Tender (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Time Travel Romance Book 1)

by Anne Meredith

  Malcolm rubbed his chin. He removed his glasses, squinting in concentration as he polished the lenses on his handkerchief. Nodding, he said, “The twenty … ninth. Yes. The twenty-ninth, that was it.”

  “You were together on the night of June twenty-nine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rachel’s heart sank. The date he mentioned left Grey plenty of time to get back to Williamsburg and murder Letitia.

  “I see. And the next day …”

  “Well, I finished painting the portraits, of course.”

  “The portraits?”

  “Lord Windmere has a little daughter, you know, and he mentioned her—the daughter, of course—wanting some miniatures for a locket she’d been given. I like to have a model when I paint, you know, but in a pinch I can get by off another likeness, and …”

  Randolph watched him go on, with far more patience than Rachel felt.

  “I worked on them as long as the light was good the first night, then began again with first light the second day. It took most of that day, as well. He was anxious to get started back—missed his family, he said—and he left early on July first.”

  “Lord Windmere was in your company on the night of June thirty?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Now. As specifically as you can, please tell me how far you were from Williamsburg.”

  “Fifteen miles.”

  Randolph’s eyebrows rose. “You say that with some degree of certainty, without hesitation.”

  “I’m positive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh, I didn’t have any idea where we were, to tell the truth. But Lord Windmere knew quite well. He said that in all the years he’d navigated the seven seas, fifteen miles had never seemed such a great distance. As I said, he was eager to get home. But I think he was happy with the miniatures.”

  “When did you retire that night?”

  “Early. Perhaps seven o’clock. We were both eager to get an early start the next day.”

  “Now. Would it be conceivable that Lord Windmere had time to leave the camp, travel to Williamsburg, commit the murder, and return to camp during the night?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I woke in the middle of the night and found him sitting at the fire, staring at the miniatures. Sir, he was there the entire night. He couldn’t have killed the lady.”

  The crowd seemed to give a sigh of relief at the alibi.

  “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.” He deferred to Thomas, who declined to question him.

  Malcolm was dismissed, and he moved into the crowd.

  Silence pervaded the chamber as Peyton Randolph stood before the court. He stared at the Bible for a long time.

  “Governor Gooch, honored justices. In my studies of law, I’ve come to rely on the steadfast quality of justice. I’ve faith in our system of dispensing it. Miss Sheppard’s testimony to honor struck a chord in me. Grey Trelawney is a dear friend of mine. The deceased was my distant cousin. Such things are set aside, however, when we discuss the execution of justice. We’ve learned that no man should be above the law. We punish those who kill bondsmen more swiftly than those who kill a free man. And today I’ve come to believe that I’m prosecuting the wrong man.

  “You’ve heard the evidence as I have. I remind you that a woman was brutally murdered, and that there are two witnesses who’ve sworn to God and to the Crown that they saw Grey Trelawney kill his wife. You’ve heard the testimony of a man who places Grey Trelawney fifteen miles away from the murder site, on the night of the murder. You’ve heard the testimony of those who’ve sworn the witnesses for the Crown have committed perjury. I leave it to you to find the truth in your souls.”

  Randolph returned to his chair, and Governor Gooch nodded. “Mr. Trelawney, do you have any remarks?”

  Thomas stepped forward. “Your excellency, honored justices. The sheriff said a remarkable thing today. He said there’s never been any love lost between the Trelawney men. The truth is, a great deal has been lost, never to be recovered. This is not the place to try to undo wrongs that began thirty years ago on the other side of a cold, bleak ocean. The time I have been given with my son is but a speck. And yes, too much love has been lost. Had I been the father he deserved, he never would’ve strayed down a path that’s come to this tragic end.”

  He stopped for a long time before he finally went on. “I ask you to consider why we’re here. Honor. The belief that a man whose guilt hasn’t been proven must be found innocent. The fact is, not only is Grey Trelawney innocent, he is the victim of the man who did commit this murder. All evidence leads to the truth: that the murderer conspired to condemn Grey, to save his own hide, when a despicable, illicit game went too far.

  “Gentlemen, Grey Trelawney is innocent of this crime.” His voice fell to an impassioned plea. “If you find him guilty, the murderer of Letitia Trelawney will go free, and you’ll be guilty of murdering an innocent man. May God give you wisdom to find Grey not guilty.” He returned to his chair.

  “Gentlemen of the council,” Governor Gooch said, “I give you leave to find your verdict.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Byrd and the other justices left the room, and Rachel grew fearful. The brief hope roused by Malcolm’s alibi wavered; he was an outsider, a stranger, and an eccentric one. His testimony might well be heavily discounted. The longest minutes of Rachel’s life began to drag by.

  Grey looked over his shoulder at her, and as their eyes met, a smile dawned over his face. Her heart rose up to him, amazed that in what he knew might be the last minutes of his life, his main concern was cheering her.

  Her throat ached, and her eyes burned as she thought of how dear he’d become to her. And of everything he’d given her. He’d restored to her the most precious photographs lost within her heart. He’d shown her there were men of conviction, men who could recognize and reject their own human failings. And he’d loved her—with the kind of love she’d never hoped to know.

  Only now, with so much between them that they were powerless to overcome, did the truth come to her, finding an equal mixture of hope and fear. She wanted, more than anything, just a chance to love him. To awaken with him each day, to argue with him over minor irritations, to rest complacent with the sound of his voice nearby, the touch of his hand within reach. She wanted to make a life with him—no matter what. How petty all else seemed, when faced with the grim reality of what could happen here today. Unspeakable images flashed through her mind—Byrd reading a guilty verdict, an unemotional Clancy dropping a black hood over Grey’s head, a hemp rope around his neck. And although it had been a while since Rachel had prayed, she did so now, fervently.

  The chamber door opened, and Rachel looked up.

  “Will the defendant please face the council?”

  Her heart hammered and her throat was dry as Grey rose.

  Governor Gooch spoke. “Mr. President, how does the council find the defendant?”

  Byrd stood and faced Grey, and his voice was solemn. “Your excellency, the justices of this court find the defendant, Grey Trelawney, earl of Windmere, not guilty.”

  Tears of relief flooded Rachel, and she saw Grey and his father embrace for a long, emotional moment. The elder man’s arm was bent around Grey’s head as he spoke into his son’s ear, words that Rachel couldn’t guess, but that put an end to their enmity for all time.

  Then he turned abruptly, his eyes catching hers, and his smiling gaze was ripe with expectancy as he found his way through a crowd that cheered the verdict. He reached her in seconds, and he crushed her to him in a soundless embrace, revealing his own fear. Never had anyone held her tighter, and she knew he’d thought never to do it again.

  “Awww. What a lovely couple,” said one of the ladies she’d noticed at the beginning of the trial. “I told ye ’e didn’t do it, Myrtle.”

  “Aw, go on, now. I told ye that.”

  His eyes sparkled with joy, with the apprecia
tion of freedom, as he raised his head. “This is the finest moment of my life.”

  Camisha arrived, and Rachel turned to her. She saw tears in her eyes as they embraced. “Thank you so much.”

  “Believe me, I’m as happy as you are.”

  Grey turned to the woman who had helped save his life. He held out his hand, meeting her gaze with quiet expectation. Kissing her hand, he held it between his own. “Miss Carlyle, I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

  Her lips hooked in a crooked smile. “I think that rogue Donovan had more to do with it than I.”

  Rachel smiled, but Grey’s gaze was grave. “I speak of crimes I am undoubtedly guilty of. I pray that—in time—you can forgive me and my kind.”

  Malcolm stood a few feet away, scrutinizing the exchange.

  “Until then, I’ll work to undo the injustices I’ve bred and overcome the institution I’ve abetted. And I hope I can always count on the friendship you’ve shown today.”

  She smiled at Rachel and shook her head, as if marveling. “He is something.”

  Rachel laughed softly, “Grey, I promise you. Camisha’s friendship is something you can always count on.”

  "I hope so. I think perhaps I shall need it, with the plans I have.”

  “What sort of plans?”

  This came from Malcolm, and Grey turned. “Mr. Henderson,” he said, shaking his hand. “I cannot thank you enough.”

  “’Twas only the truth. What plans have you in mind?”

  “To do whatever it takes, to make people understand the reality of slavery. Men in their banking houses and drawing rooms don’t see it, and have no cause to care. Those who do care have no means or power to make change. I do. And I will.”

  Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. Then he met Rachel’s gaze. “Do you have a few minutes, Miss Sheppard? And Miss Carlyle?”

  “Certainly.” Rachel was eager to speak with him.

  When they were alone, she said, “Malcolm, I remembered it all. It was horrible. I saw my parents murdered.”

  “Did you see the man who did it?”

  “Yes.”

  Malcolm reached inside his waistcoat. “Did he look like this?”

  It was a modern snapshot—of the same man.

  “Yes. That’s him. Who is it?”

  “His name is Jack Sheppard—apparently Max’s brother. He’s in a sanitarium outside Lynchburg.”

  A shudder went over Rachel’s skin. “How did you find out?”

  “We investigated Max, as we told you we would. Did you know he was born in Virginia?”

  “No. He never talked about his childhood.”

  “And we visited Jack. He’s rather harmless now—I suspect if one’s told often enough that he’s insane, he begins to believe it. Especially when he insists on advertising the fact that he’s traveled in time.”

  “What?”

  “Jack apparently attended one of your father’s classes at William and Mary, although there’s no record of him as a student. Your mother was taking classes there, Rachel, and she befriended Jack, who was rather a disturbed person. And he fell in love with her. Unfortunately, he learned a deadly secret your parents shared. And when she refused his attempts at romance, he devised a scheme to win her, by traveling back in time to the eighteenth century.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “Your mother was born in the eighteenth century. And that’s where your father met her.”

  She stared at him, unable to speak.

  “But as he eventually would learn, it made no difference. He thought if he met her before your father did, he could have her. He didn’t understand; your father crossed centuries to find his one true love. And no one could stop the hand of fate. In point of fact, if we see someone attempting to, we will stop it.”

  Excitement bubbled within her. “Then—then Hastings was telling the truth.”

  “Of a fashion.”

  “Then I have to talk to him.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  “Malcolm! He’s the only relative I have left.”

  The old man’s eyes were clear with warning. “But you are not the only one he has left.”

  “Darling? Are you ready?” Grey asked as he joined them.

  Startled, she glanced at him.

  Malcolm gave a somber smile. “I suspect she is. And I still have a great deal of work to do elsewhere. Miss Sheppard, I expect we’ll see each other again.”

  She nodded, a little numbly.

  “Miss Carlyle,” Malcolm said, “I’ll escort you back to Rosalie. We have more to speak of.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mr. Henderson?” Grey asked.

  Malcolm glanced at him.

  “We would welcome you at supper tonight.”

  “Thank you, Grey. I’ll try to arrange it.”

  When they left, Rachel walked with Grey and Thomas, her thoughts occupied by the mystery that was so close to unraveling.

  “Grey.” It was William Byrd, slowly making his way to them. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Randolph has arrested Manning and Griffin.”

  “That’s good,” Rachel said. “But I’m a bit puzzled.”

  “Oh?”

  “You returned that verdict in less than five minutes.”

  “They had no choice,” Thomas said.

  Grey groaned. “You didn’t seem as sure twenty minutes ago.”

  Thomas chortled, and Rachel marveled at what a beautiful pair of men they were. “What do you mean, they had no choice?”

  Byrd smiled mysteriously. “Even without the alibi your artist provided, the testimony edged too close to their back doorsteps when Dunraven came forth, chattering like a none-too-bright squirrel. At least one of the men sitting in judgment of Grey had—well, shall we say, at one time aided Letitia in her adulterous pursuits?”

  Rachel’s mouth dropped as she remembered the dignified gentry and landowners who comprised the council.

  “I suggested it would be unwise to convict Grey. With the gentleman in question, I suggested it quite strongly.”

  “You … blackmailed him with his affair?”

  “Blackmail! Heavens, no. ’Tis an ungentlemanly sport, dear. I prefer to think of it as persuasive reasoning.”

  Rachel grinned. “You, sir, are an unscrupulous judge.”

  “I’m no judge, Rachel. I’m a simple country squire who found himself having to apply the rule of law to—as Dunraven rightly said—a farcical trial. And whoever killed her should be rewarded for doing a moral service to mankind. And, perhaps, to the matrons of Virginia,” he added, his lips quirking. “Now, I must get home. This has been too great an excitement for my old bones.” He held his hand out to her. “I remain in your debt, dear. You’ve reminded me of a folly from which I hope we can turn straightaway. Ours is a land founded on the idea of working hard for prosperity. I don’t relish it becoming just another corrupt place where one person works for the wealth of another.”

  “Sir, I’m afraid it will take more than one changed heart to prevent that.”

  His coach awaited, and a footman handed the elderly gentleman up into it. Only as she watched the coach make its way down Duke of Gloucester Street did the reality of it strike home. She’d seen firsthand the intricacies of a colonial trial; she’d watched the council William Byrd sat on exact swift justice, a drama that would no longer exist in her time. Except in one small, nearly obscure Virginia town called Williamsburg.

  Rachel, Grey, and Thomas walked along the sidewalk, chatting in quiet companionship. When they arrived at the house, a chambermaid met them at the door, and the look on her face alarmed Rachel. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mrs. Trelawney. Her time’s come.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Where’s the doctor?” Rachel asked, as she rushed up the stairs. She stopped and looked down.

  Aileen, the maid, gestured nervously. “We’ve called for him, but he w
as at the Capitol. So we sent a boy to bring the midwife from Rosalie.”

  Rachel, Thomas, and Grey arrived in Jennie’s room. Emily held one of Jennie’s hands and patted her as they slowly paced the length of the room, while Aileen hovered.

  “How are you feeling?” Rachel asked.

  Jennie nodded unevenly. “’Tis a trifle uncomfortable.”

  “Emily,” said Grey gently, “come with me.”

  The child clearly felt as if she were deserting Jennie, but Jennie smiled at her. “I’ll be fine, poppet. Go on with your papa.”

  With Grey and Emily gone, Thomas hovered uncertainly. “Let me help you lie down, darling.”

  Aileen put in, “Begging your pardon, sir, but walking helps the babe come faster.”

  “What can I do?” Rachel asked.

  “Boil some water,” Jennie said.

  “All right. Then what?”

  Jennie laughed nervously. “Make tea with it. I’ll leave the doctor to worry about the rest.”

  Rachel found her way to the breakfast room, where Grey had already involved Emily in making tea. Her gaze settled on him in earnest, for the first time in too long. When he noticed her, subtle pleasure lent his eyes a stormy quality. He gathered her against him. “How I’ve missed you.”

  She pressed her cheek to his chest, thinking she’d never take for granted another moment with him. Then he tilted her head, finding her mouth with his. “I love you,” he murmured.

  “Papa,” Emily said plaintively, “the kettle’s whistling.”

  Rachel moved away to settle the silver ball into the teapot, then poured the hot water into it.

  “What do you want it to be, Father? A boy or a girl?”

  “I want the same thing your grandfather does. A strong and healthy child. I suppose you want a girl.”

  “Of course.”

  “She says boys are shaggy things with filthy fingernails,” Rachel said as she set saucers and cups on a tray.

  Grey glanced at his hands. “Perhaps she’s right. At the first opportunity, I’m finding a hot bath with a scrub brush.”

  A rap on the front door interrupted their chatter, and Grey left to answer it. Rachel heard Dr. McKenzie’s soft-spoken voice as Grey led him upstairs, and presently they both returned.