Moonlight Wishes In Time

by Bess McBride

  The full moon shone brightly as it crowned the sky in a large, round sphere of luminescence. Mattie pulled her robe tightly around her as a cool breeze brought goose bumps to her arms.

  “Well, Mr. Moon?” she asked whimsically. “Any ideas? Where do you think I can find a Lord Ashton?”

  She tried again. “How about it, big boy? You can see everything from where you are. Is there any man like that out there for me? Asking you the same question? Do they even make men like that anymore?”

  Mattie leaned her arms against the railing and ignored the lights of the condominiums across the sidewalk—so close she often wondered if she could throw a coin onto the balcony opposite. She was pretty sure, however, that she didn’t want to throw a coin onto the balcony opposite to test the theory. Coins were pretty dear at the moment, especially since Tom had moved out. He’d helped with a few of the living expenses—groceries, anyway.

  “Hey, up there!” she called out. “Are you listening to me? How about a sign? Some hint that this isn’t the rest of my life!”

  A dog barked in the distance and a door slammed somewhere. Mattie waited, half expecting the moon to actually drop the man of her dreams onto her balcony.

  The dog barked once again. Then it was silent. Mattie held her breath and listened. Nothing. No sign. No riding-booted footsteps. No tall figure in yellow silk pantaloons and a blue cutaway coat magically appeared on her balcony. No raven-haired man arrived to pull her into his arms.

  She shivered in the cool night breeze and hugged herself. Living in such a vivid fantasy world wasn’t good for her—she realized that. She was fully aware she had to stop her obsession at some point in the near future, and return the book to the library. Take up knitting, watch TV, study calligraphy.

  Mattie’s mind raced with a number of activities she could and should pursue—activities that would be much more productive than fantasizing about a character in a book who could never exist outside of the imagination of the author…and readers.

  With a last pleading look at the unresponsive moon, she sighed and turned back toward the door. Her knees buckled, and she felt herself falling.

  MOONLIGHT WISHES IN TIME

  by

  Bess McBride

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Moonlight Wishes in Time

  COPYRIGHT 2013 by Bess McBride

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact information: bessmcbride@gmail.com

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  Published in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by Bess McBride

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Bess McBride

  Together Forever in Time

  Across the Winds of Time

  Jenny Cussler’s Last Stand

  A Train Through Time

  A Penny for Your Thoughts

  Caribbean Dreams of Love

  A Trail of Love

  On a Warm Sea of Love

  A Shy Woman in Love

  A Sigh of Love

  Love of My Heart

  Dedication

  For all my time-travel romance reader fans. Here’s something new for you. I sincerely hope you enjoy it!

  For Diana Coyle, who has helped me in immeasurable ways, including beta reading this book for me!

  For Tamra Westberry, who always does such wonderful covers for me. As I always tell her when she delivers a masterpiece, “You get me, you really get me!” This cover is no exception.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for purchasing Moonlight Wishes in Time. Moonlight Wishes in Time is Book One of the Moonlight Wishes in Time series, a series of Georgian-era time-travel romances featuring time travel by moonlight.

  Like many of you, I grew up reading Regency romance novels, especially Georgette Heyer. While I cannot pretend to do justice to Georgette Heyer’s work, here is my humble attempt at a Georgian-era romance. Moonlight Wishes in Time is set in England in 1825 following the Regency era.

  Although I am American, I am an Anglophile in that I love all things British and Irish. I love the lyrical language of Georgette Heyer’s and Jane Austen’s dialogue, and I enjoyed trying to incorporate some of the dialogue into my own story while keeping the book a little more “readable” for modern-day romance enthusiasts. My advance apologies to my British and Canadian reader friends who will note that the majority of the story is written and spelled in “American English” though the majority of the characters are English.

  I know that I, like many of my fellow time-travel romance readers, have wondered: What if I traveled back in time somehow and fell in love with someone from the past? What would I do if he asked me to stay with him…in his time? Could I really give up all the things I’ve grown up with—the comfortable amenities, modern medicine, clean water, sanitation? Matilda Crockwell from Moonlight Wishes in Time wonders that very same thing.

  The other thing I’ve always wondered is what would it be like to be as successful and prolific as Georgette Heyer! But that’s another story…

  Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way!

  You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at bessmcbride@gmail.com, through my website at http://www.bessmcbride.com, or my blog Will Travel for Romance.

  Thanks for reading!

  Bess

  Prologue

  William Sinclair stood in the garden of Ashton House with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at the moon and wishing for he knew not what. A vague, ill-defined sense of yearning, of longing, plagued him, but he could not put a name to his desire. He was not happy. The course of his life was not as he might have wished. He felt…empty. Without joy, without hope. Incessant dinner parties and country balls, dreary evenings of cards and drink, and the attentions of vapid young women who fawned over his fortune no longer held any interest for him. He grimaced and shook his head. No, that was untrue. They had never held any interest for him.

  Perhaps it was time for him to take a wife as his mother wished. Perchance a wife would help fill the void. But which one of the insipid young ladies in his circle could possibly interest him for a lifetime—or even for one month? It seemed as if each one been educated by the same governess in the arts of fanning, blushing and pouting. None of the young women his mother invited to her parties appeared to have even the slightest notion that a gentleman might want a companion of intelligence and conversation, perhaps even a bit of wit.

  Other than his sister, and occasionally his mother, he had yet to meet a woman who made him want to smile or laugh. As was expected, most of the young ladies i
n their circles were encouraged to make advantageous marriages. Too often, he had seen the desire for wealth and luxury in their eyes.

  He did not fault them for desiring to better their lives, but he had hoped for so much more from a marriage. His parents’ marriage had been tolerable—perhaps they had even grown fond of each other over the years—but they had not loved each other. As a young girl, his mother had been urged to marry his father for position and comfort, and she had acceded to the dictates of her parents.

  He supposed it was possible the yearning to be loved for all that he was—in the absence of riches—was the thing he desired most in the world. How else would he know whether the lady loved him, or loved his fortune? He was not, however, of a mind to dispense with his estate to prove the thing, nor could he as his family depended upon him.

  “When will you grant me that which I desire most?” he murmured to the moon. Knowing from long practice no response would come, he turned away with a restless sigh to return to the house, at present gaily lit for one of his mother’s dinner parties. A dinner party in which his mother hoped he would meet his future wife.

  He tripped over something soft and pliable on the ground and cursed as he sought to avoid injury to the creature by leaping over it. Losing his balance, he fell, rolled over onto his knees and came up sputtering. One of the dogs? Injured?

  “What in the infernal blazes—” He jumped to his feet and peered at the pale, fluffy creature rolled up into a ball. The lights from the house cast a faint glow on the animal. No, not an animal. Long hair flowed away from a white face. A woman? Surely not!

  Chapter One

  Fresh and squeaky clean from her shower, Mattie Crockwell shook out her still-damp hair, climbed into her favorite overstuffed easy chair and settled in to spend another evening with the man of her dreams. She tucked her beloved tattered pink thermal blanket around her legs and eyed the novel on the small table beside her chair with anticipation.

  As she had every night for the past several months, she opened the well-worn library book and leafed through the pages until she found her bookmark.

  “The moon shines for us because it has given me my heart’s desire.”

  Mattie mouthed the hero’s words as she read them for at least the twentieth time. She was sure she knew almost every word of dialogue by heart. Hokey, her practical side said. Purple prose, she’d heard it called. But she didn’t care. In the privacy of her own bedroom, no one needed to know about her secret fantasy life in the Georgian era. That was just for her.

  Luckily, the library computer had not balked at her fifth consecutive three-week renewal. The out-of-print book wasn’t available for her to have as her own, to possess, and she occasionally toyed with the idea of just not returning it.

  But that was the wrong thing to do, and Mattie tried very, very hard not to do the wrong thing. Thanks in large part, she suspected, to her parents’ Midwestern values.

  As she had so many times before, she turned to the cover to study the colorful depiction of the hero—a tall, raven-haired man whose distinctive cheekbones, chiseled jaw and broad shoulders screamed confidence and assurance. The heroine—a voluptuous redhead with masses of flowing curls, impossibly long dark eyelashes, and a graceful swan neck—luxuriated in the capable embrace of Lord Ashton of Sinclair House as he lowered his face to hers.

  Mattie sighed and resisted the temptation—yet again—to plant a kiss on the hero’s face. Had she given in to her whimsical urges, it was likely the cover of the book could have rapidly approached the conditions of the Blarney Stone in Ireland—not that she had ever seen that icon in person. She read on.

  “And mine! Now kiss me, William,” the heroine breathed.

  Mattie rolled her eyes, as she always did. Okay, so the dialogue could improve, she thought. She remembered her mother giggling when she read passages of her favorite romance novels to then sixteen-year-old Mattie. Mattie had dutifully groaned with the scorn of youth, but read every single one of her mother’s books as soon as she stuck the finished novels in a bookshelf.

  Mattie’s chest ached in that way it always did when she remembered her mother—gone over a year ago from ovarian cancer. She pressed her lips together, took several deep breaths, and allowed the pain to ebb—a skill she’d developed when her father had died only a year before her mother.

  She returned her attention to the cover and ran a loving finger across her hero’s face. Lord Ashton’s story had not been in her mother’s collection of paperback novels, and Mattie had happened on it in the library one day—probably a donation from a little old lady cleaning out her house. The book was older, originally published in the 1850s, with numerous reprints over the years. However, Mattie had checked at the library, and discovered it was, sadly, out of print. No biography was included in the book, and the author had used initials, making it hard to determine whether the writer was a man or a woman. She suspected a woman. I. C. Moon. Isolde Claire Moon? Isis Catherine Moon? Worse yet…Ichabod Crane Moon?

  Mattie smiled to herself, shook her head, and for the next two hours, she reveled in the passionate embrace of Lord Ashton until she reached the end of the book with a sigh of regret, tempered only by the certain knowledge that she would begin at page one again the following night.

  A shake of her shoulder-length hair revealed it had dried, and she laid the book down with care and rose from her chair to prepare for bed. Six a.m. would come early, and all too soon she would awaken to discover she had only dreamt of being in the arms of the handsome Lord Ashton. The only excitement in store for her tomorrow evening was the thought that after her bath, she would settle back into her chair once again with her novel—and Lord Ashton.

  A quick check of her closet satisfied her that her clothes were ready for work the following day. A light blue blouse and dark blue slacks with matching sweater were free of wrinkles and ready to slip on, despite early-morning bleary eyes unable to differentiate between black and blue slacks.

  Mattie stepped into the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush and loaded it with organic mango-orange tartar control toothpaste. As she brushed her teeth, she wondered about dental hygiene in the Georgian era. Did they have something like toothpaste? Toothbrushes? Surely they did, she thought. Oh, surely they did!

  She rinsed her mouth and surveyed the bathroom—a nondescript standard apartment configuration of bathtub/shower combination, sink and toilet. Her book didn’t quite address hygienic matters, and she wondered if she could manage to live in the Georgian era without her favorite organic toothpaste, soft toilet paper, body lotion, makeup remover or hot running water. Not a chance, she thought! Not a chance!

  The tinkling sound of her cell phone set her on a run toward the nightstand next to her bed. She dived onto the luxurious pillow-top mattress and caught the phone on the fourth ring—just before the call went to voice mail. A check of caller identification revealed it was her friend, Renee.

  “Hello. What’s up?” Mattie said, as she rolled over onto her back and stared at the white and brass ceiling fan whirring silently overhead.

  “What’s up is I’m sick and I’m not going to work tomorrow,” Renee said on a ragged voice, which deteriorated into a deep cough.

  “You sound awful,” Mattie said with a wince. “Did you just come down with this? You sounded fine at the bank on Friday.”

  “I was fine on Friday,” Renee wheezed. “Some customer must have given me the cold. I keep swearing I’m going to use antibacterial hand wipes after every transaction, but I never do.”

  Mattie chuckled. “I already do. I told you to start using something before. And now look at you.”

  “Yeah, look at me. Thanks for the sympathy.”

  “I am sympathetic, pal. Really. Lots of sympathy. Do you need anything? Medicine, anything from the store?”

  “No, thanks. Mike went to get me some cold medicine earlier. I took a big dose and now I’m going to pass out. I just wanted you to know that you’re on your own driving into work tomorrow.�
��

  “Okay, kiddo,” Mattie said. “Take care of yourself. I’ll call you tomorrow night and see how you’re doing.”

  “I’ll probably be dead.”

  Mattie laughed. “Okay, well, let me know the date for the funeral.”

  A chuckle followed, which deteriorated into another choking cough before Renee managed to squeak out a good night.

  Mattie set her phone back on the nightstand and climbed off her bed to wriggle out of her robe. She laid it on the foot of the bed, turned out the bedside lamp and slipped under the comforter.

  Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed the room seemed abnormally bright. Moonlight streamed in through the open-curtained window, and she debated climbing back out of bed to close the curtains or pull down the blinds.

  She turned away from the window and squeezed her eyes shut, eagerly anticipating the arrival of her nightly dreams with Lord Ashton. But the bright moonlight hit the white wall opposite the window, reflecting off it and into her eyes. Restlessly, she turned over onto her back and draped an arm over her face to block the light.

  Lord Ashton… Where are you? Lord Ashton… You can come any time. She waited and willed, fervently hoping she wasn’t doomed to return to the long, lonely nights of tossing and turning she had known over the past year.

  Blissful sleep continued to elude her.

  Frustrated, Mattie jumped out of bed, pulled the blinds down with a yank, let the curtains drop, threw herself back under the covers and slammed her eyes shut. Her heart raced with all the activity, and she took several deep breaths to calm down. She waited again, holding her breath, willing Lord Ashton to come. Pent-up air escaped her after a moment, and she settled for some more deep breathing.

  Five minutes passed…or an hour, she wasn’t sure which. Had her luck finally run out? Would this be the first night in months she wouldn’t dream of her beloved Lord Ashton?