Love Lost in Time (Victorian Time-Travel)

by Marie Higgins

  “I could not sleep.”

  “Neither could I.”

  He nodded. “I can imagine since what I told you earlier today.” His gaze moved over her gown again. “I’m so relieved the gown fits.”

  She giggled and fluttered her hand over her chest. “Me, too. At least I hope it fits. I can’t fasten the buttons in the back.”

  “Will you accept my offer to assist? I’m no lady’s maid, but I can assure you I am quite proficient at fastening buttons.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure you are, but no thanks. I won’t be wearing this long before readying myself for bed.” She stepped closer to him and touched his hand. “Thank you so much for getting this gown for me. It’s perfect.”

  His gaze darkened. “It’s perfect on you, as if it were made just for Halle Chapman.” His eyes moved to her shoulder. “There is a small rip. I shall have Beatrice sew it for you before the party on Friday.”

  “Thank you.” She scanned his clothes again. He really did look better wearing these than he did wearing his working clothes. “You look exceptionally good. I’ve never seen a more handsome gentleman.”

  “This is what I wore when I came through time.” He touched the hole in his sleeve. “This is where the musket ball grazed me.”

  She gasped and jerked her hand back. Taking more time, she studied his clothes. The way the stitches were done; the fabric and design told her this was no remake either. “Andrew, where did you get my gown?”

  “From upstairs in one of the locked rooms.”

  “Really? Is that why those rooms are locked because they hold items like this?”

  He nodded. “I think so, but I cannot be certain.”

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t wear this, then.”

  “On the contrary, my dear. This was in my family’s house, and because this is still my family’s house no matter what century we are in, the gown is my gift to you.”

  Strange, how he said that with such conviction, and even stranger that she wanted so badly to believe.

  Confusion clogged her mind once again, and she turned away from him and walked toward the bureau. Taking deep breaths, she placed a hand on her chest. Unfortunately, this was upsetting her more than she was prepared for. Didn’t Andrew know how ridiculous his story sounded? “Oh, Andrew. I wish I could believe you, but it’s so hard.”

  Silence hung heavy in the room for a few earth-shattering minutes, only the thud of her heartbeat against her ribs rang through her ears. Finally, heavy footsteps echoed behind her mere moments before the lamp dimmed. Gasping, she swung around. “Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t want you to look at my face with your eyes. Look with your heart.”

  He walked closer until he stood a breath away. The skirt of her gown brushed against his trouser-legs. Gentle fingertips stroked the side of her face then trailed down her neck until his whole hand rested on her shoulder. Warmth cascaded through her and she shivered.

  “Close your eyes if you must, but I’m going to take you back to the day of my brother’s wedding. I will describe every detail in the room, every stitch of clothing worn by my family and the other guests.” His thumb rubbed her collarbone. “I shall answer any questions you have about that night or anything else you would like to know. Halle, I will do anything to make you believe I’m telling the truth.”

  Up this close and in the shadows, it was easy to believe he was twenty-nine. It was easy to think of him being back in 1848 because of his dress and mannerisms. Heaven help her, she wanted to believe he was that man who she’d day dreamed so much about since staring at his portrait.

  She took a deep breath, trying to think of a question to ask—something men wouldn’t usually know unless they were back in those days. “Tell me about Lord Brimhall’s wedding.”

  Through the shadows, she noticed a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, and as he started talking, his voice relaxed her, slowly removing her worries.

  “December 20, 1848, was a lovely winter day; the day my brother married Lady Agnes.”

  Andrew spoke like a true gentleman of the realm, like nobility ran through his blood, as if he had really been there. The tone of his voice hypnotized her and put her back in time.

  He described the room and what everyone wore. Halle couldn’t believe how detailed he was. Men were usually not that way. When he talked of his family, emotion clogged his throat, and she could feel how much he loved them. Most of all, he described the wedding perfectly—just as it had been back in those days, which were different than the ceremonies now.

  When he stopped, she wanted to hear more. It didn’t matter about what. His voice was so soothing. “Tell me, Andrew, what kind of meal was served?”

  He took her hand and pulled her back to the bed where they both sat on the edge, facing each other. She stared into his dark eyes, not caring that he remained in the shadows. It was easier to believe he was twenty-nine years old this way.

  When he mentioned rosemary shortcake and cucumber sandwiches, Halle’s heart soared. Men of her day didn’t know facts like this. Doubts of his story flew from her mind, and she couldn’t help but think of him as Lord Andrew.

  “Now I want you to tell me what kind of flowers your mother…um, the duchess likes and their meanings.”

  Chuckling, he rubbed her fingers. “These are easy questions, Halle. But if you insist.” He cleared his throat. “Yellow roses mean friendship and joy. Their bright sunny color gives one the feeling of happiness. White roses symbolize purity and innocence. Purple roses symbolize enchantment. Orange roses express desire and passion.” His voice deepened as he squeezed her hands. “And red roses have always been the symbol of love and romance. If one presents you with a red rose, it means they love you.”

  “Wow.” Really, Halle couldn’t think of anything more to say at the moment. His knowledge truly impressed her. Guys of her time would definitely not know this.

  “My mother,” he continued, “had a lovely flower garden. It was her pride and joy. When she was a little girl, her mother had a beautiful flower garden, but she and her family couldn’t afford to live there so they were kicked out and she lived with relatives. When she married my father, she decided then and there that she would always have a beautiful flower garden.” He was quiet for a few moments before adding softly, “I don’t know why I told you that. My mother would not have wanted anyone to know that about her past.”

  “Thank you for telling me anyway. What was her favorite flower?”

  “She liked purple roses.”

  “Why?”

  “That was her favorite color.”

  “That’s my favorite color, too,” she said softly. “Andrew? What is your favorite flower?”

  A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I must admit, I’m particular to the purple rose too, but not because it’s my favorite color…but because it’s my mother’s favorite flower.”

  Her heart warmed from his confession. Not many men would say that.

  Once again, the room grew silent. She didn’t know what else to ask him. Still, it was hard for her to believe in time-travel, yet he was Lord Andrew in every way. She knew it with every fiber of her being. This incredible man was from the Victoria era. He continued stroking her arm. She didn’t flinch or pull away.

  “What was it like back then?”

  He chuckled. “I’m not quite sure I understand your question.”

  “That’s okay, I’m not quite sure I know what to ask.”

  “The people were far different back in 1848 than they are now, but problems were still the same. Every family had issues with their children. Every family had people who coveted their titles and lands. And most families had some kind of tragedy happen to them in their lifetime.”

  Silence stretched between them for a few more moments before she asked in hushed tones, “One more thing. Tell me, my lord, what kind of life did you lead? Were you a rogue like rumors labeled you? Or were you the gentleman who I’ve come to know?”

 
; Using his other hand, his fingers stroked her cheek. She struggled not to cuddle her face against his touch, but no matter her efforts, she leaned against his palm, not taking her focus from his shadowed eyes.

  “Make no mistake, Halle, I was a rogue in my time. I was quite fond of charming women, and I had no wish to marry. I did have a mistress—Lucy Dinsmore—and although I tried to keep her a secret, she had a loose tongue and told everyone that I would marry her. Needless to say, I ended our relationship quickly after that. I didn’t want to do anything to embarrass my family.”

  “Then you made a wise choice by getting her out of your life.”

  “You know, the night of my brother’s wedding, my father suggested it was time for me to start looking for a wife. I informed him that I was not interested.”

  She chuckled. “That does sound like what a rogue would say.”

  His thumb trailed to her bottom lip. “However, I want to think that if I had met someone like you, my thoughts would have changed.”

  “Really? I’m not the type of woman you would have seduced and wanted to be your mistress?”

  He leaned closer, which made her heartbeat take on a faster rhythm. Why was he pulling her into the fantasy she’d been thinking about lately?

  “I would have most definitely wanted to charm you, my sweet, but you are far different from the other women of my time. I didn’t meet very many who had a mind of their own. I didn’t know very many who spoke their thoughts as you do. Not many women were as selfless as you are.” He drew even closer until his lips hovered above hers. “I have never met any woman whose emotions shine from their eyes like yours do. Halle Chapman, you are beautiful inside and out, and somehow you have bewitched me.” He swallowed hard. “The problem is I don’t mind it at all.”

  Oh, dear! She was sunk. She couldn’t pull away now even if she wanted. He was the enchanter, not her, because she wanted him to kiss her more than ever. Closing the space between them, she leaned forward and placed her mouth over his. Her sigh blended with his, and he cupped the back of her head to hold her in place. Just as his lips began their seductive caress, the chirp from her cell phone caused her to jerk away.

  “What the devil was that?” he exclaimed, breathless.

  “My cell phone.” Blindly, she moved her hand over the bed stand, searching for it since the room was still dimmed, and because his kiss had put her mind in a fog. When she found it, she touched the screen before pressing it to her ear. “Hullo.”

  “Hal, did I wake you? I’m sorry, but I didn’t think you’d be in bed so soon.”

  She groaned and glanced at the digital clock by the lamp. “Samantha, it’s nearly one in the morning.” She rubbed her forehead, feeling an ache beginning. How she wanted to tell her friend good-bye and return to kissing Andrew.

  The bed shifted, and she swung to face him as he stood. He brushed his fingers against her cheek and kissed her forehead, before stepping quietly out of the room. Her heart cried for him to come back, yet she knew his leaving was the best thing. She couldn’t become involved with him—whether he was twenty-nine or not. Especially not if he came from 1848.

  “Samantha, I’m tired and I have a terrible headache. I’ll talk to you in the morning, all right?”

  “Are you okay? You’ve not been yourself since we found you outside in the rainstorm earlier, and I’m worried about you. Have you discovered anymore about your father? Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

  “I’m okay, and no, I haven’t found out anything about my father. In fact, my mind hasn’t been on him lately. I suppose I should start asking more questions of the staff here before we have to leave.” She stared at the door, knowing why her mind hadn’t been on her father. Andrew had walked out the door taking her mind—and her heart—with him.

  “I hope you’re not getting sick.”

  She sighed. “I’m not.”

  “I worry about you.”

  Halle smiled. “No need to. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, go to sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  She chuckled. “Good night.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  As Halle hung up the phone, she knew her dreams would definitely be sweet—confused as all get-out, but sweet.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, Halle sat on her bed with all the letters her father had sent her this past year spread out on the patch-work quilt. She read back through the last letter he’d mailed. He’d been working right here at Buckland Manor. By the way he talked, he had been well-liked by his co-workers and even his boss. So why had the few people she talked to not known him—or even heard about him?

  His disappearance was a great mystery to her. There was no indication of foul play, either. He’d never once mentioned having a woman friend or wanting to get married. And he’d given no hint to anything that might have made him want to leave Buckland Manor.

  When her father’s letters had stopped coming, she called the manor only to be told there was no such person. Will Chapman just did not exist. That’s one of the main reasons she booked this trip. Of course being here was exciting in itself since she loved history. Still, she wanted to find her father. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t stayed married to her mother…and why he never wanted to see Halle.

  One of his letters mentioned his great, great, great, grandfather who was born and raised in England. Ronald Chapman had quite the reputation. In her father’s letter, he told about Chapman being a thief—and was even arrested a few times before he married and sired a son. His family and friends labeled the man Ruthless Ron. Apparently, Ronald had become a man who couldn’t be trusted and he could never stay in one place for very long.

  She scratched her neck. Did bad genes run in the family and that’s why her father hadn’t been able to stay in one place?

  Yet, reading back through his letters now, she received the impression he had loved her mother all this time. Not once did he speak poorly of her, especially when Halle had told him about her mother’s drunkenness. Her father must have a kind heart. Still, it did not explain why he left them when she was just a toddler.

  Halle picked up another one of his letters and glimpsed through it. Nothing—no hints to his whereabouts.

  Another letter caught her eye, and she lifted it to examine the contents. In this letter, he described the yard, the beautiful landscape from the large tree to the last rose bush. Right away, her mind drifted to Andrew. She quirked her lips into a smile. Why did she feel lighthearted every time she thought of him? Nonetheless, she must put him out of her mind and concentrate on finding her father.

  If only she knew what her parent looked like. One time, in her mother’s drunken muttering, she’d told Halle she resembled her father a lot. Growing up, Halle wanted to believe her father had big green eyes and light brown curly hair with a touch of gold. And, if he was anything like her, he was an adventurer and he loved learning about the past.

  Halle sighed, and pushed off the bed. Before leaving her room, she checked her appearance in the mirror to see if she needed to fluff her hair again—or had any food stuck in her teeth since she’d been nibbling on strawberries this morning.

  Satisfied, she left her room and walked down to the main floor lobby. A few more people were checking in, and good ole Nigel was there helping. A few times he seemed bewildered at something the guests said, but then quickly became his arrogant self and stuck his nose in the air.

  What an idiot. She’d already asked him if he knew Will Chapman, and he rudely told her no, then acted as if he had other important things to do. How she loathed men like him.

  She walked to the dining area to see if her friends were there, but they weren’t. There was no reason to sit at one of the fancy round tables by herself, so she turned to leave. But an idea struck her, making her pause. No matter where a person worked in this place, or what his job duty, he would have to eat. In that case, one of the cooks would surely remember Will Chapman.

  Quickly, she left
the dining area and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. A few signs were posted stating: Buckland Manor staff only, but Halle ignored them, sneaking peeks over her shoulder to make sure none of the staff noticed or tried to stop her.

  She reached the kitchen and peered through the small glass window on the door. Three women wearing matching white aprons and hairnets stood by the counter, busily washing dishes and cleaning up the breakfast mess as they chatted with each other. Halle thought they appeared friendly, so she prayed they really were.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped just far enough into the room to be noticed. All three of the older women stared at her with wide eyes.

  “Excuse me for interrupting,” Halle began, “but I need to ask all of you a question.”

  “But Miss,” one of the ladies said, “you’re not supposed to be in here.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry for trespassing, but it’s an urgent matter.”

  The lady with the rounder body stepped away from the sink, drying her hands with a small towel. “Is something wrong with the food?”

  “Oh, nothing like that.” Halle smiled politely. “I just need to know if you have worked with my father. He worked at the manor for about a year, and suddenly up and left a month ago. Nobody knows where he is.”

  “What’s his name?” The shorter woman asked.

  “Will Chapman.”

  The three women exchanged blank glances, and then looked back at Halle before shaking their heads. Despair washed through her once again. This was the same result she’d gotten so far. She heaved a deep breath, ready to give up and leave, then another thought struck her. “If the name doesn’t sound familiar to you, perhaps you have worked with a man who has hair color the same as mine and big green eyes?”

  This time when the women exchanged glances, a spark of recognition lit their expressions. The woman who had yet to speak, moved to stand before Halle, her gaze combing over Halle in an unsettling way.

  “I wouldn’t have thought it, but you do look a lot like Bill Stratford.”