Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

by Lacy Williams

  Time slowed. This was my moment. My race.

  We passed the halfway mark, a low ditch, still in the lead.

  Drops of foam from Belvidere’s chest splattered me in the face. Joy and exhilaration bubbled up, and I laughed aloud. We were going to make it!

  The last hurdle appeared. Before we jumped it, I caught sight of Andrew at my elbow. I only saw his face for a split-second, but I’d probably never forget the intense concentration that twisted his features. How had he gotten so close?

  “Hah!” I urged the stallion with both my voice and my leg. Did he have anything left for the last rise to the church? To my surprise, he sped up. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough, because we burst onto the top of the hill and slid to a stop right before the church. Ahead of Andrew.

  I wheeled the stallion around, triumph and pride lilting my voice. “I won.”

  “You cheated.”

  What? “I did not.” A little maneuvering couldn't be counted as cheating.

  He was closer than I thought, near enough to grab my upper arm and hold me in place. I tried to pull away but his hand was like an iron band.

  “Let go.” I hated that my voice had gone soft and breathy. Hated that I couldn’t stop my reaction to his nearness.

  His eyes roved my face. His face was flushed and his hair wind-ruffled. “You cheated, and I will claim my prize. Now.”

  My stomach quivered as he leaned closer. He still held my arm, though I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to – my limbs were tingly and numb. My traitorous lips parted, waiting for his kiss, hoping for it.

  His eyes darkened, the pupils dilating. “Mattie,” he murmured, his breath hitting my cheek.

  I stopped breathing, and closed my eyes.

  And remembered that he only claimed the kiss out of anger, and pride.

  An image of Jared came to me, unbidden. The memory of his betrayal hit me like a blow in the face. My eyes flew open and Andrew was so close that I could see the individual whiskers that made up the stubble on his face. His eyes were at half mast and he intended to do it – kiss me.

  Not like this! Panic sent my heart beating against my ribcage.

  “Andrew—Let me go.” My voice broke on the words. Finding a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I pulled my arm from his grasp. Without looking back to see his reaction, I kicked the stallion into a canter and rode for the stable.

  Chapter 7

  Being ignored by Andrew was infinitely worse than trying to avoid him. It took all the willpower I owned to ride across from him in the carriage, dressed in his Sunday finery, and keep my gaze out the window. Most of all, I was powerless to stop the feelings for Andrew that had burst into life since the day of the race.

  If only I could find a way to get back to the twenty-first century. I’d searched through several tomes in the Howarth’s library, but found nothing helpful. Hope dimmed with each day I spent here. It had already been three weeks.

  Maybe Andrew’s ire was for the best. If he continued to focus on his anger and smarting pride, maybe he wouldn’t notice my muddled feelings.

  Each time his ice blue gaze sliced over me, I bit back the urge to apologize. After all, I didn’t have anything to be sorry for. He’d agreed to the race. It wasn’t my fault the wind had kicked up my skirt and spooked his horse.

  It was my fault that I was falling in love again, but I couldn’t seem to help it. I noticed everything about Andrew. His strength, the gentleness he’d shown Simon when he’d helped me with the little dog, his relationship with his sisters. All of it drew me, even though I wanted to ignore it. I didn’t want to be hurt again.

  And it seemed there was no way Andrew would be interested in me now that I'd damaged his pride.

  I tried to focus in on the conversation Tristan carried on with Minerva, but couldn’t find the will to participate. Instead, I watched the landscape passing by the window. Andrew, with his stony glare and crossed arms, didn’t enter into the conversation either.

  Our carriage followed another that carried the rest of the Howarth family. We rolled to a stop before the village church long before I’d steeled myself to enter it.

  Tristan handed me out of the carriage before turning to escort Minerva inside. I followed behind them, Andrew beside me. He did not offer me his arm.

  Morning sunlight shone through the stained glass windows inside the sanctuary. I was surprised by its plain wooden pews and pulpit. They certainly didn't match the ornate ones I pictured when I thought “old English church.”

  The cacophony of voices raised in congregational singing was also a surprise. The hymns were all new to me, and nothing like the contemporary songs I loved from my church back home in Oklahoma. Good thing I was an auditory learner. Andrew’s baritone from the pew behind me sent shivers down my spine.

  A man in a dark jacket and starched white shirt stood up and began to speak. The first words out of his mouth had to do with forgiveness, and I tuned out in the same instant.

  Logically, I knew I needed to face my bitterness toward Jared and Hannah. Sooner or later. Emotionally, I chose later.

  Instead, I glanced around the room, admiring the costumes of the people who made up this small church. Some simple, some gaudy. Just like my church at home.

  A pinch from Minerva brought my wandering attention back to our pew. “Pay attention,” she hissed.

  With a frown, I pretended to do just that. But I didn't.

  ###

  After the service, Minnie and I stood near Tristan and Andrew in the sunshine as the carriages were fetched.

  Anna and Ella visited with a gaggle of other young ladies, but Minnie and I spoke to no one.

  “Andrew, you must introduce me to the charming young ladies accompanying you.”

  A male voice spoke loud enough that I knew he intended Minerva and I to hear him. I resisted the urge to glance back at the men, instead focusing on Minerva, who'd gone pale.

  Andrew spoke in a low voice so that I missed the first part of his reply. “—they are guests of my family.”

  Nearby laughter from the group of girls overpowered the men’s voices. When the girls quieted, Andrew was still speaking. “—a terrible scandal. I believe the younger Miss Briggs came upon her sister in a compromising situation with her betrothed. Needless to say, the engagement was broken.”

  I must have gasped audibly, because several of the girls nearby turned and looked at me, including Anna and Ella. But I couldn't feel their gazes.

  Only Andrew's. His eyes skewered me with a hard, triumphant gaze. For a moment, I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. I turned away from him and my eyes found Minerva, who was whiter than her dress. The look on her face told all – Andrew spoke the truth. She'd betrayed me.

  I felt nauseous. The carriage arrived, saving me from further humiliation. Or was there anything worse than what I felt now?

  Though I still hadn’t mastered the skirts this century forced me to wear, I managed to throw myself into the carriage without help, and without falling.

  Numb. The feeling came over me in a cloying blanket. Same as is had when I found out about Jared’s betrayal.

  I turned my face to the window and closed my eyes, praying that everyone would leave me alone. I couldn’t face any of them right now.

  Was I so worthless? How could I be betrayed both in this life and in the future? Hurt pounded against my heart, like a hammer to an anvil. But my heart wasn't made of iron. It shattered.

  Somehow, I managed to hold my tears at bay. I would not cry about Jared again. And Andrew certainly did not deserve one tear either.

  ###

  A week later, I was no closer to finding a way home. Minerva avoided me day and night, often slipping into the room after I’d doused the candle. My conscience prodded me to make amends with her, but my broken spirit demanded she pay for what she’d done to me.

  I spent most of my days staying a step ahead of Andrew. If he was out-of-doors, I stayed in the salon or library. If he was indoors, I went ou
t on the moors. Most of the time riding Belvidere, but this afternoon I walked.

  I could no longer avoid the conclusion I’d denied until now. This was all God's fault.

  So, in the same vein of pride Job suffered from, I challenged Him. God, why? Why did You let the people I trust betray me?

  Nothing. No response except the soft breeze that rustled the grasses.

  What’s wrong with me?

  My past, in the future, was all confused with the life I now found myself in. Jared and Hannah might as well be Minerva and the man – I didn't even know his name – who'd caused my scandal here.

  And Andrew was all mixed up in it, too.

  What I felt for him was stronger than anything I’d felt for Jared, but he’d hurt me by his cruel words, spoken to another.

  Answer me, God. Why do I deserve this?

  “The LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."

  The words came to me, a soft whisper in the gathering dusk. They must have been from one of the Bible verses I’d learned as a child, but I couldn’t remember what chapter and verse. I wanted to reject the comfort they offered.

  It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  “The LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."

  I fell to my knees in the fragrant heather. My fingers pressed against the ground. I knew one thing for certain: I didn’t want to hurt any more. I wanted to let God take my pain.

  With that realization, peace began to steal into my heart. The heart I'd been trying to protect, but couldn't. Tears I thought were long gone slipped from my eyes. God was with me. Maybe I could go on. Maybe I could find my place.

  Warmth rushed through me, so much that I could no longer feel the cool breeze nipping at my bare arms. God was with me.

  Galloping hoofbeats brought my head up. Quickly, I wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks. Backlit by the sun, I couldn't see the face of the rider. But I knew the horse. Andrew.

  He rode directly toward me and stopped, only feet away. I couldn't read his expression in the shadow of the sun's halo. I resisted the urge to look away. I couldn’t fathom a reason why he would seek me out.

  “Forgive me.”

  My heart hammered at the breathlessness of his tone.

  “For interrupting your walk.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. Part of me wanted to walk away, but my limbs felt weak. How could I still react so strongly to his presence?

  “Miss Mattie, the mare is foaling and something has gone terribly wrong.”

  Oh.

  I quashed the seed of hope that blossomed inside me. He needed help with his horse. I looked down, so he wouldn't see my disappointment.

  “I know you have no incentive to help me,” Andrew continued, his voice low.

  A proper English lady would never work with animals.

  “And every reason to despise me.”

  But the time spent with Andrew might be worth any reproach I would receive from Minerva. It wasn’t as if I had a stellar reputation to protect anyway.

  “If you cannot find it in your heart to help me...” I heard his exhaled breath over the breeze that rushed in my ears. “I beg you to have pity on the horse.”

  Slowly, I looked up. His eyes were still unreadable. I took one step toward him. “Of course I’ll come. I'll meet you at the stable.”

  He shook his head. “I fear there’s no time. We must hurry.” And he reached out his hand for me.

  I grasped it, trying to ignore the emotion that his touch evoked. With a little boost, he swung me up behind him. My skirt made for an awkward fit and I ended up doing a modified sidesaddle thing without the saddle. There was no pommel for me to grab, so I did the next best thing for my balance and the worst thing for my equilibrium: I wrapped my arms around Andrew's waist and twined my fingers together.

  “All right?”

  “Yes.” It would have to be.

  He wheeled the gelding toward the stable and the horse responded to his urgings to canter. Wind, made stronger by our speed, whipped my hair from its pinnings into my eyes, causing them to water. I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into the back of Andrew’s jacket.

  Being this close to Andrew was indescribable torture. Through his coat, I could feel the muscles in his back, his almost imperceptible movements to stay balanced on the horse. Goosebumps prickled my arms from the cool wind that whirled around us, but all I could feel was Andrew’s warmth seeping into me.

  His hand covered my bare, intertwined fingers, shielding them from the elements and sending heat up my arms. I trembled.

  Did he know?

  Pressure from his hand increased in an exquisite squeeze.

  We stayed that way until he pulled the gelding up near the stable. Andrew handed me down and followed quickly, releasing the gelding’s reins to a groom. His hand on my back as he ushered me into the stable disconcerted me.

  “What of your farrier?” I asked, hoping the man was on his way.

  Silence. I glanced at Andrew’s face. The lamplight revealed a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. “I didn’t send for him. I believe I thought only of you.”

  I managed to hold back a gasp of surprise. While part of me rejoiced that Andrew finally saw my value, the other half niggled with doubt. What if I couldn’t help the mare? What if she died?

  And what did Andrew really think of me, that I was willing to enter a man’s domain?

  Inside the stable, a large birthing box had been prepared. Surprisingly, Anna paced outside its confines, her face tight with concern. I peeked over the wooden railing to find the mare lying on her side. She barely lifted her head when I entered the stall. Not a good sign. She should be more agitated than that.

  Andrew followed me in and latched the door behind him. “What do you need?”

  “I don’t know yet.” I walked around the horse slowly, not wanting to alarm her. Kneeling at her head, I stroked her neck, noticing that it was wet and hot. “Probably a bucket of hot water and some strong soap. And towels or blankets.”

  Andrew wheeled and said a word to one of the grooms. His face was stony when he turned back.

  “How long has she been down?”

  “About an hour,” Anna said. “She rolled around on her back a bit at first, but she’s been still for a while now.”

  Worry clenched my stomach. Andrew and Anna were depending on me to help this mare and her unborn foal, when I hadn’t actually helped in a birthing myself. Mostly I watched Dr. Richard do it.

  I took a deep breath. God, I need some help here.

  The words from the moor echoed in my mind. God was with me. Even now.

  Within minutes, the groom returned with a bucket of tepid water and a bar of hard soap. With a shrug, I resigned myself to take what I could get.

  I lathered soap on my hands and forearms then moved around the horse to her flank, praying the whole time. Moments into the examination, I found the problem. In a natural birth, both of the foal’s front hooves should emerge first, then its nose, and the rest of the body slips right out.

  This foal had one hoof caught in the birth canal, causing the whole operation to stop. An easy fix, and a few moments later, the foal lay on the hay at my feet.

  Exhilaration flowed through me for a moment until it registered that the foal didn’t move.

  Anna gasped from somewhere behind me. I knelt next to the foal, looked up at Andrew. “Keep the mare down.” He nodded and moved to her head.

  I cleared the sticky mucus from the foal's nose and mouth. Still no movement, no breathing. I'd seen Dr. Richard rub newborn foals with hay, so I tried that too.

  A minute ticked by, each second lessening the chances of the foal's survival. I wracked my brain for a solution, anything I hadn't tried yet. God, help!

  As if a hand from above guided me, I leaned down and blew into the foal's mouth. Once. Twice. Three times.

  And the foal drew a shaky breath. Then another.

  Andre
w whooped. Anna began weeping. I rocked back on my heels and sat down in the hay, tears coming to my eyes. Thank you.

  Chapter 8

  Getting ready for a ball was no easy process. I hated having my hair done. Most of all, I didn't want to dance with Andrew.

  “Ruth, what’s a blue stocking?”

  Hours into the grooming and preparation, I was beginning to get fed up. At least I was finally dressed, though I'd lost the battle about my corset. Drat the torturous inventions.

  Ruth was putting the final touches on my hair, but she paused to consider my question. Her brow furrowed. “Where did you hear that, miss?”

  Her avoidance piqued my curiosity. “I don't remember. Somewhere around, I guess.”

  Minerva spoke up from her seat on the edge of the bed. “Not ‘a blue stocking.’ One word. Bluestocking. It means a woman that is... too involved in things only men should be involved in.”

  “Oh.” Like shoeing horses. Birthing foals.

  I closed my eyes. Sighed. Wished again for something I could never have.

  Ruth hummed as she tucked the last few late rose blossoms into my hair.

  Her mood only made me feel more sour.

  Spending these few weeks observing the Howarths had filled in some of the gaps of my understanding. Although our uncle was wealthier than the Howarths, neither Minerva or I would be considered an acceptable match because uncle's fortune had been made in trade. In contrast, the Howarths owned quite a bit of land and real estate and had passed down their wealth through the generations.

  Aah, aristocracy. Our family connections were the reason why Andrew and I couldn't be together. Oh, and the minor inconvenience of our family scandals.

  Although Andrew wasn't totally avoiding me, he'd kept his distance since the birth of the foal. He and his father had been locked away in the library most days working on an important business dealing. Or so Anna said. I kept to myself, spending a lot of time in the stable, watching the colt and its mother. I couldn't stop thinking about Andrew and the ride we'd shared.