As he walked away, muffled giggles floated in the air and he couldn’t stop the grin stretching across his face.
Chapter Two
“Oh, my…goodness!” Samantha giggled. “Did you see his chest?”
Nodding slowly, Halle watched Drew Merrick walk away. “Yes, I did. Why does his face look old, but his chest looks like it came from a young guy who just left the gym?”
“I have no idea.”
Halle waved her hand and turned away from him. “So maybe men from England are built better than American men.”
“Could be.” Samantha glanced back and gave a low whistle. “I don’t usually find men old enough to be my father interesting, either.”
“He’s not that old. In fact, when I talked to him earlier today, I thought he was younger. His eyes certainly don’t appear old.” Halle nudged her friend’s arm. “Besides, there is nothing wrong with older men. If I remember correctly, the last time we watched a Colin Firth movie, you were drooling all over your popcorn.”
Samantha snorted a laugh. “Okay, so Firth is different.”
“And Antonio Banderas…and Sean Connery…and Harrison Ford...and—”
“Enough already. I get your point,” Samantha snipped and folded her arms smartly. “So some older men are very good looking.”
“Well, I’m not here to pick up men.” Samantha shot a curious stare toward Halle, so she quickly continued, “Although I do want to fall in love someday, it won’t be here in England. First and foremost, I need to find out what happened to my father. While I’m doing that, I would like to learn more about history and live my dream—if only for a week. Mr. Merrick is a nice man who acts like a true gentleman, and I’m happy to have made friends with him. That’s all. End of subject. I’m not going to drool after him the whole time we’re here. You may continue to do so, but I won’t be a participant.”
Samantha lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine.” She glanced around the glade. “By the way...where is Colin?”
Halle rolled her eyes. “I think he came on this trip to pick up women. He wandered away from us when he saw a pretty woman by the birdbath.”
Samantha snickered. “He’s such a flirt.”
Throwing back her head, Halle laughed hard. “If we were in Victorian times, he would have been considered a rake.”
“Ohhh, and Victorian women loved rakes, even though they pretended not to.” Sam laughed. “Let’s call him a rake while we’re here. I think it will be fun.”
“Yes, it will.” Halle hooked her hand around Samantha’s elbow. “Come on, let’s find someplace to eat lunch. I’m starved.”
Samantha nodded. “We’ll call a taxi and have him take us into town. Maybe there we’ll find a clothing shop for our costumes, too.”
“I hope so. I can’t wait to dress up and live out my fantasy of being in the Victorian era.”
* * * *
Halle shuffled along with the other guests for their tour through Buckland Manor the next evening. She couldn’t remember being this happy before. Living with her mother who moved from one boyfriend to the other without ever making any real commitments had made Halle one unsettled little girl. Even now that she was older, Halle felt as if she didn’t have a home. Sometimes she’d caught her mom drunk, her mother rambled about their sad life and blamed Halle’s deadbeat father. If only he had been a responsible man. If only he had paid her child support. If only... Halle rolled her eyes. The if only’s were just crutches, in her opinion.
Once Halle graduated from high school she was tired of being the pathetic child without a father and a mother who was rarely happy. Halle had decided if she wanted anything out of life, she would be the one to work for it and get it, which is why she worked two part-time jobs so she could put herself through college. When her mother died, Halle was determined to find happiness. That was when she tracked her father down here in England and started writing him.
Now, being in this ancient manor and seeing all the wonderful memorabilia, made her happier than she could remember. Of course, she tried to keep her cheerful mood even when the few people she’d asked about her father had told her they didn’t know him. They had never heard of Will Chapman. Yet, her father had written to her from this very place. He even said he’d worked here. How could no one know him?
Nigel led the guests down a long hallway into an even longer room. Portraits of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, starting from the very first owners of the manor. As the group moved from one picture to the other, Nigel told a brief story of that person. Halle clicked the camera on her cell phone, storing up the pictures to study them later.
“Here are the portraits of the Duke and Duchess of Harrington. The duke had a happy life but it ended tragically.”
Halle snapped her head up, suddenly not caring about her phone. With the words ‘tragically’ she figured a great story would soon follow.
Nigel moved to the next portrait of a handsome man, perhaps in his early thirties. Light brown hair, square jaw, and wide shoulders. “This is the duke’s oldest son, Edward Merrick, Marquis of Brimhall. On the evening of his wedding, an angry mob burst into the manor and killed the family. Only the bride and Lord Brimhall’s sister, Lady Georgiana, survived…but barely. Lady Georgiana was not in her right mind after the attack.”
He moved to the next painting. The similarities between this likeness and that of Edward Merrick were remarkable, but this man had darker hair and a more handsome face. Halle was struck by his stunning features…surprisingly so.
And why did he look familiar?
She quickly snapped a couple more pictures with her cell phone, wishing she’d been back in his time and had met this man.
“The murderer,” Nigel continued, “was said to be this man right here.” He arched a critical eyebrow, pointing to the second man’s portrait. “The younger brother, Lord Andrew Merrick.”
She held in a gasp. No! It couldn’t be. He didn’t look like someone who could do such a terrible thing. True, he wore an expression that described him as being a little arrogant, but that didn’t make him a killer. Or did it? Was she allowing the man’s good looks to distort her thinking? That wasn’t usually like her.
Halle squeezed through a few people, drawing nearer to the painting.
“Lord Andrew flaunted his mistress around in public and greatly embarrassed the family.” Nigel’s story-telling soon became nothing but mumbling and she refused to listen anymore. Strange to think how familiarity pricked her conscience the longer she studied the portrait. Why would she think she’d met this man before? She didn’t believe in reincarnation, so she didn’t think she’d lived in the past with him, but there was something about the man’s eyes that made her believe they’d met.
In my dreams, maybe? It would definitely have to be since she’d never met anyone this remarkably handsome in her life.
The crowd pushed her forward, even though she wanted to stay and gaze at the portrait. Maybe she would return later to stare at him for as long as she wanted, and daydream about finding a man like him here in her time.
They walked into the dining room and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She could envision the Victorian people entertaining here. If she allowed her mind to slip back in time, she could put herself in their shoes easily. She’d be on the arm of that handsome man, Lord Andrew, of course—as long as he wasn’t the murderer.
“And this is where the duke and duchess had their dinner parties.”
Halle pulled herself from the dreamy thoughts and clicked a couple of pictures on her cell phone as she wandered through the enormous room. Gingerly, she ran her fingers across the wooden high back chairs. These were indeed antique, but she couldn’t quite date them. She highly doubted they were the original chairs the duke and duchess sat their wealthy bottoms on, mainly because they probably perished in the house fire. From her research and knowledge of the era, she calculated these particular chairs to be made in the early 1900’s.
The tour guide m
oved to the adjoining room, what looked to be one of the many drawing rooms on the first floor. Another heavily decorated room with furniture that appeared to be from the early 1900’s. She rolled her eyes. Buckland Manor needed to hire her to redecorate these rooms with more authentic-looking pieces.
“This was the room where the family gathered that fateful night,” Nigel continued the unbelievable tale. “This place has been remodeled since then, of course, but thankfully there was no major damage from the fire.” He pointed to the window facing west. “It was at this very window where a large rock came through with a death threat written on a piece of paper wrapped around it. Within minutes, the mob attacked, setting fire to most of the rooms on the ground floor. As I’d mentioned, the Merrick family perished that night, except for the daughter, Lady Georgiana, but because of her injuries she died a few years later. Lord Brimhall’s widow lived in the house for three years, but then had to sell the estate when her finances became depleted.”
Halle shook her head. That didn’t sound right. Quickly, she raised her hand and asked, “Why did Edward’s wife remain in the house? Wouldn’t the property have passed to someone in Edward’s family line?”
Nigel gave her a dark, bewildered look. He shrugged. “I think she stayed in the house to be Lady Georgiana’s companion. They were now sisters by marriage, and it is said they were inseparable after their harrowing ordeal.”
Halle nodded, accepting his answer.
A guest amongst their group raised a hand. “Did they ever find out why the mob attacked?”
“Rumors have it,” Nigel said, “that it was the second brother, Lord Andrew, who was the mastermind in all of this. He had paid these men to attack the manor.”
From behind Halle, she heard a deep, irritated grumble. She glanced over her shoulder. The man she’d talked to outside—Drew Merrick—stood just inside the door. Lines of anger marred his sickly face, making his mouth tight as he glared at the tour guide.
“Why would the second son want to kill his family?” another guest from the small crowd asked, and Halle rested her attention back on the tour guide.
“Once again,” Nigel continued, “the rumors indicate that the second son was out of favor with his parents. He was rebellious and caused problems, coveting his brother’s title and all that went with it.”
Halle frowned. Not another story about a younger brother coveting a title. Yet, there was something in the back of her mind telling her this story couldn’t possibly be right. If the younger brother was the so-called mastermind, then why had he died as well?
She took another glance at Drew who seemed to have the same disagreement as she. His hands bunched by his side, and his chest rose and fell quickly. Not only did he appear angry, but saddened as if he’d experienced a great loss in his life as well.
She turned back to Nigel. What was it about this tale that didn’t ring true? Sure, she didn’t know these people, but usually second sons of the aristocracy didn’t murder their whole family.
Waving, she tried to get the guide’s attention again. When Nigel met her gaze, she voiced her opinion. “Why would they suspect Lord Andrew? I know in their time they didn’t have forensic science like we do that helps solve murders, but just because he was rebellious and flaunted his mistress, doesn’t mean he’s the killer. Was there any real proof that he killed his family?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know. The story I’m relating is the one that’s been connected to this manor for years.”
“It just doesn’t make sense.” She shrugged. “I have a major in history, and from what I studied about the Victorian era, the second sons could receive large inheritances and even lands as long as they’re not entailed. Was this the case with Lord Andrew? I mean, if his family was wealthy—” She motioned toward the lovely furnishings in the room— “As we can see they were, I’m sure Lord Andrew was given a grand inheritance. Usually second sons worked as well—in the Foreign Offices or such—making a pretty good living. I don’t believe Lord Andrew was the desperate second son your intriguing tale makes him out to be. And another thing that doesn’t ring true…if Lord Andrew was the mastermind behind all of this, why did he die in the attack? If he planned all of this, wouldn’t he have planned his own escape instead of getting killed?”
“Well…um, I don’t know…” Nigel exploded into a fit of coughs and quickly retrieved a small pill box from his pocket, snatched a white pill, and tossed it in his mouth. He took several deep breaths, and then met her gaze again. “My apologies. But as I was saying, your questions have merit, however, I can only tell you what has been told to me.” He straightened and pointed to the next room. “Now let’s continue…”
She rolled her eyes as she hesitated from following the group to the next room. Perhaps she shouldn’t get so upset, but how could she not? All of her life she’d been about truth, justice, and the American way. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in America any longer and things were vastly different, especially in the Victorian era.
Turning sharply, she moved to catch up with the group, but a tall, muscular body stopped her. She looked up into the caring eyes of Drew Merrick. Instead of the angry expression he displayed a few minutes ago, a tender smile touched his mouth and a gleam lit his eyes.
“Miss Chapman, may I have a word in private, please?”
Halle glanced around the room, now empty. “It looks like we’re alone now.”
He shook his head. “No, not here. Would you mind going for a stroll outside with me?”
She hesitated. Still a stranger, she didn’t know if he’d try something or not. Yet, for some reason, she felt she could trust him. “Sure.”
He lifted his elbow then quickly dropped his arm by his side. For a moment, she thought he’d wanted her to take his arm like a proper lady would have done to a gentleman in the olden days. Nah! She was being foolish to think that way. Men didn’t act like that any longer. It must have been her daydreaming a little while ago that made her think like that.
Drew remained quiet until they strolled outside. The sun had set, and a bright moon lit the sky. The wind had died down, and the temperature was still quite cool, so she slid her hands inside the pockets of her jacket.
Old-fashioned lanterns scattered throughout the yard, giving it a romantic feel. She held back a chuckle. Romantic? How could she feel that way toward an older man? Although, remembering how strong his chest looked this afternoon made her think she’d been wrong about his age.
“It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” She had to say something to break the silence.
He looked straight into her eyes. His gaze seemed to delve deep into her, clear to her soul.
He nodded. “Very lovely, indeed.”
Why did she think he was referring to her instead of the night? Ridiculous! Just her crazy thoughts of romance getting carried away again.
“I thank you,” he began, “for saying what you did about Lord Andrew back there.” He motioned his head toward the manor as they walked away from it.
“Really? Why?”
“Because I didn’t...um, I mean I don’t believe he was guilty, either.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what it is or why I even became so defensive, but…” She took a deep breath. “It’s just a feeling I have. There are too many holes in the story.”
As she studied his expression, familiarity came back. Why did she think she had met him some place before? Immediately, a man’s portrait flew through her mind. Lord Andrew. It was as if a light bulb had been turned on in her head and she recalled his full name. Drew Merrick.
“Oh, my gosh!” she blurt out before covering her mouth. Her gaze wandered over his face, his hair, and he looked almost identical to the portrait of Andrew Merrick…well, except Lord Andrew appeared more healthy.
“What is amiss?” he asked.
She dropped her hand from her mouth. “Your last name is Merrick.”
“Yes.”
“The man who was accused of killing his family was An
drew Merrick.”
His lips stretched slowly into a smile. “Yes.”
“You might think this is funny, but you resemble the portrait hanging in that room. By chance, are you related?”
A heavy sigh came from Drew and he nodded. “I am.”
“Does Nigel know?”
Drew shook his head. “He does not, and I would appreciate it if he never learned that bit of information.”
His expression wavered, and curiosity got the better of her. Why did he look as if he knew something she didn’t? “How long have you been working here?”
“I’ve only been here about a month now.”
Drew led her to the large tree out front, the same tree where she’d seen him when arriving at Buckland Manor.
“So, Drew…was Nigel’s story correct? Did Lord Andrew kill his family?”
He stopped short, swinging his head to look at her. “Andrew Merrick did not murder his family nor did he have anything to do with it.”
“I wonder what really happened.”
He shrugged. “The family was murdered, there’s no mistake about that, but the wrong person was accused.”
She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head. “Who do you think did it?”
“That, Miss Chapman, I wish I knew.”
She scratched her chin. “From my research, there was always a distant uncle or cousin who coveted the title. This has happened for generations. Do you know much about the ancestors?”
The corner of his mouth lifted as a twinkle lit his eyes. “Indeed, I do.”
She gasped and clutched his arm, excitement shooting through her. “Really? Oh, I’d love to know more. I love history, and nothing intrigues me more than when it comes with a good mystery.”
He glanced at her hand resting on his arm before his gaze bounced up to meet hers again. Crackling warmth spread quickly through her fingertips. Confused by the sensation, she withdrew.
Drew swallowed then laughed, sounding entirely too forced. “I enjoy your enthusiasm, Miss Chapman. I would be delighted to tell you everything I know.”
Love Lost in Time (Victorian Time-Travel) Page 3