“Do you think he’ll look old when you see him, Grandma?” Quinn asked, wondering if Grandpa Joe would appear as he did in his fifties when he died or if he would look like Grandma Ruth, wrinkled and frail.
“I bet he’ll look just as handsome as he did when I first met him in 1942. He had been a surgeon, and I was one of the nurses at the Alexandra Hospital in Singapore,” her grandmother said, her eyes clouded with memories. She didn’t like to talk about the war, or the atrocities she had witnessed, but she liked reminiscing about her Joe. She always said goodnight to his picture, which stood by her bed, the sepia photograph framed by a heavy silver frame. Grandpa Joe was in uniform, his lean face serious as he stared into the camera, but Quinn could still see the laugh lines around his mouth and the twinkle in his eye that Ruth so often alluded to. She said it was that twinkle that led to the existence of her father, Roger. Quinn hadn’t been at all sure how a twinkle could produce a little boy, but she took her grandmother’s word for it. Her grandfather must have retained the twinkle since there had been four other children after Roger.
And now Grandma Ruth was gone; her little house was the same but utterly different without her in it. Quinn hoped that her grandparents were finally together, as Grandma Ruth always said they would be.
“Quinn, darling,” her mother said, interrupting Quinn’s reverie as she stared at the photograph of her grandfather after the funeral. “Grandma Ruth wanted you to have this.”
Her mother held Quinn’s hand and lowered a gold chain with a heart-shaped locket into her palm. Grandma Ruth always wore that locket. Joe had given it to her on her twenty-second birthday in 1943. It contained a tiny picture of the two of them, dressed in civilian clothes. They looked so young and earnest then. Quinn squeezed her fingers shut around the locket. She would treasure it always.
Quinn suddenly had an image of her grandmother, as she appeared in the locket, running down an unfamiliar-looking street, the heels of her shoes clicking on the pavement. She seemed anxious and kept turning to look behind her, as if someone were chasing her. Ruth breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Joe, who jumped from a military jeep and enfolded her briefly in his arms before helping her into the car and speeding away. Quinn heard the whistle of a bomb and then the deafening roar of an explosion as a silver-bellied plane emptied its cargo onto the burning city. Quinn was so frightened, she dropped the locket, and the image of her grandparents vanished like smoke, leaving her confused and disoriented.
Quinn sat down on the bed, her brow furrowed with concentration. She couldn’t remember Grandma Ruth telling her that story. She never spoke of bombs or terrifying raids that turned buildings to rubble and painted the sky black with smoke from countless fires burning all over the city. Instead, she told Quinn about dancing with Joe at a jazz club and even showed her some of the dance moves of the time, making Quinn giggle as they did the twist in the kitchen. Ruth reminisced about strolling beneath the palm trees on a moonlit night and how Joe proposed to her over a patient lying open on the operating table because he simply couldn’t concentrate on performing the surgery until he had her answer. But, perhaps Quinn had forgotten and chose to remember only the stories she enjoyed.
Over the next year, Quinn saw countless images of Grandma Ruth, not only during the war but of Ruth as a child, as wife and mother, and later, as a widow. Quinn no longer believed that she was remembering the stories her grandmother told her. No, the stories came from the locket, and she saw them only when she held the locket in her hands and the gold grew warm from the heat of her skin. Quinn didn’t know how to navigate what she saw, and at times she was frightened by the depth of her grandmother’s sorrow or fear, but there were also visions of love and joy, and Quinn cherished those, knowing that her grandmother would have wanted to share those moments with her.
Quinn wore the locket all the time; she wore it still, as a tribute to her beloved Grandma Ruth, the person who unwittingly unlocked her gift. Now that she was a grown woman, Quinn understood how her ability to see into the past worked and could even manage to choose what she saw by mentally focusing on a specific year, but it was a secret she kept to herself. She’d tried telling her parents after experiencing those first unexplained visions, but they didn’t believe her. Her father rationalized it as a manifestation of grief and a desire to retain a link to Grandma Ruth, and her mother said that the images were simply a figment of her imagination, an explanation that Quinn readily accepted, despite knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that what she was experiencing was quite real.
As Quinn got older, she realized that the strange ability she’d been born with had to have come from somewhere or someone. She must have inherited it from one of her parents, but of course, she had no one to ask. Quinn made up stories in her head, imagining that this link to the spirit world was passed from generation to generation down her mother’s line, the ability bestowed only on the first daughter of the first daughter and so on. It was a romantic tale that helped her make peace with the strange and often frightening images she saw. Quinn learned not to pick up old objects and made sure that she wore gloves when there was no choice. Her gift came in handy in her profession, but she didn’t welcome it into her personal life, wary of where other people’s recollections might lead her.
Chapter 7
December 1664
London, England
An icy wind blew off the river and nipped at Elise’s cheeks as the ferryboat glided across the Thames, its lantern swinging from side to side. It was still lit despite the hour due to the thick fog swirling all around them and making Elise feel as if they were alone on the river. The fog seemed to mute all sound, the only thing still audible were the twin splashes as the oars dipped into the water. The ferryman looked glum as he navigated the boat toward the Strand, his eyes fixed on the smudge of bank looming in the distance. Elise huddled into her cloak, frozen to the bone despite the warm lining of fox fur. Damp seeped into her bones and made her shiver. Or was it apprehension?
Hugh de Lesseps sat quite still, his face turned toward the shore, his hands resting on his thighs. He hadn’t uttered a word since leaving home an hour ago, abandoning Elise to her own thoughts, which were less than tranquil. She’d eaten a light breakfast of bread and broth, but now the food soured her stomach, and the rocking of the boat made her feel as if she might be sick. She breathed deeply, hoping the frigid air would prevent her from giving in to the nausea. Hugh sprang to his feet as soon as the boat docked, paid the ferryman, and helped Elise out of the boat. “Come,” was all he said as they set off toward Asher Hall on foot. Elise was grateful to feel solid ground beneath her feet. She was still nervous, but at least her stomach seemed to be settling.
Elise followed her father silently down the street, her thoughts on the upcoming interview with Lord Asher. She found it odd that she’d been summoned to call on her betrothed instead of him coming to her, but then again, nothing about this situation was what she would consider to be normal or proper. The wedding was only a week away, but she’d had no contact with Lord Asher, nor had she been informed or consulted on anything. The summons came the previous evening, inviting Elise and her father to call on Lord Asher at his home at midday. They hadn’t even been invited to dine, just to attend, which meant that they would be expected to leave as soon as their business was concluded, whatever that business was.
Elise walked with her head down, paying little heed to the grand houses or traffic in the street. Her father pulled her roughly out of the way as a fine carriage rattled down the street, the coachman huddled into his cloak and the horses blowing steam as they raced past. It was too early for a gentleman to be going out, so the occupant was likely just returning from a night’s entertainment, possibly at the palace. Had Lord Asher spent the night at home, or had he gone out for the evening to enjoy the amusements the court had to offer? Elise wondered. Would he take her with him once they were wed?
Elise nearly bumped into her father when Hugh stopped in front of Asher Hal
l. The imposing facade was shrouded in soupy fog, and most of the shutters were closed, as if the occupants were still asleep. Elise was surprised to note that the house was built of gray stone, boasting large windows and numerous chimney pots, at least half of which were belching smoke. Fires had been lit in several rooms, by the look of things, so at least the place must be warm.
The building itself was surprisingly modern and nothing like the half-timbered Tudor houses that lined the narrow streets, their overhanging second stories blocking nearly all light and leaving the streets in shadow even on the brightest of days. Imposing wrought iron gates set into a stone wall bore an ornate “A” on either side, a small sign of vanity on the part of the owner. Lord Asher spared no expense in building his London residence, and it showed.
“Are we early, Father?” Elise asked as she surveyed her future home.
“No, we are on time.”
Hugh pushed open the gates and walked down the drive toward the front door. He used the heavy knocker to announce their presence as Elise hovered behind him, her heart fluttering in her chest, which was constricted with rising panic. She considered herself to be a sensible person, but at this moment, she had an overwhelming urge to run and hide. She supposed all brides felt frightened and unsure a week before their wedding, especially if the union was arranged by the families, and they barely knew the bridegroom. There was no reason to fear, she told herself as a servant opened the door and ushered them inside and into a large parlor furnished with several heavy settles and chairs situated against the walls and decorated with lavish tapestries that gave some much-needed color to the dark-paneled room. The roaring fire warmed the parlor, its orange flames dispelling the gloom seeping through the casement windows and providing enough light to supplement the two candles supplied by the servant.
“Lord Asher bids you to make yourselves comfortable. He’ll be down presently,” the servant informed them before leaving the room. Elise removed her cloak and hung it over a chair but remained standing, far too agitated to sit down. Her father pulled off his gloves, shrugged off his cloak, and took a seat closest to the fire. His eyes strayed to a portrait hanging above the hearth. It was of a fair-haired young woman posed in a splendid gown of aquamarine damask, a sweet puppy in her lap.
“Who is that?” Elise asked, marveling at how little she knew of her future husband and his family.
“His wife,” Hugh replied curtly.
“She is beautiful,” Elise said as she moved closer to the fire.
“Was beautiful,” her father corrected her. “You will be his wife now.”
The servant returned a moment later, bearing a tray, which she set on a low table between the two hardback chairs in front of the fire.
“Would you care for some spiced wine, Master de Lesseps?” she asked deferentially.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Hugh replied, holding out his hand for a cup of wine. “Have some, Elise. You need it. It will put the roses back in your cheeks.”
Perhaps her father hadn’t meant to sound critical, but she detected a note of displeasure in his tone. She must look a fright. Elise accepted a cup of wine and took a sip. It was delicious and instantly made her feel warmer. She took another swallow, savoring the delicate flavor of cinnamon and cloves with a hint of honey. The wine warmed its way down her gullet and gave Elise a pleasant sensation in her belly. She’d broken her fast hours ago, before the sun was up, and hunger seemed to be contributing to the effect of the wine, which was making her feel light-headed and languid. She had to admit that she welcomed the alcohol-induced calm. It was better than panic.
Elise had nearly finished her drink by the time Lord Asher finally graced them with his presence. He was elegantly dressed, despite the early hour, in an exquisitely embroidered dark-blue velvet coat with wide cuffs, matching pleated breeches, white hose, and shoes with silver buckles. His wig was in the latest style, long and curly, just like those Charles himself favored.
“Good morrow,” Lord Asher greeted them, his smile warm and welcoming. “I do appreciate you making the journey on such a frigid morning. I hope it wasn’t too arduous.”
“It was no trouble, your lordship,” Hugh replied as he rose to his feet to shake Lord Asher’s outstretched hand.
Lord Asher shook Hugh’s hand, but his eyes never left Elise’s face. He approached her slowly, a smile pasted on his face. Now that he was closer, Elise could see that there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, stubble on his pale cheeks, and the smell of liquor on his breath. Perhaps he’d just returned home from a night’s entertainment. The thought made Elise uneasy, giving her an unwelcome glimpse into what her life with Lord Asher might be if he continued to carouse after they were wed.
“My dear, what an absolute pleasure to see you again. I do hope you’re not angry with me for not coming to see you. I’ve been rather preoccupied with the business of the king, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t dare bore you with the details,” he added, waving his hand in a practiced gesture meant to disarm her.
“Now, if your papa will allow it, I’d like a few minutes alone with my bride.”
“Of course,” Hugh readily agreed. “I’ll just step outside.”
“My man is outside with the signed marriage contract. Perhaps you can cast an eye over it while you wait,” Lord Asher added airily, making it sound as if Hugh was in a position to make changes or demands. They all knew that wasn’t the case, but her father bowed stiffly from the neck, acquiescing to the request and doing everything he could to maintain his dignity.
Elise felt a pang of unease as Hugh left them alone. She didn’t expect Lord Asher to do anything untoward, but it felt awkward to be alone with him. They were strangers to each other, strangers who would be united in matrimony in a week’s time.
“Elise, my dear, I am so pleased that you accepted my proposal,” Lord Asher said as he took her hands in his, squeezing them lightly. “I feared you’d refuse.”
“It was an honor to be asked,” Elise replied. She wanted to smile, but something held her back. There were so many things she wanted to ask this man but instinctively knew that she shouldn’t, at least not now.
“So like your dear mother,” Asher said as he gazed into her eyes. “She was a beauty, you know. I was very sorry to hear of her passing.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Elise whispered. There was a lump in her throat that made it difficult to speak. Elise wondered what her mother would have made of this match. And how well had Lord Asher known her mother? As far as Elise knew, the two never came in contact.
“Please, call me Edward. We are to be man and wife, after all. And speaking of that,” he smiled broadly as he extracted a heavy cabochon ruby ring from his pocket, “please accept this token of my affection and commitment. I expect you must be feeling a bit anxious, but we will be very happy. I promise you that,” Edward said, laying his hand over his heart. “I have every intention of being the model husband, a husband you can grow to love and respect.”
Elise stared at her hand as he slid the heavy ring onto her finger. She had to squeeze her fingers to keep the ring from sliding off.
“There now, it’s official. I suspect you’d like a tour of your future home, but the servants are going about their chores. Best not to disturb them,” he added dismissively. “You’ll have all the time in the world to explore once we are wed. Now, I hate to rush you, but I must attend to His Majesty this morning.”
Lord Asher slipped the cloak over Elise’s shoulders and maneuvered her toward the parlor door, the interview clearly over. “Take good care of my bride, Hugh,” he said with forced cheer as he clapped Hugh on the shoulder in a gesture of familiarity.
“I will see you in church, my sweet.” Lord Asher bent over Elise’s hand and kissed it lingeringly before gesturing to the servant, who sprang to attention and opened the door.
“Good day to you both.”
Elise followed her father back toward the riverbank. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn�
�t this strange, impersonal tête-à-tête. Lord Asher seemed eager to be rid of them, and despite his pretty words, she felt he had absolutely no interest in her. She was young and innocent, to be sure, but she could always tell when a man found her attractive. She’d seen the look of desire in Gavin’s eyes, and there had been a few others who expressed their admiration. Lord Asher barely looked at her. Why the sudden decision to ask for her hand in marriage?
“Father, did Lord Asher know mother well?” Elise asked as they approached the river.
Hugh shrugged. “I don’t believe they ever met,” Hugh replied. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
“That’s a handsome ring your intended has given you,” Hugh said as he took Elise’s hand and appraised the ring. It was large and awkward, and it made Elise’s hand feel heavy. She pulled on her glove, but it bulged beneath the leather, making her hand look disfigured. It was an expensive piece of jewelry, but Elise didn’t care for it one bit.
Elise remained silent throughout the crossing but could hold her dismay back no longer once they climbed into the waiting carriage. “Father, I don’t understand,” she exclaimed. “Why does Lord Asher want to marry me? Surely he doesn’t love me.”
That naïve statement brought a hiss of annoyance from her father, who tore his gaze away from the window and stared hard at his daughter. “Really, Elise,” he said with derision. “Who said anything about love?”
The Lovers Page 6