by Sy Walker
Chapter 7
The next day Dalton arrived early in his carriage to collect Gwendolyn and Violet for their excursion to the park to paint. His loving sister met him in the foyer, her eyes sparkling.
“It is a beautiful day,” Gwen observed after embracing him.
“Yes, the light is lovely to paint in,” Dalton remarked, though his eyes were not on her as he spoke. He was looking about, waiting for Violet to arrive.
“Yes, I am sure painting is what you have on your mind Brother,” Gwen smirked.
“I do not know what you mean,” he replied, though he did finally look away from the staircase long enough to give his sister a warning glance.
“I think you do,” she said with a knowing look.
“Where is Violet?” he asked impatient to see her again.
“She is upstairs. I have not sent a servant to fetch her yet,” his sister explained, though she usually would have upon hearing his carriage arrive. She needed a few moments alone with her brother first.
“Why on earth not? We will lose the light,” he demanded, annoyed to be so close to Violet and yet unable to see her.
“What are you doing with her?” his sister asked, her chin raised as though she was challenging him to lie to her.
“Not a thing. I am just trying to make her feel welcome,” he said, though he did not meet her eyes when he spoke.
“Is that all?” she asked, eyebrows raised and hands on her hips.
“Of course,” he said, much too adamantly to be believed.
“Because if you cared for her, it would be one thing,” she began, but he was quick to interrupt her.
“How could I care for a strange woman that we just met days ago?” he asked, throwing his hands in the air as he spoke.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “if you cared for her it would be one thing, but if not then you need to be careful. She is alone in a strange place and she is a part of my household. She is my responsibility and I will not see her taken advantage of.”
“I would never do that. I would never hurt her,” he said, betraying with his eyes just how much he cared for Violet.
“I have seen the way you have burned through woman since Celeste broke your heart. It's like you have been on a mission to break as many hearts as possible,” Gwendolyn accused, unable to ignore her brother’s past.
“I would never do that to her,” he vowed.
“Why not?” she pushed, forcing him to face his feelings.
“She is different,” he explained, but his sister was not content with his vague answer.
“Why? What makes her different?” she continued, her eyes unblinking as she stared at him and awaited his response.
“She is special,” he said, smiling at the thought of Violet and all the things that made her so different than any woman he had known before.
“That seems a lot like caring,” his sister said with a gentle smile as she placed her hand gently on his arm.
“I do not like where this conversation is going,” he said, shaking his head and trying to push away the thought of how sweet it would be to have Violet as his own. He had sworn when Celeste broke his heart that he would never give another woman the power to do it again and he had no intention of breaking that vow.
“Just be sure you know what you are doing. She is in a vulnerable position here. I will not see her hurt,” Gwen said, looking very much like their mother as she scolded him.
“What if I did not hurt her?” he asked, unable to shake the image of Violet from his mind.
“Then I would be very glad that you were letting yourself care for someone again,” she said as she hugged him tightly.
“I do not know if I can,” he whispered to her.
“Try, Brother. I think she might be your last chance,” she warned as they heard footsteps descending the stairs. They stepped apart and Dalton looked up to see Violet standing there, the light behind her making her glow like an angel.
“Hello Dalton,” she said from the landing above him, her eyes locked on him.
“Violet,” he whispered, unable to say anything more as he had thoroughly lost his breath upon seeing her.
“Let's get going. The servants have packed us a picnic,” Gwendolyn said, pulling the lovers from their moment.
“Let us go then,” Dalton said, offering Violet his arm as they moved towards the carriage.
Chapter 8
They had been painting in silence for nearly an hour when Gwen could no longer stand her boredom.
“How can you both be so focused?” she asked as she fanned herself.
“It is just so lovely here,” Dalton said, though his eyes were not on the landscape he was to be painting. Instead, his gaze was focused on Violet as she painted. She was so immersed that she did not realize he had eyes only for her. With her face bright with the joy of painting, she had never been lovelier.
“And it is so good to be painting again,” she said without taking her eyes from her canvas.
“Well I need a bit of conversation. I saw Lady Tarkington and her daughters settle in for a picnic just over that knoll. I should go and say hello,” she said as she rose from her seat on the blanket beside Violet.
“Would you like us to accompany you?” Violet offered, finally looking up from her work.
“No, keep at your art. I will be fine,” Gwen said as she began to walk away.
“Are you sure sister?” Dalton asked. The spot they had chosen was removed from the other picnickers around them by a tall hedge and there was no denying that it was inappropriate for a chaperone to leave them along in such a secluded spot.
“Absolutely,” Gwen called over her shoulder as she walked away.
“You have remarkable skill,” Dalton said once his sister was out of hearing range.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him with a bright smile that took his breath away.
“When we first met, you implied that you do not paint anymore,” he reminded her, unsure how anyone with her skill could walk away from their craft.
“I have not done work of my own for some time,” she said, though her attention was once again focused on her canvas.
“Why on earth not?” he asked, shocked.
“Because it does not pay,” she said as she put her brush down and looked up at him, unsure how to explain it to him.
“What does a lady need funds for?” he asked, clearly confused by her explanation.
“It is hard to explain,” she said, afraid that he was going to push her further for answers that she could not give him.
“Well whatever it is, I think you should always do artwork of your own,” he said, sensing her apprehension.
“Thank you,” she said, rising and going to sit beside him. She stared at his canvas for a moment and her heart skipped a beat. The canvas before her echoed the bright and joyful canvasses she had seen in his studio from the time before his heart was broken and it have her hope.
Impulsively, she kissed him. At first, he froze in shock at her boldness but it did not take him long to recover. Gently, he pressed his body against hers as he eased her on to her back. He lay on top of her, his mouth locked on hers while his right hand caressed her sweet breasts and his left rested on her hip holding her right where he wanted her. They were so far from all the other picnickers that it felt as though they were completely alone and they took full advantage, devouring each other’s kisses. Her hands traveled the strong muscles of his back before she wound them in his dark hair, something she had longed to so since she first set eyes on his shaggy locks.
“We have to stop,” he gasped.
“Why,” she murmured, trying to pull his mouth back down towards hers.
“My sister will be back any minute,” he said, using all of his restraint to pull himself up and off of her.
“Alright,” she said as she sat up. She looked so delightfully mussed and her lips were so thoroughly inviting that he could not help but pull her to him and kiss her again.
“Ok, now we really have to stop,” he said as he broke their kiss, though his roaming hands had found their way to her backside.
“You are the one who has his hands on me,” she said with a giggle.
“I know. Saying a thing and actually doing it are very different things,” he said, burying his hand in his hair as he tried to move away from her.
“I hear your sister. Now we really do need to stop,” she said, rising and returning to her seat so that Gwen would be none the wiser.
“Damn her,” he said under his breath as he tried to right his hair.
“She is your sister,” Violet said, doing her best to straighten her dress just as Gwen came in to view.
Chapter 9
The next night, many guests streamed in to Gwen and Martin’s townhouse for her annual ball. It was the one event that Gwendolyn had insisted that Violet allow her to buy her a new dress for and Violet could not deny that the silver dress was the loveliest garment she had ever warn but she was anxious about being surrounded by so many strangers. To escape the commotion, Violet had taken refuge in the garden and it was there that Dalton found her when he arrived.
“My sister said I could find you here,” he said, grinning at her. Dressed in all black, he looked like temptation personified.
“I just wanted to get some fresh air before her guests arrive,” she explained, her arms wrapped around herself as a shield against the summer breeze.
“You look stunning,” he said, moving closer to her. He tried to take her in his arms, but she stepped away.
“Thank you,” she said, unsure what else to say to him. She had gone through the full range of emotions since the day before. She was so excited by all of the passion and caring that he stirred inside of her, but she could not ignore that he was a man who held all women to blame for the one who broke his heart. She was in a tough enough position without heartbreak to add to it. She was not at all sure what to do. Her heart wanted her to run to him, but her brain was telling her to be caution.
“My sister told you about Celeste didn't she?” he asked.
“Yes, but only in the broadest of terms,” she answered, not wanting him to be angry with his sister.
“Well then let me fill in the gaps. I loved her beyond reason and she threw me over for an elderly Duke with a fat bank account and a fatter waistline,” he said with a smirk, though there was not the anger in his eyes that she had expected.
“And she broke your heart,” she added, unable to leave the words unsaid.
“Yes and I have been taking it out on the whole world ever since,” he said with a sad smile.
“I am sorry that she hurt you,” Violet said, fighting the urge to wrap her arms around him.
“I am not, because if she had not then I would never have found you,” he said, closing the distance between them and pulling her close to him.
“What are you saying?” she asked in shock.
“Painting with you yesterday was the first time I have been truly happy since she broke my heart. I finally felt like myself again and it was because of you,” he explained, his face looking peaceful.
“I am sure that it was not because of me. Time has healed your heart,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“No, you have,” he insisted, taking her chin in his fingers and forcing her to look at him as he spoke.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means that I am very much in love with you,” he said with eyes full of hope and love.
“This not possible,” she said, pulling away from his embrace.
“Are you saying that you do not love me?” he asked, already knowing that she did.
“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
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 e
laborate 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.