THE WIND, NO longer warm from the rays of the sun,
bit at her face, causing her to blink. Long, chestnut-colored hair
whipped around her slender neck and her lashes. She put one
ungloved, delicate hand up and brushed the thick strands away from
her face as she stopped her determined steps.

Desolate eyes stared at the tall oak—
their
oak
. They had carved their initials there when they had a
future, when they had hope.

“Johnny,” she whispered. “Oh, my Johnny.” Finality
infiltrated her tone and resignation the slope of her shoulders.
Anguish tempered by time swept through her body as she dropped to
her knees, heedless of the damp grass.

A year had passed—one entire year since the Duchess
of Richmond’s ball, since the last time she had kissed his lips,
seen his face—one year since Waterloo.

A sick sensation swept over her when she tried to
recall his face, that wondrous, boyishly handsome face as he stood
before her that awful night.

They went, all of them, almost merrily to Waterloo.
Even then—with those dreadful drums beating throughout
Brussels—even then, they looked as though they were off to a
parade.

Jenny remembered the sound of those drums, calling
their men to arms. The officers attending the Duchess of Richmond’s
ball had left hurriedly, some actually going off to battle in their
ball attire, and Johnny, her Johnny had been among them.

Exploding cannons—the sound filled the atmosphere, as
the
beau monde
breathlessly awaited the outcome. So many of
her friends, so many of the English gentry were there in Brussels
that spring.

Napoleon had escaped, gathered his army, and begun to
march. The Duke of Wellington, their hero, went off to meet him.
The English believed Wellington would win the encounter with the
Frenchman and were there to witness it.

No one had anticipated the amount of blood it would
take to fulfill their expectation. Thus it happened on June 18,
1815, that Wellington met Boney at Waterloo, and her John was lost
forever.

Mac had been there. He had lived, and while she
searched for Johnny, Mac found her. Lieutenant William McMillan had
taken hold of her shoulders, and when she saw his distorted
features she backed up from him screaming. She wasn’t sure anymore
what she had screamed.

“Jen, Johnny’s last words to me were of you. He said
he loves you and that you have to move on …”

Jenny thought she could no longer cry and was
surprised at the tear that made its way down her cheek. She closed
her eyes. She had come to their tree to say good-bye, but could
she? She didn’t feel ready. “Haunt me, Johnny, come to me as a
ghost,” she hugged herself and prayed. “Stay with me forever.”

Her father and aunt had hurried her home to Devon,
and even for their sakes it had been so very difficult not to fall
into a decline. For weeks all she wanted to do was go to sleep and
not wake up.

Her father had coaxed her outside by telling her the
horses she loved needed attention. And that had worked to get her
out a bit. Slowly, albeit listlessly, she began to eat, talk, walk,
but she felt as though all joy in life had been snatched away.

She got to her feet and touched the tree before
turning towards home. She loved the quiet solitude of her beloved
Devon landscape. It was like a tonic that soothed her. Johnny had
never quite been at home in the country. He was too restless.

She crossed the open field with slow, long strides
and felt the overgrown grass brush against the thin material of her
stockings at her ankles and calves. The day had been touched with
scudding clouds, and they hovered with the tease of rain.

It was still mid-afternoon, and yet, because of the
overcast sky, it appeared later. Jenny’s gaze swept upwards, and
she made the decision to take the shortcut across Farmer Cubbins’
field. She reached the roadside fence, picked up her skirts,
climbed nimbly up, sat on the aged wood stocks, and then pushed
herself forward onto the country dirt road.

She had been so engrossed with getting her skirts
past the splintered rail and her feet over the ditch that lined the
road that she hadn’t noticed the rider coming around the bend.

Her sudden descent onto the road caused the horse to
rear and champ at his bit. This startled Jenny, and before she knew
what had happened, she had released a screech, stepped forcefully
backward, and landed herself in the very ditch she had tried to
avoid.

~
One ~

A LOW, STRONG MALE voice cursed beneath his breath as
Jenny tried to recoup and get to her feet.

As she pressed her hands into the earth and tried to
straighten, she heard him dismount and within an instant felt
herself pulled up into a standing position, though she wasn’t sure
her shoes were touching the earth.

A pair of startlingly blue eyes glared angrily down
into her own, and the voice said in a tone that made her open her
eyes wide, “Well, well, at least it’s a pretty wench that’s
detained me.”

He sounded as though he were some huge giant about to
eat her, and without another word, and before she realized what he
was doing, that was what he did.

Jenny found herself being ruthlessly kissed! In that
moment, with this stranger’s lips on hers, she was almost too
shocked to react, but she was just a bit aware of a tingling
sensation that journeyed through her body.

At length her mind returned to her and she made an
effort to resist by putting her hands to his chest and pushing
hard. This, however, did not budge him. He seemed to hold her in a
vice-like grip. She should have been afraid but was too astonished
to consider that.

She was, however, furious at his daring, and when he
put his head back to look at her and laugh, she felt something of
her old self return. The old, vibrant Jenny would never stand for
such treatment!

As he got into position, obviously meaning to kiss
her again, she reacted and, feeling both outrage and anger,
formulated a quick plan.

She immediately relaxed in his arms and allowed the
scoundrel to believe he had conquered her. As she expected, his
grip eased up.

Jenny had just enough time to bring her booted foot
into position and then thrust it hard and forcefully into his
shin.

She felt a great deal of satisfaction as he cried out
in pain and paused only briefly to wag her finger and tell him,
“Fie, sir—fie!” Then she ran. She held her skirts in hand and put
the road behind her as fast as she could, only stopping when she
sighted the green lawns of her home, Ashley Grange.

Once on her own estate, she leaned up against a tree
and, breathing hard, hurriedly glanced behind her. Thanking
providence her assailant had not deemed it worth his trouble to
pursue, she sucked in a long, delicious breath of air and then
proceeded to the house. Oddly enough, her anger abated and just a
touch of amusement tickled her senses as she thought of the way
he’d reached for his injured leg. Ha, served him right.

She looked at her home, Tudor in design, and as
always it charmed a smile from her. She loved the look of it.
Funny, how Johnny and she had differed in their taste of homes.
He’d always preferred the neat trimness the townhouses of London so
much more. She sighed and went through the kitchen door, where the
staff was bustling about getting things ready for the evening
meal.

Cook came forward with her favorite sweet and put it
under her nose. “Oi made this special for ye, Miss Jenny. Would ye
try it for me?”

Jenny hugged her first and nodded. “Of course.” She
took a bite, and as it was truly her favorite, moaned over it and
said, “Oh, Cook, you have outdone yourself. It is so good, I think
I will have another …”

Cook laughed. “Whot, and ruin yer dinner?” She shook
her head. “Go on, then, glad oi am that ye loike it.”

Jenny devoured the sweet treat as she moved down the
hall, realizing she was hungry. She hadn’t had more than coffee at
breakfast and had missed lunch. She hoped she wouldn’t run into her
Aunt Beth as she turned the corner, for her aunt would make her go
and change; she just wanted to lie down somewhere and read.
However, instead, she ran into her father.

The squire held her by her shoulders and said in a
tone that would not brook an argument, “Come with me,
Jennifer.”

Oh no,
she thought; he only called her
Jennifer when he was about to lecture her.

She followed him into the library, where he indicated
a chair and said, “Sit.”

She frowned and said, “I do not feel like sitting,
Papa.”

“Nevertheless, you shall,” he said and pointed to the
chair.

She sat stiffly and gazed at him as she waited for
him to speak.

“Next week, we shall leave for London, where your
aunt is going to launch a London Season for you. There will be
shopping for gowns, there will be balls and the theatre, and there
will be young and hopeful men looking to dance with you and talk to
you, and you will do both.”

“Papa,” she said, her hand going to her cheek, “I
cannot.”

“You can, and you will. I have put up with these
dismal faces and a Jenny I simply don’t even know for too long. The
year is at an end, and so is your mourning.”

“And I have nothing to say about it?”

“Nothing. It is because I love you that I am forcing
your hand, Jenny. In the end, you will thank me for it. And you
will see Mac in town, for when I wrote to him and told him of our
plans, he answered that he would be there and in attendance on
you.”

“Mac? Oh, I wish he would, instead, come here. I have
no wish to go back to London,” she said dolefully.

“This is not up for discussion, my child,” he
answered in a tone she knew too well. Her father could be stubborn
when he got an idea into his head.

“I see,” she said and got to her feet. “Fine. Now I
would like to go upstairs and take a bath, if you are done issuing
your edict?”

“You are angry with me, Jenny, I know,” he said on a
gentler tone, “but I am doing what needs to be done.”

She inclined her head and left the room. She adored
her father, but she wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want to be
courted. In fact, the thought of entering a ballroom and filling a
dance card made her sick to her stomach.

She just wasn’t ready.

Out of nowhere, she thought of the high-fashioned
stranger who had just dared to kiss her on the open road. He had
definitely been a muscular Corinthian used to getting his own way!
How dare he kiss her? Well, she had certainly taught him what
happened to gentlemen who dared to steal an advantage.

Would she be subjected to this in London? Oh, how
could she bear to dance with any other than her Johnny? She and
Johnny had even learned how to dance together …

Again, the stranger’s face came to mind, and she
shook her head over his arrogance and audacity. She made her way
into her bedroom and stopped by her long mirror to have a look at
herself. She wanted to see what he had seen. Perhaps understand
what had moved him to bully a kiss from her.

BOOK: After The Storm

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