The Goode Witch Matchmaker: Four Sweet Paranormal Romances (The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection Book 1)

by Cate Lawley

  "Not unless I've met the person and read his or her aura, and even then only maybe. But I doubt I've ever read the aura of someone with enough magic to do this. I can't know, but I suspect it would take a very strong magical ability to leave their own signature on top of yours." Mary Margaret took a sip of tea. "Do you have any ideas who might be responsible?"

  "Oh yes. But no proof. Is there anything else or do you want the story now?"

  "Let's see." Mary Margaret leaned forward and rested her forearms on the edge of the kitchen table. "Romance. Any chance there's been a tall, dark stranger in your life?" She must have read something on Beth's face, because her eyes widened. "Actually, I was teasing about the tall and dark—but there is a tall, dark stranger, isn't there?"

  "There is. His name is Edward, and he's not quite so clichéd as he sounds." An image of Edward—solid, comforting, thoughtful—flashed through her mind. "Okay, maybe he is a little clichéd, but only in the best possible ways."

  "You're in love?"

  Was she? Love was such a big word. And she hadn't known Edward long at all. Had she? But she had memories that were greater by far than the few days that had passed since she'd first traveled back in time. If she pushed past the circumstances and looked at how she felt…well, she'd lost her bananas and acted completely out of character when he'd disappeared. She'd bawled, gotten angry, practically threatened some witch. By proxy. Or maybe she'd been incredibly rude to an innocent shop owner's employee. That part wasn't quite clear. Regardless, she hadn't acted like herself. At all. "Maybe just a little bit."

  Mary Margaret gave her an encouraging smile. "Is that so very bad?"

  "I think it might be. We don't share the same world. Literally, I mean. He's from the past; I'm from the present."

  Mary Margaret's eyes widened. "Oh. That's problematic. And that touch of magic I saw makes a lot more sense."

  "Did you see anything else? I mean, besides the magic and romance."

  "I don't actually see romance, per se. It's more a sense of warmth and heightened emotions." Mary Margaret nibbled delicately on a cookie. "And it seemed romantic. It's not exact, what I do. More general impressions than specific pieces of information. A handbook would be helpful, but I don't know anyone else who sees exactly what I see. A few of my contacts see auras, but we all experience them differently." She shrugged. "So I'm stuck with a combination of impressions and past experience with clients."

  "It sounds frustrating." Beth wasn't so sure she wouldn't have permanently filtered out people's auras, maybe even willfully forgotten her ability, if she had a similar talent.

  "Yes, but I like helping people when I can. You asked what else I saw—nothing obvious or clear. People are complex, and we're all made up of so many moving pieces. With regular clients, I can see changes, but I don't have a baseline for you." A cloud fell across her face. "I have seen darkness before, when another person's ill intent begins to muddy or darken a person's aura. If it makes you feel better, I don't see any signs of that."

  "I suppose that's a relief, but I can't help feeling that someone is interfering with my life. Normal people don't have flings with Victorians."

  "Hm."

  Beth couldn't miss Mary Margaret's clear desire to say more. Something held her back. Oddly, given the frank nature of their conversation thus far. Time travel was an acceptable topic for conversation but not whatever Mary Margaret was omitting? Beth couldn't help but ask, "What are you not saying?"

  "Maybe loving someone and a fling aren't the same."

  Beth narrowed her eyes. "It was just an expression."

  "An expression that is much more emotionally distancing than love." Mary Margaret took another small bite of cookie followed by a sip of tea.

  The smell of the strong black tea reminded Beth she hadn't drunk from her own cup in the last several minutes. She took a sip. "Given the precarious nature of my relationship with Edward, distancing myself doesn't sound like a terrible idea."

  Mary Margaret sighed. "That's your choice, of course. But be aware that you're making the choice. Maybe this is an opportunity for love, maybe for heartbreak, but only if you choose to give Edward a chance. Or—you can simply walk away."

  Maybe it was that simple. She could open up her heart—for love or heartbreak—or she could walk away.

  "I can't walk away." Beth's stomach churned at the thought. "I can't."

  And she knew she couldn't. She hadn't enjoyed a man's company this much, since—well, never. Not in the same way. And she could hardly deny the attraction. Which was funny, because they hadn't even kissed.

  "That last bit of advice had very little to do with your aura."

  Beth could feel her cheeks warm. She placed the backs of her hands on them. "It's ridiculous. The man makes me blush. I can't remember the last time a man made me blush. Maybe junior high?"

  A mischievous grin spread across Mary Margaret's face. "When he was alive, my husband could always make me blush. That's certainly not a bad sign. All right. Any other questions? I hate to rush you out, but my tennis match awaits."

  Beth made her goodbyes, and when she tried to pay, found that Hillary had already taken care of it. Her visit had only lasted a half-hour from start to finish. And Mary Margaret hadn't been at all what Beth had expected. Not a psychic, at least not as Beth understood them. Psychics saw the future or communed with the dead. Mary Margaret just saw what was in front of her—more clearly than most people and in ways Beth didn't understand—but looking closely, truly seeing, that was all she seemed to be doing.

  And Beth couldn't believe how much she'd helped. Yes, Hillary believed Beth's story—but Hillary was her best friend. Mary Margaret had not only believed without hesitation; she'd encouraged Beth to consider her feelings for Edward and to make a conscious choice. For the last few days, she'd let events take her where they would, and that had increased her sense of helplessness. It had also probably helped to fuel her anger.

  Beth climbed into her car. First her too-realistic dreams and then Edward appearing and solidifying her feelings and memories, and now both Hillary and Mary Margaret learning of her story. With each step, Beth saw her experiences with Edward—and the possibility of a relationship—as less impossible.

  The lingering mystery behind her travels and Edward’s had been both clouding and hampering her feelings. Thanks to Mary Margaret, Beth had learned that someone with magic had likely engineered the trips. And maybe that meant the interfering magical busybody could get Edward back again. Beth needed to find Glenda, but maybe this time she could keep the anger in check. Mary Margaret had said that no ill intent clung to or had harmed her aura. If Glenda was responsible, and she didn't have an intent to harm Beth, then maybe she'd even want to help.

  Key in the ignition, Beth paused. She wanted her head straight before she left. She'd driven when she was upset earlier, and that simply wasn't safe. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. On ten, she let out an audible breath and opened her eyes—to find Edward sitting in the seat next to her.

  She didn't think, didn't plan, just leaned. And Edward leaned. Then eyes met but only briefly, because the next moment their lips touched.

  Chapter 17

  Edward didn't experience the same sense of disorientation when he arrived in Beth's car as he had on his first visit to the future. Perhaps each trip would be easier. So long as there were future trips…but his thoughts soon deserted him. Elizabeth sat next to him with her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly. There was a certain intimacy to sharing such a small, enclosed space with a woman. And he did’t wish to startle her. But when her eyes opened, he saw no surprise. No, he knew that look.

  That look said, "Kiss me." So he did.

  Breaths exchanged, mouths touching, the slide of fingers through his hair. It had been too long since he'd last felt the touch of a woman's lips. A woman's hands on his body. But he was in a carriage. No, a motorwagon. No, a car. He pulled away but only a fraction, one hand still cradling Beth's jaw. Beth's hand f
ell from his neck to his shoulder, the tips of her fingers gliding along bare skin and then the thin cloth of his shirt.

  He cleared his throat. "I feel I should apologize, but I cannot."

  Her eyes, closed since their lips had met, fluttered open. Slowly, a warm rose color spread across her cheeks. "You definitely shouldn't apologize. Not a faux pas in 2016."

  First the blush and now Elizabeth wouldn't meet his eyes. Kissing in cars might not break societal rules, but it certainly made his Beth uncomfortable. Waking in the future, Elizabeth's unexpected proximity, and the kiss had occupied his thoughts fully. Only now did he realize Elizabeth wore the same clothes as when he'd departed. "How long has it been since I was last here?"

  Elizabeth turned her key and the car lit up. Electricity was everywhere in this world. He followed her gaze to a small clock—numbers rather than a clock face.

  "About three hours. That's unusual, isn't? Although I can't tell you how relieved I am. I was worried…"

  That he wouldn't return. A concern he found increasingly more worrisome himself as he grew closer to Elizabeth. At least she shared that concern, and, apparently, the attraction he'd been feeling. Both excellent pieces in the puzzle of their developing relationship. Now, if only there was a way to ensure his continued travel to this time and place. To Elizabeth.

  Edward glanced down to find his own clothing unchanged. "On each occasion that you joined me in my time, a minimum of one full day had passed. Usually more."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Yes, an excellent question.” Edward shifted in his seat. He seemed to have landed atop an item in Elizabeth's car. "Can you wait one moment?" He waited for a positive response before opening the door and exiting, because he could only imagine how potentially injurious stepping out of a moving car might be, given the speed at which they traveled. Nothing in the seat. He ran his hand along the crease and still found nothing.

  "Ah, can you turn around?" She was suppressing a grin, and Edward felt like he was missing something.

  As he rotated, he recalled his trouser pockets. He'd completely forgotten. He pulled out a leather wallet from his back pocket and lowered himself back into the car.

  "We'll head back to my house for now, if that works. We can regroup there and order some food for dinner." She pulled away from the curb as she spoke.

  "Certainly," he replied, but he was barely paying attention. A small, stiff card with his picture and name held his attention. How…? He pulled it out and examined both the front and back.

  "Whoa." Elizabeth pulled the car to the side of the road again and stopped. "Let me see that." She snatched the small card from his hand and examined it closely. "Can you hand me my purse?" She waved a hand behind her but didn't look up.

  A large bag that in no way resembled a purse was behind her seat. He retrieved it in hopes it was the correct item.

  She glanced up just long enough to find the wallet where he'd placed it in between them. Picking it up, she began flipping through the contents. "Oh my. Oh…if you hunt around in my purse, you should find a wallet." Eventually, she looked up, ready to receive the wallet. Her face had lost all color.

  "You're concerned."

  She flipped open her own wallet and pulled out a similar plastic card. Glancing up, she said, "I am." She compared the two similar cards for several seconds. "What's your full name?"

  "Just as the card states: Edward Zephyrin Stanbury."

  "Zephyrin? That doesn't sound very British."

  Her curiosity clearly was dampened by the revelation of the small cards; he, nonetheless, felt compelled to answer the unasked question. "No. Zephyrin is the name of a distant cousin living in the Americas. A wealthy, distant cousin. He had no direct heir, and my parents were ever hopeful."

  She set both the cards down and smiled, clearly amused by his parents' blatant machinations. "How did that work out?"

  "Quite nicely. He did, in fact, leave the entirety of his estate to myself and another cousin with equally enterprising parents."

  His response had the intended effect, and as Elizabeth laughed, the lines of worry faded away from her forehead. She replaced both of the cards and said, "It's a license to drive, but also what's used in this country most commonly as identification. We'll have to sort out if it's real—-or close enough to real to work. But we can do that later." She gave him a speculative look. "You're not driving anyway."

  Edward lifted both hands. "I wouldn't presume. That hardly seems safe."

  She grinned at his response. "My house and dinner."

  "Lovely." He wasn't sure why Elizabeth found his response amusing. He didn't yet have the skills to drive. Why would he drive?

  As soon as he clicked the safety device across his shoulder, the car surged forward at a very fast pace—and he discreetly clutched the armrest for the entirety of the trip.

  Chapter 18

  "There's a journal." The words slipped out as soon as Beth focused her attention on the road. Easier to admit having read a person's private thoughts when not looking them—him—in the eye. She wouldn't have mentioned it, but it was almost certainly part of the magical equation that had produced their time-traveling adventures.

  Her phone picked that moment to finally find a GPS signal, and spat out directions in a crisp male British voice: "Head north toward Smith Avenue."

  "What is that?" Edward asked. He sounded more alarmed by her navigation app than anything else he’d encountered.

  Beth could feel her ears turn pink as she pressed the mute button. She shouldn't be embarrassed that the voice spoke in a British accent—except she'd just changed it. And only after her first visit back in time. But Edward didn't know that. He didn't even know what GPS or mapping applications were. She cleared her throat. "Directions to my home. I've never been to this particular place before, so the area is unfamiliar."

  "If you don't find the disembodied voice unsettling, I presume its ability to convey directions verbally while your hands are otherwise occupied is convenient." Edward gave the phone a skeptical look. "What were you saying about a journal?"

  "I only read the first few pages, and then…" Beth swallowed. Each page had taken so long to decipher because of the faded ink, and she'd felt like a spy. As the car rolled to a stop, she glanced at Edward. But instead of showing any recognition of the journal, he was still eyeing the phone with suspicion. "I muted it; I turned the sound off."

  "I see."

  Beth held back a sigh. She should try again, shouldn't she? It took her another five minutes before she mustered the nerve. When she glanced at Edward to see if he might have already guessed where she was going with the journal question, she noticed him grasping tightly at the armrest. She slowed down to a few miles under the speed limit. "Did you—do you—keep a journal?"

  "I did for a time. Writing each day provided an opportunity for activity at a time when I needed a distraction." He loosened his hold on the door and visibly relaxed his shoulders. "One becomes accustomed to the quickly passing scenery, I presume?"

  "I would think so. You don't get motion sickness, do you?" Beth hadn't even considered that possibility. How much more terrible was motion sickness in a speeding car versus a much slower carriage? She could only imagine.

  "No, no. The speed is mind-boggling, that's all."

  Beth glanced at the speedometer. Forty-five miles per hour. Faster than the fastest horse. Luckily, she could easily enough skip freeways en route to her house. But forty-five as mind-boggling… "We'll need to have a chat about interstate highways at some point."

  Edward nodded. "Do you keep a journal?"

  Darn. She'd almost managed to let the topic drift away.

  "No," Beth said. "I was asking because I've wondered—I'm sure you've wondered—how this all happened. And when I was speaking with a friend—Hillary…"

  "Your friend who telephoned earlier?"

  "That's right. Hillary and I thought that perhaps a journal I recently purchased from a vintage shop might have somet
hing to do with it."

  Beth turned onto her street. Glancing at Edward again, she saw that he'd become very still.

  "I can't fathom how a journal could aid in transporting a person through time. Regardless, you believe the journal might be mine." Edward looked out the car window as Beth pulled into the driveway. They'd arrived. "I only ever had the one. I've never been a prolific writer, even to the point of eschewing lengthy correspondence. It's currently housed in a writing desk in my study."

  Beth pulled the key from the ignition and clutched it in her hand. "I only read the first few pages, but once I realized…I didn't read further. If it is your journal, I'm sorry."

  "If you stopped reading when you learned the journal was the writer's attempt to cope with the grief of losing a wife and unborn child, then there's little doubt that the journal is mine." Edward turned away from the window back to her. Looking at her hand, he said, "You'll hurt yourself." Then he cupped her clenched fist in his hand. Slowly she relaxed her fingers, and he took the key.

  Perplexed, Beth looked at her hand and saw the angry red indentions made by the key's teeth. She rubbed the marks absently. She hadn't realized.

  "Truly, it's not your fault," Edward said. "Writings from earlier eras have historical value. And I'm surprised you would have considered the privacy of a man long dead."

  "There was something…" Beth couldn't remember exactly why she'd stopped. "A connection, maybe? And I felt like I was intruding, but not because of the content. I didn’t read…well, I didn’t read that far."

  "If you felt a connection, then perhaps there is some truth in the journal playing a part in our time traveling." Edward gave her a speculative look. "You're certain you don't have some power, some technology that triggered our transport through time?"

  Beth suppressed a grin. Cell phones and navigation apps were enough to convince him that time machines were a possibility. It was a little bit funny, from a twenty-first century perspective. "I'm sure. That's just as fanciful a concept today as it was during Queen Victoria's reign. I promise." But the brief flash of humor didn't last. His wife had died. His baby. It made her stomach hurt just thinking about it. "I'm so, so sorry for your loss."