Saving Lord Avingdale

by Lisa Kumar

  He glanced around at his surroundings, but they offered no solace or answers. The white walls had never seemed colder or more impersonal. No, he alone would have to decide the next step.

  Though carrying out his plan would be hard, he knew what he had to do—he just hoped Maryanne would understand and forgive.

  ***

  It seemed her misery was here to stay.

  Maryanne sulked around the halls of Intellitravel’s medical facility, hoping and dreading to catch a glimpse of Jonathan.

  The day of their decision loomed ever nearer, and since their falling out two days ago, she hadn’t spoken one word to Jonathan—and not for the lack of her trying.

  He did everything he could to avoid her, even going so far as to turn in the opposite direction when she headed his way. That hurt her more than she could ever say. It was like she’d ceased to exist in his eyes. She was nothing, no one, to him.

  But the sense of betrayal was the worst.

  She thought she’d found someone who had liked—no, loved—her, faults and all. It had all been a ruse on his part, though. But to what end? That, she still couldn’t figure out.

  If she had her way—and she would—she’d have it out with him. She’d been afraid to force a confrontation—afraid of what he might say. But this not knowing ate away at her until it threatened what little composure she maintained.

  Two nights of sleeplessness weighed on her. Already, dark bruises of color highlighted the bags forming underneath her eyes. How would she look by Monday—the day Jonathan went back with or without her?

  The echo of footsteps caught her attention, and she glanced behind her. Carson strolled up, quickly closing the distance between them.

  “Hey, Carson,” she greeted, her tone listless, as he walked along side her. When had he gotten back from his business trip? He’d left in the evening after his talk with her and Jonathan.

  “Are you heading to the launch room?”

  She stumbled to a stop, her gaze flying to his face. “Why would I go there?”

  A small furrow formed between his eyes. “Avingdale didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “We’ve moved the date up. Well, actually, Avingdale did—said he wanted to return one way or the other and that you both decided you’d remain here. For some reason, the bosses granted his request. He’s leaving in fifteen minutes.” He shook his head in apparent disbelief before pinning her with a stare. “You sure you didn’t know? Avingdale said he’d tell you.”

  Hurt gripped her in a vice, while her stomach churned with nausea and lightheadedness danced around her. “He didn’t say a thing,” she all but gasped out.

  “Uh-oh.”

  She tried to grab a coherent thought. “So he’s decided to go home to die? Or is he being allowed to take up his cousin’s identity?”

  “The last I knew, you had to return with him so he could assume his cousin’s life. Maybe that’s changed, but I doubt it.”

  Shock had frozen Maryanne, and she could only gaze at Carson, dumbfounded. Then the words “fifteen minutes” penetrated, and she sprinted down the hallway.

  Her heart beat in her throat, and blind horror filled every nook of her body. No matter what option Jonathan might’ve been able to pick—both were wrong, though she didn’t know which terrified her more. His death or his desertion?

  Her hands fisted, and she swallowed a sob. When she found him, she’d— She’d what? Slap him, give him a piece of her mind? Hug him? Kiss him? She wanted to do all that and more.

  After a few long minutes, the entrance to the launch room stood before her. The door was closed, and her hand went for the knob. The door wouldn’t budge. Even flashing her security access card didn’t do a thing. Fear skittered up her spine. The only time the door was locked against security cards of her level was when a launch was imminent.

  She knocked on the metal door, trying to grasp any sense of calmness she could. The urge to bang on the smooth surface nearly overpowered her. “This is Maryanne. Please let me in.”

  A voice—Jonathan’s voice—said, “Leave it locked. Please don’t let her in.”

  All pretense of calmness evaporated. She pounded on the door. “Jonathan, let me in. You can’t do this. You can’t make this choice—whatever that is—for the both of us.”

  Anxiety clawing at her, she waited for his response until she feared he wouldn’t give one.

  “I already have,” he said, his voice barely a whisper through the distance that separated them.

  She laid siege to the door again. “Don’t you dare—”

  A whoosing sound, followed by a crackling noise, froze her hands in mid-strike.

  The world crumbled around her. He’d done it. He’d gone back. Just like that. For a few seconds, her numb brain refused to process anything else but those facts. But emotion soon returned, and she collapsed onto the floor, gut-wrenching sobs ripping from her throat.

  He left me behind. He went back to die, she chanted over and over, rocking back and forth. With a blinding surety, she knew that was what he’d done—he’d gone back to die. And she’d never be sure why.

  Strong arms encircled her and lifted her up. Her heart skipped a beat. Jonathan? But before she even looked up at her comforter’s face, she knew the truth. The man’s touch and his very feel were all wrong. Though she’d normally shy away from the contact, right now she didn’t care.

  Carson shushed her. “It’s okay. You’ll see.”

  That only made her bawl harder. Nothing would ever be okay again.

  He held her until she had no more tears left. Suddenly becoming aware of the public display they were offering, she pushed herself away from him and wiped her wet cheeks on the sleeve of her shirt. “Thanks,” she said, sniffling. “I need to go back to my apartment now.”

  To wallow in her pain and shut out the world. If she ever saw another person, it would be too soon. Though, at some point Carson would track her down if she holed up.

  “I don’t think you’re in any state to drive,” Carson said, shaking his head. “Why don’t you stick around for awhile?”

  “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

  “Do me a favor and stay for a bit.”

  “Why?” Frustration rolled through her. Couldn’t he see that she wanted to be left alone? She wanted to bury her face in a pillow? Was that too much to ask?

  He gave her a small, mysterious smile. “Humor me. I think you should stay.”

  Maryanne scowled. Carson always said cryptic things, not that she ever put any stock in them. Well, not most of the time. He was eerily right more often than not, though she preferred not to acknowledge that. Humoring him was the last thing on her mind, though. “I’m not in the mood,” she said, turning away from him so she could leave.

  “Mood has little to do with it.” When she kept walking and didn’t respond, he went on, “You’re supposed to go back.”

  She swung around. “What? You know there’s no going back. That’s a fool’s dream now.” It was one she should’ve gladly taken with both hands, but that realization came too little, too late.

  “You’re so ready to give up.”

  She stared at him, disbelief at his words cutting into her like an axe. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “You’re supposed to go back,” he repeated.

  “Go back? How and to what? Jonathan is dead by now.” She was no fairytale heroine who’d have a happy ending. Prince Charming didn’t exist—only a man long dead.

  “Are you so sure?”

  Anger exploded in her chest. Was Carson really that dense? “How can you—?”

  The launch room door slammed open, hitting the wall. The rest of her heated words died on her lips. A pale Jonathan, dressed in Regency finery, staggered out into the hallway.

  Sure she was hallucinating, Maryanne blinked, then blinked again. But his image didn’t disappear. Instead, the Jonathan look-alike lurched closer.

  When a firm hand gripped
her arm, she nearly jumped out of her skin. He was real? Those long, elegant fingers clasping her arm looked and felt like the real thing. But…but he was dead, and she was sure he wasn’t a ghost. How was he standing before her? And more importantly, would he disappear? So many questions, and no answers. There was only one way to fix that.

  “We need to talk,” Jonathan said, stealing the words out of her mouth, but since she hadn’t regained coherent speech yet, she only nodded.

  Carson walked up to them and slapped Jonathan on the back. “Glad you’re here. I’ll let you two talk in my office.” With a parting smile, he strode past them.

  The trip to Carson’s office was quick, which she was thankful for because all the questions bouncing around her head were driving her crazy. Happiness that he was there grappled with anger over what he’d put her through.

  As soon as Jonathan closed the door, she rounded on him. “What is going on? Why are you back?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “There was a malfunction. I’ve gone nowhere and won’t without you.”

  That was a nice sentiment, but did she dare believe him? “Why did you leave without talking to me? How could you make that decision independent of me?”

  “I didn’t make it—” He broke off his words, sighing. “I know I have some explaining to do.”

  “You bet you do.”

  “Please hear me out.”

  “For a few minutes,” she said, stepping a few feet back from him. She didn’t want his nearness to sway her in any way.

  He remained rooted where he was and seemed to be collecting his thoughts before he spoke. “The day that we went to the café, I’d come to a realization that—” He broke off and paced in front of her for a few moments. “Confound it, this is much harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Why?”

  “Sharing emotions isn’t easy for me.”

  A sprinkle of hope kindled. “You think it is for me, either? Before I met you, I never did emotion. It was something I actively tried to avoid.”

  “The same could be said of me. Well, I guess we’ll both bumble through this together,” he said, offering her a soft, yet heart-stopping smile.

  She swallowed, her throat raw. When he phrased it like that, how could she say no?

  Apparently taking her silence as acquiescence, he continued on. “It was on that day that I…discovered the depths of my feelings for you. I found I loved you and wanted nothing more than to claim your hand in marriage, but….”

  Her hope had unfurled like a blossom, only to curl back into a tiny, shriveled thing. There was always a “but.”

  Apparently seeing the disappointment and pain shining on her face, he held up his hands in a placating manner. “No, it’s nothing that reflects badly upon you. After I admitted my love for you, I thought about our future and realized I couldn’t promise you one. I didn’t even know if I’d be alive in a few weeks’ time. Also, I couldn’t predict how you’d receive my suit. I knew you cared for me, but enough to leave your world?”

  He shook his head and gave a short, dark laugh. “I discovered that answer later that day. You looked so horrified and frightened at the thought of returning with me. I knew I could never force your hand, so I closed myself off from you. I had a hard choice to make, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it around you, never mind stay true to it.”

  Her heart thumped so loudly she had to struggle to hear him. His words…they were everything she could’ve hoped for. He hadn’t tried to go back to die because he didn’t want to spend his life with her. No, he’d tried to go back because of her, to sacrifice himself for her happiness. His actions were humbling and enraging at the same time. That he loved her so much floored her, but how could he make such a decision without knowing how she truly felt?

  He stared at her, hope gleaming in his eyes, and she knew she should say something. “I know my reaction was less than enthusiastic,” she admitted haltingly. “But most of it really was getting used to the idea. For some stupid reason when I pictured any possible future, I imagined we’d be together in my world. Silly, huh?”

  “No, not silly. We all have inherent assumptions.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. “Yes, and yours was majorly flawed—to think I’d prefer your death over having to join you in your time.” She huffed, her frustration building again. “Your assumption nearly landed you in a grave.”

  Something she would label as remorse flashed over his face, and he glanced down for a moment. “I know. Only by good fortune it did not. That was when I realized I had to be completely honest with you.”

  “No more deciding for me?” she asked, a slight bite to her voice.

  Placing a hand over his heart, he bowed. “You have my vow I won’t make important decisions without your counsel.”

  She couldn’t help the small smile she gave him. “Good.”

  “My lady is pleased?”

  “Very.”

  He gave an answering grin and stepped toward her. She didn’t retreat. When he reached out and took her hand in his, she sighed, happiness rippling through her.

  She became so lost in his eyes, their depths pulling her ever inward that she almost missed his next words.

  “Maryanne, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife when we return to my time?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said through a throat tight with emotion. “Yes, definitely yes.” In a daring move, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.

  He laughed and lifted her chin up. “Then that’s settled.”

  His mouth came down on hers, and she responded whole-heartedly. They alternated between slow, gentle kisses and more passionate ones until they were both breathless. When they came up for breath, she laid her head on his shoulder and knew beyond a doubt she was ready to give up her modern life. She’d follow him nearly anywhere.

  Though the future was unknown and scary—she purposely hadn’t looked into what the past might hold in store for them since they’d arrived in her time—she had Julia and James and, most of all, Jonathan. When she felt homesick, and she knew she would, she’d have Julia and Abigail to sympathize and reminisce with. All in all, that was more than enough and far more than she had here.

  When she said as much to Jonathan—except for the part about his grandmother because she wanted to drop that on him later—he nodded solemnly and framed her face in his hands. “You’re still giving up much. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you never regret it.”

  Happy tears sprang to her eyes. “I couldn’t ask for more, then.”

  Holding her hand firmly in his, he guided them toward the door. “Let us go and find out when we can return and start our lives.”

  She smiled at his words. Our lives. That had such a wonderful ring to it, and the living of it would be an adventure—one she’d meet with relish.

  Epilogue

  Maryanne breathed in the fresh afternoon air and looked at the remnants of their picnic lunch spread out on the blanket. Jonathan and Correlton had polished off most of the food. Only a few larger crumbs littered the plates. It still never failed to make her smile when she saw how much the two fit men could put away. Though she and Julia had eaten their fill, they hadn’t come anywhere close to the men’s gluttony. In Julia’s case it was understandable, as she was just overcoming her daily bout of morning sickness.

  Her friend now lounged on her side, a sleepy expression on her face. Jonathan and Correlton were similarly sprawled out on the blanket, while Maryanne leaned back against the trunk of a tree. The gurgling stream behind them offered up a soothing white noise, and even Maryanne’s lids were starting to feel heavy. Though it was a sunny day, the leaf cover overhead provided plenty of shade.

  This had to be one of her favorite places on Jonathan’s ancestral seat of Bradington Hall. The stream meandered through the “wilderness” that lay outside the manor’s formal gardens.

  But in truth, she loved the whole estate, whi
ch was only a four-hour carriage ride from Cranston, which was something she never thought she’d appreciate so much. She and Julia had become quite close, and Maryanne would even go so far as to say Julia was her best friend. Well, if she discounted Jonathan, who was more than a best friend. He was her husband.

  At times, she could barely believe she and Jonathan had been returned from the future nearly eleven months ago and had been married for five of those. Of course, the Ton knew Jonathan as Bertram, and his face had been slightly altered. But to her, he’d always be Jonathan in their private moments.

  Fortunately for both of them, Bertram had been a handsome fellow, and every bit as good looking as Jonathan in his own way. Her loving gaze swept Jonathan’s face, and a thrill zipped up her spine that this man was hers in every way. Maybe his features were a tiny less rugged, but his coloring was still the same. And any extra muscle Bertram had “gained” could be explained away with an active life.

  Best of all, no one was suspicious. Since Correlton and their grandparents, the Duke and Duchess of Hartfield, had supported Jonathan fully, no other peer had dared utter any reservation.

  As for Maryanne’s acceptance into Society, Intellitravel had created the proper documents so she actually appeared as if she was born in the States and came from good, even if not from noble, stock. Again, it didn’t hurt that Jonathan’s powerful grandmother, Abigail, had taken Maryanne under her wing. Up until her marriage, Maryanne had stayed with Abigail and her husband. This arrangement had given her and the new Bertram the appearance of a more than favorable introduction followed by a quick and intense courtship.

  Her attention was ripped back to the present when Correlton sat up and regarded his wife with a smile. “Would you like to stroll?”

  Julia covered a yawn with her hand. “I’d love to. If I lie here much longer, I’ll doze.”

  Concern flashed over Correlton’s face. “If you are tired and would rather rest—”

  “And waste this beautiful afternoon?” She shook her head. “I’ll take a nap when we return to the manor—I promise.”