Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  Peggity pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “Lord Bigalow, I think you owe us an explanation.”

  “Quite right. Well, Miss Philapot believes herself in love with me. Last night she stuffed my room with sprigs of rosemary. Nasty stuff. Little bugs crawling all about, and I’m allergic. The servants had to sweep the room clean and change the bed linens. It took hours to air the place out.”

  “How ghastly,” Peggity said.

  “Now for our next question,” Ellie interrupted. “Tell us what sort of man Lord Davenport is.”

  “Capitol fellow. There isn’t a nicer, more generous, soul in England.”

  “Maybe to you, but certainly not to us,” Peggity replied. “Why does he despise us so?”

  “Gad, my charming femme fatales, Hugh Davenport doesn’t dislike you. He dislikes all high-born women.”

  “But why?” Ellie cried.

  “First of all, he’s a massively good-looking fellow with a fortune and family connections. At Eton he couldn’t cross High Street without some damsel hurling herself at him.

  “And then a high-born baggage accused him of proposing marriage. It was a massive set up, but he refused to fall for the ruse.

  “That escapade was followed by an invitation to join my family in Brighton. Isabella is my particularly beautiful, vain, self-centered, bad-tempered sister. Hugh took one peep at the wench and fell head over heels. Mooned about her like a hungry hound.

  “Enter one Captain Huxley Barton of the 33rd Artillery Regiment — dashing rake with a red coat and spiffy boots. Isabella lures him into her net, too.

  “In his usual subtle manner, Hugh confronts Isabella, which ruffles her plumage. She sics my other three sisters on him. They spend a few weeks doing mean things. Awful stuff. He’s humiliated, confused, upset. Back to confronting Isabella, who culminates her misdeeds by smacking Hugh square across the face. A ring I gave her for her sixteenth birthday cut his cheekbone. And the scar isn’t half the damage that flock of geese did to him that summer. Hugh hasn’t trusted a pedigreed member of the ‘gentler sex’ since.”

  “Poor Lord Davenport,” Claire sighed.

  “Poor Lord Davenport, indeed,” Poultney agreed. “And poor Isabella. Lady Davenport learned of the damage to her cub and she banned my sister from Almack’s — destroyed Isabella’s chances with every bachelor in England.”

  A chill went through Ellie’s bones. “My gracious.” What would Lady Davenport do if she learned of my double deception? “I wish I could break through that mistrust, but Lord Davenport won’t let me near him,” she told Poultney. “What do I do?”

  “Hmmm,” he said, his bushy brows flexing. “My advice is to look like Cleopatra, speak like Shakespeare, be kind as Desdemona and, most important, ignore him completely.”

  Ellie caught her sisters’ eyes on her. “That ought to be easy,” Claire said with a smile. “As for you, Lord Bigalow, it’s time to remove yourself from our bed.”

  • • •

  Ellie decided to follow Poultney’s instructions to the letter and she rallied her sisters to the cause. For dinner they selected a most Cleopatra-like dress — a shear, white muslin embroidered with golden hieroglyphs. For Ellie’s shoulders, Claire suggested a light shawl of Egyptian cotton, patterned in sky blue, gold, rose, and brown. Lastly, they adorned her hair with a rose-colored ribbon affixed by a brooch of turquoise and pearls.

  Peggity poked her head into the hallway and called tiny Josette, the lady’s maid, to button their creation.

  Like a honeybee at a lilac, Josette darted this way and that, constructing the outfit. At the end of fifteen minutes, Ellie stood before the mirror, a princess in everything but title.

  Claire smiled with delight. “You are stunning.”

  “Lord Davenport will never be able to resist you now,” added Peggity.

  Ellie turned toward her audience. “And now, the pièce de résistance.” At the stately pace of a curtain rising she brought the glasses to her face.

  “Oh dear,” Claire said.

  “Why ‘Oh dear’?” asked Ellie.

  Peggity shook her head. “It’s really unfortunate. They’re awful.”

  Josette’s little shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Ellie sought her refection. All the beauty of her gown and jewels drained away with the thick tortoise shell glasses on. “I look like an insect.”

  “Mademoiselle, why do you wear these terrible spectacles?” the French maid scolded. “You are so lovely. You go blind just a little for the gentleman, oui? Let your sisters be your eyes.”

  Ellie dropped into a nearby chair. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Josette.”

  “But mademoiselle, this is too much.”

  Claire went to Ellie and patted her shoulder. “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that. Ellie has hidden charms that can overcome any old pair of eyeglasses.”

  “Me, I am not so sure,” Josette said.

  Peggity ushered the little woman from the room. “Thank you for your help. Ellie will do just fine tonight.”

  Josette’s mournful face disappeared as Peggity slowly closed the door on her. “Still, it is a pity … ” the maid said just before the latch clicked.

  Ellie stared into the mirror. “She’s right, you know. How can I attract an earl with a face only a fly could adore?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Claire coaxed. “Talk about horses. Lord Davenport loves horses.”

  “That’s true,” Ellie said, feeling more hopeful. “I’ll ask him how Manifesto’s training is going.”

  The girls giggled.

  • • •

  In the blue parlor after lunch Algie gave Ellie her chance to speak like Shakespeare. “To rain or not to rain: that is the question,” he said, staring out the window at the graying sky.

  Ellie thought for a moment. “Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the stings and airflows of outrageous storm churn, or to take arms against a sea of puddles.”

  “Ha, clever girl,” Poultney barked.

  A low chuckle came from the whist table where Hugh and his mother played the Pitt twins. Ellie wondered if he laughed out of amusement or cynicism. Either way, she wouldn’t allow herself to look at him.

  “Wasn’t it Macbeth’s witches who said, ‘Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn, and cauldron bubble?’” said Chase, resting his hand on Lady Davenport’s shoulder as he stood behind her.

  Their hostess stiffened. “Wicked boy, can’t you think of something nice to recite?”

  “Nary a phrase comes to mind.” Chase cocked his head to one side. “But I have a pleasant idea — why don’t we plan tomorrow’s dinner party?”

  “I would rather do something amusing,” Lady Davenport replied.

  Chase folded his arms. “Are we growing pettish, my lady?”

  “Oh, for goodness sake!” She tossed her cards on the table, rose from her chair, and stalked the room. “I’m tired, and I’m sick to death of … the whole business.”

  “Would you like to take a stroll to the library with me?” Chase’s voice went taught. “Perhaps I could make you feel less ‘sick.’” Ellie lowered Guy Mannering to her lap. There was a hint of threat in Chase’s voice.

  “I think not,” said Lady Davenport, punching a throw pillow into the corner of a couch and slumping into it. An uncomfortable silence dampened the room.

  “Shall I read your palm?” Claire asked, breaking the tension. She took a seat next to Lady Davenport on the sofa.

  “I’m assuming you mean tell my future?” their hostess replied. “My future has come and gone.”

  Claire touched the older woman’s shoulder. “That’s not so. You’ve more life left in you than most of us have lived.”

  “You have a point, dear, but the church could condem
n you for wizardry.”

  Hugh went to his mother’s side, deliberately blocking Chase’s view of her. “Oh, go ahead. We’ll keep Lady Claire’s parlor trick out of the courts.”

  The older woman’s face lit up when her son spoke. “All right, my darling, if you’ll find it amusing.”

  In a flurry of excited chatter, the company moved in to watch the reading — except Chase, who’d been forced to the periphery by Hugh’s imposing shoulders.

  Claire took Lady Davenport’s hands into her own and flipped them palms up. “Which do you write with?”

  “The right, of course; I wouldn’t be caught dead using my left.”

  “Was your left hand tied behind your back until you learned to use the right?” asked Claire.

  The older woman yanked her hands away. “That is no business of yours. Tell my fortune from my right hand or let’s drop this whole thing.”

  “It’s all right,” Claire soothed. “I can tell a great deal from either palm.” Unperturbed, she gathered Lady Davenport’s hands back into her own and examined them closely.

  “The first line is the heart line — at the top of the palm, closest to your fingers. Yours is a bit faint at first, but you see how it grows deeper and deeper. The heart line shows your loyalty and commitment to the relationships in your life. You may have been hesitant before, but your heart is strong now.”

  “Quite so,” her ladyship agreed.

  “The next line is your head. It is thick and short, indicating a practical and physical perception of the world.”

  “Well, that’s a true statement. I certainly am a realist when it comes to the world of men.” She looked hard at Chase.

  “What else does she show there?” Chase asked, bending over Claire’s shoulder. “A future filled with love and adventure or an ugly old age?”

  Ellie watched her sister struggle for composure. “It’s hard to say,” said Claire, after a moment’s hesitation.

  Lady Davenport sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “Your life line extends all the way from your wrist to your fingers. Notice here that another line branches off quite late. That means you are going to, or you already have made a major change — either an adventure, or a metamorphosis of the heart.”

  “How fascinating,” Lady Davenport said.

  Running a finger over the older woman’s thumbnail, Claire’s face grew thoughtful. “You were very ill at one time, weren’t you?”

  “I nearly died.”

  “When was that?” asked Hugh.

  “You were too little to remember.”

  Claire whispered in Lady Davenport’s ear.

  A shocked expression filled the older woman’s eyes and her face went white. “Twins,” she said hoarsely. “I lost them both in childbirth.”

  Hugh’s jaw dropped. “You had other children?”

  His mother leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. “We should be discussing this in greater privacy. However, when I lost the twins, your father left me.”

  “That’s not true, Mother. He left when your interests strayed to another.”

  Her eyes flew open and she bolted forward, waving a finger at him. “Banish that thought! Your father left because I couldn’t recover from the loss of the twins.”

  “Excuse my struggle to believe that, but I knew my father and he was a warm and kindly man.”

  Lady Davenport looked for a moment as if she might storm out of the room, but her eyes softened and she settled back on the sofa. “Well, perhaps his warmth and kindness were what did us in. When I lost the babies your father retreated to the nursery, spending his days with you, and eventually, his nights with your governess.”

  An electric silence consumed the room. Someone coughed in embarrassment. Ellie couldn’t look at mother or son. Instead, she gazed at the window, noticing how the rain left streaks of clarity in the midst of splatters on the pane.

  Chase broke from the group. “Shall we play a game of — ”

  Lady Davenport cut him off. “No more games.”

  She took Hugh’s arm and pulled him onto the couch next to Claire. “Tell my son what his future will be.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Claire told the older woman.

  “Nonsense, girl. Read him.”

  Hugh removed his hand from his mother’s grasp. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “I have been many things,” his mother replied, “but never absurd.”

  Claire bit her lip. “My lord, would you let me to read your palm?”

  Poultney clapped Hugh on the shoulder. “Go on, good fellow, your audience is waiting.”

  Hugh swallowed. “It’s all parlor tricks and nonsense.”

  “Yes, of course,” coaxed Claire. “May I see your palm?”

  Hugh sighed and shook his head. The assembly settled again, all eyes trained on him.

  Ellie pulled up a footstool and sat near his feet. Though she saw Hugh’s hand coming, she jumped when it dropped in her lap. “You read it,” he said.

  “But, my lord, I don’t read palms.”

  Hugh shivered. Claire took his arm, but he jerked it from her and put it back in Ellie’s lap.

  Through her thick glasses, she tried to see his expression, but his eyes were inscrutable. With everyone waiting, she couldn’t say no. The weight and warmth of his hand was familiar, but she hadn’t noticed its beauty before, magnified tenfold by the spectacles. Square at the wrist, muscular, with elegant tapered fingers — she yearned to press his palm to her cheek — to feel the callused fingers run through her hair. “The first line … ”

  “Shows a deep and abiding heart,” Claire finished for her. “I think you will be lucky in love, for your heart is unwavering.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Lady Davenport breathed. “What else do you see?”

  “His head line … ” Ellie looked to Claire for guidance.

  “Is long and feathered in places,” explained her sister. “Not so deeply rooted in the practical as your mother. Your line shows a strong intellect and an active imagination.”

  Ellie traced the line with her fingertip, following the small breaks and crevasses. This hand cupped my breast, she thought. Touched me in places … Memories of High Tor made her swallow and heat rise to her cheeks.

  “Tell me what his life line says,” his mother urged.

  Love filled Ellie’s heart as she gazed at the third line on Hugh’s hand. “It’s not so deep to start,” she said. Claire nodded and smiled. Ellie continued, “It’s hesitant. Perhaps, a little afraid?” Hugh stiffened. “It’s a transitory time for you, but one day you will learn there’s nothing to fear.”

  “My son will be happy?” Lady Davenport asked.

  “Very happy, is my guess,” Ellie kept her eyes low for fear someone might notice the mist in them.

  Poultney shook Hugh’s shoulders. “Good news, my friend.”

  Hugh took his hand out of Ellie’s. He fixed an icy stare on her. “Just what are you and your sisters up to?”

  “What do you mean?” Her heart contracted.

  “Guilt, that’s what I see in your blue eyes, despite the glasses. And yours, and yours.” He twisted violently to glare at Peggity and Claire.

  “Hugh, how could you treat our guests so inexcusably?” his mother scolded. “Apologize immediately.”

  “Bah! There’s a plot afoot, and you’re the puppet master of them all.”

  To accuse her of scheming was one thing, but to cast her kin in the same shadow drove Ellie over the brink. “Tell my sisters you’re sorry,” she said, jumping to her feet.

  Hugh smiled, lips bowed in a smug curve. She balled her fists. “Tell them!” she demanded, more than willing to crack his scar.

  Claire’s cool hand gripped her wrist. “I beli
eve it’s time we were going.” She nudged Ellie out of her fighting stance while Peggity took her other arm. The three sisters went to the parlor door.

  “You are the rudest young man it has ever been my displeasure to meet!” cried Peggity, “Let my Ellie tie herself to you? I’d sooner make beggars of us all.”

  “Wait! Wait!” Lady Davenport cried, leaping from the couch. “Oh, this is horrible. Chase, make them stay. My poor girls.”

  Chase shrugged, and as if it were an afterthought, let his gaze fall on Hugh. “Really, you volunteered to have your palm read.”

  Hugh glared at him. “But I didn’t volunteer to be hunted in my own home.”

  Furious, his mother turned on him. “Then where can you be sought after?”

  “Tricked, deceived, betrayed, you mean,” Hugh said, vaulting from his chair.

  “Sit down, fool, and behave like a gentleman,” his mother barked. “If everyone will excuse us, I’d like a word alone with my progeny.”

  “Beware the cane,” Poultney whispered, slipping out the door.

  Lady Davenport fixed a baleful eye on Poultney — a glower that did not waver until all the guests left the room and clicked the door shut behind them.

  • • •

  It’s time she learned I’m not her game piece, Hugh fumed, prowling the far end of the parlor.

  His mother smoothed her hair, watching him with disgust tightening her lips. “I am, no doubt, the woman who has, I believe you said, ‘tricked, offended, and disgusted’ … or something along those lines.”

  Hugh lifted a decanter and poured a deep snifter of brandy. “‘Offended.’ Nice word — simple, unassuming, and utterly lacking in responsibility. No, Mother, the word was ‘betrayed.’”

  “Ah, ‘betrayed.’” She sat down. “You’re referring to Thornton Henwright, fourth Duke of Carlow.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “He was a mistake.”

  Hugh’s pacing quickened. “Gad, was he ever! A mistake that I paid the price for.”

  “I tried to protect you.”

  “Don’t take me for a dolt. You bundled me up in that dirty rag of a public school and scarcely looked my way for two years.”