Forever, Lately

by Linore Rose Burkard

  He gave her an affectionate look. “I suppose you’re having an episode. I should put you straight to bed.” His eyes came alight. “Do you know, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Claire gaped at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  He smiled. “Nothing sinister, Miss Channing. You are Lady Ashworth’s granddaughter, and I am a gentleman. I merely mean to take care of you. In truth, I should enjoy doing so.”

  “Well, I thank you for the kind thought, but I am not tired, and there is no need for that, I assure you.”

  Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice.

  Patricia A. McKillip

  CHAPTER 26

  Miss Andrews grew weary of waiting for Great-Aunt Lady Ashworth. She summoned a maid and told her she’d pay well to be shown to Miss Channing’s bedchamber. After pressing some coins into the abigail’s hand, the maid brought her to the room and left. Miss Andrews surveyed it carefully, hands on her hips. She went to look at the lady’s wardrobe. She opened a trunk at the foot of the bed but found only a chemise and stockings. The rest of the room was equally devoid of clothing. The maid must have brought her to the wrong chamber. But if not, perhaps Miss Channing had already ended her visit! Wouldn’t that be lovely?

  She continued looking around, saw the notepapers on the bedside table and snatched them. As she read, her brows came together. It was all scribbled descriptions—including what Clarissa had worn to the ball the other night! There were other mundane details, such as wallpaper and glassware and food. What was Miss Channing up to? Clarissa folded the papers and stuck them in her reticule.

  Claire Channing was a mystery. But Clarissa would get to the bottom of it.

  For some women finding real love seems to be

  something that will never happen.

  Taisen Deshimaru

  CHAPTER 27

  When the maid entered the library where Claire and St. John were, she curtseyed, and then looked curiously at her employer. St. John said, “Stay in the room. You’re to accompany Miss Channing when she is in this house.”

  “Yes, sir,” the girl said. She went and stood against a wall where she could see Claire, who smiled at her.

  Claire turned to her host. “Is that my chaperon?”

  “Housekeeper’s day off,” he said. “I’m afraid she’ll have to do.”

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her an inscrutable look and rang the bell pull. When a footman arrived, he said, “A decanter of negus.” He then went and said something into the man’s ear which Claire couldn’t hear. The footman looked as if he’d smiled, though, upon receiving the mysterious order.

  “At once, sir,” the servant said. He left the room.

  Claire said, “Negus! Yes, I’d love to try that! It’s very popular now, is it not?”

  He suppressed another smile. “You enchant me, Miss Channing.” His eyes sparkled. “Of course! Miss Channing is Miss Enchanting.” He folded his arms across his chest and again sat across from her, watching her.

  She saw now that he was dressed to leave the house, remembered the dogs at his heels earlier, and frowned. “I’ve interrupted your day,” she said. “I do apologise.”

  He shook his head. “No need. ’Tis a pleasant interruption.”

  Her breath caught at the warmth in his blue-grey eyes. She looked away, but murmured, “Thank you.” Aware her heart was beating strongly, she looked around the room for a diversion. She’d only looked closely at one bookshelf on her last visit. Surely there were books here she’d never have access to in the future. “May I look at your books?”

  “Be my guest. What subjects interest you?”

  She came to her feet. “Many.” He stood also and motioned her to start wherever she liked. As she went up to one wall of books, he accompanied her.

  While she read the titles, he asked, “Do you read the same book more than once? Due to forgetting that you read it?”

  She gave him a frowning sideways glance, pursing her lips.

  He stifled a smile.

  She took a book from the shelf and began leafing through it. “If you are referring to whether or not amnesia affects my recollection of what I’ve read, the answer is no. I maintain, sir”—she replaced the book and turned and faced him—“that I do not suffer from that affliction.”

  He looked amused, pursed his lips, but said, “I should not have asked. ’Twas ill-mannered of me.”

  Standing so close to him, the sudden memory of being in his arms sent colour into her cheeks. She turned hastily away and moved along the wall of books, hardly seeing the titles. He followed. “You will agree today, however, that you indeed belong to Lady Ashworth?”

  Claire stared at the books. This section was comprised of travel literature, with spines showing such places as AFRICA: The Dark Continent, and, The Exotic Far East. Without turning to face him, she answered slowly, “I do, indeed.” She turned and met his eyes. “My mother has no use for me, you see.” She’d done it again—told him the truth! Why had she? He didn’t need to know that she had a distant mother whom she barely ever heard from.

  “I regret that it must distress you, but I count myself fortunate that she hasn’t,” he said. “Or perchance you would not be stopping with your grandmamma.”

  His gentle gaze scaled the walls of her heart and filled Claire with a rush of warmth, more than she wished to feel for him. “You are kind,” she said, keeping her voice even. She turned away again uneasily. Being around St. John was becoming intoxicating. He thought she was addle-brained, and yet he cared for her! She really needed to settle whether she wanted to stay in the past or not. But what was she thinking? She couldn’t possibly stay. Not when she had such an edge on her competition! No author would be able to match the research of her first-hand experience. She had to make St. John understand how unsuitable she was, coming from the future.

  She spun about to face him and nearly lost her footing, for he was right next to her. He steadied her with a hand upon her arm and one about her waist—which he removed shortly. Her head reached the height of his cravat, and she studied it now.

  “Is something amiss?” he asked, seeing the direction of her gaze.

  “No. It’s beautiful. Such a shame men stopped wearing these. May I?” And she reached up to touch the snowy fabric and examine how it was tied, exactly. She’d never have a better opportunity. The knot of a cravat was considered an art. His, not meant to make a wave at a ball or some evening affair, was small and neat, but nicely done.

  St. John bit his lip.

  She smoothed it down. “Thank you. What do you call that knot?”

  He took her hands in his.

  “You are mystifying, Miss Channing.” He was looking at her with an interest, an appreciation in his eyes that brought a blush to her cheeks. A distinct feeling of weakness in the knees wobbled through her—my goodness, was she truly feeling weak-kneed on account of a handsome face and well-mannered attention? Only fictional heroines reacted thus! But there was something undeniably fairy-tale-ish about the man. She let out an unconscious sigh and was suddenly clinging to him for support—her legs were giving way! What was happening?

  “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed in surprise as her legs buckled.

  With a look of concern he swept her into his arms. “I believe you must be overwrought,” he said. He turned and strode towards the double doors of the room, motioning with his head for the maid to follow them. He stopped only to grab Claire’s shawl, which she’d left on the settee, and then passed a footman in the corridor holding the negus. “Not now,” he told him, adding, “I want a fire going in the first guest bedchamber; have Grey call for Mr. Wickford, and I must be notified the moment Lady Ashworth arrives.”

  There are people who think that things that happen

  in fiction do not really happen. These people are wrong.

  Neil Gaiman

  CHAPTER 28

  As St. John carried Claire along the corridor towards the bedchambers, she d
idn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was behaving like a frail heroine from a 1970s dime-store romance—swooning into the arms of the hero! But she was also sweating, and now started trembling. And then she understood what was happening. Usually this weakness and trembling occurred after she returned to the cottage from the past. But it was happening already—and she hadn’t even got back, yet!

  “Please—I only need a moment. I’ll be fine. I would still like to look at your books.”

  “You’re in no condition for that right now,” he said gently.

  She found herself staring at the square-jawed, handsome face, now so near her own. He carried her with little effort. She couldn’t have written a more romantic scene.

  When St. John reached the guest bedchamber, he managed the door with one hand while still holding her. Mary the maid scurried in behind them. He said, “Pull down the bed-covers.” When she did, he placed Claire gently down, pulled up the covers, and surveyed her a moment. He took a handkerchief from an inner pocket and wiped her brow. “You tremble!” he said in concern. He took her shawl and added it atop the blanket, tucking it beneath her chin. He sat beside her, took a hand and kissed it, then took the other and kissed it. She smiled faintly each time though her eyes were dazed, for she was trying not to fall in love with him.

  “See to the fire,” he said to the maid.

  A footman appeared at the door. “Sir, Lady Ashworth is here.”

  “Bring her up.”

  Claire started to sit up, but he said, “You need to rest.” He spoke so earnestly that she lay back obediently. As he left to meet Her Ladyship, Claire watched him, still in a daze. He was a wonderful man, St. John. If only— No, she mustn’t even think about staying in the past. She had no right to him—she was not of this time—he deserved a woman of his own day.

  And Claire surely was poised to write the best book of her life when this was over. A book that would far exceed anything she might otherwise have written. The blockbuster she’d dreamt of! Her career would be salvaged, her future, secure. She had no choice. As wonderful as St. John was, she was from a different world and must return to it.

  St. John met Her Ladyship in the corridor. “She’s weak. I’ve sent for Mr. Wickford.”

  “Surely you don’t mean to keep her here?”

  “She’s resting comfortably,” he replied.

  She gazed at him with an inscrutable expression.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “You need a wife, sir, and an heir,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I thought you might bring that up.”

  “Miss Channing is everything you could want in both. She’d be a marvellous mother to children. And she’ll rid you of the unwanted attentions of Clarissa.” She paused and opened her arms to him. “Furthermore, you’ll be my grandson-in-law!” She said this as if it was the biggest prize yet for which the long-standing bachelor should consider marriage.

  St. John grinned. “Your encouragement is wasted upon me—”

  Lady Ashworth’s face fell. “Oh, Julian! How can you be so cold-hearted?”

  “You misunderstand me, dear lady. I need no encouragement. I am already in grave danger of being fast in love with your Miss Channing.”

  Lady Ashworth gasped and smiled. “Indeed?”

  “Somehow even her delusions delight me. Do not ask why, for I’m sure I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps ‘tis the way she so tries to make me believe them. She is adorably earnest.”

  Lady Ashworth levelled a strong gaze upon him. “But if she were telling the truth, would you not find her adorable, then?”

  He thought about Claire. “I should find her delightful either way.” But then he raised an eyebrow. “My only worry is, how do I know she won’t forget who I am after the wedding? This amnesia has her treating everyday stuff like it’s utterly new to her. She stared at her own bonnet as if she’d never seen a bonnet before.”

  Her Ladyship grew thoughtful. “She mostly only forgets where she’s from,” she said, though her tone was weak.

  “She also forgets when she is from; she thinks she’s from the future.”

  “Oh, you must forgive her that, sir;” Lady Ashworth waved a hand. “’Twill pass in time, I’ve no doubt.”

  “I was about to ply her with some strong negus, to see how long she would maintain her illusions. Or witness them fall, rather.”

  “Naughty boy! Happy I arrived before you could do that!”

  “I may do it, yet. Once she’s well.”

  “In that case, I’ll remove her to my home.” She lifted her eyebrows at him in challenge.

  “Not today, you won’t. Let her rest.”

  Don’t worry if people think you’re crazy. You are crazy.

  Jennifer Elisabeth

  CHAPTER 29

  A few moments later Her Ladyship entered Claire’s bedchamber and said breezily to the maid, “Give us a few minutes.” The maid left.

  “Here you are, my darling!” she said, coming and giving Claire a peck on the cheek. “You gave Grandmamma such a fright.” She looked back to see if anyone had entered the room and then turned to Claire with a serious expression. In a lower voice she added, “I was in dread that you wouldn’t return. I do hope you’ll stay this time.”

  “I never meant to leave,” Claire said. “I do like it here,” she added. “St. John is all politeness, now. But my book will be stunningly realistic.”

  “Is that all you can think of, still?” asked Her Ladyship. “A book? When I’ve told you what may happen to—” Her face wrinkled in worry.

  Claire played with the fabric of the sheet. “I am sorry; I do wish to save him from such a fate! But—don’t you think—he deserves a woman of his own day?” She peeked up at her relation.

  “Certainly not! Need you ask that, when I married the marquess?”

  “But there is no certainty that I can save him. And the longer I’m here—well, he is not a man to dismiss lightly. I’ll fall in love and then he’ll be gone and break my heart!” Her mouth compressed. “And I’ll be stuck here.” Claire looked miserable.

  Lady Ashworth clucked her tongue. “Nonsense. You’ll prevent the tragedy. And do you not see? You are meant to be here. That’s why the tallit brings you.”

  Claire gave an agonized look at her grandmamma. “But I can’t give up my career now! I feel sure this book will set all to rights. ’Twill make me famous!”

  “All the success in the world won’t hold you at night, or give you children, or fulfill your life.” Her grandmamma’s face was stern.

  Claire glanced at the door to be sure they were still alone. She whispered fiercely, “There is no guarantee that St. John will do any of those things either! He thinks me utterly pigeon-headed. I showed up here, and had no explanation, of course. Why could I not appear at your house?” she asked.

  Lady Ashworth shook her head. “The tallit seems to obey a divine directive that we have no control over. But I think you must admit, it proves you belong with St. John. I used to show up at the marquess’s estate in Gloucestershire!”

  Claire studied her grandmamma. She saw a faint resemblance to herself in the older lady. She really was the granddaughter of a marchioness! It was still amazing.

  “I cannot control when I come or go,” Claire said. “Except when I’m home, all I need do is put on the tallit. Here, it just happens, whether I’m wearing it or not.”

  “I comprehend that, my dear; ’twas the same way for me.” She looked thoughtful of a sudden. “Speaking of which, in case you find yourself back again…” She paused. “There is a safety deposit box I need you to empty. The key is beneath a floorboard in the bedroom. You’ll have to lift the area rug to find it. The box is in a credit union building whose direction, er, address, is with the key.”

  Claire nodded.

  “I want you to empty the box,” Lady Ashworth said, “and take what’s in it. There’s jewellery that would look divine with our fashions today! I believe if you wear them w
hen you put on the shawl, they will come through with you.”

  Lady Ashworth would have preferred that Claire stay in the past without ever returning again to the future—she’d happily forget the jewellery—but she’d been unable to destroy the tallit. At the right time, it would no longer work for Claire, just as her own time travelling days came to an end. Claire’s return path to the future would dry up. She would have to wait for it—but in the meantime she saw no reason why Claire might not retrieve a few valuables for her.

  Claire was reminded of something. “Grandmamma—I forgot to tell you last time; the Winthrops want to tear down the cottage!”

  “My cottage?”

  “Yes. Some technicality, apparently you don’t own the land it’s on.”

  Her grandmother looked faintly amazed. “That is a strong technicality.”

  “Do you have a deed to the land?”

  The old lady thought for a moment. “I cannot recall. I’m afraid I never gave it a thought. Your grandfather would have known, but he is long gone.” She frowned. “There may be papers in that box, come to think of it.” She levelled her gaze at Claire. “My dear, you really must stay with us. Forget the jewellery. The tallit brought you here for a reason—to save Julian!” She shook her head and blinked back a tear. “And I would adore your staying. You would be the only person who really understands me. And above all this, you must know, St. John has taken a fancy to you!”

  “He thinks I’m addle-brained; he merely feels sorry for me.”

  “No, ‘tis more than that.”

  Claire looked at her relative plaintively. “I’ll stay at some other time; but I have to finish the book. I can’t drop it, now.”