by Sandra Heath
“Marianna, what difference does it really make? You’ll soon be married and mistress of your own house, and...”
“No!” she cried. “I despise Alex with all my heart!”
“That’s enough! Hysterics will avail you of nothing!”
But emotion rushed chaotically through her. “You don’t care about me, or how I feel. Well, I won’t marry Alex, because I love Stephen! I’ve already given myself to him!”
The revelation dropped like a thunderclap. Stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by the dogs’ uneasy whining. Then Marianna’s breath caught as she realized the enormity of her blurted confession. The color drained from her face, and with a little cry she snatched up her skirts and fled, pursued by the anxious spaniels.
Laura was beset by conflicting centuries and attitudes. Her modern self could only sympathize with a headstrong young woman who loved one man but was being forced to marry another. Such sympathy placed her in opposition to Blair, who now hurried after his sister.
Laura followed, but the drama still unfolded, for as Marianna reached the top of the staircase, Stephen returned from Cheltenham much earlier than expected. The spaniels rushed down to greet him as he crossed toward the staircase hall, where the unfortunate Mr. Vesey-Thompson still hovered in agitated dismay. Stephen bowed quickly to the lawyer.
“Sir,” he said politely, for they weren’t acquainted, then he bent to the dogs as they jumped eagerly around him.
Mr. Vesey-Thompson inclined his head. “Sir.”
Then Stephen looked up with a glad smile at Marianna. “The wanderer returns, as you see! I arrived in Cheltenham only to find my friend had removed himself to Bath, and—” He saw her pale face. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Stephen!” With a sob she ran down to him.
Blair and Laura watched as she flung herself weeping into her lover’s aims, and the ensuing embrace robbed Blair of any hope that his willful sister had told untruths out of resentment over the house sale.
Stephen’s face drained of color as he realized that the secret liaison was somehow out, but he held Marianna tenderly, stroking the nape of her neck and whispering loving words as he looked guiltily up at her brother.
Mr. Vesey-Thompson began to realize just how much he’d unwittingly stirred. “Blair, I—I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize...”
“I don’t hold you to blame, Henry, I’d just be obliged if no word of this went beyond these walls.”
“Of course. I—I’ll, er, leave then.” Bowing uncomfortably, the lawyer hurried out of the house.
Laura watched as Blair went slowly down the stairs. “What’s been going on, Stephen?” he asked, his tone ominously amenable.
“Blair, I—I didn’t want it to happen, but—
“Go to your rooms, Marianna,” Blair said levelly.
“No!” she cried defiantly.
“Do as you’re told!” Blair snapped.
She remained rebellious. “I won’t go, and you can’t force me!”
Stephen looked at her. “Do as he says, Marianna.”
“But—”
“Please.”
More tears shimmered in her eyes, but she obeyed, hurrying past her brother and up the staircase, not to her rooms, but to fling herself into Laura’s arms.
Blair was like ice as he faced his friend. “I thought I could trust you, Stephen.”
“You can, but Marianna and I love each other.”
“I need hardly point out that she’s pledged to Alex Handworth.” Blair’s voice shook with suppressed emotion.
“I know, but—”
“Don’t give me excuses, Stephen. Marianna’s transgression is bad enough, but yours is unforgivable.”
“Please let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you’ve betrayed our friendship and ruined my sister? Oh, I think that’s all better left unsaid, don’t you?”
“I love Marianna, and she loves me.”
“You presume somewhat, Stephen. What right do you have to express any feeling for my sister? You have no income or prospects, you’re up to your worthless neck in debt, and now you’ve shown yourself to be a fortune hunter.”
At the top of the staircase Marianna gave an anguished sob. “No, Blair! That isn’t true!”
Blair turned to her. “It is, Marianna, for you may be sure he wouldn’t have risked all this if it weren’t for your inheritance.”
Stephen colored. “Her inheritance makes no difference to me, Blair.”
“You’re right, sir, for until she’s twenty-five it depends upon my consent, and that I will never grant,” Blair replied.
Marianna’s breath caught. “You wouldn’t do that!” she cried.
“But I would, as you’ll discover if you put it to the test.”
She stared down at him. “I hate you,” she whispered.
“I’m merely looking after your interests, as is my duty.”
Marianna’s hands clenched. “And it serves my interests to make me marry a creature like Alex Handworth?”
“It’s an excellent match, and one, may I remind you, that our father wished to—”
Marianna broke in. “I’ll never marry Alex, nor will he want me when he realizes I’m no longer the chaste bride I should be!”
Blair turned frozen eyes upon Stephen. “So that too is true? You haven’t merely paid court to her, you’ve led her completely astray.”
“Would that I could deny it,” Stephen replied, his face ashen.
Blair’s fist caught him on the chin with such force that he teetered backward and fell. Marianna screamed, and the spaniels began to bark frantically as Blair dragged Stephen to his feet before striking him again.
Marianna sobbed hysterically, and Laura cried out, “For pity’s sake, don’t, Blair!” She didn’t realize she’d used his first name.
He hesitated, but then turned away, silencing the spaniels with a single sharp word.
Stephen sprawled on the floor with a cut lip. “I—I deserve this, Blair, but I still love Marianna! It has nothing to do with her fortune, but everything to do with adoring her more than life itself!” Still dazed, he staggered to his feet.
Blair didn’t look at him. “Leave this house immediately.”
“For God’s sake, Blair, can’t we discuss this more reasonably?”
“Leave, or so help me I’ll put an end to you here and now! Your belongings will be sent on.”
Marianna sobbed as Stephen looked helplessly up at her before walking toward the door. She called desperately after him. “I still love you, Stephen, nothing will ever change that!” Gathering her skirts, she fled toward her apartment.
The outer doors closed behind Stephen, and Blair stood with his head bowed, his whole body taut with violent emotion. Laura could feel his agony. The rules of his age demanded that he be the tyrant, but he was also a man who knew what it was to really love. She looked sadly down at him. “Oh, Blair,” she whispered, and the echoes took up the soft sound of her voice.
He turned to look up at her. “I had no choice, Laura, I had to do it...”
Her name rested on his lips like a caress, but as she gazed down into his eyes, he began to melt away. Everything became blurred and distant, and suddenly she realized she was in her hotel room!
“Blair?” She called out desperately, as if somehow she’d be able to bring him back. But the future was all around her.
There was a loud knock at the door. “Laura, honey, I’ve tracked you down at last!” It was Kyle.
Chapter Twelve
Kyle knocked again. “Laura?”
She looked angrily toward the door. She wanted to see Blair, not the bed-hopping toad who’d once broken her heart!
“Laura, honey, I know you’re in there because I heard you.”
Unwillingly, she opened the door. He was the same as ever—golden, tanned, and confident. His designer clothes were casually perfect, and his voice pitched at a calculated note of lazy amusement that had once curled h
er toes with pleasure, but now grated upon her nerves.
“Hi, honey. Guess you didn’t expect to see me.”
“No, I didn’t expect to see you, and don’t call me honey.”
“Okay, but don’t I at least get a welcoming kiss?”
“Since you’re not welcome, no, you don’t.”
He glanced around. “Have you got someone with you? I heard you talking. Well, maybe not talking exactly. You called someone.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know what you thought you heard, but there’s no one here.”
“I’m not flavor of the month with you, am I?”
“Go to the top of the class.” She turned back into the room, glancing at the watercolor before facing him. “What do you want, Kyle?”
“What kind of question’s that? I’ve come halfway across the world to be patch things up, and you ask me what I want? Well, I want you, Laura.”
“Well, I don’t want you.” Oh, how true it was. She felt nothing for him now, except perhaps irritation.
Ignoring the rebuff, he leaned back against a chair, and surveyed her. “You’re looking good, Laura,” he murmured with a smile.
“And you haven’t changed a bit,” she replied.
He turned smoothly to a different tack. “Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I was a heel.”
“Why the past tense? You were, are, and always will be a heel.”
“I’m different now, really I am.”
“Did hell just freeze over?”
“I guess it must have. Look, Laura, you mightn’t want to believe this, but I didn’t know how much you meant to me until I’d lost you. Let’s try again; I promise it’ll be different this time.”
“I’ve spent the last months forgetting you exist, so if you think I’m going to fall into your arms again, you’re going to be deeply disappointed.”
“Don’t be like this, honey. At least give me a chance.”
“Why should I?”
“Because we once meant a great deal to each other, and I think we can be like that again.”
“God, you amaze me. You think all you have to do is sashay back into my life and pick up where you left off. Well, it doesn’t work like that anymore. I’m over you, Kyle, and that’s the way I want it to stay.”
“There’s someone else?”
She met his eyes squarely. “Yes.”
“Who is he?” he demanded, unaccustomed to rivals.
“Well, since you don’t know him, there’s not much point telling you his name.”
“An English guy?”
“Yes.”
“So who is he?” he insisted.
“All right. Sir Blair Deveril.”
He put on a Noel Coward voice. “Sir? Oh, how terribly, terribly impressive.”
“You never could do a good English accent,” she said crushingly.
He flushed. “And you clearly can’t take a little teasing. I can’t picture you as part of the British landed gentry, so what is it with this guy?”
“Don’t blame Blair for anything. It’s just over between you and me, and the sooner you cotton on to that small point, the better.”
“But I don’t want it to be over.”
“And what Kyle wants, Kyle gets? Well, not this time, so tough.”
“I didn’t expect you to throw yourself joyfully back into my manly embrace, but nor did I expect you to play the Ice Queen.”
She remembered what Jenny said about his being after her money, and the irony of the situation struck her. Back in 1818, Blair accused Stephen of being a fortune hunter; now, here in modern times, she suspected Kyle of the very same thing. “Why the resurgent interest in me, Kyle? Am I the most lucrative prospect you have right now?”
“Lucrative? I don’t know what you mean.” But he avoided her eyes.
“No? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anyway; you see, if you’ve come after me for my money, you’re too late, I’ve squandered the lot. The only reason I can stay at a place like this is because I know the owners.”
His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.” She smiled brightly. “Still, your globetrotting must mean your bank balance is healthy enough for us both, mm?”
He straightened. “My purse is always like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, you know that.”
“Yes, I do. Nice try, Kyle, but you’ve fallen on your designer butt.”
“You’re a hard woman, Laura Reynolds.”
“Not before time, where you’re concerned.”
He shrugged, but then gave her a boyish smile. “How about one last shower together, for auld lang syne?”
“Get lost, Kyle.” She went toward the door.
“Well, it was worth a try,” he replied philosophically.
She paused. “There’s just one thing I’d like to know.”
“Ask away.”
“Were you told I was here in my rooms, or did you just come up on the off chance I’d be in?” She knew it was a strange question, but needed an answer. Today’s time travel had commenced in the woods, but ended in the hotel. What had happened here in the future while she’d been in the past? If someone had seen her come up to her rooms, then it meant she had remained visible.
He was bemused. “What do you want to know that for?”
“Just tell me, please.”
“I asked the receptionist, she said she saw you return from your ride and come straight up here. Okay?”
She opened the door and stood aside for him to pass. “Have a nice day,” she murmured.
“Gee, thanks.” He didn’t look back as he walked away.
She closed the door, and leaned against it for a moment. He was already out of her thoughts, for she was too taken up with knowing she didn’t disappear during her time adventures. She apparently carried on as normal while part of her managed to go back to 1818. It was like she divided into twins, but was only ever aware of what happened to one. She didn’t know how else to define it.
She heard a car drive off furiously, and knew it was Kyle, who drove like that at the best of times, let alone when he was annoyed. “Good riddance,” she murmured, feeling absolutely nothing for him. He might as well have never existed.
She flung herself on a sofa, put her hands behind her head, and gazed up at the ceiling. So much had happened today. From being racked with conscience about what had taken place in the library, she’d been swept toward unbelievable hope by Blair’s confession that he’d known what was happening. If only Marianna hadn’t called out when she did. And if only there was someone to talk to about all this! She desperately wanted to confide in someone, but there wasn’t anyone. Except perhaps Gulliver, who she was sure knew much more than he was letting on. She was pretty certain Ron Sawyer’s great-grandfather had traveled in time at least once, and that Gulliver knew it—perhaps such an adventure had befallen him too. It was worth tackling him again, and there was no time like the present, especially as she also wanted to ask him if anyone got hurt in the 1818 tunnel fall.
Her other self had already showered and changed after riding, so she got up and reached for her shoulder bag and a coat before hurrying out.
She was told Gulliver lived at Lion Cottage, on the corner of Great Deveril village green, and a quarter of an hour after her impulsive decision, she parked her car alongside the churchyard wall. The cottage was the one she’d noticed when she’d driven down Barge Lane to the canal, and took its name from the fierce stone lions supporting the porch. The air was bitterly cold in spite of the sunshine, and the bare trees swayed against the sky.
She knocked at the cottage door, and after a moment was answered by a plump middle-aged woman in a comfortable floral dress. Was she Gulliver’s wife? Somehow Laura hadn’t imagined him being married.
The woman smiled. “Yes? How may I help you?” The aroma of fresh-made coffee drifted out into the cold air.
“Is Mr. Harcourt in? My name’s Laura Reynolds.”
Gulliver’
s voice echoed along the whitewashed passage. “Tell her to come in, Dolly.”
That was the name of the merry widow whose favors were vied for by Ha’penny Jack and Harcourt the butler, Laura thought with interest. What had she been called? Dolly Framwell? No, Dolly Frampton, that was it.
The woman smiled and stood aside for Laura to go in. Gulliver’s electric wheelchair stood in a corner off the passage, and he was in the parlor, a jumbled room where piles of books and papers cluttered every conceivable surface. He occupied a chintz-covered armchair by the fireplace, and a pair of walking sticks rested against his knee.
“Ah, we meet again, Miss Reynolds. Please take a seat, if you can find one free.”
Dolly tutted and went to remove some books from a nearby sofa. “I don’t know why you waste your money getting me in three days a week, Gulliver. I can’t clean most of the place because you won’t let me move this lot!”
“Don’t you want the job, Dolly Frampton?” he demanded with mock severity.
Laura’s lips parted. Dolly Frampton! Exactly the same name! Surely the woman had to be the merry widow’s descendant!
Dolly frowned at Gulliver. “You know I want the job.”
“And I’m happy with the arrangement, so don’t fuss.”
Laura studied him. His tone was grouchy but his eyes kind, she thought. He was fond of Dolly. Maybe as fond as his ancestor had been of hers.
Dolly sighed. “And stop pretending you’ve forgotten I’m a Renwick now.”
“How could anyone forget you married that old misery?”
“That’s no way to talk in front of company,” Dolly chided, and then smiled at Laura. “Would you like some coffee, Miss Reynolds?”
Gulliver answered. “Yes, she would, and remember she’s an American, so expects good coffee.”
“I only make good coffee,” Dolly replied tartly, and went out.
Laura sat down and fiddled with her car keys as she glanced out of the window at the long walled garden behind the cottage.
Gulliver looked at her. “I expected you to call, Miss Reynolds,” he said.
“You did?”
“Well, your interest in Deveril House and the tunnel could only be described as marked.”