Calmly, Pierce helped the situation along. "As I explained, Madam, your son's passing left his wife and daughter without means of support -- as far as they were aware." The last seemed somewhat cryptic to Isabeau.
The older woman nodded, then turned to her daughter-in-law, her eyes immeasurably sad. "By the time I learned of my son's death, several weeks had elapsed."
"He died a hero, Ma'am," Lila inserted proudly. "He saved a little girl from being crushed beneath a runaway ice wagon."
"When my husband Markam tried to locate you and Megan, there was no trace to be found. It was as if you had both vanished."
Lila bent her head, shivering. "Ten days after Roger was buried, the landlord evicted us from our rooms. I couldn't even make arrangements to move our personal possessions. He said everything must be sold for back rent. I knew the rent was paid in advance, but I had nowhere to turn. He was very…unpleasant. Society is most unkind to women on their own."
Michelline nodded, her face reflecting her grief. "If only I had known earlier, everyone could have been saved a measure of pain. I was devastated when you and Megan could not be found. I was afraid we had lost you before we even found you."
"I -- it is a long story, Madam," Lila murmured, glancing at Isabeau.
"One which I hope you will someday feel comfortable in relaying to me," Michelline said quietly.
Lila looked at her, swallowing down a hasty denial upon seeing the glimmer of tears in the older woman's eyes.
"Perhaps," Lila conceded. Her expression changed to puzzlement. "How do you even know of our existence that you could search for us?"
"I will explain that shortly. First, I have something to show you which may lift your spirits."
Michelline rose to her feet and walked across the room to pause beside the doorway. With a grimace of distaste, she pulled a long tasseled rope.
The elderly man who had escorted them to the house appeared almost instantly, causing Isabeau to wonder if he had been listening outside the door.
"Walter," Michelline said, "please have the cart brought to the drawing room."
She resumed her seat, and Isabeau wondered what was going on.
Lila fumbled in her purse, pulling out a lace edged square of material to dab at her eyes. Carefully, she refolded the material then looked Michelline Forrester in the eye. "I have not come to throw myself on your mercy, Madam. It was Isabeau who persuaded Mr. Hawk to help locate Roger's family. I can show you our marriage certificate --"
"Please don't, my dear," Michelline said kindly. "Mr. Morgan has shown me ample proof of your identity. However, it was never really necessary. I had pictures of you and my granddaughter before Roger's death."
"B-but how?" Lila questioned, looking thoroughly bewildered.
Sighing, the older woman stood, clasping her hands before her. "Roger would accept no help financially from his father and I. Five years ago he vowed not to return until he had made his own way in the world without his father's influence. My son was a proud man. As you may have surmised, my husband and I have the means to have aided Roger in his chosen career. In any event, he did write sporadically."
Michelline's tears brimmed over. "His last letter stated he planned a surprise visit. We were at last to meet his family. His letter arrived on the day of his death."
Isabeau felt her stomach muscles clench, a chill passing over her.
A stunned look on her face, Lila did not at first respond. Finally, she managed, "I had no idea …no inkling -- " she closed her eyes. "That morning, Roger told me he had a surprise planned. I had forgotten it until this moment."
The older woman moved to sit beside Lila, lightly touching her hand. "As for you throwing yourself on our mercy, that is nonsense. Roger was possessed of a trust fund which became his on his twenty-first birthday. He had never touched it."
Isabeau was delighted, wondering how Lila felt to go from being homeless to a woman of wealth in the space of a week.
A peculiar noise intruded into the momentary silence, then grew louder. It was a repetitious, almost mechanical sound.
"That would be Walter," Michelline commented satisfactorily into the silence.
From around the corner the manservant appeared, pushing a wooden trolley with large wooden wheels on the back and small wheels in the front. There were rows of a dozen shelves or more . . . self-contained, box-like compartments.
Although Isabeau had no inkling as to its origin, apparently Lila was not in a similar state of ignorance. Emitting a cry, she jumped to her feet and stared at the strange contraption, then at her mother-in-law. "However did you manage . . . how did you secure it from that man?" Visibly moved, tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Michelline placed a tender arm around Lila's slim waist.
As Lila continued to cry, Michelline looked helplessly at Pierce. "Perhaps I should have explained first. It was not my intent to upset her." She turned back to Lila, speaking to her daughter-in-law's down bent head. "I thought you would be happy to have your personal possessions returned."
"I am," Lila whispered in a wobbly voice, wiping the tears with her saturated square of linen. "It is just that I never expected to see any of this ever again. The landlord took everything except a few pieces of clothing."
She moved to stand beside the trolley, running her fingers along the smooth wooden edge, then opening the lid of one of the compartments.
Isabeau bit her lip as she saw the framed picture Lila removed and clasped to her heart.
"This was the only picture of our family that I possessed." Lila shook her head, her hands trembling as she held up the picture. Dazed, she said, "I cannot believe you were able to secure all this from Mr. Benser."
"My husband can be very persuasive when the occasion warrants it," Michelline said dryly.
"Yes, indeed," a male voice remarked, causing everyone to turn toward the doorway.
"Markam!" Michelline exclaimed in delighted greeting, rising and walking over to the man in the doorway. "You must come and meet everyone."
"Please excuse my tardiness." Of medium build, Markam Forrester had dark brown hair and long side whiskers, the likes of which Isabeau had only seen previously in photographs.
His demeanor looked harsh and almost forbidding as he entered the room, his eyes riveted on Megan. The child stared back in wide-eyed wonder at the newcomer.
"Are you my new grandpapa?" Megan asked without any preamble, stopping him in his tracks. "You look a lot like my Da."
The tension in the room seemed heavy -- until he smiled at her, his whole expression softening and undergoing a complete transformation. Isabeau was close enough to see his eyes darken with emotion.
"I would be more inclined to say your old grandpapa," he came back, a twinkling in his eyes. "I would guess you are Megan."
The child nodded vigorously, easing any remaining tension in the room.
Isabeau knew Lila and Megan needed time alone with Roger's parents. She was trying to think of a polite way to leave when Pierce touched her elbow.
"Come, Isabeau, we'll walk out in the gardens."
They excused themselves and Pierce indicated the glass door out to the gardens, taking her arm as they walked out onto a flagstone patio.
Breathing deeply, she looked out over the beautifully manicured lawns, the precisely spaced gardens and shrubs. "That was wonderful, what you have done." She looked up at him.
"It never gets old," he admitted.
"You've done this before, of course. I found it quite touching."
Halting in her tracks, Isabeau looked up at him curiously. "And by the way, why all this suspense? Why you didn't let on that Roger's family was so wealthy? Here I am afraid all this time that maybe I'd done the wrong thing in giving Lila hope, that I should never have interfered …was maybe even ruining their lives."
"It wouldn't have helped telling you everything and maybe give Lila false hope if things didn't work out. As it is, they'll have to come to some kind of understanding on th
eir own. We've done all we can. Now it's time to step back."
"Well," Isabeau grumbled, "I think you could have let me in on what was going on here. I'm involved as much as you are. And another thing --" her sentence trailed off as Pierce led her behind a row of trees. Out of sight of the house he pulled her tightly to him and leaned down to brushed his lips against hers.
"Hmm?" He murmured, kissing her neck and the skin below her ear.
Isabeau couldn't think, all concentration centered on the feel and scent of him, his arms so tightly about her. Their tightness must have something to do with her difficulty in breathing.
Somehow, they found themselves on a seat, and she was on his lap. Squirming into a more comfortable position, she ran her palms up his chest, then lifted her arms around his neck, unashamedly pulling him closer.
"I've wanted to do this all morning," he said, his voice a husky rasp against her ear. Isabeau dared to place a row of kisses along his jaw line, then pulled back as far as his arms would allow.
"All morning?' she jeered disbelievingly, "Yeah, right! You all but ignored us the whole way up here."
He didn't answer, just smiled. Upon reconsideration, she decided it was more of a leer than a smile.
"I could never ignore you, and that's a fact."
She smiled. "What a situation we find ourselves in."
"I want to marry you." His eyes were a deep, dark blue. Isabeau sucked in her breath, her mind in that split second amazingly blank.
Chapter Sixteen
Pierce's eyes bore into her. "I hope, sweetheart, you would at least think about it before you say anything."
"Married -- you're crazy. We're both masquerading as someone we aren't in a time we don't belong, how can you even think about something like that?" She imagined waking up next to this man for the rest of her life, and it made her smile.
His exasperation had an underlying amusement. "I'm trying to propose. Why are you making it difficult?"
"Think about it, Pierce. We -- I don't know if I'm going to be here ten minutes from now, much less tomorrow. What if I get zapped out of here the way I was zapped in? What if we lose each other that way?" She had to be realistic. "We can't even think of this now. There are too many obstacles. We should enjoy what time we have."
"Nothing is impossible," Pierce growled, bending his head, blocking out the blue sky, the rough smooth texture of his lips killing all reasonable, coherent thought. "Tell me there's no feeling there." His hand gently touched her breast. Isabeau felt the heat of his fingers burn through her dress. He dipped his head and captured her lips again.
"Feelings have nothing to do with it," Isabeau admitted when she lifted her head for air. She looked toward the house. "We'd better go back inside."
"This isn't the end of it," he warned.
#
Isabeau waved one last time, then let her hand drop to her lap. She was happy for Lila and Megan, yet sad at the realization that she would never see them again. Something inside her knew it, and the knowledge weighed heavily on her.
With a sad smile, she recalled Lila's last words. "I hope someday my family can repay you for what you have done, Isabeau."
Leaning back against the plush cushions, Isabeau closed her eyes, feeling bone tired and drained, unwilling to see her friends get smaller and smaller as the coach traveled further away. At least before they left she had taken one last picture of Lila and Megan beside the house.
Lila had decided to accept an invitation to visit with her newly found in-laws. If all went well, they would be leaving for South Carolina in two weeks with Michelline and Markam Forrester. Tentative plans had been made to find a dwelling of their own when they settled in South Carolina.
The goodbyes had been tearful, but despite this, Lila had looked happy and younger, as if a weight had been lifted.
Isabeau listened to the steady sound of hooves on the dirt road, felt the gentle lurch and sway of the coach. Without warning, the carriage dipped, rocking her sideways, knocking her hat askew. She removed the remainder of the pins securing it, then flung the expensive little piece of nonsense like a Frisbee onto the opposite seat.
She stared out the window at the sleek hindquarters of Pierce's mount.
Chin on her palm, Isabeau sighed. Pierce had made it abundantly clear he wasn't happy with her. Since leaving the Forrester's gardens they had not exchanged more than half a dozen words.
Men! She reflected glumly. Markam Forrester had offered him the use of one of his horses and he had chosen to ride horseback rather than sit in the carriage with her.
All because she had not immediately accepted his proposal. She loved him, of course she did. But everything was so uncertain.
Isabeau turned and looked out the other window, stretching her legs out, not quite able to rest them on the seat across from her.
Darn him anyway. She knew she'd been right. Why the hell was she feeling guilty and sick over their disagreement about marriage?
She slumped back down in the seat.
Isabeau didn't want to argue with him. She wanted to make the most of their time together. She knew the time was ticking away.
Pressing her fist against the silk material covering her thigh, Isabeau wondered how much longer she would be here. Two weeks…ten years…forever?
If she let herself give in to her inclination to love Pierce, disregarding what might happen in the future, she was afraid that one day she'd wake in the future by herself. Or maybe remain in the past while he returned to the future.
At least if he were in the carriage with her, they could glower at each other, and she'd be distracted from these unhappy feelings.
#
When they arrived back at the hotel, Isabeau jumped from the carriage unaided, kicking her skirt out of her way impatiently, cursing the confinement of it as it swirled back around her ankles.
She strode past Pierce and the driver, not waiting for him as he gave last-minute instructions to the man about the return of the coach and horse. The skies had opened up, and rain and hail were pelting down, turning the otherwise passable road into a quagmire.
Pierce had still not ridden in the carriage, apparently preferring to get drenched rather than ride with her. Besides that, being jostled and jolted around had not helped her disposition in any way.
Isabeau considered herself relatively easy to get along with, but at the moment she felt downright cranky. She needed to be alone. She was afraid if she said anything to Pierce, she would throw aside all caution and agree to anything he wanted.
She entered the hotel and went immediately to her room, tossing her hat and coat carelessly on a chair.
Brooding, she moved to stare out a window at the dark street below, shivering as the rain pelted mercilessly at the glass. She leaned her forehead against the cool pane, trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.
Instead of railing at fate, she tried to put herself in Pierce's shoes, tried to see this situation from his viewpoint. She wanted to marry him, but there was just so much uncertainty.
Tired beyond endurance, Isabeau prepared for bed.
A knock sounded on her door.
Hoping it might be Pierce she grabbed her coat and pulled it over her naked shoulders. She opened the door a crack.
It was not Pierce but a uniformed bell boy. "Mr. Hawk sent his regards, Ma'am, and ordered dinner for you. May I?"
"J-just a moment." Isabeau pulled the coat on fully and opened the door wider. He'd thought to have dinner sent to her. All she had done for the last half hour was feel disgruntled because he wanted to marry her. There was even a beautiful vase of white roses.
Isabeau reached into her satchel for the bills Pierce had given her, but the boy shook his head. "Thank you, Ma'am, but Mr. Morgan already took care of it."
He closed the door quietly behind him.
Isabeau listened to each little sound in the hallway, hoping Pierce would come and share the meal with her, but he didn't show up. She touched the beautiful roses,
then lifted one long stemmed rose from the milky blue vase. She inhaled the scent, smiling just a little. She and Pierce would have to figure a way out of this dilemma. Surely there had to be a way back, but she had to wonder if they would always be separated by time.
#
Pierce leaned his head back against the upholstered chair. Lifting his cigar to take another drag, he blew the smoke toward the ceiling. His mother was right, he conceded dryly as he twisted the expensive cigar into the ashtray: smoking was a disgusting habit.
Pierce lifted the glass tumbler instead, tossing the remnants of the amber liquid down his throat, eyes gritty from smoke and lack of sleep.
Women! Who could know what they were about from one moment to the next? He'd asked Isabeau to marry him, and she had not reacted as he'd hoped.
A brief tap at his door had him sitting up in a hurry. His heart picked up speed. Had Isabeau accepted his peace offering?
Malry stuck his head around the door. Pierce slumped back down into the chair, lifting the glass once more.
"Hello, lad," Malry greeted him cheerily, tossing his coat on a chair. "How'd it go today? Everything turn out?" He halted several feet from Pierce, sharp eyes running over the younger man, brows drawn. "What happened? Doesn't look too promising from the looks of you."
A match flared, and Pierce put the flame to another cigar, ignoring the obvious curiosity on Malry's face as he tossed the match into the cold fireplace.
"What's the occasion?" He ignored the dark look sent his way and noisily stomped over to sit in a chair opposite the younger man.
Without a word, Pierce pushed the whiskey bottle toward his friend.
"Don't mind if I do," Malry said complacently, helping himself. He held up the glass and nodded to Pierce. "Do we have anything in particular to toast?" One brow cocked, he narrowed a glance at his young friend.
With a long suffering sigh, Pierce said with surly humor, "Why not to the independent women of the world?"
"Why not, indeed!" Malry agreed amiably. "A modern notion I don't agree with, but I know how you feel about such matters."
Time Travel Romance Collection Page 21