Teatime with a Knight (Matchmakers in Time Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  Aside from the growing emptiness in his heart and the gnawing feeling he had to make her his, there was an odd sense of a threat lurking in the shadows, ready to take her away from him. He couldn’t explain it and wasn’t sure if he should tell Duncan or not. Perhaps he was being overprotective of her. Did he fear she’d run that much? Or was it that if she did, it meant she didn’t return his affections? Yet her kisses said otherwise.

  Aldrich left his room to find Duncan, hoping he wasn’t otherwise engaged at the moment. The gnawing in his gut was growing by the minute and not even this morning’s fishing excursion was enough to quell it.

  He found the duke in his study. “Might I have a word?”

  “Of course.” Duncan motioned him to sit.

  Aldrich did. “It’s about Miss Phelps.”

  The duke smiled. “I thought it might be. So when are you planning on proposing?”

  Aldrich grinned back. “I tried a week ago, but it didn’t work out the way I hoped.”

  “Really? But she’s had more time. Is she more receptive to the idea now?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to confuse her. And I don’t want her to run. When I spoke of marriage to her before, it made her …” He sighed. “… angry.”

  “Of course – things are done differently in America. But if you have strong feelings for her, then by all means, Aldrich, ask the woman again.”

  Aldrich’s eyebrows rose as he smiled. “Are you in such a hurry to see me wed?”

  “It is about time you settled down.”

  He watched the duke a moment. Though he was sitting across the desk from him, he could still see the stiffness in the man’s posture, as if bracing himself for something. He should get down to business. “I can’t stop thinking about her. My gut is so twisted up I’m not sure I can eat. And worst of all, not even fishing is doing anything to stop my growing feelings for her.”

  Duncan steepled his fingers in front of him. “Hmm, then it’s time.”

  “I know, but what if she runs?”

  “To where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Well, there’s going to be some difficulty in that.” He leaned forward. “Aldrich, there’s something I need to tell you. And, considering your symptoms, it’s best I tell you now.”

  “Symptoms – of what?” he said with a laugh. “Love?”

  “This goes beyond that,” the duke said ominously.

  Aldrich saw his expression and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Something was wrong. “Duncan, what are you saying?”

  His Grace sighed. “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but then the guests began to arrive … perhaps a drink is in order first.” He rose, went around the desk to a sideboard where he kept his brandy and prepared two glasses.

  “What is this about?” Aldrich asked as the duke returned to the desk and handed him one.

  Duncan took a sip of his, then said, “It’s about Tory Phelps. She’s not quite what you think.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was no sign of Aldrich at luncheon, and Tory wondered what could have happened to him. Had his fishing excursion worn him out? Then again, Duncan was absent too.

  “You must come to London sometime,” Arya was saying.

  That got her attention. “Really? I’d love to!”

  “Yes,” Nettie agreed. “London is full of wonders. I’m sure you’ll find it very entertaining.”

  “Cozette, we’d like you to come, of course,” Arya said. “We don’t want to deprive you of your tutor.”

  Cozette’s eyes darted around the table. The Countess of Belford looked like her life hung on the duchess’s answer. “A trip to London would be … lovely.”

  The countess smiled. “Then you must let me give a ball in your honor, Your Grace.”

  Warning bells went off like sirens in Tory’s mind, and her eyes were narrowed on the countess. A ball? More like a circus, with Cozette in the center ring. “Duncan will come too, won’t he?”

  “If he can … get away,” Cozette said. “But if not, we … will still have a grand time.”

  Tory caught the tiny smirk on the countess’s face and wanted to smack it off. She also noted Cozette had ignored the woman’s offer. Good.

  “I think a ball is a wonderful idea,” the marchioness remarked. “It will be much grander than the one here tomorrow night.”

  Tory’s jaw dropped. Could the woman be any snottier? “I suppose the size of the ballroom does make a difference. You can only fit so many in the one here.”

  “True,” Cozette agreed.

  The marchioness glanced around the table at the others, probably to see how many would join her and the countess in their quest to slyly belittle Cozette. More guests had arrived: another earl and his wife, a viscount, a baron and his family (all daughters of marriageable age according to her studies and all of which were eyeing Tillie’s brother Bram).

  There was also a stuffy old codger named Nigel Rawlinson, who apparently knew Duncan’s uncle, the one he’d inherited his duchy from. The man was hard of hearing and had to be in his mid-eighties at least. He sat next to Tillie who kept slinging questions at him about India and crocodiles. This of course resulted in a succession of “what’s that?” and “come again” from the old man. Tory didn’t mind though – it was irritating the Countess of Belford, who cringed every time Mr. Rawlinson opened his mouth.

  “I could give a ball,” the marchioness announced.

  “A splendid idea,” the countess agreed.

  “I can have the invitations sent out in a fortnight,” the marchioness said happily. “You will be in London by then, will you not?”

  Cozette smiled. “I could not say.”

  Tory could tell the duchess was restraining herself. In fact, she was concentrating hard enough to quell the usual pause in her sentences. Good.

  Cozette looked around the table, her eyes resting on Tillie and Vinnie. Vinnie straightened in her chair. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  Cozette smiled. “Would the two of you care to join me in some archery … this afternoon?”

  The marchioness, who’d been sipping some water, coughed and sputtered, furiously waving her hand in front of her face. As if that would help.

  Tillie responded with an enthusiastic, “We’d love to!” before her mother had a chance to protest.

  It was all Tory could do not to burst into hysterics. Cozette was no fool, and knew what buttons to push on not just the marchioness, but probably quite a few others at the table. She relaxed a notch with the knowledge, and wished Aldrich had been here to see this. Where was he? And what about Duncan – were they together? The baron (she’d forgotten his name already) had asked earlier, but all Cozette said was that he was busy and would be joining them later.

  “May I come along?” Tory decided to ask. She wouldn’t mind a chance to see the duchess in action.

  “Please do,” Cozette said with a smile.

  “No, absolutely not!” the marchioness said. “I’ll not have my daughters corrupted by some … some …”

  “Gads, woman, spit it out or be silent,” Mr. Rawlinson said from the other end of the table. “Besides, young ladies should learn archery. It’s a fine skill.”

  The marchioness gasped. But what could she say? Even Tory (thanks to Mr. Mosgofian’s classes) knew that young ladies of the time studied archery among other, less physical pursuits. Cozette could have just as well asked them to play the piano with her. But Her Grace was clearly putting the marchioness on notice: try to embarrass me, will you? If I go down, I can take your family with me.

  “Really, there’s no need for concern,” the Countess of Belford said with a smile. “I’d love to watch.”

  I’ll just bet you would, Tory thought. She wanted to slip away and find a power outlet so she could charge her cell phone, but didn’t want to abandon her post. Cozette might need reinforcements. She could charge her phone, if not today, then tomorrow. Definitely before the weekend was over. If she had to, she’d g
o to the village, find a coffee shop and do it there. Who knew where she’d find an outlet in this asylum?

  The thought was sobering. Despite having found her things, she’d been so wrapped up in the people and their drama, she’d forgotten they were just playing dress-up. Today she actually felt like she was in the Victorian era, and had to admit it was fun. Maybe she could do this job for the long haul, as odd as it was. So long as she got a break back to reality now and then.

  Tory ate her lunch, all the while keeping an eye on the troublemakers, and wondered how Aldrich was faring. She hoped he was having as interesting a time as she was.

  “Are you all right?” Duncan asked. “Do you need another drink?”

  Aldrich took another long swallow, his eyes riveted on nothing. “Give me a moment.”

  Duncan watched him closely. The duke was still on his first brandy, Aldrich his fourth. “Take all the time you need.”

  Time. That word had a whole new meaning now. But how could what Duncan told him be true? He’d known the man for years – he wasn’t one to come up with something so preposterous. In truth, he was a rotten liar and Aldrich knew it.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Duncan said, interrupting his thoughts, “when Dallan MacDonald first told me, I fainted.”

  Aldrich snapped to attention. “You? Fainted?!”

  Duncan nodded. “Circumstances were different, of course, and he told me a few things besides, but yes, I dropped like a stone.”

  Aldrich stared at him in disbelief – not because the duke had lost consciousness, but because it made his story more believable. Nothing could make Duncan Sayer faint, except perhaps the impossible. “And the Fourth Crusade – that’s how this man proved he could travel through time?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Fool that I was, I chose the place to be used as proof.” He frowned. “Constantinople, the year of our Lord 1204. I was almost skewered by a scimitar. If I’d been smart, I’d have picked something more familiar, like watching the demise of that bloody stuffed crocodile in the library.”

  Despite the circumstances, Aldrich laughed. It felt good. He was terribly tense and wasn’t sure how he’d react when he saw Tory next. “That monstrous trophy? That would be a sight. Your relative battling the huge beast, bringing it to its end …”

  Duncan coughed into his hand. “Oh, quite, but enough of my relative’s trophies. We were talking about you.”

  Aldrich sat back in his chair and eyed the brandy decanter on the sideboard. “Yes.”

  “And?” Duncan prompted.

  Aldrich took a deep breath. “I still need proof.”

  “As I told you, it’s easy enough to provide. I just have to find Dallan.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I believe he’s in my woods somewhere, but I can’t be sure.” Duncan shrugged. “They’re keeping watch, guarding you and Miss Phelps.”

  Aldrich waved his hand in the air. “Let me get this straight. You’re helping this MacDonald chap pair two people from different centuries so these time-traveling friends of yours can get their hands on the offspring? My offspring? Bloody hell, Duncan!”

  The duke fingered the rim of his glass. “From what I know, you can raise your children as you wish, and their paths in life would still be of their own choosing.”

  “Then why do these people want to make sure Miss Phelps and I fall in love and have children to begin with? Why fall in love at all? Why not just …?”

  “Enough, Aldrich. I’ve said all I know.” The duke stood and paced. “I only know that you are key, Aldrich, you and Miss Phelps.”

  Aldrich wiped his mouth, wishing he could hit something – or someone, preferably this MacDonald chap. If he existed, that is. Perhaps the duke was completely barmy and none of this was real. But deep in his heart, he knew it was. When he thought back on Tory’s behavior and mannerisms, the way she spoke, her boldness, her free spirit, how could it not be? He’d met Americans before and she was very different from them.

  And there was the undeniable fact he was in love with her. What was he to do about that?

  “Do yourself a favor, old man,” Duncan said. “If you love Miss Phelps, marry her, no matter where or when she’s from. Live your life, raise whatever children you have and forget the rest.”

  Aldrich sighed. “And if these people come for my children one day? What then?”

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that the Time Master is an honorable man. He does nothing for himself. He’s only trying to protect your family line.”

  “Protect my family line? I’m a knight. Many of my ancestors were nobles, warriors who served their kings. But some of them, as you well know, were murderers and thieves, adulterers, traitors … shall I go on?”

  “I don’t think this has anything to do with them. This is about blood and something called … what was it now? Genes. Suffice to say, I’m sorry. I took a risk in telling you – it was a gamble at best and I’ve lost. Forgive me, my friend.”

  Aldrich stared at him in shock. He knew the duke well enough to know that his words were heartfelt. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  “Not yet, though I’m surprised she hasn’t figured it out by now. But then, she hasn’t left the estate and these people did think of almost everything.” He sighed. “Everything except what would happen if I told you the truth. Which now I have.”

  Aldrich stared at him in silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle. In that moment, he realized how much he missed Tory. No matter what Duncan told him, he couldn’t give her up. Literally – he felt as if letting her go would kill him. She was his alone, he’d see to it. As to any threat to his future children, he’d think about that later – he could only handle so much at one time. There was that word again - time. “I have to speak with her,” he said. “Luncheon must be over by now. Perhaps she’s in her room.”

  “I can send Becky to fetch her. Would you like her to meet you in the drawing room?”

  Aldrich looked at the clock on the wall. “We have a few hours until tea. Perhaps that would be a better time. I could ask her to take a walk with me in the gardens afterward.” He sighed. “I planned to court her, you know.”

  “Planned?”

  Aldrich gave him his full attention. “I will court her, even if I have to take her to London to do it. She could stay in your townhouse, could she not?”

  “Of course, whatever suits you. But can you wait that long? Perhaps it’s better to marry sooner than later.”

  Aldrich frowned. Could he wait? “And Cozette? Did your time-hopping friends pluck her from some other century?”

  Duncan smiled softly. “No, she’s from this one – we both are. Nothing fantastical about us, at least not in that way.” He looked oddly at Aldrich before turning away.

  Aldrich sighed. “I’ve known you for a long while, Duncan. My father said you were a good man, that I should get to know you and be glad I did.”

  The duke watched him a moment. “Are you?”

  “Until this moment, yes.” Aldrich took a deep breath. “Now I’m not sure.”

  Duncan nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry, Aldrich. I’d hoped my telling you wouldn’t affect our friendship.”

  Aldrich looked at him, hard. “It wouldn’t have such an effect, Your Grace, if I didn’t believe you. But I do.”

  Duncan sighed in relief. “Thank the Lord for that.” He sat back in his chair. “What will you do now?”

  “What I’d like to do is propose.”

  “Before you lose your nerve?”

  “No, before she does.” Aldrich stared at the amber liquid in his glass. “Because frankly, I’m terrified of what will happen if she finds out about all this beforehand.”

  “Like I said, she’s none the wiser and won’t be, so long as she doesn’t leave the estate. But don’t stall – ask her in the next few days.”

  “And if she still refuses?” He wagged a finger at him. “You forget that was my original challenge when I came
to see you. And now I have this … complication on top of it.”

  “Then you’d better work fast, hadn’t you?” Duncan advised. “Win her heart, Aldrich. Before it’s too late.”

  Aldrich left Duncan’s study, went to the kitchens for a snack (food always did calm his nerves), then went to find Tory. He found the house guests on the back lawn near the gardens watching – he smiled – Cozette do what she did best: shoot at things.

  “Ohhhh, I can’t watch,” wailed the countess. Make that both countesses – the Earl and Countess of Danbourne had arrived while he was speaking with Duncan. In fact, from the looks of things, most of the house guests were now in attendance.

  “Hold still, Tory,” Cozette advised.

  Aldrich shook himself. “Tory?”

  “Quiet,” an old man barked. “Can’t you see the duchess is taking her shot?”

  Aldrich recognized the duke’s friend Rawlinson, then turned to the scene in front of him. He knew Cozette shot fruit off poor Emsworth’s head, but he wasn’t in love with Emsworth! Every protective bone in his body screamed for him to put himself between Cozette’s arrow and Tory, the woman from the future. She was so brave – you’d not catch any of the other women standing against stacked bales of straw with an apple on their head.

  Her eyes met his. He could see a little apprehension mixed with the boldness he was so bloody fond of. He managed a reassuring look and a small nod in return. It will be all right, she won’t miss, you don’t have to be afraid. Because at this point, what else could he do? If he yelled and startled Cozette, she might let the arrow loose too soon.

  Before he knew it, the apple had been pierced, the arrow sunk deep into the straw. Tory sighed in relief and smiled as half the guests clapped while the rest griped.

  “Why, she’s more indecent than the duchess,” the Countess of Belford remarked as he passed. “Imagine doing such a thing! What a spectacle.”

  “Indeed it was,” he commented as he brushed by. “The bravest I’ve ever seen.”