“He threw himself into handling family matters and estate business. Became the very model of propriety. He practically eliminated his social life. Oh, he kept his club memberships and made sure he was there to accompany me after my coming-out, but the wild nights and the women that went with them ended. As if now that he was the head of the family, he needed to behave accordingly. Of course, he felt compelled to look after me. It was very much as if he was trying to make amends to Father for the scandalous life he led."
Lydia tilted her head thoughtfully. "But you know, I don't believe Adam's scandals and escapades really bothered Father. I always thought he was rather proud of his son. Father was a bit of a rake himself in his day, you know. And it always seemed to me that he thought Adam would grow out of it, take after him perhaps. Father did not marry Mother and settle down until well into his thirties. Adam was twenty-five when Father died."
"You notice a lot more than you let on, don't you?" Maggie said.
Lydia cast Maggie a long, pensive look, as if carefully considering both her words and whether she could trust Maggie to hear them. "Yes, I believe I do. But I have learned through the years what is and is not expected of a woman. I am to be pretty and decorative. My accomplishments should include music in some form. I play the pianoforte because I have no voice for singing. I am able to embroider and sew a fine stitch. I speak French passably and can manage a household, both in town and in the country. I have mastered all that is expected of a young lady in my position except finding a husband."
Lydia sighed heavily. "And now Adam is threatening to take that out of my hands."
Maggie stared, shocked. "Do you mean he could make you marry someone you don't want to?"
"It's not uncommon." Lydia quickly jumped to her brother's defense. “He is acting in what he believes is my best interest for my future. And in spite of my accomplishments, in the past my behavior has not always been as acceptable as it should have been."
Sudden insight struck Maggie. "You break the rules, don't you?"
"Well, I don't break them so much as merely bend them a bit. I find the rules, as you call them, so"—Lydia searched for the right word—“so confining.” She added with a surge of anger, "And bloody unfair, too!"
Maggie nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“Adam had his opportunity to do whatever he wanted and has suffered no lasting consequences. If I, however, even dance with a man more than twice, my reputation will be a shambles. I cannot ride a horse or go for a walk without a servant in attendance. And heaven forbid I should ever be alone with a man. There are even streets in London where women are not to be seen."
“You're kidding!" Maggie knew 1818 was long before women's lib but this was ridiculous. "That's crazy. Why don't you just do what you want?"
"Quite simple, really." Lydia shrugged with resignation. "I don't have that kind of courage. Oh, I enjoy pushing the limits of acceptable behavior, but I'm afraid complete revolution isn't in me. To be totally ostracized from society is a fate even I shudder to contemplate." She smiled, a gleam returning to her eye. "Besides, I do tend to get my own way far more often than many unmarried women I know. It may well be the biggest benefit of having a doting brother, even if his current well-meaning intentions are a bit tyrannical."
"What are you going to do about that husband business?" Maggie figured Lydia wouldn't take Adam's finding her a husband lying down.
"Oh, I have some ideas," Lydia said vaguely.
Maggie started to ask what kind of ideas but the modiste and her staff bustled into the room in a flurry of silks and laces. She made a mental note to learn more about Lydia's plans later. Maggie didn't know why, but somehow Lydia's cryptic comment left her with an indistinct sense of approaching doom.
***
It was late afternoon before they finally returned home. Maggie would never have believed a simple session with a dressmaker would be so exhausting, but she was dead on her feet. Of course, she'd spent all day being the object of Lydia's attention, as well as that of the modiste and what seemed like a flock of twittering assistants. All Maggie wanted to do was head straight to her room and her bed. Even dinner held no appeal.
Almost too tired to keep her eyes open, she feared she was too keyed-up to sleep. Maggie worried if she lay down now she'd toss and turn for hours. She needed something to help her get to sleep. Brandy? That would do it. She headed for the library.
Maggie breezed into the room, headed straight for the crystal decanter, and poured herself a glass. She took a sip. The warmth of the liquor flowed through her and she sighed.
"I told you it was quite good, didn't I?"
Maggie whirled toward the unexpected voice. Adam lounged in a chair near the fireplace.
"Is this becoming a habit or what?" she said, her voice sharp with surprise. "Every time I turn around you're sneaking up on me."
He raised an eyebrow and saluted her with the glass in his hand. "I believe I was here first.”
"You're right." She sighed. "Sorry." She crossed to the sofa and collapsed. She laid her head on the armrest, swung her legs up, and stretched her body out along the sofa's length. In the extremely comfortable, semi-reclined position, Maggie observed Adam over the edge of her glass.
“I've really been a bite in the shorts since I've been here. I know that. And you and Lydia have been the greatest. Letting me stay with you, getting me clothes. And I honestly do appreciate it."
"Yes?"
"Remember I told you this morning I was scared?" He nodded and she continued. "Well, what if this whole thing isn't temporary? What if I can't go home in a month? What if I'm stuck here forever?"
“Would that be so bad?" His eyes gleamed intently. “Would it be so terrible to spend your life here?"
"Yes!" She caught herself at the look of regret that passed through Adam's eyes so quickly she could have been mistaken. “No. I guess not. Maybe. I don't know! I’m a creature of my environment, my history, my society. Can I exist without all that? It's like starting over on a desert island. I don't know."
She shook her head slowly, then gazed at him. "And what about you and your sister? How long can you pass me off as a weird, distant relative from America? What do you do if I can't go back?"
"I daresay we shouldn't worry about that unless it happens. In the meantime, is this truly so awful?"
"It's just so complicated here. So many dos and don'ts, rules and regulations. There's a lot to keep track of."
A light of sympathy shone in his eyes. "I imagine it must be difficult for one not used to it."
She took another sip of the brandy. "No shit. Sherlock."
"Miss Masterson!" Adam lurched upright in his chair. “I thought you understood. I thought you were beginning to grasp what is and what is not acceptable language. I don't know who Sherlock is but it is not difficult to understand the meaning of that particularly salty phrase. And ‘no shit Sherlock’ definitely does not fall within the boundaries of well-bred behavior. Do you comprehend what I'm saying at all?"
Maggie widened her eyes and had the good grace to blush. Warmth spread across her cheeks, and for a moment embarrassment kept her silent.
“I'm sorry," she said after a long pause. "I know I promised to act like I belong here and I really am trying. Honestly. But you have to remember one thing." She sat up and leaned forward, gazing into his dark eyes. “You, and Lydia of course, are all I have right now. If I can't let my guard down with you, I'll go crazy. I'm living a total lie here and that's hard enough. But if I can't get a break when I'm with you, I don't think I can do it." She paused and took a deep breath.
"So please don't get mad at me when I forget all the little details about behavior and decorum here. I need to be able to be myself sometimes. As tacky as it may seem, this is who I am. I'm sorry if I disappoint you."
"Oh," he said softly and reached to push an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “I'm not at all disappointed." His hand traveled down to cup her chin. His bottomless brown ey
es locked with hers. "So far I have been confused and confounded as well as infuriated and annoyed." His thumb lightly caressed her lower lip and she resisted the impulse to respond. "But I have also been intrigued beyond measure and lured by a mysterious attraction even I cannot fail to respond to."
“Oh. . . yeah. Right," she breathed. Wow! This guy was good.
Really good.
Abruptly he removed his hand and she nearly fell forward. Struggling to maintain her dignity and pretend nothing happened, she wondered at the look of. . . what? Satisfaction in his eye? Surely she was mistaken. Maggie downed the last of her brandy and stood.
“Well, I'm wiped out, so I'm going to bed. Thanks for everything."
"It is distinctly my pleasure." He picked up her hand and brushed his lips across it lightly. “And one more thing."
His gaze bored into hers and she wondered if he would kiss her again. Would she have the strength or the desire to pull away this time?
"Yes?" She tilted her face toward him in expectation.
"I was curious. "The underlying currents in his soft words matched her own. "I have replaced all the items from your satchel and thought perhaps you would like to keep them with you." He dropped her hand and strode behind the desk. He bent down and disappeared, only to rise with her tote bag in one hand, her folded clothes, shoes balanced on top, in the other.
“I would suggest hiding them somewhere out of the obvious sight and reach of the servants. Or would you prefer I keep them?" His eyebrow raised with the question.
"Oh, no." She reached for her things, glad for the breathing space the action provided to pull herself together. The man had an irritatingly powerful effect on her. "I'll take them. Thanks. See you tomorrow."
She crossed the room and managed to open the door in spite of the burdens in her arms. A vague disappointment that he had not attempted to kiss her, not pursued their mutual desire of this morning, annoyed her. She really had to stop drooling over him.
She closed the door. A low, self-satisfied chuckle trailed in her wake. She shook her head. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. After all, she was very tired and the only person behind her was Adam.
What on earth did he have to feel smug about?
Chapter Six
Maggie sailed down the stairs the next morning far more refreshed than she'd been since her arrival in London, in either century. Maybe her sister was right. Maybe what she really needed was a chance to get away and think about her life. Maggie laughed to herself. Kiki had no idea just how far away from her 1990s life she'd gotten.
Overnight Maggie had reached a decision. This was her vacation and she was going to enjoy it. If she had to spend it in 1818 London instead of 1995 London, so be it. It would definitely be different and might even be fun. Now that she had come to grips with where and when she was, she was determined to enjoy every minute of the month allotted her.
At the bottom of the stairs she ran into Adam in the foyer. Far more casually dressed than she'd seen him before, he wore some kind of buff-colored pants, dark jacket, and polished boots. The look flattered him but she couldn't help wondering idly what he'd look like in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, both a shade too small.
"Good morning." He smiled with apparent pleasure at her approach. His gaze traveled appreciatively over her, spreading heat wherever it lingered. "Those clothes suit you admirably."
"Thanks." A shiver scampered through her and a blush warmed her cheeks at the compliment. "This is one of Lydia's. Mine aren't quite ready." She nodded at his clothes. "Where have you been?"
"Riding. I try to ride as often as I can. Usually every morning. Unfortunately there's not always time."
"Too bad," Maggie said lightly. "I guess that means you can't go with me today."
He frowned suspiciously. "Where are you going?"
"Well." She took a deep breath and let the air and the words rush out. Somehow she didn't think he'd approve of her plans. "I've decided to do some sightseeing while I’m here. You know, take advantage of the situation. Have some fun. Enjoy myself."
“And where precisely do you plan on doing this sightseeing?" He quirked an eyebrow.
“I don't know for sure.” She furrowed her brow in thought, sank onto the stairs, and patted the step beside her, indicating that he sit. He joined her, leaning his back against the banister.
"My sister made all our sightseeing plans. I didn't want to come to London in the first place. She pushed me into it."
"Why didn't you want to come to London?” Curiosity shone in his eyes. "It is a magnificent city."
"I didn't see the need for it, I guess. My sister thought it would do me good to get away." She wrinkled her nose at the thought. "Kiki, that's my sister, thought I had no direction in my life. She feels I'm basically going nowhere. Kiki’s pretty much of an overachiever. She figured this was a good chance to put some perspective on my life. You know, from a distance."
"You most definitely have achieved distance and, I suspect, a rather unique perspective." Irony colored his words.
She laughed. "No kidding. But I don't think this is exactly what she had in mind. Anyway, Kiki made up lists of things we were going to do. She's very organized and makes up lists for everything." Maggie paused and smiled, remembering her sister's habit.
“The lists?" he prompted.
“Oh, sorry." She thought for a moment. "Let’s see. We were going to visit some of the spots Charles Dickens wrote about. And the mythical Twenty-two Baker Street, home of Sherlock Holmes. And the haunts of Jack the Ripper."
Adam frowned in puzzlement. "I'm afraid none of that sounds even vaguely familiar."
She stared, then realized what she had done. “I know." She sighed. "I keep forgetting that what seems ancient to me hasn't even happened yet. Maybe I should explain.”
Maggie ticked the points off on her fingers. "Charles Dickens was, or rather will be, one of the greatest British writers of all time. He'll be read and studied for generations. Dickens wrote the most wonderful Christmas story ever. Most people probably know it by heart. Then there's Sherlock Holmes."
"Sherlock?" A teasing smile crossed his lips.
"Never mind." She ignored the gleam in his eye. "Sherlock Holmes was a fictitious detective. He was brilliant and could solve almost any mystery simply by his powers of observation and deduction. The Holmes stories are among the best mysteries ever written.”
"And this Jack the Ripper is a literary figure as well?"
"Oh, no." She leaned toward him and widened her eyes. "He was very real. He was a murderer here in London. Killed four or five women, prostitutes mostly, I think, in the 1870s or maybe 1880s. I don't remember for sure."
"And your time reveres such a man?" His shocked expression surprised her.
"No, of course not." Indignantly she glared at him. "You really do have the wrong impression of my time. He isn't revered. It all happened over a century ago and they never discovered who he was. It's one of the great criminal mysteries of all time. Who was Jack the Ripper? It's a question that even in my day researchers, criminologists, and even plain old armchair detectives are still trying to solve."
She cast him a sidelong glance. "There was even speculation at the time that he was a member of the royal family."
"I wouldn't be at all surprised." Adam smiled wryly. "Between insanity, philandering, and other scurrilous activities, I would not put murder out of the realm of possibility."
"Well, don't worry about it." She shrugged matter-of-factly. "It won't happen for years yet."
"No, I suppose not."
He seemed to ponder the idea momentarily, then apparently shook it off. "This still leaves us at our original point. Where do you want to go? Were there not any places in London that you, not your sister, wanted to see?"
"Sure. I wanted to go see the impressionists at the Courtauld Institute. But you know what? They aren't painting yet. They won't be painting for another, oh, fifty or sixty years."
She bent toward him. “
I'd love to see the National Portrait Gallery, too. Does that exist yet?" He shook his head. "Great. Terrific.” She sank back against the stairs.
He regarded her with his annoying amused smile and raised that infuriating eyebrow again. "I'm truly sorry my city can't offer you all you came here expecting. But I assure you there are many delights in London for visitors."
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Yeah, right. Like what?"
"Well, there's Westminster Abbey, and the Tower, and, of course, the British Museum."
"Don't they have a lot of ancient Greek and Egyptian stuff?"
"An excellent collection."
"Great. Sounds like fun." She bounced to her feet. “Now if I were at home I'd just go there by myself, but I assume I can't do that here, right?"
He nodded. "That's correct."
”So are you going to come with me?" She stretched out her hand to him.
Adam unfolded himself from the stairs and took her hand. An almost electric current shot through her at his touch.
"I would be delighted to accompany you." He smiled and again she was struck by what a wonderful smile it really was.
"Terrific. Now, where can we get something to eat in this house? I'm starving."
***
They strolled through the galleries of the British Museum at a leisurely pace. Maggie linked her arm through Adam's and savored the feel of his warm, hard body next to hers, his hand covering hers. He'd occasionally remove it to point out some treasure or other and she was surprised to note how impatient she was for its return.
They spent long minutes examining the Elgin marbles, huge chunks of Grecian carvings torn from the Parthenon and brought to England by Lord Elgin. Adam had seen them before. Maggie had only seen photographs.
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