The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  A few minutes later, as she held her hands under the miraculously warm water flowing into the sink, she decided interior plumbing was something she could certainly get used to. Hot water whenever you wished? And whoever invented toilet paper with such softness was brilliant.

  What other delightful surprises awaited? Amara peeked behind the curtain to which Cat had gestured when mentioning the shower. A white tub, somewhat similar to the tubs in which she’d bathed at Clarehaven, sat on the floor, but was affixed directly to the wall. It had a similar knob to the one Amara had used at the sink. She turned on the water, enjoying the heat as the liquid warmed beneath her fingertips.

  A knob on top of the faucet from which the water flowed drew her attention, so she pulled it, curious. Suddenly, water shot down on her head, inundating her hair and shoulders.

  “Eek!” she shrieked, jumping back. She stood there, hair dripping into her face, feeling like a fool. Surely she should have expected that, should have noticed the fixture projecting from the wall above. Eliza had described the shower mechanism with longing, after all. Amara had agreed it sounded heavenly—she’d just wanted her first one to be without clothes on. Leaning back in, she quickly turned off the water.

  Cat knocked on the door. “You okay?”

  “Yes, yes. All is good.”

  “Sounds like you figured out the shower. If you need a towel, they’re in the closet behind the door.”

  Amara opened the closet and discovered soft cloths of varying sizes stored within. She took out one of the larger ones, then eyed the shower. Should she try it? She’d only bathed in a tub, or occasionally in the pond at Clarehaven.

  Well, if she was to be a twenty-first-century woman, better start now. According to Eliza, most people bathed daily. Amara herself had been a frequent bather, preferring cleanliness to dirt, but full immersion in a tub had certainly not been an everyday occurrence—especially in the winter when the rooms always held a bitter chill.

  With excitement, she set the cloth on the counter, preparing to enter the falling water. Blast. She’d forgotten she couldn’t undress herself—her gown laced up the back. Getting used to no servants was going to be more difficult than she’d thought, though she understood why servants were not as necessary with conveniences like showers and toilets.

  “Cat?” Using the woman’s first name on so short an acquaintance felt more intimate than was comfortable, but it was custom, and she must resign herself to it. She opened the door a few inches. “I require assistance with my gown.”

  “No problem. Give me a sec.” Cat walked into the bedroom with the barred bed. When she walked back out, Wash was no longer on her hip, though his whimpering was audible. “Hopefully he’ll be patient in there a moment.”

  As she fumbled with the laces at Amara’s back, the child let out a large wail. Cat sighed as she worked Amara free of her gown and stays.

  I am not embarrassed that a stranger is undressing me. I am not embarrassed. Her maid had undressed her every day. It was nothing of which to be ashamed.

  “I’m so sorry, he’s not usually fussy like this. He must really be feeling bad.”

  “I understand. I do hope the child returns to better health soon.” Cat nodded before racing back to her son.

  Amara shut the bathroom door. Shedding her dress and undergarments, she studied herself in the mirror over the sink. They’d had mirrors at Clarehaven, of course—many of them, including a large one in her bedchamber. But with so many servants about, she’d never stood naked in front of one.

  It was a luxury to examine her own skin. With a frown, she noted the wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes. Minor, yes, but they hadn’t been there a few short years ago; another reminder life was passing her by, changing her, aging her. She was no longer in the flower of youth. She rubbed her hand over her stomach. Was she still remotely desirable?

  Mr. Goodson’s face floated before her, those blue eyes rousing dangerous flutters in areas slightly south of her hand. What would he think of her naked? What would he look like naked?

  Red fanned out over her skin. Why on earth was she thinking such things? Surely it was only because she’d kissed him that he was anywhere in her thoughts. It’d been eons since she’d had a good kiss. Her flirtation with Lord Hodgins didn’t count—they hadn’t got more than one or two light pecks in before her brother had interrupted them. The only man she’d ever truly passionately kissed was Drake Evers. Until last night, at least. Mr. Goodson had wasted no time in becoming familiar, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She’d liked it. She’d liked it a lot.

  Her skin tingling, she turned away from the mirror and fidgeted with the knobs in the tub, remembering to pull up the smaller one only when the water was warm and she was ready.

  “There’s shampoo on the edge of the tub,” Cat called loudly through the door. Amara flinched, not used to a relative stranger so close while she was bathing. The door was closed, however, and she had no doubt Cat would respect her privacy.

  She stood for an untold number of minutes under the shower, letting the hot water beat down on her back. Heaven. This was heaven. She never wanted to leave. Could one spend one’s life in the shower?

  Eventually, she tipped her head back, letting the water cascade over her hair, marveling at the soothing touch of its heat. Reaching down, she picked up the bottle to which Cat had referred. A picture on the front showed a woman lathering her hair. Amara removed the cap and poured out an unexpectedly large amount of liquid into her hand. How strange. She was accustomed to a soap, or Cook’s special paste, to clean the hair. Not something as smooth as this. As she massaged the liquid into her hair, she laughed out loud at the large volume of bubbles this shampoo produced. She rinsed the sweet-smelling stuff from her hair and squeezed out the excess water.

  Finally, after what must have been a good half an hour, she reluctantly turned off the water, stepping out carefully onto the soft mat next to the tub. Reaching for the towel, she wrapped herself in it. She looked at her gown. She didn’t particularly want to wear it again, but what other option did she have?

  She’d do what she could. Pulling the stays and dress back on, she opened the door. Cat could help with the lacings.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cat called, her face pinched as she looped a reticule of some sort over her shoulder while clutching Wash, whose eyes looked red and his skin, pale. “I need to take him in right now. His fever has risen. Will you be okay here?”

  Amara stopped in her tracks. Alone? Cat would leave her alone? But the poor child needed care. She nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thanks. Feel free to look in the fridge for something to eat. Wait for me before you try the stove or microwave, though. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that, Cat raced out a side door different from the one they’d come through last night, shutting it behind her.

  Amara walked over and peered through the window. Cat scrambled down a flight of stairs before securing her son in the back of a car. Amara had seen one on Eliza’s phone and knew what it was called. She jumped, however, as Cat leapt into the front seat and then roared backward in the beast. Eliza had described these “horseless carriages” in great detail, but it was bizarre to see one in action.

  The car edged into a smooth, nearly black street before moving forward. Amara remained at the window, frozen for some time as other vehicles streaked by. Such speed. Deveric would have loved it.

  People strolled on the lighter gray path near the road. Though it was clearly cold, given the coats people wore and the fact that their breath frosted the air, few wore hats. All of the women were garbed in trousers, some of which looked painted on, so tight was the fabric.

  Her mother would be scandalized. Even Amara’s throat clenched and a knot of anxiety fed through her at the differences in apparel. Who knew clothing mattered so?

  It mattered now. With her stays and dress loose, she couldn’t leave the living quarters. Not that she’d planned on doing so. One small thing at a time was enough
at the moment.

  She retreated to the kitchen, her rumbling stomach reminding her it’d been hours since she’d last eaten. A large, white rectangle with handles dominated one corner of the room, a noticeable hum emanating from it. Amara pulled on the handle, and it opened to reveal numerous foodstuffs, all cold to the touch.

  Most of Clarehaven’s food had been kept in the pantry or cellar. They’d had ice much of the year in the icehouse, naturally, but to have coldness available directly in one’s home, year round? Brilliant.

  Amara inspected several items before selecting one labeled strawberry yogurt. That sounded good; she loved strawberries. Now, how did one eat it?

  Opening various drawers, she studied their contents. A few of the implements were familiar, others were not. What did the green-handled object that turned do? Or this flat, round blade on a handle, sharp all the way around? Finally, she found a drawer with recognizable items—spoons, forks, rather dull-looking knives.

  Pulling the thin metal coating off the top of the yogurt container, itself made of an unknown shiny but malleable material, she dipped in a spoon and took a mouthful. She nearly spat it out at the unexpected, extreme sweetness, but let the taste settle on her tongue. It wasn’t bad, reminiscent of pie, but with a decided tang. She took additional tastes of the creamy substance as she investigated the kitchen.

  “What are all of these things?” she asked out loud. One large boxy item held visibly soiled dishes. Why did they store such things and not wash them? Not that Amara had ever washed dishes. Perhaps it was easier to save them for one big scrubbing session.

  Selecting an apple from a bowl, she ventured back into the living room and, curious, moved a narrow knob on the wall, jumping when a light overhead illuminated as a result. Instant lighting? Anytime one wished it? Capital!

  Cat’s computer rested on a little table near the sofa. Amara was tempted to push the screen to see if it worked similarly to Eliza’s telephone but didn’t want to risk damaging the item. Instead, she sat down on the sofa with her yogurt, exhaling loudly as she sank into the cushions. The sofa was soft, far softer than any at Clarehaven. She picked up a long black rectangle covered with buttons. What did it do? She pushed a button labeled Power. Suddenly, the large box across from her sprang to life, voices emanating from it as pictures flashed on the screen.

  Amara screamed.

  Television. This is what Eliza called television. Her eyes widened at the life-like figures moving across the box. Life-like though cut off—only their upper halves were visible. Then the box switched and she could see all of them. One was saying something about Alex being her long-lost twin sister, and Barrett should have known that and not run off with her and had that secret baby.

  What? Spoonfuls of yogurt went into her mouth absent-mindedly as her eyes remained glued to the screen. Here was another handsome young man, with his shirt off. Discomfort danced across the back of Amara’s neck at the sight of so much skin, so much muscular skin. Discomfort mixed with something else, something she didn’t wish to acknowledge. She squirmed in her seat and crossed her legs. This was acceptable, to be nude in public? On a television?

  The man’s muscles flexed as he strode around. He was an attractive fellow, with blonde hair and blue eyes, though not as light blue as Mr. Goodson’s.

  What would Mr. Goodson look like half-clothed? He was likely as solid as this television gentleman, at least from what she’d touched yesterday. She closed her eyes, picturing his face, his lips inches from hers, as she’d reached up and pulled him closer.

  She couldn’t believe she’d kissed a stranger so brazenly. The tendrils of excitement that had snaked across her skin reappeared. What fun that had been in the midst of this all. Where was Mr. Goodson today? What was he doing?

  She pushed the Power button again, grateful when the machine fell silent, and rose, taking a bite of the apple as she moved the yogurt container onto a side table. She didn’t want to think of Mr. Goodson at the moment, or of any man, for that matter.

  A meow echoed from another room. Feline? Cat had a feline? Inside her home? How had she not heard it the previous evening? She set the apple next to the yogurt, then followed the noise, stopping at the edge of Cat’s bedroom. It didn’t feel right to enter her personal chamber. A sheaf of papers lying on a stool just inside the open doorway caught her eye, however, because the top paper featured a vividly colored illumination of a woman holding a book. Was this the magical manuscript whose powers had enabled Amara to come here? It didn’t look old.

  As a large, fluffy, striped cat wove itself in and around her feet, Amara debated. Should she peek at the manuscript? She took a step into Cat’s room, guilt riding her as she did so. But she had to see it, had to touch the item that held such power.

  Picking it up, she glanced at the script. Latin. She knew a few words but could not read this. Her eyes skimmed over the page, and she wondered at its history. How had Cat ended up with this? And how on earth did it work? Witchcraft?

  Goosebumps erupted at the thought. That’s what many in her era would say—this was black magic, something of the devil. And yet, could magic that created the kind of love her brother and Eliza shared be bad? Amara didn’t think so. That kind of love was a once-in-a-lifetime love. You could have that. The manuscript enabled it. But she didn’t want it. Did she?

  Mr. Goodson’s eyes shimmered before her.

  Shaking her head to rid herself of his image, she studied the pictures. The illuminations were gloriously rich. She hesitantly ran her finger over one. The page was flat. She could not feel the ink, of the pictures or the words. How bizarre. Was this somehow a reproduction? She carefully turned the pages, nonetheless, not wanting to damage the artifact. The last page was an image Amara had seen on Eliza’s phone of a woman with reddish-brown hair who bore a striking resemblance to Cat. Peculiar.

  A noise beeped behind her, and Amara dropped the manuscript pages, startling the cat, which shot into the child’s bedroom. She hoped the boy was all right. When her nephew Frederick had taken so ill, they’d feared for his life. It’d been weeks of fevers, even an occasional delirium.

  When the beep came again, Amara sought its source. The computer. A white square containing words had popped up, with the name Ben Cooper written across the top, and below it a message:

  Be home as soon as I can. We might want 2 find somewhere for Amara 2 stay for a day or 2. Easier on her & safer than w/a sick child. Maybe Shannon?

  As she stood there, a second message suddenly appeared beneath Ben’s words, Cat’s name at the head of it:

  Shannon texted: both her kids r sick, too. & Jill is @ that conference. Can u ask Matt? Makes sense in many ways.

  Stay with Mr. Goodson? Cat and Ben wished her to leave them and stay with a man? The hair on her arms bristled, and panic flipped her stomach. She forced herself to take a deep breath. In truth, she hardly knew her hosts any better than Mr. Goodson. It shouldn’t matter they wanted her elsewhere temporarily. She could do it.

  But to be under the same roof as an unrelated, unmarried man? Her sense of propriety warred with temptation. Temptation she didn’t want or need.

  On the other hand, if the child was to spend much of the next days crying and whining, she would rather avoid that. She was grateful for their consideration.

  Was she not?

  Chapter 7

  Matt grimaced as he scrolled through email. More meetings, more committees, more everything he didn’t want to do. He let out a sigh before taking a drink from his coffee mug. He hadn’t slept well. He didn’t want to admit it was because thoughts of Amara had run through his head half the night.

  Was he obsessing over her because she was stunningly gorgeous? No. He’d kissed his fair share of beautiful women before, without this kind of reaction. It must be that his mind needed to puzzle the pieces out, to make her fit into some logical box so he could process the previous evening and put her behind him.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening. The stained
glass paperweight his sister had made for him (seriously, who used paperweights anymore?) was the exact same brilliant hazel-green as Amara’s eyes, and every time he saw it, he thought of her. He picked up the paperweight and chucked it in a drawer, enjoying the loud thunk it made. If only he could dispose of his bizarre reaction to her so easily.

  A knock sounded outside his office door. Ben Cooper stood there, his eyes tired and his forehead wrinkled.

  Had something happened? Had Amara worsened? “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine—but Washington is sick. Strep.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that.” Crap. Was the kid contagious? With a paper deadline approaching, getting sick was not on Matt’s agenda.

  “He’ll be fine. Miracle of antibiotics and all. But can I ask a favor?”

  Matt shifted in his chair. This didn’t sound good. Why did he think this had nothing to do with covering Ben’s class?

  “Could Amara stay with you for a few days? I don’t think a crowded apartment with a sick child is the ideal environment for her right now.”

  Matt’s pulse leapt at the request. Amara? In his apartment? For days? An image of surprising her in the shower, running his hands over her slippery body, had him shifting in his seat again, but this time for entirely different reasons.

  “Uh ... ” He didn’t want to say yes, even though he had an extra bedroom. It was one thing to invite a woman home for an evening, but someone living underfoot? Around 24/7? He liked his solitude. “Can’t she stay somewhere else? Cat has friends, doesn’t she?”

  Ben rocked on his heels, a wry grin twisting his lips. “Yup. She does. But one is out of town, and the other has sick kids of her own.”