by Sky Winters
“I did not say that. I said it is impossible for you to love me,” she said, not willing to hurt him by denying the truth.
“Then you do love me,” he teased, gently wrapping his arms around her again.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then how can it be impossible for me to love you?” he asked as he pressed his lips gently to her forehead.
“You do not even know me,” she explained, not sure how she could begin to make him understand.
“I know you. My soul knows your soul,” he said so passionately that it could not be denied. “Tell me you feel it too.”
“Of course I do,” she whispered to him.
“Then stay here with me,” he said as though it was the easiest decision in the world.
“I wish it was that simple,” she said with a sad smile.
“Explain it to me then,” he said, doing his best to be patient with her.
“I have no idea how to tell you the truth without you thinking I am mad,” she said finally after some thought. ”I am not from here.”
“I know that,” he said dismissively.
“No, I am really not from here. I am an art restorer. That is my job. That painting of Celeste I saw in your studio; a client brought it to me. I picked it up to take it to my own studio and suddenly ended up hundreds of years in the past, in the park with you,” she cried, the words coming out quickly, betraying her agitation.
“Are you saying you are from the future?” he said, awestruck.
“That is exactly what I am telling you,” she said, waiting for him to turn his back on her.
“And the painting of Celeste sent you back in time to me?” he asked.
“I know you are thinking that I am crazy,” she said, fighting the urge to run to her room and never face him again.
“Not at all. I am just thinking that it may be the only good thing Celeste ever did for me,” he said with a laugh that warmed her heart.
“You believe me?” she cried.
“I believe that the love I feel for you is strong enough to transcend time and space. It is easy enough to believe it was strong enough to send you back to me,” he said as though it was the most obvious of answers.
“Thank you,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“For what?” he asked, confused.
“For having faith it me,” she answered, eyes gleaming with tears of joy.
“I love you,” he vowed.
“And I love you,” she told him, meaning it with her whole heart.
“I cannot wait to paint your portrait,” he said with a grin as he pulled her in to his arms and sealed their love with a kiss.
THE END
A KISS IN TIME
Chapter One
Caldwell Estate was a beautiful sprawling mansion with red brick out houses and ivy crawling up the walls in intricate creepers. Cynthia pulled her rickety old bug to a stop and stepped out in awe, craning her head upwards to take in the full extent of the mansion. It looked like something out of a Gothic novel.
She wasn’t even done admiring the view before the doors to the mansion were pushed open, and a rotund woman in her mid-thirties stepped out. She was wearing khaki pants and a beige sweater and she gestured Cynthia forward.
“Hello there,” she greeted. “You must be Cynthia Stafford.”
“I am,” Cynthia replied as she walked up the steps. “Are you Mrs. Aston?”
“Ha, I wish. I’m Maggie, Mrs. Aston’s housekeeper,” she said as she veered around and walked back inside, leaving Cynthia with no choice but to follow her. “I’ll be undertaking the preliminary interview, but the final decision will be Mrs. Astons.”
“Understood,” Cynthia nodded as she walked inside.
The mansion was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside. The paintings that adorned the walls looked like they could be a few hundred years old, and there were a few antiques that dotted the colossal room but apart from that, there was an eclectic sparseness to the furniture that spoke of modernity.
“This place is amazing,” Cynthia breathed.
“It’s been standing for several hundred years,” Maggie told her, as she walked her through a door to the left.
The room was much smaller but no less exquisite. Maggie went over to the luxurious armchairs that were set up in front of an elaborate fireplace. Over the fireplace hung a large painting of a handsome young man. His eyes were powder blue and his hair was long, dark and curling at the neck. He was smartly dressed but he looked disinterested as he stared off in one direction with sadness etched across his face.
“That painting is remarkable,” Cynthia said. “So lifelike.”
“That’s William Jameson,” Maggie said. “He was the original owner of Caldwell Estate. It stayed in his family for several generations.”
The armchairs were so soft that Cynthia imagined she could simply sink into them and fall asleep. She didn’t have much time to appraise her surroundings because Maggie cleared her throat suggestively and got down to business.
“Can I ask how old you are Cynthia?” Maggie asked.
“Twenty-three,” Cynthia replied.
“The reason I ask is that you don’t get many young people applying for cleaning jobs… particularly not in places as… high maintenance as this one.”
Cynthia looked around her. “The truth is… I recently lost my job and I realized that I needed… to take a step back and evaluate my life. I saw this job posting and I just thought… it was just what I needed.”
“You lost your job you say?”
Cynthia sighed internally. “I was a singer at a local pub and restaurant.”
“A singer?”
Cynthia nodded. “I’ve been pursuing music for the last seven years… and so far, it hasn’t really worked out for me, which is why I thought I needed the break.”
It was the truth, but it was not the whole truth. Singing had not gone her way, but her love life had stalled as well and that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. She had come home on a sunny Tuesday after a full day of job-hunting to find her boyfriend of three years in bed with her next-door neighbor. It had been the combined disappointment and hurt that had been the impetus for her new attitude.
“I see. Do you hope go back to singing at some point?” Maggie asked.
“I don’t know,” Cynthia replied honestly. “For the first time in my life, I don’t have any plans.”
“This will be a lot of hard work.”
“I know,” Cynthia nodded. “And I’m more than capable.”
Maggie looked her over critically. “I’ll tell Mrs. Aston you’re here.”
She left the room and Cynthia turned her attention to the brilliant portrait that hung in front of her. William Jameson, his name matched his face somehow. He was strikingly handsome, the kind of face that would be on magazine covers or plastered on the walls of teenage girls. There was a refinement, a subtly to his features that suggested character and nobility. They don’t make men like that anymore, Cynthia thought as she turned her face away from his image.
At that very moment the door opened again and a tall woman entered. She had dark watchful eyes and she wore a pale grey sweater set which matched the hints of silver that were appearing at her temples. Cynthia rose and turned to her as she approached. The moment they faced each other, Mrs. Aston stopped in her tracks and her skin paled visibly. It was as though she was seeing a ghost. Cynthia drew forward with concern. “Are you alright ma’am?”
“I… yes… yes I’m fine, thank you,” she replied after some hesitation as her eyes travelled over Cynthia’s face with shock.
“Is something wrong?” Cynthia asked.
“I… no, nothing at all,” Mrs. Aston replied. “You just… reminded me of someone, that’s all.”
“It must be quite a resemblance,” Cynthia said with a smile.
“It is,” Mrs. Aston said with a smile and a nod. “I’d like to take you through the main rooms of the mansi
on so you’ll know what you’ll be expected to do if you get the job.”
“Of course,” Cynthia nodded as she followed Mrs. Aston out of the room.
The mansion was nothing less than extraordinary. It made Cynthia wish she had been born in a different time so that she could have experienced life in a world that held balls and ballrooms, home libraries and stables. As they walked through long corridors and majestic staircases, Cynthia started noticing the number of portraits of William Jameson that hung around the building. Despite the range in clothes and positions and venues, the one thing that never changed was his expression.
“Why are there so many paintings of him around the mansion?”
“Because he made quite an impact during his lifetime,” Mrs. Aston explained. “He was the only son of Joseph Jameson and instead of bowing to social pressure and selling his lands for a handsome profit, he chose to stay on it and allow his tenants to farm the land instead. He educated their children and became a massive influence in society.”
“That doesn’t explain why he looks so sad in his all portraits,” Cynthia pointed out.
“Well, all the portraits in this wing of the house were painted between his twenty-fifth and twenty-seventh birthdays. The stories say that he lost the love of his life,” Mrs. Aston told her. “And after that he lost his smile.”
“Wow,” Cynthia breathed as she looked at his pale blue eyes.
She was looking so hard at the painting that she nearly walked into Mrs. Aston who had stopped a few feet away from her.
“Do you have any previous cleaning experience Cynthia?” she asked.
“I don’t,” Cynthia replied. “But I’m a good cleaner. My mum can vouch for that.”
Mrs. Aston smiled. She looked her over carefully and Cynthia noticed that there was curiosity in her gaze. “If you still want the job… you can have it,” she said at last.
“Really?” Cynthia said in surprise. “That’s great.”
She was about to ask what had made Mrs. Aston give her the job in the first place, but something told Cynthia that the lady of the manor didn’t know the reason to that either.
Chapter Two
Cynthia realized soon enough that cleaning her room and cleaning an entire house, let alone a mansion were two completely different tasks. It amazed her how dust could creep into even the smallest crevices and how it required hard labor in certain situations to get the job done.
The thing that struck Cynthia most was that housecleaning was a lonely business. Most of the time she was the only one in the room, sweeping, mopping, dusting and rotating until she was talking to the furniture as though it could talk back. Loneliness was something that Cynthia could deal with, but the most frustrating thing about the mansion was how incredibly large it was. That meant that at least once a day, Cynthia found herself lost, searching for a door that would lead her back to a familiar room.
In her second week in the mansion, Cynthia was trying to find the staircase that would take her down to the second floor when she turned the corner and found herself facing a narrow corridor that led to a small door. Curious, she walked down and opened the door. The room was enshrouded in darkness but she managed to find a light switch easily enough. As brightness filled the dark space, Cynthia blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust as she took in the strange assortment of antique furniture, Persian rugs and even more portraits and paintings.
It took her only a few moments to realize that everything in the room was either extremely old or very valuable. With her interest piqued, Cynthia moved through the room, examining the brilliant collection that she was surrounded by. When she came to the end of the room, she noticed a sheet had been thrown over another painting.
“Hmm… portrait of Dorian Grey, I wonder?” Cynthia joked to herself, as she reached out and pulled off the sheet.
The gasp caught in her throat as she stared at the woman sitting in the frame. She looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing a pale blue dress with accents of lace around the sleeves and bodice. She was sitting somewhat uncomfortably as though she were not completely comfortable in her skin. She had dainty features, a small nose and porcelain skin that blushed pink at the cheeks. Her hair was fire bright and it had been arranged around her head in a delicate chignon and fastened in place with sapphire blue crystals that matched the blue of her eyes.
Cynthia stared at the portrait, without removing her eyes from her face – a face that was identical to her own. “She could be me,” Cynthia breathed as she took a step forward to get a closer look at her doppelganger.
She was so absorbed in the painting that she didn’t even see the little round table that she walked into. She jumped as it fell to the floor, spilling the contents of its tiny drawer. Cynthia fell to her knees and scrambled to collect the objects that she had dropped. They were mostly pieces of jewelry that appeared to be several generations old. Cynthia handled them with care as she placed them back in the drawer gingerly. She was just about to put back the large emerald ring when she noticed it was the same exact one that her doppelganger was wearing in the painting.
Cynthia stared down at the ring and then at the painting. “This is so strange,” she whispered to herself as she slipped on the ring unconsciously.
It was like the world spun off its axis for a moment, pushing Cynthia off balance. She spread her arms out in an attempt to grab something to hold onto, but she couldn’t seem to find anything close enough to support her. With a burst of light and air so big that it knocked her to the floor, Cynthia waited till the spinning had stopped and the ringing in her ears had faded.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and glanced around her, aware of how much light there seemed to be in the room all of a sudden. She shook her head and blinked to clear away the beads of light that disrupted her vision. When her eyesight focused, Cynthia started to feel as though she were having a bad dream. She seemed to be in a rundown shed of some sort. It looked to be a barn without a door. There was hay stacked to one side and straight ahead, Cynthia found herself staring at open meadow filled with lush green grass that was so vibrant it looked almost unreal.
Cynthia moved forward slowly and peered outside the shed. From where she stood she could see the great form of Caldwell mansion only a short distance from where she stood. It was different somehow; it was like the atmosphere around it had changed. Cynthia realized that it was more than just that, the atmosphere around her had changed.
The sound of hoofs on gravel caught her attention and she watched as a horse drawn wagon drew up outside the mansion. The people in the wagon looked as though they had stepped out of the set of a movie. They were dressed as though they belonged to another era, an era where women never wore pants and men were still gentlemen.
“Oh God,” Cynthia breathed. “This can’t be happening. This only happens in movies.”
She heard footsteps coming from the opposite direction and panic overcame her as she darted around wondering whether to hide or run. Her own appearance jumped into her head as she realized that if she had in fact travelled centuries into the past, then her jeans and t-shirt ensemble would definitely stand out. The footsteps were growing closer and Cynthia felt her panic mount. She froze as the shadow of a man walked towards the shed where she stood.
Cynthia couldn’t believe her eyes when the person turned the corner and she found herself face to face with William Jameson. She realized that his portraits did him no justice. He was far more beautiful than canvas was able to capture and far taller than Cynthia had imagined. He also looked much younger in person than in his portraits, but then, Cynthia had no idea when he had sat for them. His eyes fell on Cynthia and he froze in place as shock flitted across his face.
Cynthia gulped, willing herself to open her mouth and speak.
“I… I…” was all that seemed to come out.
“Who are you?” he said at last. His voice was silky smooth and soft, but it carried.
Cynthia shook her head in an attempt to explain but he
misunderstood and his expression changed immediately to one of concern. “You don’t know?” he asked. “You don’t know your name?”
“I… I…”
“It’s ok,” he interrupted her before she could continue. “Calm down… I’m not going to hurt you.”
That thought had not even crossed her mind, but she didn’t bother to correct him. Instead she stood there as William Jameson approached her cautiously. Apart from the concern, Cynthia could read curiosity written across his face.
“Pardon me madam, but you are wearing the strangest clothes I have ever seen.”
Cynthia almost smiled, but she restrained herself.
“I think we should get you to a doctor.”
“No,” Cynthia said quickly, the word bursting out of her.
William raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You found your voice.”
“I was in shock,” Cynthia said without thinking.
“Why?” he asked.
“I… I just… don’t know how I came to be here…”
“You have no memory of coming here?” William asked.
“No,” Cynthia was forced to lie. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You seem very confused.”
“I am.”
“Then I think it’s best you see a doctor.”
“No,” Cynthia said again. “Please… I just need… some rest.”
He looked as though he was about to argue with her, but then he seemed to think better of it. He was about to speak when a man’s voice cut through the air behind Cynthia.
“Master Jameson Sir?”
William’s eyes darted to Cynthia and his eyes brushed over her clothes, which made Cynthia look down at her clothes too. She was now in a world where hoop skirts, corsets and gloves were the norm. She must look like some kind of scarlet woman to him. It struck her that despite her outlandish appearance he was still being a perfect gentleman. Any other man might have thrown her out on the street. He seemed to take everything in his stride.