She nodded eagerly. “Definitely. Please tell me more.”
He gulped down a mouthful of his water. Overhead, the sky filled with dark clouds as a small wind picked up. It didn’t look like snow, and he prayed England’s unpredictable rain would not ruin their afternoon.
“Edward did marry Lady Agnes that day. It was a happy occasion…well, except for Andrew and his mother. They were not pleased because they thought LadyAgnes only wanted Edward’s title and inheritance. They labeled her as money-hungry.”
“Why? Weren’t her parents wealthy?”
“They were at one time, but between Lord Caldwell and his two sons, they were depleting the family coffer very swiftly. Only a few gentlemen who played cards with the Caldwells knew about their spending habits. I’m not sure if the Duke of Harrington even knew.”
“That makes sense.” She nodded.
“Lady Agnes’s parents and her brothers attended the wedding and stayed for the family’s dinner gathering afterward later that evening. What Nigel didn’t tell you is that the Duke of Harrington had received several warnings before this incident.”
Her gaze stayed on Andrew, and she even scooted closer, which he enjoyed more than he should. He rested his hand very near hers on the blanket. He continued, “The Merrick family had ancient jewels dating from the early 1200’s. These jewels were in the duke’s possession, and his distant relatives thought he should have shared.”
Another gasp sprang from her mouth and she sat up straight. “I knew it! It was an uncle or cousin, right? Was it Nimrod himself?”
He grinned, loving her enthusiasm over the story. “That, I don’t know. I would like to think it was somebody so greedy they had no conscience about killing, because I know Andrew was not at fault. However, the duke refused to allow these threats to disrupt his life. One of them was setting fire to the Harrington’s stable. This happened on the very day Edward proposed to Lady Agnes. Thankfully, nobody was harmed. The next threat happened a few days after she and Edward were engaged when someone tried to kidnap Georgiana. Thankfully, the Duke of Harrington was able to get his daughter back safely. He was a tall, strapping, powerful man, and most men didn’t want to cross him.”
She nodded. “I thought he was that kind of man when I saw his portrait on the wall.”
“Anyhow, it was the evening of the wedding, after the family had left the dining room and adjourned into the drawing room when a rock was thrown through the window. Wrapped around this object was another warning—to hand over the jewels or the duke’s family would die.” Once again, she scooted closer. He loved the fact that she trusted him so well.
“Not too long after that,” he continued, “flaming arrows sailed through the windows, setting the curtains on fire. The Duke of Harrington instructed the women to hide upstairs. Edward, and Lady Agnes’s father and brothers, ran into the other room to where my fath...um, the duke kept the weapons.” Andrew couldn’t believe he’d almost named the duke as his sire.
“One arrow,” he continued quickly before she realized his blunder, “buried itself right through the duke’s chest to his heart. Andrew rushed to his father’s side so full of anger and wanting to kill the people responsible for his father’s death. Just before the duke died, he whispered something to his son.”
Halle’s wide eyes held interest as she leaned even closer. The wind had picked up and blew strands of her hair against her cheek. “What did he say?” she asked.
“I think he was trying to tell Andrew where the jewels were buried because he instructed his son to run as fast as he could to the large tree out front.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “The same one that’s out front of the manor?”
“Indeed, that very tree.”
“Then what happened?”
Andrew hesitated, not knowing if he should tell her the rest. It was hard enough for him to believe it—and he lived it. She would probably think him insane. Then again, he wondered that himself.
The wind became stronger and blew a piece of hair in his face. Before he could swipe it away, her fingers were there, pushing it off his forehead. His heart melted, and he silently cursed fate for making him appear so much older in her eyes.
He licked his dry lips and swallowed, bringing moisture to his throat as well. “Andrew dodged shots being fired at him as he ran through the manor. The mob had broken into the house now and the fighting had begun. Someone shot at him, and one ball nicked his shoulder, but he kept running until he got outside.” Hard to believe, but the pain in his shoulder still hurt. “Lord Andrew crept around the side of the house until he saw the tree, but it was different that night. A bright light lit it up as if a blazing fire burned through it.”
“Really? Was the tree on fire, too?”
“No. The closer I...um, Andrew Merrick came to the tree, he could see it wasn’t on fire. Some of the mob had followed him, and Andrew knew it was only a matter of time before he was killed like his father, so he ran to the tree, which seemed to open for him—as if welcoming him in.”
“Are you serious? How weird is that? Then what happened?”
Raindrops landed on him, and Andrew cussed under his breath. She grumbled, swiping the drops of moisture landing on her face, and jumped away from him, grabbing the picnic basket. Knowing England’s rainstorms, they would be soaked within minutes if they didn’t hurry.
He took the basket from her and she gathered the blanket, stuffing it in the basket the best she could. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the shelter of a nearby gazebo. If he remembered correctly, it had a new roof. Hopefully it was sturdy enough to keep them dry.
Within seconds, the sky opened up and buckets of ice-cold water dumped on them. By the time they made it to the gazebo, they were wet clear through. Halle laughed and hugged her arms around her chest, her damp, long hair hanging in her face. He set the basket on the bench and turned to Halle. She shivered so much it worried him. Out of the basket, he pulled the blanket, thankfully still mostly dry, and wrapped it around her shoulders. As she clutched the covering around her body, he brushed back the hair from her face. “Leave it to England’s weather to ruin a perfect afternoon.”
She laughed. “No kidding. I’d heard about your rainstorms, but this is the first I’ve experienced it firsthand.”
He glanced outside as rain fell around them. “This is mild compared to most storms. Surprisingly enough, it’s not snowing, either.” He shook his head. “This has definitely been an abnormal winter.”
“That is amazing.” Taking a deep breath, she tightened the blanket. “Are you cold?”
“I thank you for worrying, but no, I shall be fine.” He ran his hands down his arms and over his shirt to remove excess water. When he raised his gaze to hers, she was looking at his chest again. Glancing down, he realized why. The wet material melted to him like second skin, emphasizing his muscular frame that gratefully, traveling through time hadn’t been taken away from him…yet.
When her eyes rose to meet his, her face flamed and she shyly backed away and sat on the bench. “I didn’t expect to get so cold. It was such a nice day earlier. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all.”
“It’s just because you’re wet.” He sat beside her and rubbed up and down her arms. “Do you feel any better?”
She nodded. “A little, thanks.”
He leaned back against the wall of the gazebo and looked up at the new roof. He pushed the wet strands of his hair back on his head. The rainstorm’s timing couldn’t have been worse—or was it the perfect time to interrupt the story? He didn’t want to see the look of disbelief in her eyes, especially when he told her he was Lord Andrew, and had come forward in time.
Sighing heavily, he turned his head to look at her. Once again, her gaze skimmed over his body, from the top of his head slowly down to his boots. When she met his eyes, confusion marred their depths.
“Andrew? I can’t help but notice how much you look like Lord Andrew’s portrait.”
May
be telling her the truth wouldn’t be so hard after all.
He smiled. “It pleases me to know you think this. I’m also happy to know you don’t think I resemble the duke instead.”
“No, not the Duke of Harrington.” She rubbed her chin. “But I wonder why you look like his son so much. And why—” Her attention dropped to his chest once more— “Why you don’t look your age,” she ended in a whisper.
He pulled away from the wall and leaned closer to her. “What age do you think I look?”
Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t draw back. “I’m a bad one to ask that question. I know I’ll get it wrong.”
“Try anyway,” he encouraged. “I won’t be offended, I assure you.”
She crinkled her forehead. “I’d say early forties.”
He placed his hand on her knee, and thankfully, she didn’t try to pull back. “Halle, what would you say if I told you I was nine and twenty?”
Chapter Four
Halle stared at the man sitting so close to her, as his voice blurting his age rang through her head. He couldn’t possibly be serious… Twenty-nine years old? Even though his face definitely didn’t look that young, his chest did.
Shaking her head, she chuckled. “If you’re going to tell me you’re twenty-nine, then I’m the Queen of England.”
The creases around his eyes deepened when he smiled. “Then shall I refer to you as Your Highness?”
She rolled her eyes. “Be serious, Andrew. You are not twenty-nine. I’m twenty-three, so that would make you only six years older.”
Shrugging, he pulled away from her and stared out the gazebo doors. The rain had lightened considerably, but she was content to stay in here for now. Sadness tugged on his mouth, and she withered inside. She didn’t mean to make him feel bad. But he couldn’t really believe he was that young. Unless...
She leaned in closer to inspect his face better. His eyes didn’t look like he should be so old, but color of his face and his thinning hair did make him look older. She had heard about a disease that makes people grow older quicker. Could he have that?
“Andrew?” She placed her hand on his cold, damp shoulder. Through the wet cloth his muscles bunched. He was certainly strong for a man of his age. “Are you serious? Really?”
He turned his head her way and nodded. “I’m in my nine and twentieth year, Halle. The reason I appear unhealthy is because...”
She held her breath. Gads, if he was really sick, she’d hate herself for teasing him. “Because?”
“Because I’m from a different time,” he whispered.
Time? Did he mean time zone? That didn’t make sense because he said he was born and raised in England. “What do you mean?”
He sighed heavily, turned his body and took hold of both her hands. Gently he rubbed warmth back into them as he stared into her eyes.
“One month ago, I was in Buckland Manor which used to be called Harrington Manor, with my family; the Duke of Harrington who is my father, my mother, my sister Georgiana, and my brother, Edward. My brother had just married Lady Agnes. The night of the attack, I followed my father’s instructions and went to find the hidden treasure. That’s when I saw the bright light coming from within the tree—the same tree I was tending when you first saw me. The trunk opened up, and I stepped inside...and ended up here. Don’t ask me how, but I stepped through time, from 1848 to now.” He released the few buttons of his shirt and pulled the material down over his shoulder. “A ball from a musket grazed my arm, and here is the scar.”
The mark on his arm did look as if it wasn’t very old. But really…time-travel?
It took a couple of seconds for everything to sink in. Her first reaction was to burst out laughing, but she held it back. Seriousness laced his eyes, and deepened the tone of his voice. He actually believed he was a time-traveler! She’d never heard of such a thing. Then again, movies were made...books were written...
Nah, impossible!
Although…he did look remarkably like the portrait of Lord Andrew hanging in the long hall.
He clasped her hands again as his thumbs stroked her knuckles, tenderness evident in every touch. “Halle, I didn’t kill my family, but I don’t know how to prove it. I wish I knew why God played this cruel joke on me and sent me forward in time, but I don’t. If I could return home to my time, I would do it in a blink of an eye.” He licked his lips. “Please, Halle. You have to believe me. Out of everyone I have met since being here in a month’s time, you are the one person I have felt would understand—that would believe.”
His voice laced with sorrow and jerked on her heartstrings. It made sense, yet…she didn’t believe in time-travel.
From outside the gazebo, voices carried in the wind, calling her name. She jerked her head toward the sound. Colin and Samantha trudged through the wet grass with umbrellas. Andrew pulled away and sat back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.
He nodded toward her friends. “Go with them. I shall stay here for a little while longer.”
She switched her gaze from him to her friends, not knowing what to do. Her mind swam with confusion and she couldn’t think, so perhaps it was better to leave to collect her thoughts. “Andrew, let me think on this, okay?”
He nodded, but didn’t reply.
She shrugged out of the blanket and handed it to him. Before another word was spoken, she dashed out of the gazebo.
* * * *
The storm ruined Halle’s plans for the rest of the day since she and her friends had planned to tour the parks and other manors. She stayed in her room most of the time because she couldn’t think straight. Walking up and down the halls didn’t help, because all she could do was look at the pictures and the furnishing, which made her feel like she had stepped back in time herself. She ended up at the portrait hall in front of Lord Andrew’s picture. Drew Merrick did look like this man, just slightly sicker. The gleam in his eyes, the tilt to his sensual mouth, and the shape of his face were identical.
Time-travel wasn’t possible…or was it? And if it wasn’t possible, that meant Andrew was insane.
She moved away and hurried to her room, hoping nobody would stop her. The night had grown long since it started getting dark here around four-thirty in the evening, and now it was way past midnight. As she walked in and turned on the light, something seemed out of place. Stopping, she scanned the room to see what was wrong. Lying on her bed was a gown—a Victorian gown.
Smiling wide and feeling like it was Christmas, she ran to the garment and picked it up. Right away she could tell this wasn’t a remake. The material felt old, nothing like she’d touched before and the shoulder had a small rip in the stitching.
The deep gold satin with rounded neck and tight waist would look wonderful on her. The mid-length sleeves with their white silky under-sleeve would make any woman feel like a princess. A matching gold and white ribbon that tied around the middle section would accentuate her waist, she was certain, before the material poofed out around her hips and legs in a full-length skirt with a small train.
She held it against her. It may just fit after all! Also lying on the bed were undergarments and stockings. She smiled happily. Andrew had done this. He was such a sweet man.
Insane, but sweet.
In a rush, she stripped off her clothes to try everything on. She couldn’t wait for Friday. The stockings were a fine sheer, and the drawers were satin. The corset she couldn’t put on without help, but it reminded her of a push-up bra she once bought that nearly had her bosom spilling over the top. She was certain this particular old-fashioned garment would do the same.
The petticoat and hoop underskirt were a breeze to slip into, and when she finally draped the gown over her body, it slid as smooth as silk against her skin and fit her like a glove. The row of buttons down the back was impossible to attend, but it didn’t matter right now. As she gazed at herself in the full-length mirror, she could picture herself in 1848 with Lord Andrew and his family.
Smili
ng, she closed her eyes. Men would flock to her, she was certain, and her dance card would be full. The Duchess of Harrington would graciously introduce her to everyone while her son, Lord Andrew, stood back against the hearth, gazing at her as if he’d never seen anything so lovely. It wouldn’t take long before she would become a hit with the family—and the ton—and her social schedule would be full of invitations, and her evenings would be complete as long as Lord Andrew stood beside her, admiring her with those dreamy azure eyes of his.
She chuckled and looked at herself in the mirror again. Impossible dream, but it was hers and she could do with it as she wished.
A knock came upon the door, and she jumped. With a groan, she realized she didn’t want to be disturbed. Although she loved her friends, there were times she wanted to be by herself.
“Miss Chapman? Um…Halle?”
Andrew’s deep voice created tingles inside her. If only he wasn’t so sick... If only he didn’t believe he was from the past. Still, she wanted to see him and thank him for finding her this beautiful gown.
She opened the door. When Andrew came into her view, she gasped. Andrew stood wearing Victorian era clothes. He looked dashing in his velvet blue coat trimmed with a dark gray, and a royal blue vest that matched the color of his eyes. His white cravat complimented his tanned skin. Black trousers and boots fit him to perfection. He presented the perfect picture of a Victorian gentleman. The only things missing were a top hat and walking stick.
His gaze slid slowly over her, and butterflies danced in her stomach. Mentally, she cursed herself for feeling this way. He’s not twenty-nine! And he’s certainly not from 1848.
“Your beauty takes my breath away, Halle.”
Her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. Never had a man said that to her, and never had a man’s eyes held so much emotion.
She waved him inside. “Please, come in.” After she closed the door, she said, “I didn’t expect you to be up so late.”
Love Lost in Time (Victorian Time-Travel) Page 5