At least she and David were together. She only wished she knew for sure that time wouldn’t steal him away from her again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
David stood at the window, watching the orange streaks of dawn warm into gold. The sunlight formed halos around the highest oak leaves, and rays penetrated the treetops to glitter in dewdrops on the lawn. Beauty spanned before him, and beauty lay sleeping behind him--so why must ugliness teem inside of him?
His conscience had woken him early and pulled him out of bed, away from the impossible luxury of Leah’s body. Her soft breathing still beckoned him, but he didn’t dare look back and permit the gentle rise and fall of her breasts to captivate him. He wouldn’t allow her complexion to entrance him--or her hair, magnificently strewn over the sheets, to beguile him.
He had no right.
No matter what the century, it couldn’t be right for him to
share her bed. He should have had to earn that privilege. Before even presuming to court her, he should have made his fortune, so he’d be able to support her in a proper manner. Then he should have gained her father’s approval, rather than throwing himself in the way of the man’s wishes for his daughter. And, of course, he and Leah should have taken marriage vows before all their friends and family. Nothing was as it should be, and under such circumstances, he couldn’t believe she was his.
He didn’t believe it.
Linen rustled behind him, and the antique bed creaked. Tiny hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end, but still he didn’t look back.
“David? David, come back to bed.”
He froze, but he could feel his body pulling toward her. Almost involuntarily, he turned, and she gave him a sleepy smile. He had to go to her, though he swore not to let himself slip back between the sheets. Instead, he perched on the edge of the mattress--even that felt wrong--and took up her hand. Just touching her fingers made his own tingle.
He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, then let her fingers slide free. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She bolstered herself up on one elbow, her hair spilling over her bare shoulders. “Come here and give me a kiss.”
He hesitated only a second, then leaned forward to kiss her lips. Her brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?” She sat up, pulling the covers around her shoulders like a cape. The makeshift neckline plunged deep between her breasts, revealing an expanse of flesh he shouldn’t have been entitled to see.
He turned away, picking up a box of modern disposable handkerchiefs from the nightstand. Absently, he fingered the soft, sheer paper--so much softer than cloth. “I am . . . rather preoccupied.”
“Couldn’t you sleep? It’s not even six-thirty.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, nearly shuddering under her touch. “Have you been worrying about the marquess and Lady Isabella?”
“Yes.” He latched onto the excuse rather than admitting his real fears--fears he knew she didn’t share, having been born and bred in this strange world. Besides, the explanation she’d provided for him held some truth; he had thought about his relatives’ dilemma as well as his own. Unfortunately, he knew how to address neither.
“I have an idea how to help them,” she said, an eagerness in her tone prompting him to face her again. She grinned, taking her hand from his shoulder to sweep her hair back behind her ears. “It came to me in a dream. I’m not sure how practical it is, or if your family might consider it beneath their dignity. But they are desperate, and I think it might be worth a try.”
His curiosity had been piqued. “What is your idea?”
“To make Solebury House into a bed-and-breakfast.” His face must have shown his confusion, because she went on to explain, “A bed-and-breakfast is like an inn but offers a homier, more comfortable atmosphere. In a case like this, it would, of course, cater to an upscale clientele. I think it could bring in a decent amount of revenue.”
“You are suggesting we convert Solebury House into an inn?” He blinked in disbelief. “Surely, you cannot be serious.”
“Why not?” She blinked right back at him. “Older homes are converted into bed-and-breakfasts all the time. They’re very popular.”
He frowned. “I doubt that a nobleman such as the marquess would want to delve into trade--especially an area of trade that would exploit his family home.”
“You may be right, but I know that other noblemen do it.” Her eyes sparkled, making him want to believe in her scheme. “I saw a TV show on this exact subject. They toured several old English manors homes, now open to guests and operated by the aristocratic families who own them.”
Lord, her mind worked quickly--seemingly more quickly than ever, now that she was in her own time period. She spoke more strangely than ever, too, perplexing him with the words she used and the concepts she presented. He wondered if contemporary nobility could possibly have opened themselves up to dirtying their hands in trade--or was Leah even further removed from the attitudes of the nobility than he? He tried to think like a twenty-first-century man but found himself at a loss. Reevaluating her statement, he asked, “What is a ‘TV show’?”
She laughed. “Oh, right. I forgot you haven’t yet encountered that little miracle of modern technology. But, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll put off introducing you to a remote control for awhile. The point is that these days it’s not uncommon for Lord Snob and Lady Toplofty to lounge in their parlor, declaring in their posh accents how much they love sitting down with intriguing houseguests from all over the world. Who knows? Maybe Lord Solebury and Lady Isabella would like that kind of life, too. They already allow tours here, so they can’t be completely against opening their doors to the public.”
He remained skeptical but did not wish to dampen her spirits. “Well, we shall have to present the idea to them and see what they say.”
“Yes, let’s do that.” She stretched forward and gave him a kiss. “I have a really good feeling about this. I know it seems too easy--and maybe a little distasteful to you. But it’s better than losing the house, isn’t it? I have all sorts of ideas for the different rooms. In my dream, the house was beautifully restored--a lot like Phoebe and your father had it, but with a few modifications. I can’t wait to talk to the marquess and Lady Isabella about it.”
“They may require some convincing.” In fact, he suspected her enthusiasm would suffer quick deflation as soon as they broached the subject.
“Then we have our work cut out for us. Let’s start by making a respectable appearance this morning--maybe even getting downstairs in time for breakfast.” She grinned again.
He agreed, taking the notion rather more seriously than she. Their lack of decorum the day before had shamed him. Today he intended to conduct himself with more propriety.
She set about taking a shower--one of the most wonderful new amenities David had yet experienced--and he wasted no time in shaving with the amazing electric instrument Lord Solebury had lent him. As he finished examining the job he had done, a knock sounded at the chamber door.
“Your clothing, sir,” the servant called Warner announced when David answered. He and the woman named Mrs. Pickford filed into the room, arms filled with freshly laundered and pressed apparel. The younger maid, Mavis, followed, carrying two large portmanteaux. She explained they had been forwarded from London by Leah’s traveling companion.
He thanked the servants, directing them to stack the late heir’s possessions on the bed. To refuse the clothes only would upset the marquess. In any case, the dead viscount no longer had use for them, while he certainly did. With only a minor pang of guilt, he closed the door behind the servants and returned to inspect his new wardrobe.
The contemporary clothes impressed him. He admired the tiny, perfect stitching and the variety of fabrics and prints. Their simplicity suited him as well--no elaborate cravats to entangle or skin-tight breeches to squeeze into. Best of all, the garments fit so comfortably. He imagined the styles might be a few seasons outdate
d, but Leah could tell him which costumes remained most suitable.
“My luggage!” she exclaimed when she emerged from the bathroom, enveloped only in a towel. Her legs looked longer than ever under the meager covering. “How did these get here?”
“Your friend had them sent,” he said, trying to avert his gaze as she rushed to the cases. “The servants brought them up, along with Viscount Traymore’s belongings.”
She lifted the smaller bag onto the dresser and unzipped the top, rummaging through the contents. “Make-up, blow dryer, a jacket . . . Jeanine isn’t so bad, after all. After this, I can almost forgive her for calling my dad. Let’s see what your namesakes has passed on to you.”
On glancing through the late viscount’s wardrobe, she remarked that the man had shown good taste. “Not too stuffy for an aristocrat, though I don’t see one pair of jeans here. You’ll have plenty to wear for job hunting.”
She helped him select an outfit for the day, and he took his turn in the shower while she chose her own clothes. They went down to breakfast in twenty-first-century style. A short pale green frock complemented Leah perfectly, and David felt sophisticated--rather attuned to the contemporary era--in comfortable black trousers and a well fitted long-sleeved shirt.
Lady Isabella greeted them with civility, and the marquess hailed them warmly. His good coloring and lively manner attested to a full recovery, and everyone avoided mentioning the episode that had led to his attack. Instead, conversation centered on such benign topics as the mildness of the weather or the flakiness of the crescent rolls.
After they had consumed a good number of the rolls, Leah sat back, sipping coffee. She winked at David and gave the others a smile. “David and I have been trying to come up with ways to save the estate, and I think I have a possibility. It’s only a rough idea, but I’d like to present it to you, if you don’t mind a stranger putting her two cents in.”
David shrank, bracing himself for an onslaught of angry words if their hosts took Leah’s suggestion for an insult--an outcome he judged likely.
“You’re hardly a stranger, my dear.” Lord Solebury spread marmalade on a slice of toast with a notably steadier hand than he’d used the night before. “Practically family, I like to think. We’d be honored to entertain your ideas.”
She smiled, and David had to admire her confidence, misplaced or not.
“Would you ever consider converting Solebury House into a bed-and-breakfast?” she asked, unnerving David with her bluntness. “Naturally, you’d keep part of the manor closed off for private use, but the rooms opened to guests could earn you a substantial amount of money--a lot more than the tours you conduct now.”
Lady Isabella’s mouth curved downward, much as he had expected. “Kind of you to take an interest, Miss Cantrell, but I’m afraid the estate is too far gone for such a plan to work. Few of the bedrooms are even habitable.”
The sarcasm tainting her voice didn’t appear to daunt Leah. “David and I would be willing to help with repairs and whatever cleaning needs to be done.”
The marquess shook his head, though he looked more regretful than annoyed. “I’m afraid Isabella is right, dear. Your offer is generous, but your efforts could never be enough to succeed. The roof of the east wing collapsed last month, and many of the chambers there are now exposed to the elements. We don’t have any capital for repairs, let alone for the additional help such an undertaking would require.”
Surprised that neither of his relatives had brought up the issue of pride, David asked, “If the capital could be raised, would you have other objections?”
The marquess lifted his brows and shrugged.
“The question is irrelevant, Mr. Traymore,” Lady Isabella said, “unless you have hidden riches you are willing to invest in the project. I don’t suppose you happened to stumble across a diamond mine while lost in the African jungle after the yacht capsized? But you don’t recall any of that, do you? Perhaps when your memory returns, you’ll realize you have a treasure stashed away on a small Mediterranean island. Then we can discuss plans for a bed-and-breakfast.”
He felt heat creep up his neck and looked down at his plate. Leah, he noted, had gone silent.
“We appreciate your concern,” the marquess said in a gentler tone. “Perhaps if we think more on the matter, we’ll come up with a way to implement Miss Cantrell’s plan.”
David lifted his gaze again. His lordship truly seemed to take no exception to operating a business out of his home! The well-bred must be a different breed in this age, perhaps having disposed of their false pride entirely--no, likely not entirely, but considerably. Either way, he liked them much better than aristocrats he’d known in the past.
“Did you hear something?” Leah asked, glancing toward the doors to the hall. “Raised voices, maybe, somewhere in the distance?”
No one else had, but a moment later, David, too, thought he heard faint shouting. He and Leah glanced at each other, then Warner entered, looking rather harried.
“Pray, pardon.” He swept a lock of graying hair from his eyes. “Miss Cantrell has callers. Her father, from what I can gather, and a gentleman named, er, Kevin, I believe.”
Her mouth fell open, and she leapt out of her seat. “My father is here--in England? What on earth is he thinking? Where is he, Mr. Warner?”
Her ashen complexion reflected the same range of sentiments that coursed through David. He could scarcely credit the news, though Leah had explained to him, in a simplified way, about the speed of air travel. Good Lord! The thought of her father’s disapproval had disturbed him before, but now he must face, utterly unprepared, the man whom he had wronged--not to mention Mr. Cantrell’s favorite, Kevin. Surely, one or the other would demand satisfaction from him. How ironic it would be if he had traveled two hundred years through time only to perish in a duel. Slowly, he rose to his feet.
“I’ve shown the gentlemen to the main drawing room,” Warner said. “They, er, don’t seem inclined to wait, though I informed them you were at breakfast.”
“Oh, they won’t have to wait.” Lips pursed, Leah shoved her chair under the table. “Please excuse me. I’d like to deal with this as quickly as possible.”
The marquess smiled, oblivious to the tension that suffused the room. “Please, Miss Cantrell, ask your guests if they have had breakfast and, if not, welcome them to join us. What a pleasure it will be to meet your father!”
“Yes, I’m anxious to meet him as well,” Lady Isabella said, her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “If they’ve already eaten, please urge them to stay until my brother and I can join you in the drawing room. We’ll only be a few minutes. We wouldn’t want to miss out on an introduction to Mr. Cantrell. Your father’s name is also Cantrell, I presume?”
Leah was clearly too distracted to indulge her ladyship’s gameplaying. She nodded to the party in general and pushed through the doors that led into the hall.
“Pardon me,” David said and hurried after her.
As they approached the entrance to the drawing room, he glimpsed a burly middle-aged man pacing the carpet. Telltale auburn hair identified him as Leah’s father, though his locks were thinning and cropped short. A sandy-haired younger man--Kevin, of course--sat on the settee, one of his legs shaking nervously and his features a study in anxiety.
Milksop, David decided instantly, his lip curling. Let the fop challenge him to a duel!
Kevin looked their way, starting as he spotted them coming up the hall. His eyes widened, searching Leah’s face briefly before focusing on David for the merest second. The coward didn’t even hold his gaze, looking quickly back to Mr. Cantrell. What’s more, the cur remained on his arse, proving himself as ill-mannered as he was cowardly. This was the man Leah’s father had chosen for her!
Mr. Cantrell turned as they entered the room. He halted his pacing and glared at his daughter. “It’s about time! Get your things, Leah. We’ve come to take you home.”
She stared at him, slowly shaking her head.
“I don’t believe this. I cannot believe how far you will go to try to control me. The pair of you!” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed both men. “I’m sorry, but I’m not the same little mouse you almost talked out of coming to Europe at all. I’m here and I’m staying right where I am.”
Red splotches surfaced on her father’s face. “So, after all the worry you’ve caused us, this is the greeting we get? Leah, do you realize how much time, effort and money we’ve spent coming here to get you?”
“Well, if you don’t want all your time, effort and money wasted, I suggest you head for London and tour the city. You’ll find that more productive than trying to interfere in my life!”
David cringed, torn between admiration for her spirit and a dread of what such sauciness would earn her. No father would tolerate his daughter’s addressing him in such a manner.
“I don’t know what’s come over you, girl, but it’s going to end right here.” Mr. Cantrell spoke through a tight jaw. “I suppose you think you’re all high and mighty now that you’re shacked up with the Duke of Earl here. This fellow is your new boyfriend, I take it?” He looked to David. “Well, your Worship, deal with any of your conquests’ fathers before?”
David felt his cheeks grow hot. “I assure you my intentions are all that is honorable, sir. I mean to demonstrate my good--”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me the bullshit. Just because I’ve never been on this side of the Atlantic before, don’t think I haven’t heard what type of morals you Europeans have. I know what you think of American girls. Well, my daughter is one girl you won’t take advantage of any longer.”
“No one is taking advantage of me.” Leah’s eyes smoldered into a dark shade. “Not David and not you. I make my own decisions.”
“Not when your decisions are stupid.” Mr. Cantrell stepped closer to her, scowling down his nose.
She made no move to retreat. “They’re more sensible than any I’ve ever made before.”
As You Wish Page 21