by Sandra Heath
She lowered her glance to the grass, and then continued. “Anyway, Alice took me to her cottage after the challenge, and she told me everything I didn’t yet know. You see, it wasn’t coincidence that Thomas Denham made me think of Richard Vansomeren—Richard’s descended from the Denhams. He has the same DNA as Thomas, and is so like him that—”
“He has the same what?”
She looked at Dane in dismay, for how on earth was she going to explain about DNA? “Dane, I don’t know how to tell you about such a thing. We take it all for granted in the future, but no one in 1815 knows anything about it. All I can liken it to is a selection of knitting pattern. People are made from one pattern or other, and as the generations go by, that same pattern crops up again and again in families, because we have all descended from it. That’s why fathers can share character and looks with their sons, uncles with nephews, grandfathers with grandsons, and so on. In the future, Richard Vansomeren might not look like Thomas Denham, but he’s one and the same in most other ways.”
Dane’s lips parted to speak, but she held up an anxious hand. “No, please don’t interrupt, because I must tell you everything. Somehow Alice’s second sight told her about Richard, and she informed Rosalind, who was in love with Thomas and frightened because she was expecting a child that couldn’t possibly be yours. Nothing could prevent Thomas’s dying today, but if he was repeated again in the future, Rosalind wanted to go to him. Alice had the power to keep swapping Rosalind and me around, but with one final effort she could see that it took place permanently. That would mean Rosalind’s becoming Kathryn Vansomeren forever, and taking her unborn child into the future, to a future Thomas Denham. They’d be perfect together, and, like the best fairy tales, they’d live happily ever after. But it would also mean my agreeing to come back here to you, and I couldn’t be so assured of happiness, not when your faith in Rosalind had been so bitterly shattered. Could you ever love me again? That was the risk, but I took it because you mean more to me than anything in the world. I’ve come back here forever now, and my happiness depends upon you. But so far you’ve rejected me, and how cruelly.”
He glanced away.
She went on. “Last night, when you left me on the staircase, I went to the drawing room for the wedding ring Rosalind told me she left on the cabinet. Yes, she and I did meet, only the once. Anyway, I’d just put the ring on when I heard Thaddeus Talbot climbing up to the window. The rest you know, more or less. I swear there’s never been anything I could say or do. Whenever I’ve tried to change things or stop them happening, I’ve come up against some sort of impasse. You’ll come up against the same thing if you try to face Pendle. Historic facts can’t be changed, and those facts are that Pendle is not going to lay charges against you, because he fears George’s threats. Instead, he’s going to write a vitriolic and damning version of the duel, accusing you of murdering Thomas Denham by causing the pistol to misfire. He’ll write it tonight, and then a heart attack is going to put an end to him. He’ll be dead before tomorrow’s dawn.”
Dane stared at her. “Dead?”
“The facts are all there in the future. Pendle’s biased, untruthful version of today’s events is going to be all future generations will know.”
He was silent for a moment. “So you’re saying I’m obliged to be chronicled as the villain of the piece?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet. “The facts can’t be changed, you see,” she said again. “I don’t really know why I’ve been able to tell you anything now, except I guess it’s because I’m not trying to alter the facts. All I’m doing is explaining what’s been happening to me. To us.” She looked down at him. “I heard you confess to George that you still loved me. What he said was right, Dane, it’s never too late.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” he replied coolly.
She drew a long breath. “If the chill in your voice is a sign of the chill that remains in your heart, then there’s little more to be said, except perhaps to repeat that I am indeed Kathryn Vansomeren in Rosalind’s body and clothes, I’m not expecting a child, nor have I betrayed you with Thomas Denham. But I have been an unfaithful wife, that much I do concede. I took a lover briefly in New York, and every time I’ve made love with you, I’ve broken my vows to Richard. If that makes me no better than Rosalind or Elizabeth, then so be it. But you also broke your vows, for it wasn’t Rosalind you slept with those times, it was me, the siren twin who might be near defeat because Odysseus is able to resist her voice. Or am I Scheherazade, whose amusing stories win the sultan’s heart? Which is it to be, Dane?”
He looked up at her. “You offer an impossible choice.”
“No, not impossible. Either you believe me, or you don’t. It’s quite simple really. I’ve faced a similar decision, and knew very swiftly what I wanted. I chose you, nothing else would do.” She searched his gaze. “What does your heart tell you, Dane? Could you really use me now and then walk away without a backward glance?”
He didn’t reply.
She felt the sting of tears, but refused to let them out. “Perhaps I should be the one to walk away then,” she said quietly.
He continued to gaze at her, searching her eyes as if seeing something that suddenly struck a chord.
She turned to go, but he caught her hand. “Don’t go. I don’t care who you are or where you’re from, only that I love you and want you to stay.”
Gladness surged ecstatically through her. “Do—do you really mean that?” she whispered.
“Never more so in my life,” he breathed, pulling her down to the grass and then leaning over her.
She linked her arms around his neck. “You believe all I’ve told you?”
“How can I not, when ...” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “Tell me, what color eyes does Kathryn Vansomeren have?”
“Hazel. Why?”
“Because I have seen your eyes hazel. Oh, it was fleeting, when our passion was at its height, but I saw green change to hazel. I thought it was a trick of the light, but now ...”
“Now you know it was no trick, that for a moment you really did see Kathryn,” she said softly.
“I know it very well now.”
“I’m Rosalind forever, my eyes will never change again.”
“I trust you’re Rosalind with Kathryn’s passionate nature?”
“Oh, you may count upon it, sir. Shall I prove it?” She smiled, pulling him down to kiss his lips.
It was a long, tender kiss, made complete by the total trust that at last existed between them. There were no secrets anymore, nothing to cast a shadow over their caresses, but there was much to erase. For her, it was the failure of her marriage to Richard, for Dane it was the wretchedness of his life with Rosalind. And Elizabeth before her. Now they were both beginning anew, and the inevitable and immediate consequence was a need for urgent open-air consummation.
They left the path for the secrecy of some nearby bushes, where soon they lay naked together among the ferns and long grasses. She felt no self-consciousness; indeed, she exulted in the warmth of the sun on her body as they made love. A shiver of delight passed through her as she felt his hot virility push deep inside her, and then her breath caught as he slowly withdrew before plunging in once more. His movements were long and leisurely, and waves of carnal pleasure began to course along her veins. The scent of crushed grass and ferns was all around, and the sun was dazzling through the trees, but she was weightless and ethereal, floating on the joy of his love-making.
His skill was matchless. Their shared desire was at fever pitch, and an explosion of sensuality was close as he tempered his thrusts to prolong the gratification. He hardly moved inside her as her body quivered with orgasms of delight so intense they threatened to rob her of consciousness.
At last he took his own gratification, driving in as far as he could and surrendering to the pounding desire he’d kept at bay in order to give her pleasure. His body shuddered, and his skin was damp afterward when at last he gathe
red her in his arms. Their hearts beat together as he pressed his lips to the pulse at her throat.
She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sunlight. She held him tenderly, and tears of happiness welled from beneath her lashes. This man made her complete, and the only darkness on the horizon was that he would bear the blame for what had happened to Thomas Denham.
She wished she knew what to do to clear his name. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something that would solve the problem. Not now, maybe, but in years to come, long after she and Dane were no more than dust. She’d seen something happening now in 1815, and knew it was going to happen again in several centuries’ time. It was there, right on the edge of her memory, but infuriatingly beyond reach.
Half an hour later they dressed and returned to the castle. On the way they encountered the search party he’d ordered to look for the rider of the stray horse. The grooms reined in on seeing Sir Dane and Lady Marchwood walking hand-in-hand from the scene of the duel. By now everyone knew how Thomas Denham had met his death, because two gamekeepers had secretly watched everything in the oak grove, and had reported back what Jeremiah Pendle said. Feelings were mixed at the castle. Some said Dane would never do something so base and dishonorable, but others declared they would defend his good name to the end. The grooms therefore tried not to show they knew anything at all.
Dane glanced at them. “You’ll find the late owner of the horse about ten yards just to the right of the path by the stepping stones. He was thrown and appears to have broken his back.”
The groom in charge touched his hat. “Very well, sir.”
“It’s Thaddeus Talbot. Does anyone know him?”
“I do, Sir Dane,” replied another man, maneuvering his horse forward.
“Does he leave a family?”
“No, sir.”
“Then as soon as you’ve collected his body, have someone ride to Gloucester to inform the authorities.”
“Sir.”
They rode on, and Dane glanced after them. “Gloucester will ring of this. Two dead bodies emerging from Marchwood on the same day! No doubt I’ll be credited with the gunsmith’s demise as well.”
“There’s no reason why you should.”
“Gossip needs no reason,” he murmured, slipping his arm around her waist as they walked on.
The terraced gardens were sweet with the perfume of roses, and the breeze rustled through the ivy against the castle wall, but it didn’t affect Kathryn now. It was just another warm summer sound.
They entered the great hall, where the chip-chip of the stonemasons at work broke the silence. Kathryn’s steps faltered and she stared toward the men as her thoughts returned once more to the problem of how to clear Dane’s name and see that the real culprits were condemned by the future. The future! With a sudden flash of inspiration she knew what to do, with an excited cry she turned to Dane. “I’ve thought of a way to see that one day the truth gets out about what happened at the duel!”
He smiled at her flushed face. “Yes,” he replied dryly, “we can go into Gloucester and set fire to Pendle’s damned coat-tails. Except we can’t do even that small thing, because it would mean altering facts, and that’s not allowed.”
But nothing could crush her. “Maybe we can’t alter the facts that are already recorded, but we can supersede them.”
He put a finger to his lips and nodded toward the stonemasons, who might be able to overhear, then he whispered. “Supersede?”
She whispered too. “There’s a saying, I forget where it comes from, but it’s something about truth being time’s daughter. Do you know it?”
“Yes, but—”
“That fireplace will be repaired again in the future, taken apart exactly as it is now. I saw it then, and I’ve seen it now.”
He studied her. “What if it is?”
“If I write the truth about the duel and hide it in the fireplace, it will be discovered again in the future. Maybe it won’t help you now, but at least you’ll know that one day your name will be vindicated. I’m sure it can be done, for we aren’t trying to alter things that have happened, all we’re doing is creating things for the future. Isn’t that right?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“If only I could clear your name now, but...”
“It doesn’t matter. Sticks and stones break bones, names have yet to succeed. I’m only concerned that you know I didn’t do anything to that damned pistol. Oh, and that Philip knows it too.”
“He’ll believe what we tell him.”
“Yes.”
“And to hell with the rest of the world!” She smiled.
He put his hand to her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. “You came to me through time, so truth is not alone in being time’s daughter.”
She put her fingers tenderly over his. “I love you, Sir Dane Marchwood, I love you with all my heart and soul.”
“And I love you, my sweet lady,” he murmured, taking her hand and turning the palm softly to his lips.
The stonemasons exchanged startled glances. Sir Dane Marchwood had just killed a man on account of her ladyship, but that didn’t seem to have cooled their ardor in the least! Posh folk were a mystery, and no mistake.
Chapter Thirty-two
Four years passed, and in the 21st century it was the week before Christmas as a car drove into the empty parking lot at Marchwood Castle. Snow drifted in the frozen air, but had yet to settle, and smoke curled from the chimneys in the nearby village.
Rosalind smiled at Richard. “It looks deserted.”
“If you ask me it’s closed for the winter,” he replied, stopping the car close to the shuttered ticket office.
She glanced at the back seat, where a little girl with blonde Shirley Temple curls had fallen asleep with a doll in her arms. “Wake up, pumpkin, we’re here.”
The child stirred. “Already, Mommy? I’m still tired.”
“Darling, you can sleep all you want when we get to Gloucester.”
Richard looked curiously at his wife. “Why was it so darned important to come here first?”
“I don’t really know. I just wanted to see it again, that’s all.” Rosalind got out and opened the rear door. “Come on, Alice, let’s see if we can take a look at the castle.”
Clutching the doll, the child climbed out, shivering as the chill wind blustered freely over the lot.
Richard was glad of their thick winter clothes as he surveyed the towers and battlements rising above the bare trees. “That’s some place,” he commented.
“Yes, it is,” Rosalind murmured. The past was all around her suddenly, and she almost expected to see Dane. She turned her collar up, and shook out her tumbling chestnut curls.
Richard gave her an approving look. “I think your hair looks great like that. I’ve always liked long curls, and never could stand that bobbed style you used to wear.”
“You should have told me.”
“You’d probably have taken it as a criticism, and we’d just have had something else to argue about.”
“True.”
“You know, your coming to England that time was probably the best thing. It gave us both time to think, even if it was only a few days. Still, it’s definitely two weeks here this time, and we’ll have a great time.”
“Yes, we will.”
He put his hand to her cheek. “Are you still sure you don’t regret giving up your career?”
“I’ve hardly given it another thought, except to gloat now and then about how satisfying it was to make that scene with Diane in front of the entire office. God, was it great! I was in my element.”
“I’m told she’s been in therapy ever since,” he remarked dryly.
“If only.”
He searched her face again. “So you swear you’re content to just be a wife and mother?”
“What do you mean just a wife and mother? It’s hard work, and soon to be even harder.” She took his hand
and placed it against her stomach, where the swelling of another pregnancy was plain beneath her thick clothes.
He kissed her nose. “And to think we believed we’d never have one child, let alone two.”
“I have my sights set on more than that, Mr. Vansomeren.”
“How many more?”
“How many can you manage?”
He laughed. “Oh, I can manage just fine, I like making babies.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No.”
“Good.” He looked at the castle again. “Well, I’ll be surprised if we get inside. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since World War II,” he said, bending to swing Alice up on his shoulders. “Okay, sweetheart?”
The little girl squealed with delight as he cavorted around for a moment like a bronco.
Rosalind smiled as she watched. He was the perfect husband, and the perfect father. He adored Alice, treasuring her more than most men might because he’d never expected to have her. It had been wonderful to see his joy on discovering his wife to be pregnant after all. She didn’t feel any guilt about not telling him everything. He didn’t need to know. Besides, she wasn’t really foisting another man’s child on him, for Alice was his. At least, she was Thomas’s, and that was virtually the same thing.
This new unborn baby was Richard’s in every way, though. Conceived long after she’d changed places with the real Kathryn, and conceived in more happiness than Rosalind had ever dreamed possible. It was weird how like Thomas he was. Oh, outwardly they weren’t in the least alike, but in other ways ... She smiled again. Not for a single moment had she ever regretted what had happened four years previously. She only prayed the real Kathryn had found similar happiness in the past.
The woman wasn’t knitting in the ticket hut, and there wasn’t anyone on the path leading past the church. It was Sunday, and carols were being sung. All very atmospheric, and very English.