by Sandra Heath
Taking a deep breath, Kathryn began to relate everything. “To begin with, I’m not the Rosalind you married, I’m not even from this time, but from a future century.”
Her worst fears were instantly realized, as with a gesture of disgust he got up again. “Oh, dear God above, what’s this? The outlandish plot from a fourth-rate play? Or are you just plain mad?”
She caught his sleeve desperately. “Please, you promised to hear me out!” she cried.
“Then credit me with a little intelligence. I expected a rational explanation, not a badly adapted Gothic imbroglio!”
“This is no adaptation, and I’m certainly not mad!” She held on to his sleeve. “You promised you’d listen. Please observe your word!”
Reluctantly he sat down once more. “Very well, proceed if you must, but I warn you, only a fool would be taken in by the sort of nonsense you’ve uttered so far, and I’m certainly not a fool!”
“I know you aren’t, which is why I pray you’ll believe me,” she whispered.
“You have my word I won’t interrupt again.”
Chapter Thirty
Kathryn summoned her courage once more. “As...as I was saying, I’m from a future century, and my real name is Kathryn Vansomeren. I’m American, and all this started on a hot July day in New York.” She paused as he gave an impatient sigh, but he didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Richard and I had another argument, one of many, and ...”
“Richard?’’ he interrupted sharply.
“My husband in the future, Richard Vansomeren. He’s an architect.”
“I trust he has sound knowledge on the construction of lunatic asylums?” he observed caustically.
She lowered her eyes, and pressed bravely on. “We had another argument. He wanted to postpone coming to England on vacation. I got angry, and said I’d come on my own. We’d been having all sorts of problems with our marriage, and on top of that I was having trouble at work as well.”
“Work?” His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“I... I was a...” Her voice died away. How on earth did she explain what a TV reporter was? “Oh, it doesn’t matter what I mean, all that matters is that the argument ended with me saying I was coming to England anyway. So three days ago I left New York for London.”
Dane’s eyes swung quizzically toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to question something—probably the three days, which must seem impossible to him—but he decided against it.
She went on. “When I got to Gloucester, I had the oddest feeling of déjà vu.”
“Already seen?” he said, translating literally from the French.
“Yes, it was like I’d been in Gloucester before, but not quite. Oh, I don’t know how to really explain, except it turned out the place where I was staying in the future was Alice Longney’s cottage here in 1815.”
“I might have known she’d be involved in all this,” he murmured.
“She figures very much indeed, for it has all been her doing. Anyway, I went to bed that first evening, and something woke me at about midnight. I looked out of the window and saw someone else reflected in the glass instead of me. It was Rosalind. She—she’d been meeting Thomas Denham there while you were dining with George Eden, the bishop, and so on.”
A nerve flickered at his temple, but that was all the response he gave.
Kathryn stumbled determinedly on, for she had no choice now she’d gotten this far. “When...when I say it was Rosalind I saw in the glass, what I really mean is that it was me, but looking and sounding like Rosalind. To all intents and purposes Kathryn Vansomeren had become Rosalind. Thomas was taken in, he didn’t detect any changeover, and expected me to behave as warmly toward him as Rosalind would, but I couldn’t because all I could think was how much like Richard he was. When he touched me, I felt nothing. Anyway, he left, and Alice promised me a night of excitement and passion with you. Well, I half-thought I was dreaming it all, and so I went along with it. Excitement and passion was something I didn’t get from Richard, but I knew somehow that you were everything I’d ever wanted. I felt it from the moment I heard your name, and then, when I actually saw you...” She smiled as she remembered.
“Do continue, madam, for I vow you have my interest,” he prompted wryly.
“I had your interest that night, too, didn’t I?” she replied. “When we made love, it was wonderful. I’d always longed for lovemaking like that, and suddenly I had it. When Alice woke me the following morning, I didn’t want to go back to my own time, I wanted to stay with you and make love forever. But I didn’t have the choice, I was whisked to the future again. Then I started finding odd things. Someone had tidied the place, looked though my things, and called Richard on the phone, saying all sorts of nice things to him. Don’t ask me to explain about phones,” she begged quickly.
“I have no such intention, any more than I mean to inquire exactly how you managed to be in New York three days ago. The voyage across the Atlantic takes at least three weeks, and that’s when the winds are fair. I imagine you have an oversized broomstick.” This was added drolly.
“No,” she replied with a small smile, “but it doesn’t matter really, because future methods of travel have no bearing on what I’m telling you.”
“Why? Because an impossible three days for such a long voyage is a glaring slip of the tongue?”
“Could you explain everything about your time to someone medieval?” she countered. “That person would know nothing of stone-hardened highways, swift mail coaches, and so on. Nor would he know of things like telegraphs, which are quite an impressive novelty to you, but virtually obsolete to me.”
He smiled a little. “The point is made, so pray continue.”
She looked anxiously at him. “Do you believe any of what I’m saying?”
“What do you think?”
“The you imagine you’re humoring a madwoman.”
“No, Rosalind, not mad, just clever. I’m put in mind of Scheherazade, who was also mistress of amusing tales.”
“Scheherazade told beguiling stories because she wished to earn the love of the man who heard them,” Kathryn pointed out quickly.
“Oh, touché, my dear. I had no idea you were mistress of the swift riposte as well, but it so happens that Scheherazade saved her life with her cleverness.”
“I am intent upon saving our happiness, Dane,” she said quietly.
“I could almost believe you, but then I’ve never really known you, have I?” His tone was bitter.
“How can you know someone you only met for the first time a day or so ago?”
“That’s what you’d have me believe. Well, you insisted on saying your piece to the end, so perhaps you should continue.”
“All right. The phone call Richard received purported to be from me, and was full of such conciliatory overtures that he called back and left a message for me, saying he longed for me to go home early as I promised. I couldn’t understand it, because as far as I was concerned, we’d practically drawn up battle lines the last time we spoke.”
“The poor fellow sounds as bemused and misled as I am. He has my sympathy,” Dane observed trenchantly.
“The ‘poor fellow’ as you call him hasn’t done badly out of all this, believe me—in fact, he’s done very nicely, although he doesn’t know it yet. Anyway, I decided not to think about the messages for the moment, because I wanted to visit Marchwood, and see how much of what I’d ‘dreamed’ was really there. Right away I noticed things I couldn’t have known from the information leaflet, and—”
“Information leaflet?”
“Um...a very brief guidebook?”
He nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, I noticed these things and became nervous, because until then I was convinced you were a dream.”
“Dream? Or nightmare?” He said softly, catching her eyes.
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” she replied, and then went on. “When I arrived I lost
my nerve a little, I decided to have some coffee, and I met one of the guides.”
“Guides? At Marchwood?”
“In the future Marchwood Castle is a place where people pay to be shown around. I know there are grand houses like that in your time as well, but in my time no one lives here, it is owned by— Oh, I don’t know who it’s owned by. The government? Anyway, it’s no longer a private home, and anyone can see inside it. Now, where was I...?”
“The guide.”
“Oh, yes. Well, she told me about the duel. I didn’t know about it until then. Anyway, I went on the tour of the castle, and saw your portrait in the great hall. I thought how much I wished you’d come to life again so I’d be with you, and suddenly it happened. One moment I was Kathryn Vansomeren, the next I was Rosalind again. You were angry, because you’d found out about the note to Thomas.”
“So the note was to him, not to Mrs. Fowler?”
“Yes, but I didn’t write it, Dane. The real Rosalind did.”
“Ah, but you were as glib then as you are now,” he pointed out. “Your explanation was swift and believable. ‘It was to my dressmaker,’ you said, deftly conjuring salvation from nowhere.”
“I know, but in my defense I can only say that I didn’t do anything. I wanted to be the wife you needed, because I was already halfway in love with you. No, more than halfway, I think I loved you from the moment I saw you the night before. Listen, Dane, I know how improbable all this must sound, but it’s the truth, I swear it is.”
“Improbable is the correct word, for I cannot imagine how anyone—except a writer of lurid novels—could invent such a far-fetched tale, not when Bedlam is the usual consequence of such ranting. So, proceed, madam, let us hear it to the bitter end.”
“When I heard about Jeremiah Pendle, something told me I had to meet him, that’s why I wanted to go with you to the drawing room. I also had a very odd feeling about the open window in the drawing room, it was something about the way the wind rustled through the ivy against the wall. It was a premonition, I guess. Anyway, when Pendle came in, I saw him look at the pistols. You were just putting them away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“So he knew where they were kept, which was useful later when he forced Talbot to do his bidding. Anyway, I didn’t like him in the least, I could feel that he was your enemy.”
“He has little cause to like me; after all, I did kill William Denham,” Dane pointed out.
“Yes, and Pendle was just waiting for an opportunity to do you harm. He found it useful that Thomas called you out. Anyway, that’s to come. I stayed a while, and then went to my apartment, after making you promise to come to me. Do you remember?”
“No man could forget,” he murmured.
She felt a warmth enter her cheeks. “Nor any woman,” she added softly, and paused to take a deep breath before speaking again. “When you left me, I returned to the portrait in the hall, and Alice was waiting. I tried to get her to tell me what was really going on, why it was happening to me, and so on, but all she’d say was that I’d know everything in good time. She also told me that she had second sight.”
He lay back on the grass, gazing up at the branches overhead. “So the old witch is exactly that—a witch,” he murmured.
“Something very close to it,” Kathryn agreed, “but without dark intent.” She glanced down at him, thinking she detected a change in his attitude. Was he beginning to accept what she said? She pressed on with the story. “Actually, Alice was something like a witch, but she isn’t now. Her powers ended at midnight last night. Anyway, she told me nothing could prevent you from finding out about Rosalind and Thomas at the sailing of the Lady Marchwood, but if I wished to see you again before then, at the Waterloo ball, I was to be at a certain place in Cheltenham at a certain time. That was all, because suddenly I was in the future again, and Alice had turned into the guide I’d had coffee with earlier. By now I naturally wanted to find out all I could about what went on in 1815, so she, the guide that is, directed me to the library in Gloucester. I went there and researched the ball, the maiden voyage, and...the duel.” She was glad he didn’t ask questions, for she didn’t want to mention Jeremiah Pendle’s diary—not just yet, anyway.
She continued. “That night I went to the place Alice said in Cheltenham, and came back to 1815 again. As Rosalind, I kept an assignation with Thomas Denham. I tried to change things by saying I loved you and was going to stay with you. That’s when...”
“Yes?”
She looked down at him as he lay on the grass beside her. “That’s when he mentioned the baby,” she said quietly. How would Dane take such news? To the deceived husband, surely the only thing worse than the actual betrayal was to learn that it had borne fruit?
He met her gaze, and she could see the trees reflected in his eyes. His face was very still. “Don’t stop now,” he said softly.
“I... I took fright then, and ran back to the hall, where I found you.”
“And where you once again gulled me into trusting you, so much so that we made love in the carriage on the way back to Marchwood, and then all through the night after that.” Suddenly he pulled her down beside him, and then leaned over her, sliding a knowing hand over her breast and caressing her through the delicate muslin of her gown. “This was how it was then, mm? Sensuous delights until dawn ...”
He bent his head to kiss her parted lips. He gave her no quarter, employing his considerable skills to tease her into response. The blood began to flow hopefully through her veins and her mouth softened willingly beneath his. Her nipples hardened eagerly at his touch, and her whole body warmed with the swift desire only he could arouse. A sigh escaped her as he moved onto her. He was going to take her right there on the grass! It had to mean he believed her, and that everything was going to be all right!
How wrong she was though, for everything was far from right.
Chapter Thirty-one
There wasn’t to be any abandoned lovemaking on the grass, because he hadn’t forgiven her, but was merely punishing her again as he had the night before.
For a moment he allowed her to feel the hard erection pounding at his loins, but he didn’t free it to enter her. He simply allowed her to know he could if he chose, then he looked mockingly down into her eyes.
“You want to surrender, don’t you, my darling? For that way you think to beguile me into believing in you again. Well, I’m afraid I must leave you panting for more, because nothing on God’s earth will ever induce me to sully myself with you again.” He sat up as if he’d never touched her.
Tears were wet on her cheeks, but she made no sound, and it was several moments before she at last managed to speak again. “What virtue is there in humiliating me like this, Dane?” she whispered.
“No virtue, madam, but a great deal of satisfaction for the wrongs you’ve done me. You may claim to be this Kathryn Vansomeren, and say it was beyond your power until now to tell me the so-called truth, but when I look at you now, I see perfidious Rosalind. You’ve been misleading me, and doing it so successfully I actually trusted you with my closest secret. I told you about Elizabeth and William Denham, and you listened as if butter wouldn’t melt in your damned mouth! But all the time you’ve been carrying Thomas Denham’s child!”
Blinking back the tears, she sat up as well, in order to see into his bitter eyes. It was a moment or so before she could make her voice obey her again, but when it did, it trembled with feeling. “No, Dane, I’m not carrying a child. Rosalind is, but not me. And Rosalind wouldn’t want your kisses as I do. If you’d made love to me a moment ago, I’d have been overjoyed, I freely admit it, but can you really deny that you didn’t want me as well, that your arousal had as much to do with desire as punishment? Outwardly you may treat me as if I mean nothing to you, but behind that angry facade ...” She allowed her voice to trail away.
He looked at the way the sun shone on the golden tangle of her hair, and at the seductive shadows where her breasts curved into
her low-cut bodice, then he met her eyes impassively. “There isn’t a man alive who couldn’t rise to the occasion with you, Rosalind, but whether the act would mean anything to him emotionally is another matter. A few swift thrusts, and I could walk away from you now without a backward glance.”
A sad smile played upon her lips. “If you can still say that when I’ve told you everything, I’ll have no option but to accept it. But you gave your word you’d hear me out to the end, and I’m still holding you to that.”
“You mean I must endure more of this idiocy?”
She put her hand hesitantly to his cheek. “Dane, I know how hard all this is to believe, and believe me, it’s just as hard to say, so hard I’ve forgotten something vital. You see, when I got back from the library, I discovered someone had been in my apartment again. It was Rosalind, and I realized that every time I came back here in time, she took my place in the future!”
He stared at her, but then shook his head. “This becomes more and more of a fairy tale! Soon there will be giants, wizards, and goblins to add a little je ne sais quoi to the plot!”
She tried to compose herself. “I didn’t find it easy to believe either, and I was the one to whom it was happening! I know you think I’m crazy, but the truth is often stranger than fiction. Isn’t that what they say?”
“I don’t know. Do they?”
Of course, Mark Twain hadn’t yet been born, so Dane couldn’t possibly know his quotes. “Whether or not they do, it’s right. So is what I’m saying to you. When you left me after telling me about Elizabeth and William, I found Alice waiting for me. She told me she’d tell me everything once the challenge had been issued at the docks. So I went to the docks, I became Rosalind again, and though I tried my hardest not to let anything happen with Thomas, it did all the same because he threatened to make a scene unless I spoke privately with him. You didn’t find us in a loving embrace, you found me trying to get away when he wouldn’t believe it when I said I was in love with you. There was nothing I could do, Dane, just as until now there hasn’t been anything I could do all along. Events had to take their course, they couldn’t be changed, no matter how I tried, and I did try, you must believe me.”