by Carola Dunn
“Why do you not want to marry this Thorncrest?” she asked. “Only because he is a friend of Byron’s?”
“Is that not enough?” Emily glanced at Charlotte, but she was talking to Giles. “They say Lady Caroline Lamb wrote in her diary that Lord Byron is ‘mad, bad, and dangerous to know,’” she whispered. “I have heard that he mistreated his wife until she ran away, and that his half-sister is his mistress!”
“That is probably true,” Jodie conceded, “but what has that to do with Lord Thorncrest? He is not a widower, is he?”
“No, he is a single gentleman.”
“Then he cannot be accused of mistreating a wife. Has he a half-sister?”
“I believe not. But I have heard that he is a shocking rake, and besides his manner is so cutting that I am dreadfully afraid of him. He makes me feel a complete ninnyhammer.”
“You have met him then. I thought Roland was forcing you to marry a complete stranger.”
“We went to London for the Little Season last year and I met him there. I cannot imagine why he should wish to marry me, unless for my dowry.”
“Surely your brother would not wed you to a fortune-hunter!”
“No, the earl is wealthy, but my portion would be a splendid addition to any fortune. My great-grandfather, the first viscount, made a great deal of money in the South Sea Bubble, and in a hundred years it has grown considerably.”
Jodie remembered that Giles was, as he had put it, “rather well-off,” sufficiently well-off to refuse a salary for tax reasons. The Faringdales, it seemed, were an unusually thrifty lot, succeeding generations conserving and increasing the family fortune rather than dissipating it.
She glanced around the drawing room. The furnishings were a mixture of styles, from heavy Queen Anne cabinets carved with birds and fruit to the light, spare lines of Sheraton chairs. Jodie recognized several pieces from the museum part of the twentieth-century Waterstock Manor. Nothing had been discarded for the expensive sake of changing fashion, but everything was in excellent condition.
The gown she wore, and Emily’s, and Charlotte’s, though simple, were of good quality, showing no signs of wear. And Charlotte had said that Roland never quibbled over her bills. Whatever his faults, Jodie regretfully acquitted the present Lord Faringdale of meanness. There were plenty of other charges against him.
“Roland cannot literally force you to marry Lord Thorncrest, can he?” she asked Emily. “If he dragged you to the altar, the parson would refuse to conduct the ceremony.”
“He can make my life miserable with his scolding, and it would be horrid for Charlotte, too. He would be bound to think she had supported me if I rebelled. Besides, it is my duty to obey him. I shall have to marry Lord Thorncrest.” Tears welled in Emily’s brown eyes.
“Do not despair yet,” said Jodie bracingly. “You and Charlotte really must learn to stand up to these dictatorial men. It looks as if we are going to be here for a while yet, so I shall give you a few lessons in women’s lib. Okay? I mean, all right?”
“Women’s lib?”
“Well, we’ll stick to assertiveness training. Standing up for your own opinions, and how to say no, that sort of stuff. I expect it would cause a few of Giles’s paradoxes if we went out to fight for the vote.”
His attention caught by his name, Giles heard the last part of Jodie’s sentence. “Fight for the vote? Ye gods, Jodie, you wouldn’t!”
“It seems a pity to pass up the opportunity,” she said innocently. “I’m inclined to believe Dr. Brown’s Conservation of Reality theory.”
“In minor matters, yes, but something like that would have to change the future—our past—in a big way.” Dismayed, Giles ran his fingers through his hair.
“You think I might succeed in winning the vote for women a century early? I’m flattered by your confidence in me. More likely my efforts would fizzle out and not make the slightest difference, but you needn’t worry, I don’t intend to try. I told Emily it would probably cause one of your paradoxes.”
He sighed in relief. “So you were just teasing. I might have guessed. All the same, the longer we stay, the more likely something will go wrong. I must get back to work. Cousin Emily, will you take me to see the lightning rods on the stables? Don’t worry, Jodie,” he forestalled her protest with a grin. “We’ll say that as a fellow-countryman and fellow-scientist of Ben Franklin’s, I’m eager to see how the English have improved upon his invention.”
Emily was glad to be distracted from her woes. As she and Giles left, the elderly butler came in with a tray of refreshments. Jodie eyed the tea and cakes hungrily. Since a snack lunch in Oxford yesterday, if yesterday was the right word, she had eaten nothing but what Emily had managed to smuggle up to them.
However, it was a long time since she had used the chamber pot in the night nursery.
“I don’t suppose there’s a water closet at Waterstock Manor?” she asked Charlotte without much hope. Probably the thrifty Faringdales considered such a luxury an unnecessary extravagance.
“My father-in-law had Burmah water closets installed years ago, two for the family and one for the servants. Shall I show you the way?”
At first glance the water closet looked like a superior outhouse—a polished wooden bench with a hole in it. However, underneath the bench was a porcelain bowl, and overhead hung a metal water tank for flushing just like the one in Jodie’s Oxford digs two hundred years in the future.
Charlotte also showed her the separate bathroom, complete with shower bath. “Just tell Matty or Dinah when you want to bathe, so that the boiler can be stoked,” she said.
“Heavenly!” Remembering last evening, Jodie giggled. “Giles will be thrilled to death. He had no appreciation of the historical significance of the chamber pot.”
They returned to the drawing room and settled down for a comfortable cose.
“I like the way you joke with Cousin Giles,” Charlotte said wistfully, as she poured the tea. “You must have known him a long time.”
Jodie felt her cheeks grow warm. “As a matter of fact, I only met him yesterday. People in our time, especially Americans, tend to be much more free and easy with new acquaintances than here and now. Not that I would have accepted a ride with any man, even in England. I liked him right away, and felt I could trust him.”
“He seems to be a…a great-grandson to be proud of. All the same, even though you are posing as his sister, I beg you will be careful how you behave with him. It seems young ladies in the future have little care for their reputations, but if you are going to be with us for some time, I should not like to see yours besmirched.”
“You’re a dear, Charlotte. With you to teach me, I shall do very well.”
“I shall do my best. You already speak much more as we do than you did at first.”
Jodie explained her interest in the Regency period. Charlotte was astonished that Jodie was a serious historian, and fascinated by the notion that her own times were the foundation for a whole genre of romantic novels. She confessed to a weakness for Minerva Press romances.
“It was Emily’s idea to read Voltaire.” Charlotte sighed. “She is much cleverer than I, but I fear it will do her no good with Lord Thorncrest. Gentlemen do not appreciate intelligence in a female.”
Discussion of that interesting subject was postponed, as Emily and Giles returned. Giles’s fair hair was ruffled, his blue eyes alight with excitement. Jodie found his enthusiasm endearing. If she had to be marooned in the past, there was no one she had rather be marooned with.
“I’m certain that’s it,” he told her. “The rods are built into the walls and they must still be there in our time. It’s a most unusual configuration, with all of them grounding not more than two meters from where the accelerator will be. We were standing directly between the two! A thunderstorm produces enormous currents so a direct hit… I must get my papers.”
~ ~ ~
Giles was ensconced in the library, from which he had to be pried like a wink
le from its shell at mealtimes. The servants, told that he was a scientific gentleman, regarded him with a sort of awed indulgence that amused Jodie.
Charlotte had much the same attitude towards him. He was exempted from the rigorous instruction in etiquette to which she subjected Jodie. Jodie had to admit that his education as an English gentleman, together with the greater license permitted the male sex, probably justified Charlotte’s trust.
On the other hand, her own knowledge of history helped her to learn quickly. She kept notes on everything, both to refresh her memory next day and for future use. Naturally graceful, she mastered curtsying with ease, much as she disapproved of the practice. Though she fell into bed exhausted and slept like a log, she woke next morning confident of her ability to deceive Roland and Lord Thorncrest.
In fact, despite Charlotte’s lessons on the submissive behaviour proper to a young lady, Jodie was eager to cross swords with both gentlemen.
As the morning passed, Emily grew more and more agitated It was almost a relief when at last the footman popped his head round the living room door to announce: “His lordship’s carriage is come, my lady.”
“Thank you, Frederick.” Charlotte rose, looking anxious. “Pray inform Mr. Faringdale. Jodie, you and Giles wait here as we arranged. Come, Emily.”
“They cannot bite your head off,” Jodie whispered to Emily, squeezing her hand. “Be brave.”
Emily gave her a quavering smile and reluctantly trailed out into the hall after her sister-in-law as the footman went through the connecting door to the library to warn Giles.
Jodie very much wanted to watch the meeting. She contented herself with standing by the hall door so that she could see Charlotte and Emily but not be seen by the gentlemen, she hoped. To her surprise, Roland’s greeting to his wife and sister sounded genuinely solicitous, if fussy. He kissed their cheeks, moving into Jodie’s line of sight. Hastily she stepped back—and landed on Giles’s foot.
“Ouch!” he whispered, steadying her. “What are we being surreptitious about?”
“I want to listen without being seen,” she whispered back, moving forward again. “Hush.”
“Nosy. Come and sit down like a good girl.”
If his firm hand on her arm was not enough to persuade her, at that moment Lord Thorncrest straightened from bowing to Emily and caught her eye in a mirror she had not noticed. He raised one black eyebrow.
Jodie instantly yielded to Giles’s tug and retreated, pink-cheeked.
“Drat,” she said, sitting beside him on a sofa by the fire, “I wanted to hear what Charlotte said about us. I’m afraid the earl saw me.”
“Serves you right for eavesdropping. Don’t worry, it won’t spoil our story. He’ll just think you an inquisitive young lady. Correctly.”
She pulled a face at him and he grinned.
Warned by footsteps, they stood up as Charlotte led her husband into the drawing room, followed by Emily and Lord Thorncrest. Jodie carefully avoided looking at the earl.
Curtsying to the present Lord Faringdale, she examined him with interest. The resemblance to the future Lord Faringdale was immediately obvious, though Roland was shorter than Giles, stockier, his eyes a paler blue and his hair a darker blond. He wore a worried expression like a badge of office—here was the head of the family, a man with weighty problems on his mind.
Perhaps because the addition of new family members increased the consequence of his position, he accepted Charlotte’s introductions with complacency.
“How d’ye do, Miss Judith.” He bowed to Jodie, then shook Giles’s hand. “Cousin, I’m happy to make your acquaintance. From the Colonies, my wife tells me. Former colonies, I should say. Thorncrest, allow me to present my American cousins.”
Jodie almost gasped as she curtsied to the earl. He was startlingly handsome, dark, with an arrogant nose, cynical mouth and determined chin. Hair as black as her own curled crisply and his piercing eyes held a disturbing glint. Bowing, he raised one eyebrow quizzically in an intentional reminder that she had been caught snooping. To her intense annoyance, she felt herself blush.
No wonder poor Emily was out of her depth. Jodie saw that she had taken a seat in an out-of-the-way corner, her head bowed over a piece of embroidery.
Jodie had no intention of being intimidated. “How do you do, my lord,” she said sweetly, before adding a deliberate provocation. “You are an earl? We have abolished titles in the States, of course. Cousin Charlotte explained your English feudal system, but I fear I have forgotten—you are one rank above a duke, are you not?”
“Two below, Miss Judith,” he replied promptly, looking amused rather than angry at being forced to admit his relative unimportance.
Roland, however, was as disconcerted as if a kitten had opened its mouth and roared like a lion, and Charlotte sent Jodie a glance of appeal.
“Why, Jodie, I’m surprised you do not remember,” Giles intervened, his voice full of barely suppressed laughter. He went on, “My sister has the greatest admiration for the English peerage. She’s been begging me for years to bring her to see our ancestral home.”
“Nonsense, Giles,” said Jodie indignantly, “you were just as keen as I.”
Giles and Lord Thorncrest laughed, while Roland frowned. Jodie saw the viscount glance at Emily, alarmed lest she be tempted to emulate this piece of sisterly impertinence. Quiet in her corner, she did not appear to have heard.
Lord Thorncrest took the offensive. “Miss Judith, your speech is very different from your brother’s. Your American accent is much stronger than Mr. Faringdale’s, if you will forgive my mentioning it.”
As if an American accent were an unmentionable disease, Jodie fumed, but she had no ready answer. Charlotte, too, looked blank.
Once again, Giles stepped into the breach. “I was lucky enough as a child to have an English governess,” he said, his eyes daring Jodie to disavow his words. “Unfortunately, she returned home before Jodie was old enough to profit by her example.”
“Ah, I see,” the earl murmured, adding just loud enough for Jodie to hear, “no doubt that is sufficient explanation for her…manners.”
Jodie had to admit to herself that he had drawn first blood. Worse was to come. Charlotte, in an attempt to forestall further questions about the differences between brother and sister, launched into an explanation of Jodie’s supposed Red Indian ancestry.
By the time she finished her noble effort, Roland looked distinctly uneasy. Lord Thorncrest merely raised his quizzing glass and studied Jodie with a sardonic air.
~ ~ ~
“For all the world as if I were a savage!” Jodie stormed to Emily. The gentlemen had gone up to remove their travel dirt, Charlotte accompanying her husband, and Giles had returned to the library.
“It makes me want to run away when he looks at me like that,” Emily confessed.
“It makes me want to hit him, the MCP.”
“MCP?”
“Male chauvinist pig. What a pity that he is so handsome it takes your breath away.”
“I do not care for dark men,” said Emily positively. “Let us not talk about him. It makes me feel ill. Tell me what a male chauv—chauvinist?—pig is.”
“All right, but come over by the fire. I’m cold.” She led the way to the sofa by the fireplace.
Their discussion of the characteristics of the species lasted until the gentleman who had initiated it rejoined them. As he crossed the room, Jodie noted that his physique was as devastating as the face that had mesmerized her at first sight. Tall, broad-shouldered, lithe, he moved with the powerful grace of a mountain lion. The understated elegance of his close-fitting blue coat, modest shirt points, neat but plain cravat, and fawn pantaloons merely accentuated the virile strength within.
Quite a hunk, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know it.
Emily made a move as if to stand up and curtsy. Jodie’s mind raced over Charlotte’s etiquette instructions. Lord Thorncrest was both older and of higher rank, but a
s a suitor surely he did not rank such a courtesy. Jodie put her arm about Emily’s waist and held her down.
“A sight as charming as it is improbable.” The earl stood by the hearth, regarding them with a lazy smile. “Beauty and friendship combined.”
“Improbable?” enquired Jodie.
“In my experience, beauty gives rise to jealousy more often than to amity.”
“Then I must assume that you are flattering us, sir, when you call us beautiful, since our friendship is most sincere.”
He laughed. “On the contrary, Miss Judith. I said improbable, not impossible. May I be seated, Miss Faringdale?”
“Of c-course, my lord,” Emily stammered, crimsoning. “I…we…Luncheon will be served shortly.”
“I am delighted to hear it. I find that travelling always gives me an appetite, do not you?”
“Yes. No. I mean….”
Jodie came to the rescue. “Do you live far from here, my lord?”
“Some thirty miles, ma’am. A mere nothing to one who has crossed the Atlantic Ocean.”
Anxious to avoid questions about the nonexistent voyage, Jodie interrogated Lord Thorncrest about the state of the roads, the type of carriage he drove, the countryside through which he had passed.
“I cry mercy, Miss Judith,” he protested at last. “It is plain that you are an eager student of all things English.”
“If one does not learn from the experience, there is little point in travelling.” In space or time, Jodie added silently. “I shall keep a journal that will be both interesting and useful when I return home.”
“Then you mean to go back to America. That will be a great loss to all of us, will it not, Miss Faringdale?”
“Oh yes!”
He raised his expressive eyebrows at the fervour of Emily’s response. She flushed again, and took a sudden, intense interest in her embroidery.
Charlotte and Roland came in, followed by Frederick who announced that a cold luncheon was served in the morning room. They proceeded thither, and the ladies were seated while the gentlemen served them from the array of cold meats and pies, cheeses and fruits. Jodie would have preferred to help herself, particularly when she saw the delicate portions Lord Thorncrest considered suited to a ladylike appetite.