The Runaway Countess (6 page)

Jane laughed as Hayden lifted her high in his arms and carried her over the threshold of Ramsay House. He twirled her around so fast she could see only blurry glimpses of an ancient carved ceiling and dark-panelled walls hung with bright flags and standards
.
It didn’t look like an especially auspicious honeymoon spot, but Jane was so happy with Hayden she didn’t care where she was
.

From the outside, as they drove up in their carriage pulled by cheering estate workers
,
Ramsay House was a forbidding grey-stone castle, austere and sharp-lined. She half-expected knights to appear on the crenellated ramparts to throw boiling oil at her, but instead the steps were lined with smiling servants who tossed petals as she emerged from
the carriage and called out, ‘Best wishes to Lord and Lady Ramsay!’

Lady Ramsay.
The name still sounded so strange. It couldn’t possibly belong to her
, be
her. The same hazy strangeness that had enveloped her ever since she had walked up the aisle to take Hayden’s hand only vanished when she was in his arms. There she felt as if she belonged. There she never wanted to be anyplace else
.

‘I’m sure it’s lovely,’ she said, laughing as he spun her around faster and faster. ‘But I can hardly see it, Hayden!’

He finally twirled to a stop and slowly lowered her to her feet. They held on tightly to each other as the room lurched to a stop around them
.

‘You can make any changes you want to it, of course,’ Hayden said. ‘You are the mistress of Ramsay House now.’

Jane tilted back her head to examine the room closer. Just like the turrets and arrow slits outside, the inside looked like nothing so much as a medieval great hall. There were even a few suits of slightly tarnished armour, and ancient battleaxes and swords
hung between the battle flags. There were no softening rugs or chintz cushions, no flower arrangements or haphazard piles of books
,
as she was used to at Barton Park
.

‘I don’t think this place has had any changes made since about 1350,’ she said uncertainly. And surely she wasn’t going to be the one bold enough to tear it down and start again
.

Hayden laughed. ‘I don’t think it has
.
About time for it to be brought into the nineteenth century, don’t you think?’

Jane caught a glimpse of a painting hung at the far end of the room and hurried over to look at it more closely. Unlike the rest of the furnishings, it had a modern look about it. It was a family group, three people seated in a semi-circle in this very medieval space
.
An older man with his grey hair tied back in an old-fashioned queue, scowling above his tightly tied cravat, and a younger woman next to him, dressed in an elegant blue-silk gown and lace shawl. Her glossy black hair
,
piled high atop her head, matched that of the little boy playing with a toy sword at her feet
.

It should have been a cosy family scene
,
but the artist had captured some rather disquieting details. None of the three looked at each other. The woman had a distant
,
dreamy look in her eyes, where the man seemed unhappy at everything around him
.
The boy was also engrossed only in his toys
.
It almost seemed to be three separate paintings
.

Jane felt Hayden come to stand behind her, his body warm against hers. ‘This is you and your parents?’ she said
.

‘Yes. I remember sitting for this—it was terribly dull and I was far too fidgety for my father’s liking,’ Hayden said, his tone deliberately light. ‘This is the first thing you should get rid of. Banish it to the attics.’

Jane suddenly realised how very little she knew about Hayden’s family. Only that he was an only child whose parents were long dead, much like her own. But nothing about what they were like when they were alive
.
‘What should we put in its place?’

‘A portrait of you, of course. Or maybe not.’

‘No?’ Because she wasn’t the
real
Lady Ramsay?

‘Maybe I would want to keep your image all to myself in my own chamber,’ he said teasingly
.

Jane spun around and threw her arms around Hayden, unable to bear looking at the strangely melancholy painting any longer. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply of his delicious, comforting scent
.

‘Perhaps you should show me your chamber now,’ she said. ‘So I can see what sort of painting might be needed.’

Hayden laughed and scooped her up in his arms again. ‘That is one command I can happily obey.’

He carried her up the stone staircase and along what seemed to be endless twisting corridors, until he opened a door at the very end of the last hallway. Jane barely had a glimpse of a very large carved bed, a massive fireplace and green-velvet curtains at the windows before Hayden spun her around in his arms
.

‘Blast it all, Jane, but I’ve been wanting to kiss you for hours and hours,’ he said hoarsely. ‘All the way from London.’

‘What are you waiting for, then?’ Jane
whispered. ‘I’ve been wanting the very same thing…’

Their mouths touched softly at first, tasting, learning. Remembering last night after their wedding
.

He kissed her so gently, once, twice, before the tip of his tongue traced her lower lip and made her gasp with the sudden rush of longing. She grabbed on to his shoulders tightly to keep from falling and whispered his name
.

‘My beautiful wife,’ Hayden moaned, and pulled her even closer as their kiss caught fire. Their lips met in a burning clash of need and want, and the rest of the world completely vanished. There was only the two of them, bound together by a passion that refused to be denied
.

And Jane knew that truly this was where she was meant to be. With Hayden. In his arms, there was no doubt, no fear. No worry that they were too young, that they had married too quickly. She had been right to say yes to Hayden
.

They belonged together and that was all that mattered
.

J
ane tossed the handful of weeds into a bucket and stood up to stretch her aching back. It was much like every other day here at Barton, taking advantage of the lull in the rain to work in the garden. Emma was darting around with a book in one hand and a trowel in the other, no doubt collecting more botanical specimens, while Murray chased sticks and barked, and their maid, Hannah, hung out the laundry.

And yet it wasn’t like any other day, not really. Because Hayden sat on the terrace, watching them all.

Jane tried to ignore him. The clouds were gathering again and she had work to do in
the garden before they were forced to go inside. In fact, she had been trying to ignore him completely for the two days he had been at Barton.

It hadn’t been too hard to avoid him. He stayed in the guest chamber they had hastily cleared out. Hannah carried his meals to him, scurrying in and out as fast as she could. Emma took him books to read and Jane checked on the bandages after dinner. After their quarrel that first night, they were scrupulously polite, exchanging few words.

It made Jane want to scream. Careful, quiet, distant politeness had never been Hayden. That was what had drawn her to him in the first place, that vivid, bright life that burned in him like a torch. He shook up her careful life, turned it all topsy-turvy until she wanted to run and dance and shout along with him. Be alive with him.

She hadn’t realised at the beginning the other side of that beckoning flame. She hadn’t realised how very hard married life would be. She had been so young, so romantic, with so little experience of men like Hayden and their world. When she had left
London, she had wanted only the quiet she found at Barton, and that was her healing refuge. Her chance to get to know herself.

But quiet sat uneasily on Hayden. The silent tension between them, under the same roof, but not in the same world, only reminded her how long they had been apart.

She held up her hand to shade her eyes from the grey light and studied him as he sat on the terrace. His black hair shimmered, brushed back from the lean angles of his face, and his finely tailored green coat and elegantly tied cravat made him stand out from the shabbiness around him. His polished boot rested against the old chipped planter and he leaned on the walking stick Emma had unearthed from somewhere as he solemnly studied the garden.

He looked like a god suddenly dropped down from the sky. He didn’t belong there any more than she belonged in London. They didn’t belong
together
.

Yet he had dismissed any talk of divorce.

Jane sighed as she tugged off her dirty garden gloves. Soon enough he would be on his way, as soon as the doctor said he could
travel. Then they could go back to their silent, distant truce, their limbo.

But she was afraid she would have to work at forgetting him all over again.

She made her way to the terrace and sat down on the old stone bench next to him. They were silent together for a moment, watching as Emma and her dog disappeared into the tangled entrance of the old maze.

‘How are you feeling today?’ Jane asked.

‘Much better,’ he answered. He gestured towards the maze with his stick. ‘Should she be going in there?’

Jane laughed. ‘Probably not. The maze hasn’t been maintained in years, it’s surely completely overgrown with who knows what. But it’s hard to tell Emma what not to do. She is sure to do it, anyway.’

Hayden smiled down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the light. ‘Unlike her sister, I dare say,’ he said teasingly.

‘Very true. I always tried to do what I should.’ Jane sighed to think of how hard she had worked to be what everyone wanted, to take care of everyone. And look how that ended up. ‘I think Emma has the right idea.’

‘I should have taken better care of you, Jane,’ he said quietly.

Jane was shocked by those words. She turned to look at him, only to find that he still watched the garden. ‘In what way? You said it yourself—you gave me everything I could want.’

‘I gave you what I thought you must want. A fine house, a title, jewels, gowns.’ He softly tapped the end of the stick on the old stones of the terrace, the only sign of movement about him. ‘Yet it occurs to me that I never asked if
you
wanted them.’

‘I—Yes, of course I did,’ Jane said, confused. ‘Emma and I never had a home after our parents died. It was all I wanted.’ And, yes, she had wanted the title, too. It seemed to stand for continuity, security. Yet it turned into something very different indeed.

‘But you didn’t want
my
house. Not in the end.’ Hayden suddenly turned to look at her, his bright blue eyes piercing. ‘Are you happy here, Jane?’

‘Very happy,’ she said. ‘Barton isn’t a large place, as you’ve seen, and it needs a great deal of work. But it’s my home. It reminds
me of my parents, and when we were a family. It gives me a place to—to…’

‘A place to belong,’ Hayden said quietly.

Jane looked at him in surprise. She wasn’t quite used to this Hayden, the man who listened to her, thought about what she really wanted and not what he thought she
should
want. ‘Yes. I belong here. And I want Emma to feel that way, too.’

Once she’d wanted to give Hayden that as well. Wanted their home to be with each other. But that couldn’t be in the end and there was no use crying any longer.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A place to belong. Barton gives us that now. Leaky roof and everything.’

‘Jane!’ she heard Emma call, and she looked up to find her sister waving at her from the rickety old gate that guarded the entrance to the garden maze. Emma’s hair was tangled, with leaves caught in the blonde curls, and her dress was streaked with dirt. ‘Jane, I reached the maze’s centre at last. Come see what I found.’

Jane laughed and hurried down the terrace steps towards her sister. She hadn’t known
what to say to Hayden. It was so long since he talked to her like that, since he looked at her as if he was trying to read her thoughts. It reminded her too much of the old Hayden, the one she knew all too briefly before he vanished.

She couldn’t bear it if that Hayden reappeared now, when she had finally begun to get over him.

‘Emma, whatever are you doing in there?’ Jane said, laughing as Emma grabbed her hand. ‘You look like a scarecrow.’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ Emma cried. ‘You have to come see, Jane! It’s the loveliest thing.’ She glanced over Jane’s shoulder and her delighted smile widened. ‘You come, too, Ramsay. I must say, you are looking much more hale and hearty this morning.’

Jane turned to see that Hayden had left his seat on the terrace and was walking towards them on the overgrown pathway. The pale light gleamed on his hair and his smile seemed strangely unsure. Not his usual confident, carefree grin. It made her heart start to thaw just the tiniest bit more, made her want to run to him and take his hand.

He already seemed different here than she remembered when they parted. Quieter, more watchful, more careful. It utterly confused her.

But she knew one thing for certain. She could
not
be drawn back to Hayden Fitzwalter. She couldn’t be caught up in the bright, chaotic whirlwind of him again. Her heart couldn’t stand it.

‘I’m sure Hayden should be resting, Emma,’ Jane said. ‘We can’t drag him all over the garden.’

‘Not at all,’ Hayden said. ‘I don’t think I could stand to rest for another second without going crazy.’

Emma happily clapped her hands before grabbing Jane’s arm and leading her through the entrance to the maze. Hayden followed them. Jane couldn’t see him, but she could hear the tap of his stick on the gravel and feel the warmth of him just behind her.

The tangled hedge walls loomed around them, blocking out the day, and it seemed as if the three of them were closed into their own little world. Emma’s dog barked somewhere
ahead of them and the sound was muffled and echoing.

‘How long has this maze been here?’ Hayden asked.

‘Oh, ages and ages,’ Emma said. ‘Since the Restoration at least. They were very fond of places where they could hide and be naughty, weren’t they? But it hasn’t been used in a long time.’

‘When we were children, we were forbidden to come in here,’ Jane said. ‘My mother was sure we would be lost for ever and our nanny told us wild fairies lived in the hedges, just waiting to snatch up wayward children.’

‘I never saw any fairies, though,’ Emma said, sounding rather disappointed.

‘But you come in here now?’ said Hayden.

‘Emma has begun exploring a bit,’ Jane answered. ‘I have enough work to do just tending the main flowerbeds.’

‘It’s too bad, because this could be so lovely,’ Emma said. She tossed a quick grin back at them. ‘Rather romantic, don’t you think? Just imagine it—moonlight overhead, a warm breeze, an orchestra playing a waltz…’

‘No more novel reading for you, Emma,’ Jane said with a laugh. ‘You are becoming too fanciful.’

Emma turned another corner, leading them further and further inwards. Jane saw now that her sister must have spent even more time exploring the maze than she had thought, for Emma seemed to know just where she was going.

‘Not at all,’ Emma said. ‘But just picture it, Jane! Wouldn’t this be a marvellous place for a costume ball? Especially
here.’

They turned one more tangled corner and were in the very centre of the maze. Jane almost gasped at the sight that greeted them, it was so unexpected and, yes, so romantic.

Amid the octagonal walls was a small, open-sided summerhouse topped with a lacy cupola. It had once been painted white, but was now peeling to reveal the wooden planks beneath, and some of the boards had fallen away to land on the ground, but it was still a whimsical and inviting spot. An empty, cracked reflecting pool surrounded it, lined with statues of classical goddesses and cupids staring down at its lost glories.

Emma was right—this would be a perfect spot for a costume ball. With torches, music, dancing, the light on the pool…

And Hayden taking her in his arms to waltz her across the grass. She remembered he was such a good dancer, so strong and graceful that she had seemed to float at his touch. Had seemed to forget everything else but that they were together, holding each other, laughing with the exhilaration of the dance and being young and in love.

No!
Jane shook her head, refusing to remember how it was to dance with Hayden. She hurried up the steps of The summerhouse, but if she was trying to escape that way she saw at once it wouldn’t work. The round space was surrounded by wide benches that once held lush cushions and at its centre hung a swing.

Just like the one in the garden at Ramsay House.

Jane whirled around to leave, only to find that Hayden stood behind her on the steps. The overhanging roof cast him in a lacy pattern of shadows, half-hiding his face. He
glanced around the small space, and she saw that he remembered, too.

‘Push me higher, Hayden!’

He laughed in her memory, the sound as strong and clear and perfect as if that day had returned to the present. She felt again the heat of the sun on her skin, the way her loose hair tickled the back of her neck. His hands at her waist, holding her safe in the very same moment he sent her soaring.

‘You can’t go any higher, Jane,’ he insisted. And yet she knew she could, only with him. She seemed to soar into the sky
,
so very free. Until she landed back on earth and Hayden kissed her, his lips so warm on hers, the passion between them flaming higher than the sun
.

So very perfect
.

But perfection never, ever lasted more than a moment.

Jane stared up at Hayden now, caught halfway between that golden day and the present hour. ‘I—I don’t think this swing would be safe to use.’

‘Not like the one at the lake at Ramsay House,’ he said quietly, roughly.

‘Not at all like that one.’ Jane brushed past him and hurried back down the steps. Emma was chasing Murray around the clearing, laughing, and Jane watched them as she tried to breathe deeply and remind herself that the Hayden she knew that day of the swing wasn’t the real Hayden.

Just as that girl hadn’t been the real Jane. That was all just a silly dream. Then she had lost the babies and she woke up.

She had to stay awake now, and guard her heart very, very carefully.

Had Jane always been so beautiful?

Hayden watched his wife as she ran along the garden pathway towards the terrace, laughing with her sister. Of course Jane had always been beautiful. She had drawn him in from the first moment he saw her, with the way all her emotions flashed through her large hazel eyes, with the shining loops of her dark hair he wanted to get lost in. Yes—Jane had always been so very beautiful.

But she had also been pale and somehow fragile, moving through the world so carefully. Everyone in London had wanted to
emulate her, her elegant clothes and hats, everyone had wanted invitations to her small soirées. Yet still that air of uncertainty clung about her. He had been so sure he could banish it, that he could make her happy while still not making himself vulnerable. When he couldn’t, the frustration and anger consumed him.

Here at Barton, Jane wasn’t uncertain at all. Her pale skin had turned an unfashionable, but attractive, burnished gold. She was still slender, but she didn’t look as if she would break. As she twirled around in a circle with her sister, laughing with glorious abandon, she looked carefree.

Happy.

That
was what he wanted so much to give her, where he had failed. When they were together, he had watched that fragile hope in her eyes fade to silent sadness, but he couldn’t seem to stop it, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t really know what she wanted and he didn’t have it in him to discover it. He didn’t know how to even begin.

How could he? He had learned nothing of emotions and connections from his own parents,
nothing but how to be what they and society expected him to be—a rake and a scoundrel. A failure. He didn’t know how to be anything else, even for Jane.

For an instant, Jane and Emma’s laughter faded and the overgrown gardens melted, and he stood before his father’s massive library desk.