyone from Lady Wilton to Mrs. Morgan and all in between were desperate to know what Lady Jane would wear as her wedding gown. To see the odd and oddly heroic Byrne Worth marry the daughter of a Duke. “Maybe Jane’s decided not to marry you,” Jason added with a smile. “Maybe she’s making a run for it.”

Byrne shot his soon-to-be brother-in-law a glance. “You really don’t know your sister at all, do you?”

The second conversation took place in the antechamber of the church. While everyone awaits the arrival of the bride (most of all the groom), it is customary for the father of the bride to take this opportunity for one last talk with his daughter. And this moment was no different.

The Duke of Rayne sat on a stone bench, in his very best coat, and stared out the window of the church, admiring the crisp autumn leaves on the oak trees of the village square. Jane sat beside him.

The past few days, with the preparations, had been difficult for him, she knew. But she, Nancy, and Byrne had done their best to keep things as normal as possible. But the good days . . . they were fewer and farther between now.

“Hullo, dear,” the Duke said with a satisfied smile as he took Jane’s hand and returned his gaze to the outdoors. “I cannot believe how quickly autumn came this year.”

“I know,” Jane replied with a smile.

“And we are still at the lake! Jason must be chaffing himself raw to get back home.” The Duke laughed, encouraging Jane to join in as well. “Well, at least we know Jane must be having a fine time. She always loved it up here. Almost as much as you, darling.”

Jane paused and let the disappointment in. She glanced over her shoulder. There was no Nurse Nancy here to offer support; it was just her and her father alone again. But instead of worrying, despairing, she squared her shoulders and squeezed her father’s hand.

“I am your daughter, Jane,” she said, as the Duke turned to look at her. “And I am getting married today.”

“You are?” the Duke asked, his hazel eyes awed with possible recognition.

“Yes,” Jane nodded.

The Duke looked down for a moment, his brow pinched in confusion. “Have I met the man?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, “and you like him very much.”

“What about you? Do you like him?”

The question caught Jane off guard. “Yes,” she stuttered. “Father, I love him.”

“And he loves you?” the Duke asked, his hand coming underneath Jane’s chin, looking her in the eye like he did when she was a child and he wanted a serious answer.

“Yes. Very much.”

They held there for a moment, Jane kneeling before her father, her hand over his, his other hand under her chin. And then a rare shaft of sunlight came through the church windows, warming them both.

“Am I to give you away, then?” the Duke asked, his voice filled with its old authority, its old gruff humor.

“You are.” Jane blinked back a few threatening tears.

Then the Duke’s face broke into a beatific grin, and Jane could not help but join in.

“Well,” he said, as his gruffness gave way to emotion. “Aren’t I lucky?”

And they were.