As the door shut, Amara stared at it.
What did Sophie mean?
Chapter 42
The flight passed in a blur of anguish and regret. He shouldn’t have left, shouldn’t have abandoned Amara there, alone. But what else could he have done? She’d asked him to go, and he wasn’t going to press himself on her. He’d already done enough damage. Besides, she wasn’t alone. She had Sophie.
Who did he have? Taylor? This wasn’t exactly a situation he could explain to his sister, which was one of the reasons he hadn’t contacted her. Ben? He had to have known the truth about Amara, about the time travel. About the manuscript. Matt longed to kick something as he shuffled behind the passengers ahead of him. The Coopers had both known, and more than that had intentionally thrown Amara and him together. Anger surged through him at the situation, at the mess he found himself in, at what he and Amara had both suffered.
Stalking to his truck, he threw himself in the driver’s seat. He wanted answers.
And he wanted them now.
Matt didn’t even stop at his apartment, so desperate was he to confront Ben and Cat about their duplicity, about their involvement in the whole mess. Jerking to a stop in front of the Treasure Trove, he threw the truck in park and leapt out of the driver’s seat, his long legs taking the stairs two at a time. Yanking open the door, he stalked through, startling a young woman to his right. Ignoring her, he strode to the back of the room, where Cat stood behind the register, helping a customer. At the sound of his heavy footfalls, she glanced up, her eyes widening with each step he took.
Reaching the desk, he stopped, forcing himself to breathe before he blew up. His eyes, however, never left her tall form, all of his frustration and rage focused on her.
Cat smiled at the older gentleman in front of her, showing no outward sign of disturbance, but her hand shook as she handed him his purchases. “Tell Moira hello,” she said.
The man tipped his head to her. “I sure will, young lady. And give that fine little boy of yours a squeeze from ol’ Fred.”
With a laugh, Cat answered, “Will do.” As the man ambled away, her gaze moved to Matt. “Hello, Matthew,” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Hello?” he ground out, his voice a furious whisper, still conscious of the woman browsing at the front of the store. “That’s all you have to say after interfering in, after ruining my life?”
Cat held up her hands. “Whoa. Those are some serious accusations.”
Matt clenched his teeth together, his jaw ticcing. “Yes. And you’ve got some serious explaining to do. You and Ben both.”
Cat exhaled loudly, blowing her bangs out of her eyes with a nod. “I’m happy to do that. After business hours?”
The noise that emerged from Matt’s throat was a cross between a growl and a curse. He looked at his watch. “Fine. You’ve got ten minutes.”
Cat turned to the clock behind her. “Heavens, is it that late already?” She fidgeted nervously with a pen.
The front door opened, and Matt turned as Ben held the door for the young woman, who slipped out with a nod. Walking through, Ben’s eyes fell on the two figures at the back, and a grin broke out on his face. He headed toward them. “Hello, my love. And to you, Matt. It’s nice to see you—” He broke off as Cat shook her head.
Matt’s chin jutted out as he stared at his advisor, his colleague, the man he’d begun to consider a friend.
Ben’s footsteps slowed. “I take it your time in England didn’t go well? Did you not find Amara?”
“Oh, I found her all right. At Clarehaven. Her home. Her ancestral home.”
Cat and Ben said nothing.
“The home she lived in before coming to Charlottesville,” he continued, though he was sure they knew the details. “In 1813. Ring any bells?”
Cat swallowed. “I wanted to tell you, Matt.” She glanced at her husband, gnawing on her lip. “We wanted to. Amara begged us not to. Said it was hers to tell if you were to know.”
Matt snorted, a bellow of anger.
“Believe me, I’ve second-guessed honoring that promise since you left,” Ben added but stopped when Matt’s glare shifted to him, his hands curling into fists.
Cat cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “So you know about the time travel. Did she tell—?”
Matt cut her off. “Did she tell me about the manuscript? Yes. And about the story you wrote to bring her forward. To me. The story linking us together, even though neither one of us wanted that. Neither one of us asked for that.”
He ran a hand over his hair, clasping the back of his head. “What gave you the right?” His tone was half fury, half agony. “How dare you interfere with my life like this? Or Amara’s?”
Cat’s brow creased. “I ... we—”
“We did it for you, Matt,” Ben said, moving behind the desk. He slung an arm around Cat’s shoulders, pulling her close. Cat visibly relaxed, and for a second, pangs of envy raced through Matt. No! He wasn’t going to focus on his sorrow, on his pain at losing Amara, on how much he missed her. His anger was his focus now, and rightfully so.
“You remind me so much of me a few years ago,” Ben continued. “Smart. Driven. A workaholic. A lonely workaholic.”
“Lonely?” The word burst out of Matt.
“Perhaps it was presumptive.” Ben held up his free hand palm forward to concede guilt. “But I remember how empty my life was, though I didn’t think so at the time. And when we read Eliza’s letter, her plea for Amara, well, I thought—”
“—We thought,” interjected Cat.
“We thought she’d be a good fit for you. Someone to draw you out of yourself, away from the screen. Someone who might just be your other half.”
“And I had no say?” Matt’s brows furrowed, rage surging through him again.
“Of course you did! You had as much say as you would with any woman expressing interest in you. You could have said no at any time!” Cat burst out.
“Really? With a magical story linking us together, not to mention you throwing her at me every chance you got?”
“My stories provide possibilities. They’re not written in stone. The attraction may be stronger, yes, but I’ve no doubt you’ve resisted acting on attractions before.”
An image of his teaching assistant, a cute redhead, from last semester’s class sprang to mind. She’d made it clear she was interested in him. Matt had considered it briefly but hadn’t pursued it. She was a student, and he’d never cross that line. Still, this was different. Wasn’t it? He blew air out from his cheeks, then sucked in a deep breath.
After a moment of silence, Cat reached a hand forward, as if to soothe him. “What happened in England, Matt?”
His eyes filled with tears, and he ducked his head so they wouldn’t see. “I want to see this manuscript. This—our—story.”
“Of course. But won’t you tell us what happened? Is Amara okay?”
He lifted his head to the ceiling, his nostrils flaring as he willed the tears not to fall. One defied him anyway, slipping down his cheek.
Cat sucked in a breath but said nothing.
“She ... we lost the baby. And when I told her I loved her, she told me to go home.” He wiped the moisture from his cheeks, then settled his hands on his hips, glowering at Cat and Ben, even as more tears threatened to spill.
“Oh, Matthew. Oh. I am so sorry. About the baby. About everything.” Cat’s own eyes glistened with moisture, and she clasped her hands over her mouth.
“I am, too.” Ben’s voice exuded sympathy. He walked out from behind the counter and set a hand on Matt’s arm. “You told her you loved her?”
“Yes. Because I do, damn it. And it’s your fault.” He yanked his arm away. The words were harsh, but some of the anger had left his voice. He could blame Cat and Ben until the cows came home, but in his heart, he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Whatever the circumstances, however Amara came to be in his life, he loved her now.
And
she’d rejected him.
“Give her time.”
Matt huffed. “Time?”
“Yes, time. Believe me, I know how difficult all of this is
to absorb, to come to terms with. When Cat first told me, I didn’t contact her again for weeks.” Ben’s eyes didn’t leave his. “I wrestled with it. I wanted to reject it. I was angry, bewildered, doubting, confused. I was all of those things. But I came back. I came back because I knew I was falling in love with her, and I needed to see what was there, if there was a possibility.”
He walked over and planted a kiss on his wife’s mouth. “I’m so glad I did. I had no idea how empty my life was without Cat. And, well, she’s converted me into a bit of a cupid, wanting to give others the same opportunity, the same chance at love that we had. I admit, knowing she has the power to set the spark is kinda heady.”
“But as we said before, the people involved always have a choice,” Cat added quickly. “It’s up to the couple to kindle the full flame.”
Matt’s shoulders eased a little. “Show me the story. And the letter to you.”
Cat nodded. “Ben, will you lock up? I’ll call the sitter and make sure she can keep Wash longer.”
“Sure,” Ben answered, heading toward the front door. Cat gestured to the stairs leading up to their apartment. “Come on up.”
Matt followed her, his head spinning. He settled himself on the sofa at her bidding while she called the sitter. After a brief conversation, she nodded at Matt. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned a moment later, a plain black book and several envelopes in her hand. She handed him the book first. “This is the manuscript, passed down to me from my grandmother.”
He opened the book, surprised by the richly illuminated pages contained within the simple binding.
“Please be careful and don’t touch the pages directly; it is quite old. I mostly read from the photocopies I had made. But I wanted to show you it’s for real.”
“And it says?”
“It says I can create love stories.”
He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure it says more than that. It’s a short book, but it’s not that short.”
Cat shoved a lock of hair behind her ears. “The rest are records of such love stories—a history, so to speak. A man deeply wronged the original author. She was determined it never happen again, to her or to her sisters. Somehow, she created this, created the magic. The manuscript is quite vague on how that actually occurred. Intentionally, I assume; she likely didn’t want to be accused of witchcraft. Most of the truths about the manuscript and its powers have been handed down orally, for generations.”
“But how did you come to have it?”
“Apparently that woman from so long ago was one of my relatives.”
Just as Amara’s relatives had handed down her story. He wrinkled his brow. “This is crazy. A magical medieval manuscript working as a love potion?”
“Kind of. It gave me powers, but I have to write the stories. Nuts, right? But I tested it out. It worked.” She chewed her lip for a second before rushing on. “Then Eliza, my Austen-loving friend, asked me to send her to Regency England, to get a chance with a duke. I didn’t think it’d work, what with the time travel and all, but it did.”
She waved the letters in her hand. “And Eliza was thoughtful enough, thank God, to write me tons of letters, telling me about her new life. She sent forward books and other things, too. Including a plea on behalf of her duke’s sister. Amara.” She handed him an envelope. “Amara didn’t write this letter; Eliza did. But she went into detail about Deveric’s poor sister, how she’d been duped by some rascal and tainted with scandal ever since.” Cat shook her head. “So glad social mores aren’t so stringent today. Anyway, Amara wanted a chance at a new life, a life where she had the freedom to make choices she’d never have in her own era.”
Cat paced in front of him as he drew the letter from the envelope. “The only problem was,” she continued, “I couldn’t just bring her forward willy-nilly, no matter how much I wanted to. I needed to bring her forward for love, or at least the possibility of love. That’s the limitation of the manuscript—I can only create opportunities in love. Nothing else. In truth, I didn’t think it would work.”
A nervous trill of laughter escaped her as Ben walked through the door and crossed to her side. “I mean, at least Eliza knew whom to wish upon,” Cat continued. “I had no way of writing to Eliza and Amara to give them any instructions. I could only do exactly what she asked in the letter.”
Matt’s eyes scanned the page, the words written in old-fashioned ink but with a modern slant and a modern tone.
I’ll have her go to the stones, it began, just as you had me do, so she can wish on her forever love and hopefully come forward to you.
Cat said something else, but he didn’t hear her as he read on.
She says she doesn’t want love, but I think that’s just hurt talking, Cat. She got caught being intimate with a man she thought loved her and was going to propose. Until he told her he was already married. When they were discovered, he fled, leaving her to deal with the aftermath by herself. Can you imagine? I mean, it’d be embarrassing in our own time to be discovered in public, sure, but here? Here it’s the kiss of death, especially to a duke’s daughter. Stupid double standard, requiring women to remain virtuous while men sleep around. Never did like that part of this era.
Anyway, babbling again, just like your old friend. As I said, I’ll send her to the stones and have her wish to come forward. Three times, like in the Wizard of Oz. But no ruby slippers, though we could certainly afford some.
I hope you can think of someone who’d be a good fit. Someone who could love her, but also give her breathing room. Someone who’d support her in her goals for a better education, for a more independent life.
Deveric and I will do our best to ensure she’s well cared for financially. Hopefully, that will pan out over the next two hundred years! If not, perhaps you can sell some of the Dickens books I sent on her behalf.
She’s feisty, defiant, prickly ... and hurting. She doesn’t fit here, Cat, just like I didn’t really fit there. I think she’s meant to be in the twenty-first century, with all it can offer her. Thanks for giving her the chance. Here’s praying it will work again!
Much Love, Eliza
Feisty? Prickly? Not when he’d last seen her, lying so pale and weak against that bed. She did command you leave, though.
He’d done that to her, robbed her of her spirit, hadn’t he? By impregnating her, then reacting as he had. He’d hurt her again, left her like the asshole described in the letter. Shame ate at him. Yes, he’d gone to her in the end, but late. Too late. With shaking fingers, he handed the letter back to Cat. “And your story?”
She nodded, passing him a second piece of paper. It was brief.
As requested by my dearest friend Eliza James, now Eliza Mattersley, Duchess of Claremont (what a thrill that still is to write!), Amara Mattersley will go to the ancient stones at Clarehaven, where she’ll wish to be in the future with her true love. I know she won’t know specifically on whom she’s wishing like Eliza did, but, well, maybe this magic stuff will still work. She’ll appear here February 14th, 2016—Valentine’s Day, for what could be more romantic than that? She’ll arrive around 7:00 p.m. when Matthew Goodson is over for his weekly meeting with Ben.
For Matt seems a great match for Amara. He’s brilliant, kind, respectful, and hard working. Too hard-working. Ben worries for Matt, thinks Matt has no life beyond work. Wouldn’t a woman from another century, an era before cell phones and computers, be perfect for a man who never looks up from his screen? And wouldn’t a man who adores his sister as much as Matt does, according to Ben (who met her at a social event), be the kind of guy who’d want Amara to be happy, to have her own independent life? Everything in my gut says yes.
They both have a choice, of course, just as Eliza and Deveric did. I’ll bring them together, but the
y’ll decide whether or not they belong together. Here’s hoping it works.
If not, I can always pair her with William. Ha, ha. – Catherine Schreiber Cooper
Matt scowled. “Who’s this William?”
Cat and Ben exchanged a glance, one Matt couldn’t read.
“He was someone I went on a date with. Before Ben.”
“Two dates.”
“What?” Cat looked at her husband.
“Two dates,” Ben repeated. “And I envied him on both of them.”
“Well,” Cat answered, pressing her lips to his nose. “They were good dates, I admit. But you were the one with whom I’m meant to be.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Why now?”
Cat turned back to him, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You said Eliza went back in 2012. Why wait until 2016 to bring Amara forward?”
Cat gave a guilty smile. “Well, first I was enjoying my time with Ben. Perhaps that was selfish. Then I got pregnant. I didn’t have the time or energy I’d need to give to Amara when I was caring for a baby. Talk about sleep deprivation.” She sat down next to Matt. “In fact, I was going to wait until Wash was a little older. I figured it didn’t make a difference to Amara; she’d go to the stones in her own time and come forward whenever I said. At least I hoped it’d work like that. But I’ve watched you every Sunday night when you’re with Ben. I sensed a loneliness in you, a desperation, especially this year. It seemed the time.” She looked him full in the face, her gray eyes searching his. “Was I wrong?”
He tensed. He didn’t care for being described as lonely, much less desperate. And yet ... he had to admit she was right. “No. You weren’t wrong.” The words were a whisper.
The Magic of Love Series Page 89