As You Wish

by Jennifer Malin

  He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I only meant that you should honor your father’s wishes. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Oh, really? That’s the best attempt you could make to dodge the real issue? Well, you couldn’t have picked a more ridiculous argument. As if you’re an expert on filial honor! When did you ever honor your father?”

  He scowled at her. “This is entirely different. The man is only trying to protect your interests.”

  She let her arms go limp at her sides. “Why not say what you mean, David?”

  He only stared.

  She stood waiting for him to say something. But what was she waiting to hear? That she meant so little to him that he was willing to forget about her the minute her father gave them a little grief?

  She opened the door behind her and stepped into her room. “You know, I’m glad you already took your things out of here. Now, I don’t have to listen to any more of your ridiculous excuses and hypocritical advice while you move out.”

  The tilt of his eyes began to look sad right before she blanked out his face with a slam of the door.

  She flopped belly first onto the bed, convinced the emotion she’d seen must have been pity. Well, she didn’t need his pity. She didn’t need anything from him, not now that she’d learned to rely on herself.

  A sniffle escaped her without warning, and she hid her face in the pillow. Damn it, her love was worth more than this. She was worth fighting for.

  A tap sounded on the door, and she froze.

  “Leah?” David called softly.

  She gulped her tears down hard. If she answered, he’d be sure to know she was crying.

  “Leah?”

  Another minute passed, then she heard the sound of his footsteps fading in the hall. She hiccupped and pulled the pillow over her head.

  Even a self-reliant person had to cry once in awhile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  David stood staring at the door Leah had slammed in his face. He clamped his jaw tight to keep from calling to her a third time. He really had no right to address her at all. Had he not unleashed enough chaos in her life? Only that morning he had vowed not to cause her further trouble.

  He fought an urge to pound on the wood or even kick through the panels. His resolve to leave her alone would have been easier if he’d been able to return to past. The spring, however, had not cooperated. When he’d gone to the clearing, he’d found nothing but a dried-up hole.

  The relief he’d felt had made him wonder whether he could have gone through with the plan anyway.

  Now he had another opportunity to show he had honorable intentions. But walking away from her door proved nearly as difficult as it would have been to step back into the past. The time portal is closed, a voice in his head persisted. Fate had chosen to keep him in this century, and he felt certain he had a purpose here. Could that purpose not rest with Leah?

  The wooden door hung before him, not physically impenetrable but morally so.

  “Fool,” he hissed to himself, closing his eyes to keep the barrier from taunting him. If he had a purpose, it surely centered around the marquess. Any effort he could make to comfort his lordship would be a noble pursuit. Chasing a woman intended for another man could only be deemed self-serving.

  He opened his eyes and walked toward his own quarters. When he tried to close the door after him, the edge caught on the frame and wouldn’t shut. He yanked harder, venting his frustration on the wood. This time the door slammed into place, bringing back the image of Leah’s angry countenance as she had slammed her door. He grimaced and tried to blot out the impression by surveying his new room.

  Dimly lit and poorly appointed, the chamber suffered in comparison to the one he had shared with Leah. The narrow bed looked lumpy, and a musty odor plagued his nostrils. As he wrinkled his nose, a draft blew through a crack in the window behind him, making the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. He doubted the “uninhabitable” rooms in the west wing could have been much less inviting.

  Then again, no chamber would have pleased him now--not without Leah to share the space.

  A clock chimed in the hall, reminding him to dress for tea. He grappled with a sticking dresser drawer. Even inanimate objects seemed to be mocking him, but he knew the real struggle lay within him. His base yearnings kept him from thinking constructively. He should have been planning how to help his relations save their estate--or, at least be able to live their golden years in comfort.

  He snatched a random tie from the drawer, peering into a cheval glass to wrap the cloth around his neck. As he looped a simple modern knot together, the mirror made his movements look backward and wrong--rather like this alternate time period distorted his judgment. He had to admit, though, that his decision to go the marquess and try to cheer him had proved a happy exception to his blundering. Something good, something truly meaningful, had come out of their talk, and somehow he had instigated that good.

  “Is that not proof of where your purpose lies?” he asked his reflection. He, David Traymore, had actually helped Lord Solebury gain some peace of mind. His lordship’s vagaries had lessened as they discussed the family history, and the marquess had grown downright sharp when the conversation turned to the meaning of family. Lord Solebury had needed to talk about his lost son, and David had been the one to elicit the catharsis.

  His fingers stopped working as he thought back on how the marquess’s calming had progressed. With his own eyes, he had seen the man healing as he confided his regrets. What’s more, David too had experienced a sense of healing. As his lordship spoke, he had understood the inevitably of a father’s making mistakes along the path he chose . . . as any man made mistakes.

  As his own father had.

  He stared hard into his reflected eyes, so much like those of the sixth marquess. His, however, began to look bright, and he refocused on his fingers, reaching blindly toward the drawer for a tie tack.

  “Damn!” he muttered as a pin pierced his finger and rekindled his vexation. He fumbled with the emblem but couldn’t connect the clasp. Catching his own flickering gaze again, he glowered and tossed the tack aside. What did he care for such trivia?

  He went down to tea with his tie flopping on his shirt.

  Leah never appeared for the meal, nor did she come down for dinner, sending word through Mavis that she felt unwell. Again, he fought against his longing to see her, though the need grew more painful with each passing hour. His only condolence lay in his advancement with his family. Lord Solebury remained alert throughout the evening, and Lady Isabella’s attitude toward him continued to warm.

  Nonetheless, he sighed with relief on finding Leah in the breakfast room early the next morning. She sat alone at the table, poking a fork at a dish of omelet. When she looked up to where he stood at the entrance from the hall, he noticed that shadows ringed her eyes, rendering her fair complexion even paler.

  “You really are ill.” His gut sank and he stepped inside the room. He had to stop himself from rushing to her side. “Is there . . . is there anything I can get for you?”

  Her gaze dropped to her plate. “I don’t need anything from you.”

  “Look alive,” Lady Isabella called out from behind him in the hall. As he moved aside, she wheeled the marquess in his chair into the breakfast room.

  His lordship’s cheeks glowed with health, and his gaze flit attentively over his surroundings. Isabella, too, looked animated and happy. The “good morning” she wished Leah even sounded sincere.

  Mavis bustled in behind them, balancing a tray filled with rolls and another with marmalade, sugar and a creamer. In a little flutter of activity, everyone took a seat and set about arranging food on their plates.

  “We missed you last night, Miss Cantrell,” Lord Solebury said. He paused to bite into a croissant. “I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”

  “I am, a little, thank you.” She gave him a wan smile. “I didn’t sleep all that well. Frankl
y, I’m not looking forward to seeing my father this morning.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry you two aren’t seeing eye to eye. Forgive me, dear, but I must claim the privilege of experience and advise you to give him the leeway he won’t give you. What if someday you became separated from your father and didn’t know if you’d ever see him again? God forbid, unforeseen things happen. In such a case, would you have regrets? Might you wish you had

  done things differently?”

  She stared at him, balancing a forkful of eggs in the air. David realized she had indeed faced such a situation when she had been thrown into the past. For the first time, he perceived what an ordeal she must have endured. Unlike him, she’d had no one with whom to share her apprehensions. He wished more than ever he had listened to her story and offered her his support. Instead, as ever, he had failed her.

  The marquess set down his roll. “I know such an event is hard to imagine when you’ve never met with the like, but--”

  “No.” She swallowed, though she still hadn’t taken a bite of her food. “No, I can imagine it, and you’re right, I would have regrets. I do already. I’ll try to talk to my father. I’m sure he won’t make it easy for me, but I’ll do what I can to get through to him. I promise.”

  As if on cue, Warner appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Cantrell is here. He requests a visit with the whole family, whenever convenient for all of you.”

  Leah’s fork dropped, clattering on her plate. “Requests a visit?”

  “Yes, miss.” Hints of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “And the younger gentleman isn’t with him this morning.”

  Lord Solebury clasped his hands together in front of him. “Wonderful news! Do ask Mr. Cantrell to join us for breakfast.” As Warner ducked back out, he smiled at Leah. “It looks as though your father won’t be quite as difficult as you expected.”

  The furrows in her brow endured.

  Warner returned with Mr. Cantrell, who hesitated in the doorway. Face tilted slightly downward, he eyed his daughter from under bushy, red eyebrows. Two pairs of sea-green eyes exchanged a long look, then Leah leapt up and hugged him. He patted her back, looking rather awkward.

  She left off her embrace and turned to the others, moistening her lips. “I think you all met my father briefly yesterday . . . Bob Cantrell. Dad, you remember Lady Isabella, her brother Lord Solebury and, uh, David Traymore.”

  Mr. Cantrell nodded to his hosts and then to David, who noted that his gaze lingered longest on him.

  He nodded in return, wondering what to expect next. Unquestionably, the man had changed his approach, but any further conclusion would be folly.

  Leah looked to her father and gestured toward the place next to hers at the table. They took their seats, and Warner poured coffee for the new arrival.

  “Thank you.” He took a sip and sat back in his chair, though his downcast gaze belied the ease of his posture. “Right off the bat, I want to apologize to all of you for my behavior yesterday. I had no business storming in here the way I did.”

  David scanned the room, observing Lord Solebury’s approving nod and Lady Isabella’s scrutiny of the speaker. Leah eyed the empty sideboard, meeting no one’s gaze.

  “I had plenty of time to think last night,” Mr. Cantrell continued. “I didn’t sleep a wink with Kevin’s snoring. In fact, maybe it was his snoring that got me thinking. Spending twenty-four hours straight with that nitwit has made me wonder how Leah managed to bear three years with him. Take him off a car lot and away from the sports page, and he doesn’t have a damn thing to contribute to a conversation. And you’d think the world were coming to an end just because he couldn’t get ranch dressing with his dinner last night.”

  Startled, David stole a glance at Leah. She looked at her father, but her expression remained impassive.

  Mr. Cantrell cleared his throat. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I’d like to start over, to listen and find out why my daughter cut her tour short to stay here. I guess maybe I overreacted by coming after her, but as long as I’m here, I’d like to get to know you all--to make sure she’s all right, you know? Then I’ll go home.”

  The marquess smiled. “Your concern is admirable, Mr. Cantrell. Certainly, too much is preferable to too little. Let me try to assuage your worries by assuring you your daughter is an honored guest here. Of course, you’re likely wondering more about David’s intentions toward her.”

  All eyes moved to converge on David. He glanced at Leah, but she looked away.

  “They are honorable, sir.” With a pang of guilt, he looked down, touching his napkin to his mouth. His intentions may have been honorable; his conduct, however, had not been. “Unfortunately, I cannot assure you of much more right now. At the moment, my financial circumstances are rather, er, straitened. I mean to turn that around quickly, however.”

  He looked up and saw Mr. Cantrell studying him. Suddenly, the man emitted a snort of laughter.

  “Hell, but you’re a serious fellow, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “All this talk about intentions and money! Do you think I expect you to marry Leah after knowing her four days?”

  David had rather thought he did and, if not, couldn’t imagine what Mr. Cantrell did expect. Did the man mean to allow his suit or not? He tried to catch Leah’s eye, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

  “I feel as though I’ve know her for centuries,” he murmured.

  At last, she looked up, a line forming between her brows. He wished she had appeared even the least bit pleased, but he could hardly expect it after he’d avoided speaking to her the day before. Furthermore, he could say nothing to make amends for his behavior. Indeed, he wasn’t sure he could behave differently now. He still didn’t know whether her father would let him court her--and even if so, his current state of destitution would delay the privilege for years.

  “Romantic, too,” Mr. Cantrell said, his mouth twisted in a smirk. “I’m beginning to understand why she’s not in Paris with Jeanine. Women always suck up this kind of nonsense. Leah, I hope your head’s not already full of dreams about marrying this fellow.”

  David, keenly aware he’d been insulted, waited for her response. She only pulled her gaze away, however, looking back to the sideboard.

  Her father’s brows shot up. “I’ll be damned. I don’t have a clue what’s going on here.”

  “Welcome aboard,” Lady Isabella said, tapping her chin with a finger. “Perhaps we all need to acquaint ourselves better. I’d like to have a little dinner party tonight. I hope you and your young friend will join us, Mr. Cantrell.”

  “I’d be happy to.” He let out another short laugh. “But are you sure want me to bring Kevin? I’d think you’d want to give your boy an edge over the competition. Or don’t you want him marrying a commoner?”

  “Dad, please.” Leah sent him a pained look, while her father chuckled at his own joke. David, meanwhile, sat mute, feeling a perfect fool.

  Mr. Cantrell stood and patted his daughter on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m going now, so you can eat the rest of your breakfast in peace. Lady Isabella, Lord Solebury, thanks for your hospitality. I look forward to tonight.”

  Isabella gave a wan smile. “As do we.”

  “I’ll show you out,” Leah said, rising as well. She took her father’s arm and practically dragged him toward the doors to the hall.

  Mr. Cantrell stopped again, however, standing in the entrance, and turned back to David. “It should be interesting to see you and Kevin duke it out. Are you a duke, Dave, or do I have the wrong title?”

  “Viscount,” Lord Solebury interjected, while David stewed to himself. Disastrous encounter! “My son will be marquess upon my death, of course, but no higher rank than that, unless he earns one by some great feat of his own.”

  David stared at him. The marquess had called him son again, but he had put a curious emphasis on the word, as though trying to make a point.

  “Come on, Dad,” Leah begged, yanking her father
into the hall. Before the doors swung closed after them, David’s gaze met Mr. Cantrell’s a last time. The man’s grin had faded.

  He gathered up his scattered pride and turned back to Lord Solebury. “I thought we agreed to leave the question of my identity open.”

  “That was yesterday.” Lord Solebury lifted his cup without its rattling in the saucer. He took a long swig of tea. “Today I’m prepared to close the matter.”

  “But I told you I cannot claim to be your son--”

  “Oh, I know you’re not my son.”

  Isabella gasped, while her brother gave David a cunning smile. “Of course, you know it as well, though I understand why you haven’t revealed your true identity. You see, I had this very strange, very vivid dream last night--a nightmare, really, full of swirling colors and engulfing waves.”

  David held his breath. Could the marquess indeed have deduced the truth?

  Lord Solebury watched him closely. “When Isabella and I first met you and Miss Cantrell, you were both drenched in water. You’d taken a dunk in the spring, hadn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “You were also wearing some rather odd, old-fashioned attire, weren’t you? Early nineteenth-century, I believe.”

  David felt a chill, despite the warmth of the room.

  “Jon, what is this all about?” Lady Isabella asked. “What do the spring and nineteenth-century costumes have to do with anything?”

  Her brother smiled at her. “Quite a bit, my dear. You’ll see when I explain why Miss Cantrell has the same name as the girl in our family legend--and, for that matter, why David shares his name with the sixth marquess’s son. Quite simply, they are the two in the legend.”

  The look on Isabella’s face could have soured milk--and David felt as though he had swallowed a quart. If she asked him to deny Lord Solebury’s conclusion, he would not be able to oblige her.

  But if he tried to convince her the marquess spoke the truth, he was certain he’d fare no better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO