by Monica Burns
Victoria nodded, and with a smile Anna entwined her arm in Victoria’s then led her out of the hospital.
§ § §
Victoria awoke with a jerk as Anna parked the car. After the sandwich and water she’d had, she’d fallen asleep fast. Groggy, she turned her head and drew in a sharp breath. She was home. Now wide awake, she quickly got out of the car. The fast movement made her dizzy and she was forced to brace herself against the car. Anna came around the vehicle and offered Victoria her arm, but Victoria waved her assistance aside and headed toward the house.
She swallowed tears as she reached the front steps, half expecting Jamieson to open the door for her, stern expression and all. Victoria turned the knob and pushed the door open. As she stepped into the hallway, she looked upward. Relief made her close her eyes for a brief moment as she saw the prized skylight Nicholas loved so much. She crossed the floor to stand at the entrance to the library. Most of the furniture had been changed, but the chess table still sat close to the French windows.
Grief made her muscles harden as she wrapped her arms around her waist and stood there for a long moment. The memories flooded over her, and a teardrop pushed past her closed eyelids. Victoria drank in a deep breath and saw Anna watching her with a worried look. She shook her head.
“I’m okay,” she rasped as she managed to hold her grief in check.
Victoria crossed the hall to look into the salon. The room looked almost as it had when she’d lived in the house. Even her portrait hung over the mantel. As she stood in the doorway, she felt tears prick against the back of her eyelids. God how she wanted to go home. Home to the Brentwood Park in eighteen ninety-eight. Her gaze fell on the portrait again, and she frowned slightly as she stared at it. There was something different about it. Victoria crossed the room to the fireplace and looked up at the painting.
It was more like a picture of the original painting that had been laid on canvas. A small placard to the right of the portrait. Reproduction portrait of the Countess of Guildford courtesy of Nicholas Barrows. Barrows. One of Charles’ descendants. Then who had the real painting? Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, and she swallowed the knot in her throat. She moved back out into the foyer and footsteps echoed in the hall leading into the back of the house. Victoria turned her head to meet the wide-eyed look of a teenage girl.
“Bollocks,” the girl exclaimed with a cry of fear. “The countess…” The girl didn’t finish her sentence as she sank to the floor in a dead faint. Anna raced forward to check on the girl then looked up at Victoria.
“Go, I’ll handle this.”
Uncertainty swept over Victoria as she met Anna’s worried gaze. Should she be here? It wasn’t her home any longer. With a resolute clenching of her fist, she headed up the stairs. She had to know for sure. She needed to know if Nicholas had left the journals about Andrew for her. At the top of the stairs she turned the corner and leaned against the wall to rest for a moment. Below, she heard frantic voices mixed with Anna’s soothing voice. Aware that she didn’t have much time, she walked as quickly as she could down the hall to her bedroom. Once inside, she locked the door behind her. The delightful yellow theme she had grown to love was gone. In its place, a color scheme of whites and blues filled the room. She frowned unhappily at the change.
Across the room, she saw the connecting door to Nicholas’ room. The brief surge of happiness that flooded her was quickly replaced by grief and she swallowed her tears. He wasn’t there. A sob parted her lips, and she turned away to walk to the fireplace. For several long moments, she stared at the mantle piece and the rose carvings that wound their way up the side panels and across the top. Fear threaded its way through her as she considered the possibility her memories were little more than vivid dreams.
Outside in the corridor she heard soft voices. Glancing at the door, she saw the latch turn as someone tested the lock. When there were no demands for her to open the door, she turned back to the fireplace. Slowly she reached out and counted the roses down the side of the mantle, just as she’d seen Edmund do. She heard a click and the door to the secret compartment popped open.
Victoria drew in a sharp breath and stared at the items resting on the narrow shelves. Stretching out her hand, she pulled out the first of several volumes stacked one on top of the other in the shelves. Slowly, she opened the book.
Dearest sweet witch,
A sob escaped Victoria’s lips as she recognized Nicholas’ strong handwriting and the special name he always addressed her by. It had been real. Nicholas had been real. Their short time together, loving one another, had not been a dream. A sob escaped her as she clutched the book close to her chest. Head bent in sorrow, she shuddered as she could almost feel her heart breaking. A soft sound made her jerk her head and turn toward the sound. Shock held her rigid. It wasn’t possible.
“Nicholas,” she breathed. She closed her eyes against the apparition and counted to ten then looked back at the connecting door to their rooms. He was still there, standing in the doorway studying her intently. God, if only it were true. If only Nicholas really were here. Certain she was insane, Victoria’s hand gripped the mantle tightly as her knees wobbled beneath her, while clinging tightly to the journal she held.
“Victoria.” It couldn’t be his voice. She shook her head to banish the thought.
“You’re not real. You’re a figment of my imagination. I want you to be real, but you’re not.”
“Please, sweet witch. Listen to me.” The gentle plea washed over her like a soothing balm. It was his voice, even down to the tender nickname. Tears blurred her vision, and her voice shook with pain.
“Oh, God. I’m going insane. You even sound like him.”
“Victoria, you need to listen to me.”
She shuddered as the warmth of his hands pressed into her shoulders. Sweet heaven, he even felt real. She should never have come here. Victoria shook her head and closed her eyes.
“This isn’t happening. You’re not real,” she mumbled, desperate to keep her sanity.
“It is real, my love. Here, feel my heartbeat.”
A strong hand placed hers against his chest so her fingers could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. With her hand pressed against him, Victoria’s legs buckled under her, and a terrible shudder ripped through her. Warmth engulfed her as he pulled her close and supported her against his tall, muscular frame. She looked up at him and trembled.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
“I’m not sure I do either.” A gentle smile on his face, he sighed. “In fact, the only person who seems to have a good grasp on this whole situation is Nora.”
“Nora?”
“Well, we knew her as Anna,” he said. Almost as if he had difficulty believing his words, he released a reluctant sigh of exasperation. “Nora….Anna, has convinced me that I’m…that I was… Nicholas Thornhill, Earl of Guildford.”
His words rang in her ears as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. He wasn’t Nicholas, and yet he was. How was that possible? A flash of memory surged through her head. The image of the Goodman Cottage painting Nicholas had given her for Christmas, she’d found it in an art gallery. She looked up at Nicholas.
“The art gallery. I was with you in the art gallery. There was an explosion,” she said softly, still feeling confused. He nodded and a slight smile tilted his mouth.
“I thought I was crazy for having this insatiable desire to kiss you.”
“You didn’t get to because of the explosion.”
A sense of wonder swept through her as she reached up to stroke his cheek. He captured her hand and pressed his mouth to the inside of her wrist. The familiar caress sent her pulse fluttering violently beneath his lips. His green eyes met hers, and happiness sped through her as she saw the love in his eyes.
“You’re really here, aren’t you? This isn’t a dream.”
“No, sweet witch, it’s not a dream,” he said gently. “I think I know, but do you want
to tell me why you came back to Brentwood?”
“These,” she said and retreated slightly from his embrace to show him the journal in her hand. “I came for these. You left them for me.”
“They’re about Andrew. Our son,” he rasped as if startled by the fact that he knew what the journals were.
Victoria nodded as her gaze locked with his before she slowly opened the journal and turned the page. A folded piece of paper lay beneath the opening page. Taking care with the old parchment, she unfolded it and stared at the drawing done in a child’s hand. At the bottom of the page in a childish scrawl were the words. For my, Mama. Love, Andrew. Victoria closed her eyes in an attempt to keep from crying and was forced to turn her face into Nicholas’ shoulder in an effort not to damage the drawing.
“It’s all right, sweet witch. It’s going to be all right.” At his reassuring words, she nodded and folded the paper to tuck it into the back of the journal with a loving gesture, before reading the first page of the journal out loud in a choked up voice.
My dearest love,
Please forgive me for not having the strength to begin this journal until after Andrew’s second birthday. I almost lost my will to live in the first years after your death. The fact that both Andrew and Edmund needed me was all that kept me alive. Reardon only wounded Edmund that night in the priory, and I have been fortunate to have him with me. He’s the consummate uncle, totally devoted to Andrew. Our son returns that adoration. You would be so proud of our son. He’s an incredibly bright lad. He has all of your charm as well as your temper. I talk to him about you often, and he enjoys looking at your portrait in the library.
Each new day in his company is a reminder of what you gave me through your love. For that I love you all the more. Although I cannot touch you, hear your laughter, or feel your heart beating against mine as we fall asleep at night, I know you will always be with me in my heart. I shall never stop loving you, my sweet witch. I can only pray that God gives us a second chance to be together again in your future.
I know how much you wanted our son, and I hope this journal will help you know him in the future, as you never could in the past.
Always and forever, Nicholas
Victoria closed the book, her heart breaking as she read the pain in Nicholas’ words. She turned into the strong arms surrounding her, and clung to him. They’d found each other again. As cruel as the universe had been to them in the past, it had given them a second chance at happiness.
“There’s something else in there,” Nicholas said with sense of wonder. “Something I had made for you after you were gone.”
Puzzled, she looked at him for a moment. He looked thoroughly bewildered, but confident she would find something. Peering deeper into the cubby hole, she found two soft leather pouches. The first was fairly heavy and she undid the purse strings then spilled the contents into the palm of her hand. The sapphire necklace sparkled in the sunlight streaming into the room.
“Don’t say a word. You were worth the extravagance.” Nicholas smiled as she stared at the necklace and shook her head. “It’s the other pouch I’m talking about. I had it made for you as a way for you to know Andrew.”
Victoria returned the sapphire necklace to its pouch and handed it to Nicholas. She pulled the second leather bag opened and dumped the contents into her hand. The gold locket glistened in the sunlight as she stared down at it. The oval locket was more than an inch in size with Nicholas’ and her initials entwined on the outside. Carefully, she opened the locket and drew in a sharp breath at the images of a boy as a baby and then a few years older.
“It opens up,” Nicholas said softly. He stretched out his hand and popped a latch on the locket, which revealed another six portraits. “It’s Andrew from the time he was a baby until he reached his twenty-first birthday.”
Stunned by the thoughtful gift, Victoria stared down at the images of the son she’d never known. Her fingers ran along the edges of the locket, and the thought of giving it up made her heart break. Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, he pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I sit on the board of the Brentwood Park Foundation. I’ll make a sizeable donation in exchange for the journals and the locket,” he said with a confident smile. “They’ll be thrilled simply that the sapphires have surfaced. Obviously I failed to tell Andrew about this hiding spot or the secret would have been passed down through the family.”
“Edmund probably was reluctant to tell you as well since I told him it was a secret,” she said in a wistful voice. “I miss him, already.”
“I’m certain we’ll see him and Andrew again.” Nicholas took the locket from her trembling hands then folded it up and returned it to the pouch. “The fact I’ve found you again reassures me of that.”
“I love you, Nicholas. Not even time itself can ever change that,” she whispered as she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.
The kiss held all the love and passion she had for him. The kiss deepened, and Victoria’s hunger to touch all of him and reassure herself he wasn’t a figment of her imagination made her press her body tightly into his. The moment her hands slid down to his waist, Nicholas put a small amount of space between them.
“Don’t tempt me, sweet witch,” he said with a low groan. “I don’t live here anymore. Besides, I’m surprised Nora hasn’t burst in here wanting to know that everything is all right.”
“Later then?” she said with a teasing smile.
“Count on it. We’ve a lot of catching up to do,” he said with a grin that was almost identical to the Earl of Guildford’s, and yet distinctively belonged to the Nicholas in this time period.
With her hand clasped in his, he led her out of the room that was filled with so many memories into a future where their love would create so many more.
Epilogue
“Ready to go?” Nick rolled the wheelchair to a halt just inside the door of the hospital room.
“On my own power,” Victoria said with a look of stubborn exasperation. “Between you and Dr. Bertram browbeating me into staying here for almost another week, I’m more than capable of leaving this hospital without using a wheelchair.”
With each passing day, he was recalling bits and piece of his life as the Earl of Guildford. The majority of his memories were always triggered by something Victoria said or did. Even her facial expressions could spark something in his consciousness. Now he remembered quite clearly that once Victoria made up her mind about something, there were few instances when he’d been able to change her mind. This was a battle he chose not to fight.
“As you wish,” he said with a grimace of futility. Nick started to roll the chair out of the room then stopped and slowly turned his head to look at her. There was a wistful expression on her face, and as their eyes met, he frowned.
“I offered to buy the Princess Bride for you a long time ago,” he said with an unsettled feeling as a hopeful expression crossed her lovely face.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I told you it hadn’t been published yet.”
Nick nodded then stared at the floor for a long moment. He wished he’d remembered this elusive memory earlier. He would have one upped himself by buying the book and giving it to her without her having to acknowledge that he’d offered to buy it when he’d been the Earl of Guildford. Nick frowned as the thought blindsided him. The reality of the situation was that he was competing with another man. The man he’d once been, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that.
Worst of all, he hadn’t expected this inept feeling where Victoria was concerned. He’d thought when she came out of her coma everything would be as if they’d known each other for a very long time. He was still adapting to the idea that he’d lived before, but the one thing he knew without any doubt or reservation was that he loved Victoria. She meant everything to him. Another sliver of memory popped a latch in his head. He looked up to meet her gaze.
“I asked you to marry me that same night, didn’t I?” he said with a wry
twist of his lips.
“You seemed to think it would stop me from saying I wasn’t your wife.” Amusement sparkled in her eyes, brightening their blue color.
“If I recall correctly, it worked,” he said with a sudden grin. The intangible memory solidified in his thoughts and became complete in his heart. It created a need to relive the happiness of that moment. He grew somber and met her gaze solemnly.
“Would you do it again?”
“What?” she asked with a puzzled expression.
“Marry me.”
The mixed emotions crossing her face at his proposal made Nick want to bite off his tongue. Her memories of their time together in the past were fresh, more vivid than his. It put him at a significant disadvantage. She knew the man he’d been in the past. The question was whether she would compare the man he’d been to the man he was now. The thought made him uneasy.
Suddenly, she smiled at him. It was a soft, gentle smile of happiness and contentment. Nick recognized the look. From the moment he’d seen her standing in front of the fireplace at Brentwood Park a week ago, he’d realized it was easier not to question his feelings or the memories filling his head.
“Is that a hypothetical question?” she asked in a husky voice then shook her head and smiled. “It doesn’t matter. My answer is yes one way or the other.”
Triumph surged through him, and he stepped around the wheelchair to go to her. Slowly bending his head, he kissed her. The memory of their kiss at Brentwood Park last week hadn’t been an illusion. Her lips were soft and sweet against his. Love, passion, and need renewed their assault on his senses as he pulled her tight against him. Victoria’s hands pressed against his chest as she broke their kiss.
“Nicholas, what would you say if I said we should take a few days to get to know each other again?”
The request cut deep. He’d been right. She was trying to decide whether he was the same man she’d loved in the past, and whether she could be with the man he was now. How was he supposed to compete with a memory? Nicholas released her slowly and took a step back.