‘No, what is it?’ Georgina played her hand at cards and looked at Harry expectantly, the low lamplight in the room giving her curls a golden hue.
‘The study of the skull and human behaviour,’ Harry announced before sitting back and waiting for realisation to dawn on Georgina.
It was Penelope who responded first. ‘You mean to say you have seen a human brain?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Heath replied, playing his own hand. ‘It’s very interesting.’
Georgina made a face. ‘You really shouldn’t talk about such things, Harry. Not in the presence of ladies.’
‘Ladies?’ Harry laughed, looking about the room, ‘Heath do you see any ladies?’
Penelope lifted her eyes just as Heath’s fell on her. ‘I do indeed,’ Heath replied, the corners of his mouth tugging in a smile.
Harry frowned and threw down his cards, annoyed that his friend hadn’t joined in teasing his cousin and sister. ‘Well, they’re certainly different to some of the ladies we’ve met, aren’t they?’
This time Harry managed to provoke a scowl from Georgina. ‘And you really shouldn’t talk about things like that, either!’ Georgina admonished.
‘Well, what can we talk about,’ Harry replied sulkily, ‘if we can’t talk about our study, and if we can’t talk about our fun? Maybe you can talk to us, my dear sister? Go on, tell us some gossip.’ He nudged Heath. ‘My sister knows all the gossip, and so does Pene, although she doesn’t prattle on about it half as much as Georgie.’
Heath was watching Penelope carefully, and she suddenly felt very hot. A slow flush, starting at her toes, crept steadily up her body, and it was all because of his chocolate brown eyes and the way they regarded her so intensely. Rising, she excused herself and went to stand by the open window, feeling the faint evening breeze waft over her, cooling the high colour in her cheeks.
‘What is it? Are we not playing anymore, Penelope? Do you give up?’ called Harry.
‘Oh, Harry,’ Georgina said in a harsher tone.
Penelope didn’t turn around, wanting first to settle her disorientation. She wasn’t used to so much attention, and she certainly wasn’t used to the type of attention Heath seemed to fix on her.
‘Is everything all right?’ Heath’s warm voice whispering in her ear elicited a fresh surge of heat up her throat and she didn’t dare look at him.
Somehow, she managed to find her voice. ‘Yes. I just felt a little warm, that’s all.’
‘Would you like to walk outside?’ he asked.
She hesitated. Glancing towards the card table, she saw that Harry had abandoned the game and was pouring himself a glass of brandy. Georgina began packing away.
Opening her mouth to answer, she found Heath had already presented his arm. It would be rude to refuse him now, she decided, and without another thought she slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her out the large doors and down the porch to the gardens.
‘You visit Broadhurst Manor quite a bit,’ he observed after a few moments.
‘Yes, it’s like a second home to me,’ she replied, smiling back at the house. Then a new thought occurred to her. Did he think she visited so much because he was staying there? ‘My father grew up here.’
‘He never visits?’
‘Rarely. He’s quite busy with his duties,’ she explained, ‘but he has never stopped me from visiting. Georgie and Harry are more like brother and sister to me than cousins.’
‘I can see you are close with them.’
She glanced up at him. He was staring into the distance, his eyes fixed on something. Following his gaze she saw something move, like a large bird had flown overhead, its shadow fleeting and brief on the lawn. But that was impossible since it was night and there were no birds that were as large as the shape she had just seen.
A chill raced up her spine, but Heath pulled her closer and the sensation was soon gone as the heat from his body permeated her.
‘Do you miss your brother?’ she said eventually.
‘Yes. He visits though, as often as his commitments allow.’
‘And you never thought about following him into the navy?’
‘Oh yes, I did. That is what I wanted, but he insisted I further my education at Cambridge. And I have to say I’m glad I heeded his advice. I’ve been very fortunate. I met Harry and now here I am, at Broadhurst Manor, with you.’
He stopped walking, and Penelope paused, glancing back at him, her hand falling from his arm. His face was half-hidden in the shadows of the night, the other half illuminated by the thousand twinkling stars that filled the moonless sky. A muscle moved in his cheek, and Penelope’s fingers trembled with her overwhelming desire to touch him, to run them along his jaw and over the line of his lips. The sensation was so strong that she folded her hands and hid them in the folds of her skirts.
‘I feel so lucky to have met you, Penelope,’ he said softly, his eyes darkening with each word, ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’
From somewhere in the distance there came a low, disgruntled rumble. The ground seemed to tremble slightly beneath her feet, causing her to stumble. It was as if the earth were interrupting Heath and her, when the stars were pushing them together.
Heath caught her, his hand’s touch so intense it felt as if he burned her arm as he steadied her on her feet. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Did you feel that?’ she asked, blinking up at him. Her thoughts flittered to the stranger on the edge of the forest. She’d heard a low roll of thunder then, too.
‘Feel what?’
‘The earth move, slightly, when you spoke…’ Realising what her words implied, she blushed deeply and looked away, feeling silly.
The edges of his mouth played with a tiny smile. ‘Actually, now that you mention it, I think I did feel something. Yes. I definitely felt it too.’
Chapter Eight
Present day
I arrived early to work that night. I wanted to spend time browsing the shelves to see if there were new volumes in the way of psychology or dream analysis. I doubted there would be, but I had to keep looking, had to keep searching for an explanation or diagnosis and, hopefully one day, a remedy.
Picking up a book on dreams, I ran my eyes down the table of contents. These books were generally pretty useless—great for dream interpretation but not so useful for my peculiar predicament.
I made to shut the book, disappointed yet again, when a heading caught my eye. Time Travel. Not exactly what I experienced, but nevertheless I flipped to the associated page number. I read:
Time travel—represents dissatisfaction in your present moment. Dreaming of time travel suggests a yearning to escape to a better time or place.
Well, that much was obvious; I wanted nothing more than to escape my current life. To get away from the small town and its small-town mindset, away from Lilly and Emma. I’d even settle for staying in my dreams permanently—in most cases I had lived a much better life. Apart from the whole being murdered part, of course.
My search proving futile, I shoved the book back on the shelf before meandering to the front of the library to begin my shift. Simone was stacking returned books on a trolley for reshelving.
‘How was school?’ she asked, smiling at me, her eyes lit with something akin to sympathy.
She’s heard about the pumpkin soup incident, I realised. It doesn’t take long for high school gossip to extend beyond the actual school.
‘Fine. You know, same old, same old.’
Simone regarded me for a moment. I suspected she had something more to say, so I waited patiently, steeling myself for yet another of Simone’s pep talks.
‘Abbie,’ she began eventually, ‘I wanted to ask if you could work Saturday night?’
I paused. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting, and it took me a moment to process the request. On Saturday, Hard Candy were playing at Hurricanes, and I had plans to go with Beth and Laura. It was where we spent nearly every Saturday night, hidden in the alternativ
e nightclub from the disparaging looks of our peers. Plus, it was the only club in town that turned a blind eye to our being underage. ‘I’m already working Friday and Sunday.’
‘I know, but…well,’ Simone paused, then lowered her voice and inched closer, ‘you see, I’ve, um, got a date.’
I dropped the stack of books I held and looked up, startled. Simone never dated.
‘Don’t look like that,’ Simone said, ‘I do have a life outside this library, you know.’
I blinked disbelievingly.
‘Well, at least I’m trying to have a life outside this library,’ she corrected. ‘So can you work Saturday, please?’
‘I have plans.’
‘It’s just until nine o’clock when the library shuts.’
‘Where’d you meet him?’
‘None of your business.’
I considered my boss for a moment, wondering where the shy, overworked woman aged in her early twenties would go to meet someone. Not far. It was doubtful they’d met at the library; I would have heard about it before now. No secrets remained hidden for long in Brookdale. Maybe it was an old school friend, or an old boyfriend? But, as far as I knew, there were no old boyfriends. ‘I know!’ I cried suddenly, realisation dawning, ‘You met him on the internet! You’ve been trawling dating sights, haven’t you?’
Simone flushed before busily checking in more books, the beep of the scanner filling the air. I giggled. Simone, as far as I knew, lived the typical librarian existence. She even looked the part of the classic librarian: very much ‘the girl next door’, with mouse brown hair and glasses. And in the two years that I had worked at the library, I’d never known her to date. Not once.
Whoever they were must be pretty special.
‘So can you work, or not?’ she asked again, her voice tight with annoyance.
‘Where are you going?’ I teased, knowing I was pushing it.
‘Dinner.’
‘Where?’ Probably Delilah’s. That’s where everyone went.
‘Abbie,’ she snapped, her patience running out, ‘can you do it or not?’
I shrugged, stifling my giggles. ‘Fine. But at nine o’clock I’m outta here.’
Simone nodded, looking exasperated. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter Nine
1806
‘My goodness, Mr Lockwood is just as handsome as everyone says,’ Ellen Parker whispered in Penelope’s ear, her voice full of admiration as she gazed across the room.
Georgina had organised a welcome evening for Harry and Heath at Broadhurst Manor, inviting a few neighbours. Ellen Parker lived in the village and was one of the few girls their age.
‘Whom have you been gossiping with?’ Penelope asked.
‘It’s not gossip if it’s true. And it’s very obviously true.’ Ellen continued to stare unabashedly across the room at Heath, who was deep in conversation with Harry.
Following her gaze, Penelope couldn’t help but admire Heath’s tall, lean physique—broad shoulders that tapered down to narrow hips. Every now and then he would push his hair back from his eyes, a gesture Penelope found totally endearing. He had a somewhat angular face, and when he smiled his mouth stretched into a lopsided grin that caused her heart to skip a few beats, making her marvel, yet again, at the effects he aroused within her.
As if sensing he was being watched, Heath looked up, meeting Penelope’s pale grey eyes.
He winked.
Penelope heard Ellen’s quick, shocked intake of breath as colour flooded her cheeks, staining them dark pink. She glanced away as the sound of his laughter wafted across the room to her.
‘I wonder which young lady will catch the eye of Mr Lockwood,’ observed Mrs Priscopp, choosing that moment to join them, oblivious to the situation Penelope found herself in.
‘I think we already know the answer to that question,’ Ellen replied, stifling a giggle and nudging Penelope.
‘Really? He has a preference already?’ Mrs Priscopp asked, speaking too quickly for either girl to respond. ‘I was hoping to arrange for my Anne to come for a visit, but I presume Miss Georgina has, of course, managed to secure his affections. She always accumulates a goodly number of suitors, although I suppose it is to be expected, being as handsome as she is and with her extraordinarily large income,’ Mrs Priscopp continued, ‘I only hope he has his own good income; I wouldn’t like to think he only showed a preference for Miss Georgina because of her income, although one could hardly fault him. Of course, every man—even a gentleman—must be concerned about income and make wise decisions when it comes to choosing a wife.’
‘I don’t think choosing a wife should be regarded as a simple financial matter,’ Penelope interjected, ‘and Mr Lockwood seems clever enough to consider all the implications involved when making a match.’ For some reason, Mrs Priscopp’s suggestions raised her ire. Was it because Mrs Priscopp viewed marriage as a simple ‘arrangement’, or was it because she assumed it was Georgina who’d caught his eye? She wasn’t sure, but she was surprised at the annoyance she felt, especially when she knew Mrs Priscopp—a respected but gossipy widow—meant no harm.
‘Does he indeed?’ Mrs Priscopp said, raising an eyebrow curiously at Penelope before continuing as if she’d never spoken. ‘I wish my Anne would come, but she is much in demand in London and simply cannot be spared. I think my Anne would be a good and suitable match for Mr Lockwood. Yes, I think they would make a very handsome couple indeed.’
‘My Anne’ was Mrs Priscopp’s niece who had become a frequent visitor to Broadhurst over the years. Both Penelope and Ellen were well acquainted with the rude, arrogant and conceited girl.
‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t be here very long,’ Ellen said hastily, shooting Penelope an amused glance. Penelope had somehow managed to maintain a dignified manner despite Ellen’s giggles, Mrs Priscopp’s ludicrous comments, and Heath’s dark eyes watching her every move from across the room. Of course, it was the latter that had the greatest effect on her.
‘Oh, really? That is a shame,’ Mrs Priscopp observed. ‘But, of course, if he is taken with Miss Georgina then I’m sure he will become quite a regular visitor to Broadhurst?’
‘Well, that would hardly be of any use to Anne then, would it?’ Penelope pointed out, her tone harsher than she meant it to be.
‘Well, no, but I’ve heard nothing of an engagement or even attachment really,’ Mrs Priscopp said, turning to watch Heath, unaware of where his gaze fell. ‘Perhaps I should invite my Anne down sooner rather than later. Yes, I think I’ll speak to her mother and organise it posthaste.’
She moved away to Georgina, who chatted politely with the busybody and smiled cordially. Ellen likewise excused herself to speak with Harry, leaving Penelope alone.
But only for a moment.
‘I’m looking forward to hearing your father speak tomorrow,’ whispered a familiar voice in Penelope’s ear. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled, and she drew a jagged breath. Will I ever get used to him? In a hundred years, in a thousand, will I ever get used to him?
Turning around to face Heath, her face lit up as she met his dark, heated eyes. Tiny golden flashes smouldered in them like a slow-burning fire.
She swallowed. ‘I do hope you find our simple country service interesting, and not dull and boring compared to the fine sermons and lectures you must hear at Cambridge.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ he replied easily, ‘And as to it being a simple country service, I can assure you, Miss Penelope, that I have found nothing in Broadhurst to be dull or boring in the least—quite the opposite really.’
Penelope flushed at his words, wondering if it was his intention to be suggestive or if she just imagined it. Hoped for it. A slow warmth spread through her limbs, and she diverted her gaze, staring out the window and across the wide expanse of lawn in the direction of the parsonage.
‘Penelope,’ he began conversationally, lightening the mood, ‘tell me, do you ride? I know you like to walk, but do you enjoy all outdoor
exercise?’ His reference to riding only reminded Penelope of the rider she’d seen on her way to the Manor.
The rider that had provoked such fear, who had towered over her and gazed at her with unnaturally silver grey eyes. The same man had stood at the edge of the forest, watching her.
Flicking her gaze to Heath, she pushed all thoughts of the rider to the back of her mind. The feelings he elicited were entirely different to the ones Heath managed to arouse, the stirrings of pleasure in the pit of her belly a far cry from the sense of overwhelming fear she’d felt upon spying the rider. Of being spied upon. Of being hunted.
Immediately she dismissed such ridiculous thoughts. Hunted. Spied. Those were horrid words that had no place in her world. They were nothing more than products of her imagination. It had simply been a man out for a ride. Nothing sinister. No reason for her to have such irrational fear.
Yet, she trembled.
‘Are you okay?’
Glancing up, she met Heath’s concerned brown eyes. Swallowing her anxiety and pushing images of the dark rider to the back of her mind, she struggled to remember what he’d asked.
Oh, riding.
‘Very poorly, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’ve never had much practice and prefer my own two legs and the ground beneath my feet. Georgie is the expert horsewoman in our family. She rides exceptionally well.’
‘And where do you like to walk?’ he asked, ignoring her compliment of Georgina.
‘Oh, anywhere,’ Penelope replied. ‘The meadows. Broadhurst Manor—I enjoy walking the grounds and, of course, the forest.’
‘Perhaps I could join you on one of your walks,’ he suggested, ‘and you can show me some of the countryside. No one knows the country better than one who walks it.’
Penelope beamed, relaxing slightly. ‘I’d be delighted to.’
‘Excellent,’ he replied. ‘I’m thoroughly enjoying Broadhurst and all the sights it has to offer. I do so hope to see much more of it, much more indeed.’
Penelope stayed overnight at Broadhurst Manor, which wasn’t unusual. Being a regular visitor she had her own room set aside on the third floor, separate from the other family members. The chamber was as familiar and comfortable as her room at the parsonage, albeit slightly larger and more elaborate.
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