by Kim Bowman
He let out a sigh and exited the coach. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He'd had no choice about returning to the past… and he had no choice about what he did now that he was there.
Chapter Five
The Kringles' home shone like a beacon. Oil lanterns lined the drive and the cobblestone walk leading to the front door. Candles burned in every window, bathing the rooms in inviting warmth. Laughter and festive music drifted from the house, drowning the clip-clop of the horses' hooves as the carriage pulled away.
"How beautiful! Daphne and Diana always raved for days after this ball." Delia bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes full of wonder.
"I'm so glad you've made your come-out and can now attend. I do miss having Diana here to get into mischief with," Tess said, draping her arm through Delia's and leading her up the walk ahead of him.
Why weren't Daphne and Diana here? Why hadn't they come? More specifically, why had he never bothered to wonder before? True, Daphne now had five children who were too young to attend, but surely the governess could watch them for the evening. Diana had but one son, and the lad stayed with his father's parents quite a bit. Come to think of it, Diana spent a great deal of time in Bath for treatments of some sort. When had his sisters last attended a social outing?
Donovan darted a glance toward Tess and Delia. It was as if they were walking out of his life again, and a rush of sorrow and panic settled over him like a thick blanket of fog. Fear had him too terrified to move and alarmed enough to run after them at the same time.
He wanted to yell at the girls not to go inside, scream that no good would come of it. Yet he couldn't. They didn't know what the future held, how things would turn out. The past eight years hadn't happened for them. So how could he possibly explain not only what was going to happen but how he knew it? Delia and Tess would think he'd gone nobbed in the head.
Tess glanced over her shoulder. "Well, Gatewood, do you intend to escort us inside or stand on the lawn?"
The path in front of him stretched on forever. Each step he took came slower than the next. But all too soon he was passing through the door with Delia and Tess, greeting their host and hostess. Blasted time is even more determined than Past Duke to keep me on the same path as when I first attended this ball, whether I like it or not.
"Glad you could make it, Gatewood. Lady Delia and Miss Warren, I'm pleased to have you as guests in our home. Lady Kringle has outdone herself this year." Lord Kringle beamed at his wife. His jovial chuckle echoed around the entryway.
"A ball on Christmas Eve simply must be the event of the season. We're so pleased to have you here." Lady Kringle's gown was as colorful and bright as the decorations.
Delia and Tess handed their pelisses to a waiting maid and then dropped into elegant curtsies.
"Everything looks marvelous." Delia twisted her head in every direction, gawking.
The Kringles had certainly outdone themselves. Even the entryway had garlands and pine boughs on every available surface.
"My lord, my lady, thank you so much for having me," Tess said, smiling.
His breath caught in his throat and that familiar tug on his heart set in. The swirl of pink silk clung to her slender frame. A cream-colored satin ribbon gathered the gown at her waist, accentuating her very female figure. Her gown might not show as much flesh as Delia's scarlet one, but it was definitely more provocative.
"…Christmas pie you like so well, your grace."
Heat crept into his face. He'd missed half of what Lady Kringle had said. With no other choice, Donovan took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. "Thank you, my lady."
The woman's rosy cheeks took on a darker shade. "Oh, your grace." Her eyes perused him in a way that had him squirming. She held onto his hand as if she had no intention of releasing it.
Delia sniggered. Insolent chit. Thank goodness Tess had the mind to lead the girl toward the ballroom.
"I say. The Duke of Bramblewood Green has just arrived. And he's not alone," Lord Kringle said.
Donovan's hand was released as if it were a hot coal. Lady Kringle dropped into as deep a curtsey as she could without losing her bosom. "Pardon me, your grace." She followed her husband out the front door. "Who has he brought?"
Glad to have his hostess's attention focused elsewhere, Donovan set out in the direction of the ballroom. How he hated having to relive the rest of the evening. If only there was a way to avoid it. If only—
He stopped. Delia and Tess had already joined the party. They'd walked arm-and-arm toward the ballroom, whispering and laughing. Happily. If he avoided the rest of the festivities, perhaps that's how the evening would end.
No one was about, and Lord and Lady Kringle hadn't yet returned to their post at the front door. He retraced his steps back outside, careful to make sure he wasn't seen. Once on the porch, he scanned the yard. The Kringles were greeting new arrivals, but they were far enough from the house for him to exit the porch without notice. He walked down the stairs and stepped onto the dewy lawn, into the shadows. Inch by inch, he made his way to the side of the house and disappeared into the night.
Several windows had been opened, and the smell of burning oil and wax mingled with the fragrance of winter foliage. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent languish, amazed when it did. The aromas were so strong, denying their existence wasn't an option.
Laughter bubbled up from a few feet in front of him and he stopped. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even noticed the light shining just ahead. A short stone wall surrounded a small patio. Two girls — he wasn't close enough to tell who they were — sat on the wall, whispering.
As quietly as possible, he stepped close to the house and pressed against it. The cool damp stucco was rough beneath his gloved hands.
"Did you see the Duke of Cumberland lead Miss Kirkhoven from the gallery?"
"Yes! Where do you suppose he's taking her?"
The girls had to be speaking of the Honorable Anne Kirkhoven, the youngest daughter of Baron Wotton of Boughton Malherbe, for she seemed to be the duke's desire of late.
"Somewhere improper, by the look on Lady Wotton's face."
The girls giggled. More like screeched, with the way the sound offended his ears. He was glad when they hurried to the French doors and back inside, taking their cackling with them.
"You do realize you can't fix the future by hiding out here."
Donovan jerked around, startled.
Past Duke stood a few feet behind him. The light surrounding the specter was sure to draw attention to Donovan's hiding spot. The thought of being found in the shadows sent his senses reeling.
In two strides, he reached Past Duke's side and slammed the man against the building, unable to control his rage or his sorrow. "What sorcery is this? What demon are you?"
Their eyes locked for several seconds, and then Past Duke was gone. Sweat beaded on Donovan's face and his hands trembled. Had Past Duke really been here? Had his sanity completely left him? Now to make haste and—
He turned to see Past Duke straightening his jacket. Would he never be rid of the ghostly irritant?
"That was quite rude, considering I'm trying to help."
Disgust and frustration had him quacking. "Help how? By showing me what I've missed over the past few years? Letting me see my sister again, knowing her fate? And Tess… That's cold and heartless. I have no intention of helping me torture me."
"You can't leave. If you do, the future won't be fixed."
"Oh, but I can. If I don't talk to anyone, avoid people altogether — if I do nothing, I can't make the same mistakes again." Donovan puffed out his chest and smirked.
A solemn expression clouded Past Duke's face. Sadness swallowed the light in his eyes, even seemed to dim the halo surrounding him. "Unless doing nothing is what messed up the future in the first place."
Donovan raked his fingers through his hair and cursed. "This is madness. You obviously haven't the slightest notion why I'm revisi
ting Christmas Eve 1812, either. Thus proving my point that this is a dream — a nightmare. So what I do — or don't do — will have no bearing on events that have already happened… things that can't be undone."
Sparks flashed through Past Duke's eyes. "Did I not prove anything by striking you in the leg earlier? I should be very happy to kick you on the other shin to convince you that you are not dreaming."
Donovan narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn't advise that. My leg still—"
He broke off. His left shin did hurt. Surely that was just a trick of the mind, wasn't it?
The obnoxious apparition tapped his index finger on his chin. "Hmm… there's a paradox in there somewhere."
Did it matter if this was a dream, if it was real? Delia was here. She was laughing and happy… and alive. And Tess. How he'd missed her friendship over the years. What could it hurt to play along if it meant a few more moments with them?
Donovan met Past Duke's gaze. The man — ghost — certainly appeared to be considering a kick to Donovan's leg.
Of course he is. He's me, after all.
"This would go much faster if you'd just tell me what I'm supposed to fix."
"Don't you get it? It isn't about snapping fingers and barking out orders to get the results you want. There are real consequences for the decisions you make and the actions you take."
The ghost duke's words struck him like a knife. "I'm well aware that Delia's death is on my hands."
"No, Delia made the decision to run away. We are all responsible for our own actions. Until you realize that, you will be stuck in the torturous world you've created for yourself," Past Duke said.
"Enough with the riddles. Just tell me what I have to do."
Past Duke shrugged. "Make the right decision to fix what you did wrong."
Donovan gritted his teeth. "How will I know when the past is fixed?"
"When your heart no longer hurts." With that, he disappeared.
I'm really starting to dislike him — myself — me — oh for heaven's sake. He let out a string of curses and stomped to the patio and into the ballroom.
Chapter Six
Donovan stepped through the doors of the terrace. The ballroom seemed to resemble the lawn more than a fancy assembly room. All shades of greenery covered every column, candlebra, and wall. Pinecones and sprigs of fir served as centerpieces on the refreshment tables. The fresh scent of evergreen wafted through the air, filling the room with the minty aroma. Tiny pieces of needle-shaped leaves littered the beautifully polished marble floor.
He surveyed the crowd. How things had changed in the past eight years. Did Lord and Lady Kringle still hold their Christmas Eve ball in 1820? Was he still included on their guest list? His secretary Brooks had been informed to decline most of the invitations he received. Attending social events hadn't interested him since—
His blood boiled. Rage coursed through his body. He glared at the dancers. Where was she? No doubt dancing with that scoundrel Roland Melwyn, Fourth Earl of Norcross. Brilliant colors of violet and white and blue flashed in front of him followed by an array of green and red and yellow as the pattern reformed. No pink silk whirling about. None in the second set either. Perhaps in the third — no, there Tess was. And she was indeed dancing with Norcross. How could she have married that lackwit?
He started for the couple only to stop after a few steps. Was he insane? Given that he had not only shared a brandy with himself in his study but was actually reliving Christmas Eve 1812, it was highly possible he had lost his senses. But was he actually about to go so far as to cause a scandal in front of the ton over a dance? What was he going to do once he reached them? Challenge the earl to a duel? And why? Because he was jealous?
Like a hot poker stabbing through his heart, the memory of learning Tess had accepted Norcross's marriage proposal flooded him. He'd been wrong. This wasn't a nightmare. He'd died and gone to his fiery home.
He changed directions and headed to the refreshment table, in need of a stiff drink. To his disappointment, he had to settle for a punch made of champagne and crushed peaches. Tiny pieces of the fruit stuck to his tongue, leaving a tart taste on his palate. What he wouldn't give for a goblet of strong brandy. Perhaps two goblets.
He averted his eyes from the dancers, unable to witness the budding romance between Tess and the earl, and there at the end of the table stood Delia's friend Lady Ivy Plumthorne. She was striking in her purple gown, but she eyed the ballroom door as if contemplating her escape. A sentiment Donovan understood all too well.
He walked toward her, pausing when he reached her side. "Lady Ivy, I trust you will keep my sister in line this evening."
She smiled and curtsied. "I shall try my best, your grace. But Delia rarely makes that an easy task."
"Indeed." He took another sip of the punch and had to resist the urge to smack his lips together to dislodge the errant bits of peach from his teeth. Against his will, his gaze slid over the dancers, again seeking the pink of Tess's gown. "How are your parents?"
"Very well, thank you for asking. Is something amiss, your grace?"
Without taking his eyes off Tess, he replied, "Donovan, call me Donovan. I'm perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"
Lady Ivy laughed. "Because you are scowling at the dancers with a frown so deep it almost goes past your chin."
He stood up straighter and cleared his throat. "Forgive me. My manners seem to be lacking tonight."
"Fortunately, Miss Warren has enough for both of us."
His body warmed at the mention of Tess and he smiled at Lady Ivy. "And what social indiscretion did you commit tonight?"
The young girl blushed and averted her eyes. "I danced the first two with Lord Norcross, being polite, hoping then I could avoid him for the remainder of the ball. Instead, I fear I gave the man a bit more encouragement than I had intended, and he was quite determined that we share a third dance…"
"And Miss Warren…"
"The next thing I knew, she was beside me, squeezing my hand. She smiled at me and then inquired if the earl intended to make her ask him to dance. He bowed and said of course not and led her to the dance floor. As they walked away, Miss Warren winked at me over her shoulder."
So many emotions warred within Donovan that he hardly knew which one to feel first. Pride in Tess's selflessness; her willingness to always put others ahead of herself. Fear that perhaps she did carry an affection for Norcross. The thought had jealousy washing over him like a fiery flame. What a fool he'd been. How had he not seen until now what she meant to him, that he loved her — was in love with her?
He'd played this night over and over in his mind, yet until now had never realized what had been right in front of him. But now… now when facing the truth without having the memories misconstrued by his own interpretation of the events, the torture of realizing what he'd lost was unbearable.
The music came to a stop, and he again scanned the dancers. Even through the scattering aray of colors, he easily spotted his prey. Norcross was leading her back to the chairs. Her eyes met his, and she smiled. The tug on his heartstring was so strong he nearly toppled over to get to her.
A jaunty quadrille started, and couples lined up in pairs. Had he even asked her to dance that night? Not that he recalled. One of the many mistakes he'd made with her. If he'd known that would be his last chance, he would have danced three dances with her, giving her no choice but to marry him. If he had it to do over—
Excitement had his heart thrumming. He did have it to do over! He'd been given a second chance, and he had no intention of letting Norcross have her.
Then he heard it. Faint but strong. High above the crescendo of music. His father's voice, and his heart withered and withdrew deep into his chest.
"…Baron DeRosso to encourage his daughter to set her cap for you. But don't mistake your brotherly affection for Tess Warren as more. Wouldn't want to give the girl false hope. No, for you nothing less than a duch—"
"And where have you been hiding, you
r grace?" Tess asked, pulling him back to the present.
Norcross cackled. A truly undignified racket. "Hiding indeed, Miss Warren. As if one could hide while wearing such a flashy tailcoat. Your tailor has outdone himself, your grace. For surely a strutting peacock with his feathers spread would attract far less attention."
Lady Ivy gasped. "Please excuse me. I do believe I hear my mama calling." She barely took time to curtsey before hurrying away.
Donovan bristled. Heat flooded his face and poured out his ears. Had the earl gone dicked in the nob? Surely the man knew to insult a duke was to commit social suicide. He clenched and unclenched his fist, prepared to knock the smirk from Norcross's face.
"Lord Norcross, I would so enjoy a cup of Lady Kringle's famous punch." Tess's voice was shaky, her face pale.
The earl took her hand and kissed it. "Please, allow me."
Once he was out of earshot, Tess glared at Donovan. "Were you honestly about to engage in fisticuffs with Lord Norcross? You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Me? Madam, I am the injured party."
"Well, what did you expect after you provoked him so?"
"Me? Provoke him?"
"Yes, you provoked him. You glared at the poor man the whole time we were dancing. I was quite certain daggers would fly from your eyes and strike the earl down. What possible reason do you have for such vulgar behavior?"
Because you married him. Not that he could tell her that. The other truth then. That he loved her. "I—"
"No wonder you and Delia always come to blows. Neither one of you can keep your temper in check. And neither one of you can be bothered to say you're sorry, even when wr—"
Delia!
Chapter Seven
Donovan made his way down the row of chairs to the open door of the conservatory. If memory served, she'd be in there with that navy officer, Henry McDaniel, listening to him profess his undying love.
He tsked.