by Nichole Van
“Please? I will follow you anywhere you wish to go. Live anywhere you wish to live. Any time you wish to live. My only requirement is you, darling, wonderful, lovely, perfect—”
She silenced him with a kiss. Her mouth soft and yielding. The sweetest honey. He could drown in her, never let her go—
Someone cleared their throat. Loudly.
Jasmine pulled back with a start. Timothy looked past her to the stern man standing behind. The man who looked like he was waffling between tearing Timothy limb from limb and clapping him on the back in congratulations.
Gently, Timothy set Jasmine back on her feet. But she instantly tucked her hand into his.
She extended a hand to the man. “Timothy, this is my father, the real live Aurelius Ambrosius.”
Shock jolted through him.
Aurelius Ambrosius?
The ancient King of the Britons. One of the last. With his silver hair and stern eyes, he looked every inch the part.
As Jasmine would say . . . wow!
She then turned to the king and said some words, introducing Timothy, he assumed. He bowed, formally and politely.
The king said something.
Jasmine grinned. “He wants to know what your intentions are toward me.”
Collapsing to one knee, Timothy placed a fist on his chest. Surely the pose would be self-explanatory for her father. “Beloved Jasmine, would you please do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage? I cannot offer you much more than myself. But that much I give you freely and eternally. Please say you will be my wife.”
Jasmine clasped her hands under her chin. Happiness pouring from her.
“Yes! Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes!”
Timothy jumped to his feet, gathering her into another lingering kiss. Her tears mixing with his own.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I love you so much, and we’re never going to be apart again.”
“Perfect,” he said as she wiped his cheeks.
“Oh! I almost forgot! I have a dowry!” She did that tiptoe-bouncing thing he adored. “Like, a big one with gold coins and jewels and stuff. It’s totally awesome and piratey. I bet it attracts dragons who want to steal it, and you’ll have to wear your armor and ride out with that huge sword of yours to fight the fire-breathing monster. I’ll bring popcorn and watch—”
He laughed, helplessly.
“What?” She looked bewildered. “I’ll totally be rooting for you—”
“I love you, Jasmine Fleury—”
“That’s Maelona Ambrosius to you, buster.” She poked a finger into his chest. “I got a dowry to prove it. I will even consider sharing my pirate horde with some of your people. Though not your awful Uncle Linwood. I’m not that nice of a person.”
“Agreed. No sharing with arrogant family members.”
“I’m guessing that viscountesses don’t have to share?”
“They do not.”
“Good, because I’m probably going to be terrible at sharing you, too. Fair warning.”
“Duly noted.”
“And I know exactly where and how I want to live.”
“With me, I hope?”
She laughed. “Exactly.”
Epilogue
Duir Cottage
1815
Miss Jasmine Fleury married The Right Honorable Timothy, Viscount Linwood in the parish church in Marfield on a sunny Monday morning in August.
For the local population, Lord Linwood’s wedding even eclipsed the excitement of Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo two months prior.
The couple had posted their banns and attended church together for the requisite three Sundays before the marriage. The bride was a complete unknown to the people in the parish—and American to boot—but Lord Linwood was so taken with his bride-to-be, that everyone counted her a blessing.
The bride was radiant in her gown of gold and white. Looking like a woodland goddess, if the whispered words of one old farmer were to be believed.
Lord Linwood certainly looked pleased. He had smiled as his bride walked down the aisle toward him, the first time anyone could remember him doing so. Gaze so full of love, there was hardly a dry eye in the congregation.
Notable guests attended the nuptials, including the Earl of Stratton and his blond wife, the former Miss Georgiana Knight, who was one of their own.
Lady Stratton waxed poetic to one and all about Miss Fleury with whom she had a prior intimate acquaintance. Lady Stratton told wondrous stories about the origins of Miss Fleury’s Welsh family, including her connections to ancient Briton royalty. These claims were substantiated when servants began talking about the enormous Roman-Welsh treasure Miss Fleury brought into the marriage. A chest full of gold and jewels . . . said to rival the dowry of even the wealthiest foreign princess.
Mr. John Linwood and family did not attend the wedding. Gossip was rampant that Mr. Linwood was no longer received by Lord Linwood. Miss Emilia Linwood, who had been betrothed to the second son of a duke, came to her senses and eloped with a handsome doctor four days before the nuptials.
Miss Heartstone, who had been previously betrothed to Lord Linwood, took her broken engagement to heart (pun intended), refusing all other offers of marriage and declaring she would wait for her majority, when she would take possession of her enormous fortune herself. Her mother was most displeased.
But all of this drama was eclipsed by the happiness of the newly wed Lord and Lady Linwood.
Mrs. Arthur Knight doted on her sister-in-law and the new Lady Linwood insisted upon Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Knight remaining in residence at Kinningsley until Haldon Manor was rebuilt. It was said that Mrs. Knight helped Lady Linwood to adjust to her role as a viscountess.
In the months after the wedding, London broadsheets raved about the remarkable new Lady Linwood. Her fey beauty. Her clever wit. Her kind heart. She was declared a nonpareil of the first order.
For himself, Lord Linwood spent weeks closeted with Mr. Daniel Ashton, working on a matter of some privacy. On a Tuesday in September, Mr. Millet, the inn keeper at the Old Boar, was startled to see a large wagon moving down high street, the words Helm Enterprises painted onto its wooden sides. The wagon was said to have turned down the lane to Kinningsley.
The wagon was just the start of a larger merchant enterprise. Lord Linwood had invested in steam engines and cargo transportation, which was now booming with the French threat removed. Helm Enterprises, Daniel Ashton said when questioned, described Lord Linwood’s feeling about his viscountcy—a ship with his lordship at the helm, guiding them all into the future.
No one much cared what Lord Linwood did in his spare time. As long as his lordship didn’t sell their lands out from under them, ensuring they retained a roof over their heads, no one gave the matter a second thought. Though many found comfort in the knowledge that his lordship would provide for them for years to come.
Fall passed peacefully, greens fading to reds and golds, finally giving way to white frost and pillowy snow on Christmas Day.
For the village of Marfield, all was right in the world.
For Jasmine Fleury Linwood, things were a little more unsettled.
She was currently standing in Duir Cottage with guests arriving in less than an hour.
That part was fine.
The problem arose when she had dismissed all the servants to return to Kinningsley . . . and then realized she needed the bread heated.
Which, without a microwave or toaster oven, posed a bit of a problem.
She stood in the front parlor chewing on her cheek, when her husband came through the front door, shaking snow off his greatcoat. Shucking gloves and his hat.
Warm morning sunlight flooded the house, catching the lighter tones in his hair.
She sighed in delight. As she always did when her handsome Lord Linwood walked into a room.
Mine.
He lifted his head and smiled. Dimples deep. Eyes crinkling.
He smiled often now. Easily and readily.<
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And quite scattered every thought from her head each time he did.
Grinning far too widely, Jasmine tripped over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Snuggling against his chest.
For his part, Timothy gathered her close, planting one of those kisses on her head.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
“Almost. Just trying to figure out how to warm bread. Are the others here?”
“Yes. Stratton is just tucking the horses into the barn. How are you holding up?”
“Good.”
“Were you able to communicate with your father?”
Jasmine pulled back a little, nodding her head. “Yes. He and Gwen are doing well.”
Her father—which still freaked her out to say, quite frankly—had made Jasmine promise to never return to their time. It was too dangerous for her. As the portal’s Keeper, she needed to stay in a time and place of peace.
But the ‘No Visiting’ rule did not outlaw letters. Gwen was an avid correspondent and found so many facets of nineteenth and twenty-first century life fascinating. For her part, Jasmine adored having a sister, someone who saw the world as she did. Their relationship such a precious gift.
As for the rest, it hadn’t taken Jasmine more than five minutes to decide to live in the nineteenth century. Though Timothy would have followed her anywhere, she knew he would be happiest here. And if he were happy, she would be happy too.
All traces of Rule-Bound Timothy had disappeared. Though The Look made the occasional appearance. Never at Jasmine herself, but impertinent ladies and boorish gentlemen were on the receiving end of it, particularly if they implied anything rude about his perfect wife. His words.
But at the moment, he was all smiles.
Today was an important day. Hopefully, the first in many such days to come.
The door opened again, admitting Sebastian and Georgiana, followed closely by Arthur and Marianne. Daniel Ashton came in last.
“I’m so excited.” Georgiana clung to her husband’s arm. “I could hardly sleep last night.”
“Me either,” Daniel chimed in. “It’s been too long.”
“Agreed.” Jasmine nodded.
They all took places in the parlor. Timothy and Sebastian leaning into the fireplace mantle, talking quietly about a parliamentary bill. Daniel listened in, offering his opinion from time to time. Georgiana and Marianne instantly dove into a discussion of children.
But tense expectation hung in the room.
And then Jasmine heard what she had been straining to hear. Voices. And then footsteps coming up from the cellar.
James popped his head around the corner first, barely seeing a thing before Georgiana squealed “James!” and threw herself into his arms.
Promptly bursting into tears.
Arthur held back for moment. But James would have none of it and pulled his younger brother into his arms, the three siblings huddled together.
Marianne clasped her hands under her chin, tears in her eyes, leaning into Timothy, who wrapped her close to him.
Emme followed right behind James, and Jasmine ran to her, gathering her dearest friend into a tight hug.
Which meant she missed Kit walking into the room and being caught into Daniel’s arms.
“I have missed you, sister.” He pecked her on the cheek.
Marc and Sebastian had actually never met, so they clasped hands, introducing themselves. James and Emme did the same with Daniel.
It took only five minutes for everyone to start talking over each other. Jasmine’s worry about the cold bread swept aside as they gathered for an informal meal.
As they were dishing plum pudding, James paused and said, “I almost forgot. I was finally able to see what was going on with the Linwood family in the twenty-first century. Seems like your gamble with Helm Enterprises will pay off. The twelfth Viscount Linwood currently resides at Kinningsley which has been immaculately maintained over the last two hundred years. It is listed as one of the finest stately homes still in private hands in the entire country. The viscountcy thrives as few other aristocratic titles do in the twenty-first century.”
Jasmine caught Timothy’s eye as James spoke. Noted the deep satisfaction. The sense of peace radiating from him. He winked, smiling widely.
Before long, the men were talking football. Totally predictable, Jasmine realized. James and Marc taking pains to enlighten those who were uninitiated in the sport.
The women chatted about Isabel and baby Arthur and hopes for future children.
All too soon, it was time for goodbyes.
“I don’t like this.” Georgiana grumbled against James’ shirt.
“Me either,” Kit agreed.
Jasmine shrugged. “It’s not hard to get together. I think a spring equinox gathering would be fabulous. Who’s in?”
A rousing chorus of ‘me’ met her ears.
Several hours later, Jasmine nestled into her husband’s arms on the sofa in front of the fire in their own chambers at Kinningsley.
Snow fell outside, blanketing the world in a quiet hush of twilight. The house eerily still as all the servants had been given the holiday evening off.
“Did you have a good day, darling?” Timothy pressed a kiss into the top of her head.
“Mmmm, yes. One of the best.”
A pause. The fire popped.
“Will you ever regret staying in this century with me?” he asked, voice low in the dim light.
Jasmine chuckled, shaking her head. Timothy pulled back with a questioning look.
“Ah, Timothy darling, there will never be any regrets. I am home.”
A small smile. Dimple-kissed. “Kinningsley feels like home to you then?”
“No, my darling love, Kinningsley isn’t home.” She sat up enough to cup his face with her hands. “Home, I’ve realized, has never been a place for me. It is people. Gwen and my father. Marmi . . . you. Wherever you are, wherever you go . . . as long as I am with you”—she touched her nose to his—“I am home.”
And after a lifetime of wandering, of never knowing her place . . . home was a wondrous place to be.
House of Oak Series
Be sure to check out the rest of the books in the House of Oak series:
Intertwine (James and Emme)
Divine (Georgiana and Sebastian)
Clandestine (Marc and Kit)
Refine (Linwood and Jasmine)
If you haven’t yet read Intertwine, book one of the House of Oak series, click here for a preview.
Author's Note
As usual, when writing a story set in the past, I have incorporated select aspects of history and then blatantly made up others. Though, be warned, there are spoilers in here if you haven’t finished Refine yet.
Some facts that I borrowed from reality and/or history:
Lists of social rules and behaviors, like the one that Timothy Linwood follows, were not unheard of during the era. A generation later, Queen Victoria herself was raised by her mother under what was termed the ‘Kensington System’—though, in her case, the system was intended more to ensure Victoria’s dependency on her mother and chosen advisers—but it did specify behavior as well. Though I did not uncover an actual set of protocol rules from the era, I did study a number of period etiquette books. My favorite being an author who waxed poetic on the baseness and depravity of puns. How could I resist that?
As for Jasmine’s background, modern populations of Celtic descent (Welsh, Irish, Scottish, Cornish, Breton, etc.) are all closely related genetically. Though I took liberties with Jasmine’s genealogy, I assume that a child born around 480 A.D. in Wales would have purer genetic markers than those born today. Additionally, there are several modern day examples of foundlings (i.e. children found wandering without parents or history) in Britain in the mid-1980s. Some of the children still haven’t found their genetic families. The missing children milk carton campaign—which died many years ago in the U.S.—saw more success and held out much longer in t
he U.K.
When it comes to finding the man behind the King Arthur legends, there is no shortage of candidates. The information I present on Aurelius Ambrosius and Riothamus is one of several possible explanations. The topic itself is huge and fills books of speculation, which I will spare you here. In the end, it is unlikely that Arthur was one single man, but rather several men who later contributed (with significant embellishment) to the medieval troubadours creation of the King Arthur myth.
That said, I did try to recreate what a high-born Roman-Celtic house would have looked like circa 515 A.D. Late Roman Britain was a unique mix of Celtic and Roman building styles and customs, more cosmopolitan and Mediterranean than the later Dark Ages. A visit to the archaeological site of Herculaneum outside Naples, Italy was enormously helpful in understanding the layout and interior decoration of Roman buildings.
And while we’re on the topic of King Arthur, let me say that I arrived at that little plot twist in a rather roundabout way. In Intertwine, I had stated that the ancient oak tree had been planted in Roman times, making the tree at least 1300 years old, which is basically as old as an English oak can get. So when I got to Refine, I realized that I wanted Jasmine to have a connection with the portal from an earlier time period. Based on what I had said in Intertwine, that time period couldn’t be any later than about 500 A.D. So if you ask Google what was going on historically along the Welsh/English border circa 500 A.D., you realize that lands you smack in the middle of the origins of the Arthurian legend. How could I not incorporate it all into the story? Also, a small detail I never found a way to incorporate into the storyline. For those who have read the entire series, I had initially intended for the character of Auntie Gray to have a much larger role. But, as happens with a series, that changed over time. For me, Auntie Gray is a descendant of Gwen, which explains her knowledge and understanding of the portal. Though her family are not the Keepers of the portal, they are dedicated to protecting it, as Gwen herself did.