by Nichole Van
He stilled for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Realizing what he needed to say, James gently pulled her away from his shoulder and took her face in his hands.
“I love you, Emry Wilde. You have my heart. And I cannot . . . no . . . I will not live my life without you. Not as long as you are willing to accept me.”
The rightness of his words pounded through him. He watched as Emme’s eyes drank him in, suddenly brimming with tears.
“I love you too, James Knight,” she whispered.
She hiccupped and closed her eyes, catching her quivering bottom lip in her teeth. After a second, she rubbed her cheek against his hand and opened her lovely hazel eyes, bright gold and green and fathomless.
“I have loved you for so long,” she whispered. “So incredibly long. Yearned for you. Sought you. And now to have you here. With me. . .”
Her words faltered. Emotions skittered across her face.
“It’s more than just a dream. It’s a fantasy. You are the most amazing . . . the most unimaginable gift.”
Emme paused, glancing down for a moment before raising her eyes and continuing. “But what if it is not enough? What if the portal doesn’t work? What if I’m stuck here, in 1812?”
James raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, I would struggle if I had to stay here permanently. Not only would I miss my family and friends, but I would feel so helpless watching those I love suffer from easily treatable diseases. There is just so much that I would miss. . . .”
James let his hands drop from her face, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly.
Emme continued, “Or worse, what if you came forward with me and hated it? At least I know what I’m getting into here, but all you have is my word that the future is a decent place. I’ve barely scratched the surface on all the problems of the 21st century. And trust me, there are a lot of them; it’s not just all sleek electronics and Angry Birds and—”
“Emme, there will be difficulties no matter what—”
“Just listen, James. I worry that one of us might come to resent the other, to resent the life we have chosen.” She bit her lip, fighting against emotion. “I would hate for something to slowly eat away at us. At our love.”
James sighed and nodded slowly. Thinking again.
“My love, there are no guarantees. No promises I can make that will ensure everything will be fine ten years from now or next year or even next month.”
He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
“But, Emme, I do know this. We have crossed that line. Utterly and thoroughly. It is foolishness to think that life’s greatest joys don’t also come with some of life’s greatest pain. If we wish to be together, one of us will have to give up our current world. Our family. Our friends. Everything. And the other will have to watch it happen—”
“But James—”
“No, now it’s my turn to talk.” He placed a finger over her lips. “I often think it’s harder to watch someone I love in pain than to be the one in pain. Georgiana’s suffering consumes me. But for you and I, darling Emme, there will be sorrow and loss. As of right now, that is part of the contract. The price of our being together. Any decision we make will involve some pain. The only decision I cannot make would be to part from you. That, my love, is the one thing I could not bear. The one pain that would be too terrible to endure.”
Emme wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head into his throat again.
“Why do you have to be so perfect?” she muttered into his neckcloth.
James chuckled and held her for a few long moments. At last, she pulled back and gazed at him, leaning against his arms twined around her waist.
“Fortunately, I think we do have some time to work through this decision,” she said. “Georgiana’s health seems stable and Duir Cottage needs to be built, the portal secured. And, well, there is the locket to consider.”
She touched the locket where it lay around her neck. Since realizing that James actually was the man in the locket, she had begun wearing it more.
James tilted his head, trying to make sense of how the locket continued to be an issue. Emme smiled at his puzzled look.
“I have seen enough movies to know not to mess with the space-time continuum.” Her voice sounded a little prim.
James laughed. “Space-time continuum? I think you are making up words now, my dear.”
Her answering laugh was light and silvery.
“Oh, James, it’s a real thing. Let me try to explain. The locket is where it all began. If the locket isn’t created, then I don’t find it in Portland in 2008. And, if I never find the locket, then I never obsess on you, never come to Marfield, never stay in Duir Cottage. In effect, I never find you. So creating the locket is the most important task to complete before we can even attempt to pass through the portal. Until that is done, all this wondering is actually a moot point.”
James nodded his head. He thought he understood. Maybe.
“So how did the locket get from here to Portland, Oregon?”
Emme shrugged. “I have no idea. I found it in the bottom of an antique traveling trunk. But it can’t end up there if it never existed here in the first place.”
“True, very true,” James nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. I’ll have to check with Arthur, but I do believe Spunto is scheduled to arrive this week to take our portraits. Yours included. If you get a locket of me, then I most certainly get a locket of you.”
She smiled at him, wry and amused, her eyes sparkling in the afternoon light.
He kissed her nose, because really at that moment she looked too adorable not to kiss.
She took a deep breath. “Okay, so we are agreed. We make sure the locket is painted, created and done.”
“Exactly,” James nodded. “And then we move on to settling my affairs so I can travel through the portal, assuming that we can. Or arrange our lives here, if we cannot.”
James watched Emme suddenly blink back tears, her lips trembling. “Agreed. But the decision seems so final,” she whispered. “I could spend the rest of my life here or you could find yourself stuck for forever in 2012.”
“But that’s just it, my love,” James murmured in reply. “Regardless of where we are, I want us to be together forever. I want your forevers. All of them. Past, present and future.”
Haldon Manor
The drawing room
Two days later
June 17, 1812
Giovanni Spunto had arrived to paint the portraits James had commissioned. He was exactly as Emme had imagined: small, wiry and bouncing with an artist’s energy. He surveyed them all and then announced his intention to begin with James.
Emme watched quietly from the drawing room doorway as Spunto positioned James into the three-fourths position of the locket. James had donned the new coat he had received from his tailor. The exact blue-green coat in the locket.
Glancing surreptitiously over Spunto’s shoulder as he worked, Emme watched the image in her locket come to life. Saw the small strokes that created her original obsession, as the artist sketched the portrait.
She lifted her head and caught James’ eye. Held and stared. Feeling the wonder of him hum through her.
Later that evening, after Georgiana and Arthur had retired, Emme followed James into his study.
“You must keep this jacket,” she murmured, tucking her hands around his lapels. “I have loved you in it for far too long.”
James laughed softly and bent down to capture a sweet, lingering kiss.
“That reminds me,” he whispered against her lips and then, with one final peck, he released her and walked over to his desk.
Puzzled, Emme followed and watched as he pulled out a pair of scissors. Turning back to her, James reached up and touched the one stray curl over her ear that always managed to escape. “I think I’m going to need this.” Reaching out, he gently kissed the curl and then snipped it off.
Emme smiled as he walk
ed back to his desk and placed the locket of hair on a piece of paper.
“Not so fast,” she said. She came to his side and removed the scissors from his hand. “Two can play at this game.”
Kissing his cheek, she ran her fingers leisurely through his hair, studying for a moment before snipping. She laid his blond lock next to her dark one on the paper. He carefully folded the paper, trapping its contents.
“You will need this too.” She looped the locket off of her neck. “Let me trace the design off the back. It will need to be on the locket and carved into the stone in the basement of Duir Cottage.”
Emme sat at his desk and carefully copied the intertwined initials, James watching quietly. When she finished, he took the traced design and wrapped it around the locks of hair.
“Now, we just have to wait for Mr. Spunto to finish the portrait. He said it should only take a couple weeks.”
Emme nodded in agreement.
Leaning against his desk, he gazed at her. “Miss Wilde, what strange things are you going to unfold to me tonight? What 21st century wonders await?”
Emme pondered for a moment, tapping her lips. With a mysterious chuckle, she pulled out her phone and pink earbuds. She stepped close to him and placed one earphone into his ear and put the other into her own. Scrolling through her music until she found the right song, she pushed play and then slipped her phone back into her stays.
“Mr. Knight, I think it’s about time you learned something other than a waltz.”
James raised an eyebrow as she assumed a closed dance position with him.
And then he smiled more broadly as Emme proceeded to teach him how to tango.
Chapter 28
Sutton Hall
The ballroom
Nearly three weeks later
July 6, 1812
Have I mentioned that you are enchantingly radiant this evening, my love?” James murmured in her ear. Emme stood at the edge of the ballroom, her arm nestled into his elbow, watching the dancers move through a quadrille.
“Let me think.” She cocked her head as if trying to remember. “Only about six times. I wouldn’t mind hearing it at least once more.”
“Please permit me to say you look captivatingly incandescent, milady.” Smile hovering, James raised her gloved knuckles to his lips.
“Thank you, good sir. And have I mentioned that you are a ridiculously hot piece of eye candy?” She dropped her upper-crust accent for the last part, making it sound decidedly American.
Emme patted his arm as James chuckled. But really, he did look swoon-worthy in a black coat and blue waistcoat which perfectly matched his eyes. It really was almost too much.
Emme caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirrored walls of Sir Henry’s ballroom. Her satin wine-red ball gown gleamed in the candlelight. She had even put on a little blush and light mascara, clean and natural looking. Her dark hair curled around her face, threaded through with pearls.
She felt like Cinderella at the ball with Prince Charming. Only with fewer anthropomorphic mice, musical fairy godmothers and frighteningly hazardous glass slippers. Not to mention that Georgiana would never be an ugly step-sister.
Okay, so maybe the analogy didn’t work all that well when she thought about it. Except that James was her prince. And she transformed whenever she was with him.
Tightening her hold on his arm, Emme watched the assembled dancers moving through the country dance figures. The entire scene seemed like something from a movie set: elegant ladies in glittering fabrics and men in dark cut coats and tight pantaloons. Lilting music weaving through it all.
The last few weeks had been the most idyllic of her life. That giddy, effervescence of new love deepening into something weightier. Something more. Laughing with James, understanding him as 21st century Emme. And James coming to know her as her whole self.
Emme had quickly realized that actually living in 1812 was remarkably useful when it came to doing historical research. James had helped her understand the nuances of the local economy. Additionally, she had taken to informally interviewing tenants as she and Georgiana visited them, making note of what she would be able to academically substantiate if and when she returned to 2012.
For his part, James seemed to be settling into the idea of 21st century life, were that to happen. He asked incessant questions and had instantly adopted her multi-tool as his own.
“It’s like everything all at once,” he kept saying, pulling the little scissors in and out. He was particularly fond of the toothpick.
And the MRE’s? Well, he had found the whole process of heating them with the warmer utterly fascinating but had been less than impressed with the beef stew. The barbecue chicken he had declared passable.
And then there were her electronic devices. He was constantly hunched over a lit screen (when no one else was around). He continually asked her things. Some of which she knew the answer to (calculator, notepad) and others she did not. (I don’t know why Siri keeps talking to you; I think she has personal space issues.)
It didn’t help that Marc had long ago developed the obnoxious habit of stealing her phone and putting something ridiculous on it for her to later discover. Which explained how James ended up loving Fat Booth. Pretty much everyone at Haldon Manor had unknowingly fallen victim. Arthur looked particularly ridiculous with an enormously enlarged head and three chin rolls. Fortunately, Emme had managed to delete Atomic Fart before James found it.
Was this what everyone meant when they said James didn’t care much for propriety? That on a certain level, he was perpetually twelve-years-old?
In particular, James loved delving through the media on her devices: books, videos, photos and music. He was reading through her e-book library at a voracious pace. Though Emme hoped his taste in music improved over time. He absolutely loved (loved!) Donny Osmond. As in, Emme would catch him listening to Puppy Love, swaying with her pink head phones stuck in his ears. Marc really did have a sick sense of humor sometimes. And a decidedly questionable taste in music.
The music drew to a close and the swirl of dancers stilled. Watching guests bow as the set finished, Emme wondered if it wasn’t time to introduce the concept of digital detox. James shifted next to her as the quadrille ended, and the orchestra struck up the bars of a waltz.
“I believe this is my dance,” James said, taking her hand and leading her onto the floor. Emme had memorized all of the country dances and could now participate in them with more ease. But the waltz still remained her favorite.
Emme caught a glimpse of Linwood talking with Arthur and Marianne, who looked lovely in her lavender half-mourning. At the love-lorn couple’s side, Sir Henry offered his arm to Georgiana to dance.
James slipped his hand around Emme’s back and began twirling her through the lilting phrases. She fell into the rise and fall of the music, the spinning of mirror and candle and shimmering satin.
It was one of those perfect moments. Where your heart takes a picture and you store it away, so that when life becomes less than, you can pull out this one perfect memory and remember. At one point in time, life had been decidedly more.
Emme sighed. It was almost perfect enough to make her want to remain here. Stay in 1812 and just take what life gave. Did it really matter when she and James lived, as long as they were together?
She was still pondering the question as the music ended. James tucked her hand back into his elbow and escorted her toward Georgiana and Sir Henry. Emme curtsied to Sir Henry, noting that Georgiana looked particularly pretty tonight dressed in ivory silk with a gauzy overdress. She was all cream and gold and sparkling blue eyes. Her cough had been better, but her weight loss was still relentless. Her dress hung loosely on bony shoulders.
“I was just apologizing to Sir Henry for my lack of breath during the dance,” Georgiana said, smiling faintly. “In fact, I was wondering if you wouldn’t come with me to the ladies’ retiring room, Emma. I feel the need to rest for a moment.”
Emme nod
ded and took Georgiana’s arm as they walked out of the ballroom. Not telling Georgiana about her restored memory had been difficult. But both Emme and James had worried how Georgiana would take the truth, both good and bad.
“Oh, Miss Knight. Georgiana!” Emme heard as they stepped into the darkened hallway. They both turned to see Marianne Linwood gesture for them to join her through a side door.
Exchanging a quick puzzled glance, Emme and Georgiana followed her into Sir Henry’s library. To the right of the door, a fire flickered in the hearth bouncing light off walls of books and honey wooden paneling. Candles illuminated the space. Moonlight streamed through a large window opposite the fireplace.
Marianne half-closed the door behind them and glanced around, apparently assuring herself that no one else was in the room. She turned back to them.
“My dearest Georgiana, I must beg you for a favor.” Marianne appeared anxious, which only increased Emme’s curiosity. What was Marianne up to?
Oh, and please could it be just a little juicy?
“Am I to suppose that you would like me to do what I have done in the past?” Georgiana asked.
Marianne nodded mutely, suddenly blinking back tears.
Georgiana smiled and reached out to place a hand over Marianne’s. “Please, don’t fret, Marianne. Linwood will relent. He loves you too well to see you unhappy. And Arthur is nothing if not persistence personified. You must have faith. Here, wipe your tears.” Georgiana dug out and handed her a handkerchief.
“I am so sorry, Georgiana, truly I am,” Marianne said, dabbing daintily at her eyes. “But Timothy makes it nearly impossible for Arthur and I to have even two minutes private conversation. I do not wish to act with impropriety, but sometimes my brother can be difficult.”