The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  “I’m so sorry!” she said. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

  Deveric leapt off the horse before it had even come to a full stop, racing over to the two women.

  “What happened?” he roared as he went down on his knees, examining the wicked scratch across Eliza’s forehead. She was pale and eerily still. He bent his head down to her chest, listening for her heartbeat.

  “I—I—she—she wanted to go for a ride,” Becca exclaimed, tears seeping from her eyes. “I was taking her to the pond, but a f—a fox scurried out from the brush and Petu—Petunia was unnerved by it.”

  Deveric willed himself to stay calm as he checked to see if Eliza was breathing. Her heart was beating, thank God. Once he could see her chest moving up and down, he felt around to determine if anything was broken. He breathed a sigh of relief that her legs seemed fine, but a large lump had formed on the back of her head, presumably where she’d struck the ground.

  “Has she said anything? Has she opened her eyes?”

  “N—no. She’s going to be all right, right, Deveric? She’s going to all right, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know,” he bit out as he lifted Eliza carefully into his arms. He’d seen others die from what seemed like simple falls before. He looked down at her closed eyes. You will not die. You will not. I won’t let you. He started walking back toward Clarehaven.

  “What are you doing?” Becca demanded. “You can’t carry her the entire way back!”

  Deveric stilled. She was right, damn it. It was too far. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, cradling Eliza in his arms.

  “Get your horse and get help. Get Chance or Sayers to bring a wagon,” he barked over his shoulder. “Go. Go!”

  Deveric stared down into Eliza’s deathly pale face, willing the woman in his arms to wake up, to look at him, to smile and tell him it was going to be all right. Okay, he amended. She would tell me it was going to be okay. But Eliza didn’t stir.

  He tenderly, carefully ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing the back of a hand against her cheek, whispering to her she was safe, that he had her, that she would be fine.

  He paid no attention as Becca raced past him. He only had eyes for Eliza.

  Pain. Pain was all she felt, in every part of her body. Well, her head and right side hurt most, if she could quantify the agony lacing through her. Percocet. I want Percocet. Voices murmured around her and a cold cloth pressed against her forehead. Nice. That was nice. Fingers traced their way down across her cheek. Is that you, Cat?

  She winced and groaned. What had happened? Why did she hurt so much? A hand slipped behind her neck and a cup touched her bottom lip. She thought a deep voice said something, but she couldn’t make out the words. She was grateful for the cold liquid pouring slowly down her throat, though; she was so thirsty. A soda would be nice, she thought, before all went dark again.

  “Damn it, man, it’s been two days! Why isn’t she waking up?” Deveric paced back and forth across his former wife’s bedchamber, glaring at the doctor before looking back at Eliza. She seemed so small, nestled in that large bed. She hadn’t stirred since he’d brought her back home. He wanted her to open her eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, and look at him. Smile at him. Tease him. But she didn’t. She just lay there, breathing in and out, in and out. Slowly.

  Hell, at least she’s still breathing.

  Amara approached him, setting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure the doctor is doing everything he can,” she said. “You need to rest, brother. We will care for her. Becca and I are here.”

  “Becca is the one who got her into this mess,” Deveric barked, shrugging off Amara’s hand. Upon Becca’s devastated expression, he swallowed hard. It wasn’t her fault. She’d told Dev how Eliza had insisted on riding that morning, how she’d said she needed to learn if she were going to fit in. How she’d asked to go to the monolith.

  Why the monolith? He’d asked himself that question time and again. How had she even known about it?

  “I’m sorry, Becca,” he offered, pinching his nose with shaking fingers. “Please forgive me. It’s not your fault. Truly.”

  Becca nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. “But it is,” she whispered. “If I’d never taken her out, never tried on the first day to go to the pond. We should have stayed in the ring.”

  “What’s done is done,” a brisk voice said from the doorway. Deveric looked up as his mother entered the room. She eyed him up and down. “You look terrible,” she announced. “You are in need of a bath and a shave. A gentleman should never look so unkempt, even in the presence of family.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Go. Mrs. James is well cared for. She does not need you.”

  Deveric balled his fingers into fists, seriously tempted for the first time to strike a woman. “I am no longer a child to be commanded, Mother,” he said, clenching his jaw. “She is my duty and I shall care for her.” And I need her.

  His mother drew her chin up. “You are correct. You are not a child. Nonetheless, you are behaving like one. You cannot ensure Mrs. James’ return to health by endangering your own. I assure you we will wake you if there is any change.”

  He considered. He hadn’t left Eliza’s side since he first laid her in the bed, dozing only occasionally in the chair next to her, but he knew he was about to drop. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed beside her, hold her, will her awake, but that was not an option, not with all these people here. He nodded crisply to his mother, his green eyes locking with hers.

  Her normally hard expression softened unexpectedly as she reached out, smoothing an errant lock of hair off his forehead, even offering a half-smile, which elicited a gasp from Amara. “Your sense of duty to those in your charge is admirable.”

  As she swept out of the room, he could have sworn she murmured, “And your love for that woman obvious.”

  He slept for fourteen hours.

  Enraged upon awakening to learn he’d spent that much time away from Eliza, Deveric leapt out of bed, hastily pulling on breeches and a freshly laundered shirt, ignoring his valet’s efforts to assist him. He wanted to leave off his waistcoat and coat but knew his mother would have a fit if she caught him in such a state of undress, so he shrugged them on before bolting out the door.

  Entering Eliza’s room—for it was Eliza’s room; he no longer thought of it as Mirabelle’s chamber—his gut constricted, seeing her still lying there, deathly white.

  Amara looked up from the book she’d been reading.

  “Has she woken?” Deveric walked to Eliza’s side and reached for her hand. It was cool to the touch, but no longer ice-cold. He gave a brief prayer of thanks; surely this was an improvement.

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  His sister stood, setting the book on the small table near the bed. She smoothed her skirts before answering. “She talked off and on through the night. But I don’t think she knew what she was saying. She was calling for a cat. And something called ‘perk a set?’ I couldn’t make sense of it. She mentioned an aero-plane and something called a phone, and about a vampyre writing a diary?”

  Crossing to him, Amara reached out, rubbing her brother’s back. He stiffened. Amara never touched anyone. “She said she wanted to go home, Dev.”

  His face paled as he clutched Eliza’s hand tightly. She wanted to go? Not that he blamed her. He’d been an ass to her, desperate to convince himself they could never be. Still, his heart thundered at the thought of her leaving him. Don’t leave me, Eliza. Please don’t leave me.

  “She also said,” Amara continued, her hand still moving in slow, calming strokes, “she loved you.” After pausing to let that sink in, Amara left the room.

  Deveric stood there, his shoulders heaving and shuddering, his fingers clasping Eliza’s, tears streaming openly down his face. He could hear his father’s voice chiding him. A Claremont does not cry. It didn’t stop the sobs from coming. She looked so pale, so tiny, so close to death.
For a second, Mirabelle’s face superimposed itself on Eliza’s, and it was if he were standing in the same spot he’d stood three years ago, watching the life bleed out of his wife. Eliza is not Mirabelle. Eliza is not Mirabelle.

  “And she will not die,” he declared, his voice strong in spite of his weeping. “She will not die.”

  Wiping the tears from his eyes, he sat down next to Eliza, applying a cool compress to her head. His hands lingered on her face. He traced her eyebrows with his fingers and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “I love you, too, Eliza James. God help me, I do.”

  Chapter 36

  The doctor clucked as he leaned over Eliza, checking her pulse. “I don’t understand it. Her heart is strong, her breathing has returned to normal. I see no reason for her not to have awoken.” He held a hand to her forehead, his mouth turning down. “It’s possible her brain sustained hidden damage from either the branch or the fall and cannot recover.”

  At the expletives Deveric uttered, the doctor cleared his throat and backed away from the bedside. He bent down for his bag.

  “Shall I return in the morning?” he asked, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple indicating his nervousness.

  Don’t bother, Deveric nearly snapped, but he checked himself and nodded. He turned to Eliza, ignoring the doctor.

  “If I might, Your Grace,” the doctor said, hesitation lacing his voice. “You need rest, too. Either she will recover, or she won’t; it won’t do you any good to take ill in trying to keep her from the grave.”

  Dev’s eyes swung back to the doctor, piercing him with a murderous glare. “She will not die,” he insisted, before commanding the doctor to leave.

  As Deveric settled himself in by Eliza’s side, Amara knocked at the door.

  “He’s right, you know,” she said as she entered, obviously having overheard the doctor’s words.

  Deveric snarled. “She will not die. I let Mirabelle die. I let my daughter die. By God, Eliza Will. Not. Die.”

  His sister was quiet. She walked to him, crouching down before him. She took both of his cheeks in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “You didn’t kill Mirabelle, Dev. It’s not your fault she died.”

  Deveric’s whole body stiffened at his sister’s words. Emerlin and Arth had argued the same thing. “Yes, it is,” he bit out. “If I hadn’t touched her, hadn’t forced her.”

  Amara’s eyes widened. “You actually believe that?” She shook her head. “You would never force yourself on a woman, brother. It’s not who you are.”

  Deveric stared at the ground. “She didn’t enjoy it,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “That is different. Some women are like that. But I don’t think most. Mirabelle was fragile, but that was not your fault. She might have been better suited for a nunnery; she was not cut out for this world.” Amara smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “You have to let it go.”

  His heart pounded. “I can’t let her go,” he admitted, his eyes flashing to Eliza.

  “Not Eliza,” Amara said. “This guilt that has consumed you, trapped you. You couldn’t save Mirabelle. Nobody could. And you couldn’t save Louisa. None of it was your fault.”

  His sister’s words washed over him. He wanted so badly to believe them. Truth be told, Amara had always been his favorite, though of course, he loved all of his sisters. But Amara shared his volatile temperament.

  At times, he’d been jealous she could display her emotions more openly than he could. Or so he’d thought; after her disgrace, he’d realized how much greater the restrictions were on women than men. Women who followed their hearts often got burned. As his sister had.

  How he wished Evers hadn’t fled, hadn’t denied Dev the satisfaction of avenging Amara. Not that it would have done any good; he might have been able to redeem the family’s honor, but his sister’s was gone forever.

  He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t lose her, Am.”

  Amara leaned in and folded her arms around him as they both looked at Eliza. “You won’t.”

  Eliza’s head hurt. She was so tired of her head hurting.

  “Make it stop,” she whimpered. “It’s like someone is beating a bass drum in there, Cat.”

  A soothing voice coaxed her into drinking some tepid water. “Can’t I have ice?” she protested. “Or a Coke?” The scratchiness in her own voice irritated her. Why wouldn’t her eyes open? “What happened?”

  “You fell,” the kind voice said. “But you’re going to be all right. You’re going to recover and be all right.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but Eliza couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t Cat. Or Jill. Shannon? No.

  She blinked as her eyelids opened, her eyes straining to focus. “I’m hungry,” she said to the figure standing at her side. “Can I have some pizza?”

  At first, Eliza didn’t recognize the woman standing near her. The woman’s odd costume made her want to giggle, but her face was gentle. Familiar. Amara, her mind whispered. Deveric’s sister.

  At the thought of Deveric, Eliza’s eyes whipped wide open. All was suddenly clear again. “I’m still here?” she exclaimed, grabbing at Amara’s hand.

  “Yes. Where else would you be?” Amara held the cup to Eliza’s lips again.

  “I, um. I thought maybe I was home,” Eliza said before taking a sip.

  “In Charlottesville? With your cat and your Facebook and your phone? Whatever those are.” Amara’s eyebrow rose, a smile tickling at the corners of her mouth. “I am glad you are awake. We have been quite worried. I need to go alert my brother. Rest now. Betsy will look after you.”

  Eliza turned her head to the maid, acknowledging her with a weak smile before drifting off to sleep again.

  “She’s awake?” Deveric exclaimed, leaping from his bed. He’d been resting for an hour, and that only at Amara’s insistence she would remain by Eliza’s side. “Why didn’t you get me?”

  “I just did, brother.”

  He made to run out the door, but Amara grabbed at his elbow. “She has likely fallen back asleep, but I promise you, she was awake. She spoke.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes.” Amara’s eyebrows popped up and her lips pursed. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

  Dev’s head whipped back around.

  “But first, let us have something to eat. You need nourishment.”

  Reluctantly, he allowed his sister to lead him to the breakfast room, glad to see when they arrived that he and Amara were alone.

  “No one else is up; it is only six in the morning.” She buttered a slice of toast. “Now, I want to know the truth. Who is this Eliza James?”

  He froze. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s clear she’s not who you’ve said she is. Oh, not about the cousin part.” Amara waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t care about that. But it’s something more than that, isn’t it?”

  Deveric said nothing.

  “She talks about things of which I’ve never heard. Pizza? Some fellow named McDonald, and of something she calls a computer. She claims she can send an instant post through it to someone across the world.”

  “She said all of that to you?” His eyebrows rose.

  “Not knowingly. At first, I dismissed it as delirious ravings. But she kept talking about you being there and knowing it was the year 2012, that you’d seen it with your own eyes. It made me think perhaps there was something deeper, something stranger, going on. Given your reaction, I’m right.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “Would you care to explain?”

  Deveric looked around the room.

  “There are no servants,” Amara assured him. “I sent them all to the kitchen.”

  He pulled at his rumpled neckcloth. “Yes.”

  “Yes? That’s it? What does that mean?”

  “Yes,” he repeated. “There’s something more going on. Eliza ... Eliza claims to be from the year 2012.”

  Amara stared at him with round
ed eyes.

  “She says her friend Cat has a magical manuscript which lets Cat write stories that come true. She insists Cat wrote a story that let Eliza travel through time to be here.”

  At that, Amara burst into loud guffaws. “She said this all before she struck her head? Good Lord, the woman is mad! She needs to be committed to Bedlam.” She took another bite of her toast, her eyes twinkling with amusement. When Deveric remained silent, she swallowed, hard. “You’re not serious, Deveric? You’re teasing. You must be teasing.”

  He shook his head. “No, she truly said those things. And I believe her.”

  “What? That’s preposterous!”

  “I believe her. Because I was there, Amara. In 2012. I saw a number of the things of which she spoke. And the phone she mentioned? She has it. Here. She showed it to me; could show it to you. There are pictures on it, photo-graphs, they’re called, of things the likes of which you could never imagine. I, too, fought long against it, but there’s no other explanation unless the both of us belong in a sanitarium.”

  Amara sat in stunned silence. At length, Deveric told her of the New Year’s Eve ball, how he had been at Clarehaven and then suddenly not, of seeing the black box that played music, of the lights flashing through the window at blinding speed. He told her of the kiss, and how he had woken to find himself on the library settee, Eliza in his arms.

  When he had finished, neither one of them said a word for quite some time.

  When Amara did speak, her only words were, “But ... why you?”

  Deveric tapped his fingers together. “I had suspicions but did not figure that piece out for a long time. Not until Eliza’s accident, until how I nearly died, seeing her there, lifeless, on the ground. Now I see, now I believe, the part Eliza left out was that Cat wrote a story in which Eliza came here to find me. That’s why I went forward to her, to bring her back here. It was so she could fall in love with me, and me with her. We needed each other for the story to work.”