Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance

by Lorraine Beaumont

  “Hello, Ned,” Amelia said, smiling.

  “Hello, Amelia,” Ned replied, sounding downtrodden.

  Good grief, was he blind? Amelia looked really good. Katherine smiled at her. “Hey Amelia, I love your outfit.” She was wearing a bright green riding ensemble with a jaunty, little hat cocked to the side. The feathered plumes curved around her face dramatically. She had a riding crop in one hand and a drink in the other.

  “Oh, hello, Katherine. Funny, I didn’t notice you were standing there,” she said, looking her up and down with visible distaste.

  Katherine followed her eyes. What a bitch.

  “What an interesting piece of jewelry,” she commented.

  Oh, shit. “Ah, isn’t it, though?” she replied lamely.

  “Wherever did you get it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Damn, damn, and double damn. Okay, calm it down, Katherine. “Erhm… ah, someone’s grandmother from another mother,” she mumbled stupidly.

  “What?” Amelia asked, leaning in closer.

  Katherine covered the necklace with her hand and took a step back. “Oh gosh, I have got to go to the bathroom. It just hit me,” she said as sweetly as her telling face would allow.

  “I will accompany you.” Ned said, looking at her suspiciously.

  “Oh no, I really think it would be best if I go alone.” She played it up a bit, bending down slightly and pretending to have cramps of some sort.

  Ned made a sour face, and flared his nostrils slightly, “Oh, I see, of course, you should go alone. You will need your privacy.”

  Katherine added a strained look for good measure, before turning to walk away.

  “Try to hurry back,” he called out from behind.

  “Oh, I’ll try,” she lied, calling back.

  Katherine walked briskly through the crowd, a broad smile quickly replacing the pained look. She snatched two more glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, before heading off, to explore the castle.

  The light of the full moon streamed brightly through the mullioned windows at the far end of the hall. Katherine walked slowly, drinking her champagne, passing armored knights stationed in alcoves on either side. She deposited an empty glass on the base of one of the suits of armor, making a mental note to pick it up on her way back.

  Stopping at the end of the hall, she looked out the windows, watching like a spectator, as a dark cloud reached its eerie hand across the sky. It looked like it was searching for something or someone. The hall turned black. She toyed with the necklace, mindful of its nearness, and shivered slightly.

  The clouds began to dissipate and the hall filled with illumination once more. To her left was a large gallery. She stepped through the arched doorway. Vaulted ceilings soared high above her. The vast floor filled with strategically placed statuary. She wondered if this was where the lords of the estate courted their ladies, or were they brought here to be seduced? It certainly looked like the perfect place for seduction. She ran her gloved fingers over the muscled arm of David, moving down to his perfectly sculpted buttocks, and patted them lightly.

  She laughed out at her foolishness. Her voice echoed throughout the room. She was sure the champagne was taking its toll, with the bubbles rising in her stomach making her as giddy as a kid with a new toy.

  Gilded rows of paintings covered the far wall of the room and she wandered over to them. Her heels clicked out a rhythm on the parquet floor, keeping time with the music wafting up from below. She stopped to admire one of the paintings: a knight in profile, his long, black hair blowing away from his face. His eyes looked off into the distance across a vast countryside. Dark clouds gathered above his head, and his cloak billowed out from behind. He looked sad.

  A brief glimpse of him in misery flashed across her mind, leaving her saddened to her core. Her heart went out to him. She tried to recall where she may have seen him before, but couldn’t grasp it; there was nothing tangible. She shook herself, determined to have a good time, and made herself move from his portrait. She took another small sip of champagne and instantly wished she took the bottle instead of just two glasses when she saw the other portrait.

  This one showed a man leaning against a mantel in a library or study. Katherine could swear the room turned colder as soon as she looked at the unpleasant man in the portrait.

  It was disturbing; there was no other word for it. He was not unattractive, but his eyes were cold, unfeeling, like he wanted to, or did some foul deed. She rubbed her arms to try to ward off the unpleasantness, but the feeling held tight. She strode as quickly as she could to the next painting.

  Katherine froze and her heart skipped a beat. She could hardly take a breath, staring into the eyes of yet another man. He was all alone on a grassy hilltop, with this very estate as the backdrop. He was smiling. He was perfect.

  Disjointed images hit her in waves, making her stomach lurch. She felt like she was going to be sick. Then she saw him in another time, laughing; then for a split second, his gray eyes flashed anger before they softened. She could see the love in them, which warmed her all over. She barely caught her breath when another image hit her. This time, his beautiful face was devastated. Her heart dropped as she watched him suffering. Then, just as suddenly, his eyes went blank, devoid of all expression. There was no spark of life, anger, or love; he became nothing more than a shell of emptiness.

  Katherine couldn’t take it; it felt worse than his suffering. Her breath squeezed from her chest.

  She turned away, choking back a sob. It was horrible; she could not stand seeing him like that. But the vision did not fade. It stuck in her mind, suffocating her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, trying to alleviate the terrible feeling.

  After a few moments, the feeling abated a little, but not entirely. She walked away from the painting, towards another painting at the far end of the room. This one stood all alone in the corner, where she could not see. Her feet were moving, but her mind wanted no part of where they were taking her. A friction began to build in the air. She stopped in front of the last portrait. She lifted her glass and gulped her champagne, while she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She was being a coward, she knew, but she did not want to look. Finally, she forced her eyes open and immediately wished she hadn’t. Recognition slammed through her. Her mind screamed, “This can’t be happening!” as her world fell away, turning everything black.

  <>*LB*<>

  Ravenhurst, Victorian England

  The Earl of Ravenhurst, Sebastian de Winter, looked out his library window, toward the setting sun, watching it disappear into the coming night. He couldn’t help thinking it was vanishing, just as Marguerite had, without a trace.

  He let out a heavy sigh. She was certainly not his first choice for a bride, and would not have been a candidate at all, if Sebastian had any say in the matter. He was quite content with his life just the way it was. When he wanted a woman, he bedded one. There was no rhyme or reason to his choosing; he enjoyed all women and they him. He had yet to hear a complaint.

  He laughed lightly, remembering Annabelle’s horrified expression when he told her he was getting married.

  “What do you mean you are getting married?” Annabelle Dandridge shrilled out loudly, pushing her long, red, curling hair away from her face. Her blue eyes ignited in anger.

  “Sorry, love; I don’t know what to tell you. A man has to do what a man has to do,” Sebastian said absently as he pulled his breeches up. Her pretty face had an angry pout. “Annabelle, now don’t be that way,” Sebastian cajoled as he tossed his shirt on carelessly. He let it hang open as he walked towards her and stood over her on the bed. “Remember you are married as well, or have you forgotten your husband, Adam, so easily?”

  Annabelle fell backward on the pillows. “Oh, right, I am,” she said as if it suddenly dawned on her. “He is old, though. And he makes me sick when his wrinkled, fleshy body touches mine,” she whined before shuddering. “And you are the opposite: young and handsome. You
make me feel so good when you caress my body the way that you do,” she crooned as she sat back up. “And I have not even mentioned the best part…” she teased, smiling up at him. She leaned forward and began to peel away his breeches, releasing him fully as she took him into her mouth.

  Sebastian closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment.

  Where in the hell was that rotten smell coming from? It was seriously making Katherine sick to her stomach. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as a desert in drought… freaking cottonmouth. She got another fresh whiff of the foul smell that woke her up, making her stomach churn in response. Damn champagne, it always tasted so good going down too. A sharp pain shot through the side of her head as she tried to open her eyes. She needed a soda fast, and a bathroom. She forced her eyes open.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!” she screamed into the face of the person leaning over her.

  “Oh, there now, missy, you just rest your weary head back onto the pillows I just fluffed for you. Try not to make any sudden movements while I get you some water. I bet you’re awfully parched after all this time.”

  Katherine sat up quickly, wincing from the pain the movement brought on. Oh good Lord… where am I? she thought, hardly able to keep her eyes open. Her head hurt so badly she had to fight the urge not to puke. The woman with the weird accent was pouring something into a glass across the room. Her eyes slowly came into focus on the super thin woman, dressed in a long, grayish gown with a ruffled neckline. Her apron was bright white and she had a matching little cap perched on her head. Her dark hair was pulled back so tightly, it made her hair look gross and greasy.

  Her stomach lurched as another whiff of funk blew in her face. Geez, that woman must be ripe, she thought. It hit her then, completely mortifying her. She knew where the stink was coming from and it wasn’t the maid: it was her. Gross. She smelled worse than roadkill on a hot day. She lifted her hand to her face and breathed on it. Her stomach roiled again. It was her breath. What in the hell did she eat last night, a bucket of turds?

  Katherine’s eyes widened in horror as the maid walked toward her with a glass of water in her hand. She firmly clamped her mouth shut like a disobedient child to save the woman and herself from the god-awful stench.

  “Now missy, just open your mouth. I will help you drink this,” the maid said, lifting the glass up to her mouth.

  Katherine twisted her head from side to side, trying to dodge the glass, but the woman was relentless.

  The maid steadied herself on the side of the bed and wrapped her free arm around Katherine’s head in a vise-like grip as she dumped water down her throat.

  Katherine coughed hard. The water went down the wrong way, making her spew water from her mouth and both nostrils. She tried to push herself up, but couldn’t catch a breath. The maid held fast onto her body, stopping her from rising. Her eyes watered; the damn maid was killing her. She was almost out of air…

  “There you go,” the maid said as she jerked her forward and gave her a huge whack on the back.

  Air blasted into Katherine’s lungs. Her back hurt like hell. There was probably a huge red mark right in the middle. She looked at the skinny maid again, seeing the veins of her frail arms bulging through her pale skin. She was amazed those skinny little arms could be so strong. And the sting on her back told her the bitch was a lot stronger than Katherine gave her credit for.

  The maid pushed her back into the pillows with a bit more force than was really necessary as she pulled something from her pocket. She lifted her arm in the air. A little piece of white material dangled from her fingers. “I see you made a mess of your face,” she said, making a clucking noise. “No worries, I can fix you up in just a moment.” Then she covered her face with the rag.

  Katherine was suffocating… again. What in the hell was the crazy bitch trying to do? Kill her? She pushed past the pain in her head and back. Finding strength from somewhere, she grabbed the woman’s wrists, and pushed them away from her face. The rag hovered above her head. Katherine took a huge gulp of air, and thanked God she was finally able to breathe. She gave the maid a look of warning, before letting go of her hands. The woman didn’t move her hand though, and kept holding it in the air, the wretched cloth at the ready. Katherine narrowed her eyes at her once more. The maid still didn’t budge. That was it; Katherine had it. She retaliated and blew her smelly breath directly into the maid’s face. The maid leaned backward, her face turning shades of green, rather than pale. Katherine hoped the woman needed to puke. Taking a step back, the maid gave her a nasty look.

  Katherine reacted with another “I dare you” look, which seemed to end the maid’s mission of smothering her to death.

  The maid gave her a sidelong glance and stuffed the rag back into her pocket. She made a “harrumph” noise as she turned and shuffled across the room.

  Katherine narrowed her eyes at her back, watching her every move as questions without answers swirled in her mind.

  <>*LB*<>

  Sebastian opened his eyes as one pleasant memory faded into another. This particular memory gnawed at him, filling him with dread. These were uncommon emotions for Sebastian and ones he preferred to keep buried deep inside for good. Turning away from the window, he poured himself another stiff drink; a habit he found himself indulging in more since the disappearance of his betrothed. He wandered over to the mantel and took a large gulp of the fiery liquid, letting his mind return to where it was wont to go of late: his wedding day. He ran a hand through his dark hair and settled into the high-backed chair in front of the fire. Swirling his drink absently, he watched the flames dancing in the fireplace, as he recalled every rotten detail of that day.

  The past, All Hallows Eve seemed like the perfect day to marry a witch,

  “She is not a witch, Sebastian,” Isabelle commented doubtfully as she looked over at her nephew.

  “Who says? You? My dear aunt, forgive me for not taking your word for it,” Sebastian retorted angrily as he crossed the room to get a drink. He splashed a hefty amount of brandy in a glass before calling out over his shoulder to his aunt. “Just like you had no idea about Father’s will? I know you had a hand in that codicil he added at the last minute, right before he died. Was that a coincidence as well? It seems fate has been on your side all along; how very fortunate for you.” He looked over at his aunt, who tilted her head away, hiding her expression. He could read her like a book and she knew it. Her dark blonde hair was piled high in the latest style, something with curls and twists. It made her look much younger than her years, which was probably why she chose that style. She never let anyone know her true age. She always said age was just a number. Even he had to admit it worked, for she did look exceptionally good. He was not even sure of her age himself.

  “How is this match fortuitous for me, Sebastian? You knew you had to get married at some point. What difference does it make?” Isabelle questioned warily.

  Sebastian rolled his eyes and took a drink.

  Apparently, she intended to continue acting as though she knew nothing of the codicil. “I didn’t know I was going to have to marry her. I have a feeling you made Father put her name in the will, so stop acting as though it was all a big surprise. Why her? Wouldn’t any woman have worked?” Sebastian took another sip of his drink and set the crystal glass down on the marble mantel, making a heavy clinking sound over the hiss of the fire.

  “Is it because of Devlin?” he asked, scrutinizing her to see if her countenance would falter. “Are you afraid your young rakehell of a husband may wander over to greener, younger pastures, searching for a better… cow?” Sebastian could see by her reaction that his words were closer to the truth than she would ever admit. He felt a little bad giving her such a hard time, but it truly stung that she betrayed him in such a way. Now he had to pay the price and marry her ward to get what was rightfully his.

  Isabelle tried to conceal her expression. She did not want to admit the truth in his words. “Well, that is neither here nor there; she is a wonde
rful girl and will make a fine mother for your children.”

  “Not bloody likely!” Sebastian exclaimed vehemently. “I sincerely doubt I will even be able to perform my husbandly duties. She is insipid and watches me like a pathetic dog, waiting for a treat. Moreover, by the looks of her, she should eat a treat now and then. What did they do? Starve her at boarding school? She looks like a bloody carcass with eyes. Oh, and don’t get me started on those books she carries with her everywhere like a shield.” He waved a hand in the air.

  “Sebastian, goodness, she isn’t as bad as all that. Where have your manners gone? I don’t even know who you are right now!” Isabelle exclaimed sadly.

  “Oh please, don’t play the innocent with me. You’re no paragon of virtue, either. We both know you have had more than your fair share of bedmates. It is a shame your former husband lacked the fortitude to withstand your charms in the bedchamber. He dropped dead so quickly; was it a month… two? How kind of him to leave you Hawthorne Manor and all its entailments. Still so young with so much money, I would say you are set for life, now aren’t you, my dear aunt?” he asked in a saccharine voice.

  “Oh, stop, Sebastian. I never claimed to be a saint.”

  “What of Judith? Will she get to choose her husband?”

  Isabelle glared at him, her own ire rising. “What?”

  “Judith. Your new husband, Devlin’s sister; isn’t she now living in your home and off the money from your deceased husband as well? Have you forgotten her so easily? Why not give it to Marguerite? Wait; she has her own money from Victoria. Or does she? Where did her money go, Isabelle?” Sebastian asked snidely, even though he knew the answer to most of his questions already.

  Isabelle paced back and forth, wringing her hands. “Cease. Please. Judith has no place to go and Marguerite’s money will go to you, I made sure of that,” Isabelle defended, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her ice-blue gown.