“You are so brave, my love. So strong. I love you.”
“Seriously, shut up.” I had seen movies about women giving birth but had never actually attended one of those breathing classes. I tried to remember how to do it but ended up sounding like an injured cow.
“That is the bad ‘shut up’ and not the good one, correct?”
“Yes! Stop talking now! And I’m so cold. Why did you take all the blankets off?” Why did this hurt so much? And why did women do this on purpose? Everything about this sucked. What good were these excellent birthing hips if I had to be in agony for hours on end? “I would seriously kill someone for an epidural right now.”
“Epidural?” Hartley repeated.
“It’s a drug that takes away the pain of childbirth.”
“My lady, no such drug will ever be created. Women were meant to feel this pain as punishment for Eve’s sin,” the doctor informed me. Believe it or not, he was actually the best doctor we could find with the highest success rate. Which was why I was willing to put up with his stupidity and not tell him that yes, such a drug would exist someday, and if God really still wanted us to suffer needlessly, he never would have allowed us to have it.
One more thing to add to my stuff-I-was-going-to-invent list.
The pains came closer and closer together and hurt more and more. I sweat. A lot. And screamed. A lot. And pushed. A lot.
And finally, finally, finally, it was done. Over. There was a baby crying, and it awoke something feral and primal in me, and I wanted my child.
“Congratulations, my lord. You have a son,” the doctor announced as he cleaned up my little boy and took care of the aftermath. I reached for my baby, wanting him, and finally the doctor laid him in my arms.
Now I knew why women chose to do this. I looked at this perfect little creature born out of the love that existed between his father and me. He blinked up at me, his dark eyes serious. A rush of love, so strong and so intense, consumed me, and I loved this baby more than my own life. I would do anything to protect him.
I looked up at my husband and saw the same expression on his face—the wonder, the awe, the protective and enduring love. Hartley kept pressing kisses on me and the baby, saying how much he loved us both, but I was too tired to respond.
“That was both the most horrifying and the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. “We should have a dozen more.”
Had I not been so exhausted, I might have kicked him. “It’s a good thing I love you, Hartley.”
“I will love you forever, Emma. And thank you for the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me.”
There was a small blanket lain aside for the baby, and I reached for it, wrapping him up. I was glad for the babysitting I had done and that I knew about swaddling. “Do you want to hold your son?”
Hartley looked both terrified and thrilled. I handed him the baby. “Make sure you support his head and neck. He’ll be floppy.”
I had never been more in love with Hartley than I was when I watched him holding our boy. It changed our relationship in a way I never could have anticipated. Some part of me worried that having a baby would somehow take something away from us, but I realized it would give us more. More love, more family, more happily ever after.
“Where is my great-nephew?” Charles said through the door. “May we all come and see him yet?”
Not yet. This moment was still just for us. There would be plenty of time to meet all his loved ones later.
“What should we name him?” Hartley asked, stroking our son’s soft skin.
“Charles Jaxon Damon Portwood,” I said. “The next Earl of Hartley.”
“Charles Jaxon Damon Portwood,” he repeated. “Welcome to the world, Charlie.”
* * *
Scotland Yard kept going over the security footage again and again, but no one could explain why Emma Damon went into the Rose Room but did not come back out. Bex had called them after Emma hadn’t come home, explaining she was not the kind of girl who stayed out all night, but they had ignored her. It wasn’t until someone at the department put two and two together and realized that the young woman who had tripped a silent alarm at Hartley Hall was the same one reported missing that they had brought Bex to the Hall to answer questions.
But she knew nothing. None of this made sense. She answered the same questions over and over, but it seemed so pointless. Bex didn’t know what to make of it. Had Emma been kidnapped? Hurt? Murdered?
She had long since run out of tears, waiting helplessly, not understanding what had happened to her best friend. She felt a warm, comforting hand on her shoulder and looked up.
Charles Jaxon Damon Portwood VIII.
“I’m so sorry about your friend. But I have something I need to give you. Will you come with me?”
Bex followed him into a sitting room that was off-limits to the public. He closed the door behind him. “Please, sit.”
She sank onto the love seat, not sure what he was doing or why she was here. He sat down next to her, looking very grave.
“Last spring I was given a letter that said I was to hire an American, Emma Damon, for a summer job at the foundation and was given her contact information with the promise that more instructions would follow. Two weeks ago a box was delivered. It was a box that had been in the care of our family’s attorneys for hundreds of years, they claimed. There were specific directions that went along with the box. It was to be given to me, on that date, with a letter.” Charlie reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out an old, wrinkled piece of paper. “You can see how old it looks, but the writing on it seemed modern. It said that I was to find Mary Frances Smith and deliver this box to her today.”
“You . . . you think that’s for me?” Bex wondered whether she was hearing things, as none of this made any sense.
“I do.” He edged closer to her, placing the large box on the low table in front of them. “And I’ve been looking for you ever since the box came into my possession. Last night, when I realized you were the woman I’d been looking for, I ran off to get it so that I could deliver it to you.”
So she hadn’t run him off because she repulsed him. That was at least some small consolation.
“I would very much appreciate it if you could open it, as the anticipation has been killing me.”
Bex understood that. There was no way she could have waited if someone had given her an old historical box and had told her not to open it. She admired his integrity and patience.
The box was wrapped in thick paper, tied with strings that were partially held in place with wax seals. She broke the seals, took off the strings, and carefully removed the paper. The box itself was a beautiful lacquered wood that had the Hartley crest engraved in the top.
For a moment she was almost afraid to open it. As if she knew it held something she didn’t want to see. There was a small latch, and she unhooked it, slowly lifting the lid.
Inside, the box had a pale-blue velvet interior. There was an envelope addressed simply to “Bex.” She recognized the handwriting as Emma’s. Underneath, she found a cell phone and a Mickey Mouse watch that looked really old, sitting on top of a bunch of leather-bound journals. “This is Emma’s watch,” she said, not understanding. “You said your attorneys had this for hundreds of years?”
Charlie nodded. “They checked the dates. It had been in their possession since the nineteenth century.”
She held the phone and watch in her hands, knowing they were Emma’s but realizing that was impossible.
The letter had to explain it.
November 30, 1872
Dearest Bex.
I know you must be worried right now, and my guess is you probably even called the police. But I wanted to let you know that I’m fine. That something unbelievable happened to me, and even though I’ve given you the proof that what I’m saying is true, I know it will be a lot to digest.
Thanks to a magic spell, the last time you saw me (which would have been last n
ight for you) I went back in time to 1816. And I met the most wonderful man imaginable, Jaxon Portwood, Earl of Hartley. It was a bit slow going at first, but eventually he figured out that he was a moron and I was the perfect woman for him and that he loved me and I loved him and we were meant to be together.
I am so happy, Bex. Happier than I had ever imagined. Remember how I always wanted the white picket fence? I got something even better. A man I couldn’t live without and six kids. Three boys, three girls. Our own little Brady Bunch. And so many grandchildren I think I’ve lost count. I knew I couldn’t tell you everything I wanted in a letter, so I kept a journal and wrote in it every day. I figured it would be like you were there with me. I also took a couple of pictures with my phone before it died completely. You probably won’t be able to turn it on, but I’m hoping you can take the SIM card to an expert and off-load the photos so you can see that what I’m telling you is true.
I know you’ve sworn off men, but love is worth everything. It’s the only thing that matters. There was a way for me to come home, but I chose Hartley. And I have chosen him every day since. Even when he drives me crazy. It is worth every heartache, every pain, every fight you must fight to have it.
I think I’m getting close to the end. Hartley has refused to accept it and has threatened to scour the heavens for me if I dare leave him. I take comfort in knowing that he will.
You were my family before I had a family. I have loved you and missed you for decades. More than anything, I want you to be happy. To not bury yourself in work but to find love.
The men in this family are raised to love intelligent, amazing women, and I hope that you will give my great-great-great-great (etc.) grandson a chance. Since you couldn’t find the perfect boyfriend, I made one for you. I told him he’d be a great fool to pass up the chance to get to know you. The rest is up to you.
I love you, Bex. Thank you for being my friend.
Love,
Emma (Countess of Hartley. How cool is that?)
The tears started flowing, and the historian in Bex held the letter away, determined not to get it wet.
Charlie handed her a handkerchief and asked, “May I?”
She gave him the letter, not caring if he read the matchmaking part. It was too fantastic, and she wanted someone else to know what was going on. If it were true, it would certainly explain why the phone and watch looked like antiques.
When she got her emotions back under control, she reached for the first journal. The first entry was dated September 20, 1816, and it began, I think I’m pregnant. Hartley is going to freak out.
Charlie let out a deep breath after he finished the letter. “That was not what I expected.”
“How is that even possible?” Bex asked. “Magic spells? Time travel?”
He smiled as if he knew something she did not. “I have two cousins who might be able to explain it. I recognize this earl’s name. There’s something I should show you.”
“No more boxes with letters from my missing friend,” Bex protested, not sure she could take any more shocks.
He stood up, offering her his hand. “No more boxes. Something better.” After a moment’s hesitation she took it, his hand warm and strong. Charlie looked at their joined hands, as if considering something. “Trust me.”
And strangely enough, the girl who trusted very few people did just that. The young earl led her through more rooms that were off-limits to the public. Rooms Bex didn’t know existed. He turned on the lights in a long portrait gallery and took her to the end of the room.
“I knew I recognized the name.” He stopped in front of a portrait, and Bex gasped.
There was Emma. With her Hartley. Their oldest son must have been about twelve and her youngest daughter just an infant, but all her children had been painted with her. Emma was older but still beautiful. The letter was real. She had gone back in time. Everything she’d said was true.
“She looks happy, doesn’t she?” Bex asked.
“She looks loved,” Charlie said. They stood in silence, staring at the happy family. Bex’s mind hurt as she thought of all that had occurred to make this possible.
And Charlie still held her hand.
“You know, I’ve read some of the papers you’ve submitted to the foundation, and you’re bloody brilliant. I must admit that I have wanted to ask you to dinner for some time, but women as smart and pretty as you are a little bit intimidating. But seeing as how my great-granny wanted us to spend time together, I’d be a fool not to. Not to mention that I think we have a lot to discuss. What do you say?”
It was everything she’d ever wanted Charlie to say to her. It was like magic. “I say definitely yes.”
He gave her a brilliant, knicker-twisting grin and tugged gently at her hand, wanting to lead her from the gallery. Bex looked back over her shoulder, and although she knew it was impossible, it seemed that Emma’s smile had widened, secure in the knowledge of her own happiness, and maybe even in knowing of Bex’s happiness to come.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Authors often talk about “the book of their heart.” Once Upon a Time Travel is that book for me. I first thought of the idea back in 2005. I have always adored Regency romances and chick-lit (which was still a thing back then!) and thought about how much fun it would be to combine the two. Time travel was “out” in the publishing industry and I couldn’t imagine any publisher who would be interested in a paranormal/chick-lit/romantic comedy/time travel book. So I didn’t write it. I had family obligations and deadlines for the small publisher I worked with at the time. I could only hope that the market would change and that someday I would get to tell this story.
Emma and Hartley just sort of showed up and began talking inside my head. I always keep pads of paper around my house to write down snippets of dialogue, jokes or scenes for the stories I’m working on. And even though I had no room in my schedule to write it, I just kept adding to that legal pad of mine. Page after page after page. Multiple legal pads were filled. I envisioned writing a whole series about Hartley’s siblings, and started plotting out James, Jessica and Julia’s stories as well.
Then the indie publishing revolution happened. I had a break in my schedule. I decided that I would sit down and write this story and publish it myself. The most difficult part was organizing all those notes into a cohesive outline (and cutting some things from my notes that didn’t work for the book). When I got to the carriage scene, it was like I could not type fast enough. I had imagined the ending of this book so many times that I experienced the most joy I’ve ever felt while writing. And fortunately, I found a publisher willing to take a chance on this book of mine!
I’ve been told that there wasn’t an 1812 English version of Grimms’ Fairy Tales. There is one in Hartley’s library and given that time travel and magic are real in this story, I figured my readers wouldn’t care about me being a few years off (and who knows? Maybe Hartley translated a version early).
If you’d like to find out when I’ve written something new, make sure you sign up for my newsletter at www.sariahwilson.com. I promise not to spam you. It’s all I can do to get a newsletter sent out even once a month.
And if you are so inclined, I would be most appreciative if you would be kind enough to leave me a review on Amazon or Goodreads.
Thank you!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all my readers—I know this isn’t what I exactly like what I typically write, but I hope you love it as much as I do.
Thank you so much to Mariette Franken at Kindle Press for accepting this manuscript, and to her team for all their hard work. A special thank you to Megan Mulder, who took me out to dinner last July and asked what I was working on. When I told her about my plan to publish this book independently, she didn’t understand why I hadn’t submitted it to Kindle Press even though I had just spent that entire writers’ conference telling every other author I came across to submit there. Thank you to Haley for her editing and suggestions; thank you also to a
uthors Rebecca Connolly and Suzanne Erickson for their comments and excellent copyediting. Thank you to the lovely women who beta read for me and gave me their thoughts. A big thank you to Scarlett Rugers, who went through quite a lot of revisions to get me this absolutely gorgeous cover.
Thank you to the actors I dedicated this book to—Nadia Bjorlin and Jay Kenneth Johnson. There’s some shades of Philip and Chloe in here if you know what to look for. Over a decade ago you guys followed your dreams and created something I absolutely adored. I wrote some fan fiction about my favorite couple, and that first attempt at writing made me believe that I could follow my dreams, too.
To my kids—much as I love writing books, I love you a million times more.
And, as always, all my love to Kevin—I don’t know who or what I would be without you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bestselling author Sariah Wilson has never jumped out of an airplane or climbed Mount Everest, and she is not a former CIA operative. She has, however, been madly, passionately in love with her soul mate and is a fervent believer in happily ever afters—which is why she writes romances like The Royals of Monterra series. After growing up in Southern California as the oldest of nine (yes, nine) children, she graduated from Brigham Young University with a semi-useless degree in history. She currently lives with the aforementioned soul mate and their four children in Utah, along with three tiger barb fish, a cat named Tiger, and a recently departed hamster who is buried in the backyard (and has nothing at all to do with tigers).
For more information, visit her website at www.SariahWilson.com.
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