Jana squared her shoulders and climbed the steps to the double front doors. She stopped, unsure of what to do. Knock, or simply walk inside? Neither seemed quite right.
But she was saved from the dilemma when the door opened in front of her.
Brandon?
Jana’s heart slammed against her chest and rose into her throat. Did she look all right? She’d chosen to wear for the occasion a dark blue skirt, drawn across her front and gathered high in a bustle, a matching jacket with leg-o-mutton sleeves, an ivory blouse closed at the throat with a large bow. Her wide-brimmed hat dipped fashionably over one eye.
Had the ride over crushed her skirt? Was her hat on straight? Would Brandon like the dress she’d selected, notice the darker color or the—?
“Ah, Mrs. Sayer.” Charles, the white-haired butler stood in the open doorway, giving Jana the closest thing to a smile she’d ever seen on the man’s face.
“Hello, Charles,” she replied, chastising herself for her runaway thoughts a moment ago.
“Welcome home,” he said, stepping back and gesturing her into the house.
For a moment she hesitated. Home? This wasn’t her home. It had never been her home. Her home was in San Francisco with her aunt, not here—
Jana pushed the thought aside, gathered her skirt and stepped into the vestibule.
The red marble foyer, the sweeping staircase, the woodwork, the stained glass, the sights, the smells…the memories. The assault on her senses stopped Jana still in her tracks.
Over the past fourteen months, she’d occasionally wondered if the three months of her marriage had really happened. Had it instead been just a dream—a bad dream?
No. It had been real. Every moment of it. The memories twisted Jana’s stomach, as painful and strong as the actual experiences had been all those months ago.
She steeled herself, pushing away the hurtful thoughts. She had to be strong. She would be strong. After all, she wasn’t in this alone.
A warm shudder swept over her, prickling her skin and standing the hair at her nape on end.
Brandon.
She turned and saw him striding toward her. Her knees weakened and her heart thumped wildly beneath her breast.
Good gracious, he was handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, brown hair highlighted with the gold of the California sun, piercing blue eyes.
He’d grown even more good-looking these past fourteen months. How could that be possible?
And how could she still sense his presence after all this time?
For an instant, the need to run to him overwhelmed Jana. She wanted to snuggle against his hard chest, feel his arms pull her close.
But Brandon stopped at the edge of the foyer, as if some unseen line had been drawn between them and he wouldn’t step over it. His face was set in hard, cautious lines, a look Jana had seen far too many times already.
Her surge of emotion—or whatever it was—ebbed. Jana reminded herself why she was here…and why she’d left in the first place.
A long, tense moment dragged by with them eyeing each other from opposite ends of the foyer. What do a husband and wife say after so much time apart? Jana decided to leave that up to Brandon. It was he, after all, who’d asked her to come home.
“You’re looking well,” Brandon said.
His voice sent a tremor down her spine, bringing with it the memory of the first time she’d heard his voice. Standing in a friend’s parlor she’d been swathed in pale pink. Brandon, tall and sturdy among the delicate furnishings, had looked so handsome she hadn’t thought she could manage to speak a single word, and then—
Again, Jana pushed aside the memory and replied, “You’re looking well also.”
Her tone matched his, so they both sounded as if they’d just encountered a casual acquaintance whose name neither could remember.
“How was your crossing?” Brandon asked.
“Calm.”
“And the rail journey?”
“Uneventful.”
“Is your aunt well?”
“In excellent health, thank you,” Jana replied.
Conversation stalled, but the awkward moment continued. Jana hadn’t really expected her husband to sweep her into his arms, profess his love, pour out his regret and apology, but she’d seen Brandon give warmer receptions to business acquaintances.
“Perhaps we should go into my office?” he asked, gesturing behind him.
There was no reason not to. After all, they could hardly discuss their situation standing in the foyer. Charles had disappeared, as butlers always do, but she was certain he and some of the other staff were well within earshot. Yet going deeper into the house—with Brandon—caused Jana’s palms to dampen and set her nerves on end.
The heat of his body wafted over her as she crossed the foyer and he fell in step beside her. His scent came with the heat, stirring her memories once more.
As they passed the parlor doorway, Jana glanced inside, then stopped and gasped aloud. The room that she’d begun decorating—along with the entire rest of the house—stood just as she’d left it fourteen months ago. One wall half papered, cans of paint in the corner, shrouded furniture pushed to the center of the room.
“You never finished the work?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
“No, of course not,” Brandon replied, as if he didn’t really understand why she would ask such a question.
He continued down the hallway leaving her to follow. When she stepped into Brandon’s office, another wave of emotion struck her. The room, with its heavy walnut furniture, deep green carpet and drapes, had been the first completed in the new house. The decorator—that dreadful Mr. McDowell—had seen to it. No one had asked Jana’s opinion of the color scheme or the furnishings. Or anything else, for that matter.
But it suited Brandon. The office was his refuge. He spent most of his time there, when he was home. Jana had seldom entered the room.
How odd that she’d be there today, when she intended to end their marriage.
Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to sit on the dark leather sofa. She stood, with the oil painting of cornered foxes, snarling bears and mountain lions glaring down at her.
“I see you’ve kept everything here the same,” she couldn’t help but say.
Brandon’s gaze bounced from wall to wall, then fell on her again as she stood a few yards in front of him.
“Why would I change it?” he asked, frowning slightly.
Why, indeed? Brandon preferred—demanded—things stay the same. Jana knew that all too well.
A long silence passed, and finally Brandon spoke again.
“So,” he said briskly. “You’re home now. That’s the important thing. We can put all this nonsense behind us and—”
“Nonsense?”
“Yes,” he went on, rubbing his palms together. “We can forget about what you did, and get on with our lives.”
Stunned, Jana just stared, unable to speak.
Brandon moved to his desk and began sorting through papers. “You’ll want to continue with decorating the house and pick up where you left off with the women’s organizations in town. The servants have done an adequate job, but you’ll need to supervise them more closely this time. There