Forever, Lately

by Linore Rose Burkard

  “Dear Clarissa,” returned Lady Ashworth, with a nod. She smiled with real pleasure when she said, “And Miss Margaret.” Lady Ashworth had never found Miss Margaret trying.

  Clarissa clasped her relation’s hands a moment and then sat down near her. Miss Margaret quietly took a seat on a facing sofa. Lady Ashworth gazed at Clarissa, wondering what she was about.

  “My dear Aunt, is your—eh—granddaughter not joining us?”

  “She is not home at present.”

  Clarissa waited, hoping for more information, but as none was forthcoming, she said, speaking brightly, “Do you know—‘tis the oddest thing—I can find no mention of her at all in the society book.”

  “You must look again,” said Lady Ashworth. “I am sure you missed it.”

  “How could I miss it, ma’am?” asked Clarissa, wide-eyed. “I am sure I did not miss it.”

  “Look again,” said Her Ladyship blithely. She recalled how, once her presence in the Regency became stabilized by the marquess’s offer of marriage, her own name had suddenly appeared in the historical record as his wife. It was one of the last things she’d ever looked up before leaving the future for good. She had no doubt at all, now that St. John would be offering for Claire, that her name would similarly be added to record books, including Debrett’s, known as the society book.

  Clarissa cleared her throat and gave her great-aunt a wary look. “If she is not in the book, there is bound to be talk.” The words were spoken like a veiled threat, and Lady Ashworth bristled inwardly.

  “The only talk, my dear Clarissa, which is likely to occur, is that Claire is soon to become Mrs. Julian St. John.”

  Clarissa gasped. She stared at Lady Ashworth. Her face grew white.

  Lady Ashworth felt a pang of sympathy for her.

  Miss Margaret’s eyes came alight; her lips pursed as if suppressing a laugh.

  Clarissa’s face wrinkled into a frown. “Why do you say that? Has he made an offer?”

  “I have his assurance on the matter,” said Her Ladyship. “Which is the same thing.”

  Clarissa looked down. But she said, “No, no, ‘tis not the same.” She looked up. Her face wore an injured expression. “I will not believe it until I see it in the Times! How could she—how could he—they have only just met!”

  Lady Ashworth nodded. “It does seem rather extraordinary, except that Julian must be married by his next birthday, and he is in need of an heir. And he took an instant liking to my granddaughter, you must know.”

  Clarissa swallowed. “And when is this match to take place?” she asked quietly.

  “Soon,” said Her Ladyship. “I suppose as soon as the banns can be published and all that.”

  Clarissa shook her head again. “I tell you, I do not understand. St. John’s been in no great hurry to marry—if anything, he has avoided getting leg-shackled with amazing determination!”

  Lady Ashworth saw how difficult this was for Clarissa, and her heart softened. She was not fond of the young woman, for she did not approve of her seductive manner with the gentlemen, or of her thoughtless “larks” against Julian. Also, she knew, unless Claire succeeded in intervening, what Clarissa would do to him! Accident or not, it would be her fault if Julian was killed in eleven days! She had ever struggled to feel any warmth for the woman since learning of that. And she was only a great-niece, after all. Nothing so close as to make it incumbent upon her to love the girl.

  Miss Margaret said, “So is Miss Channing staying, then, ma’am?”

  Clarissa looked at her sister in annoyance. “Of course, she’s staying! What woman in her right mind would not stay if she is to marry Julian?”

  Miss Margaret ignored her sister and watched Lady Ashworth with a knowing look. Her Ladyship thought, she knows! Upon my word, she knows. But all she said was, “I agree with your sister. She must stay, for she is head over heels in love.”

  Lady Ashworth didn’t really think Claire was head over heels in love, but she wanted to make certain that Clarissa understood Julian was a lost cause. She must not attempt any of her larks, and particularly not one using her coach and four. She said, “Clarissa, dear, I know this is hard for you. I have a small supper planned for you, to which I’ll invite Earl Brest. He is in need of a wife, you know.”

  “I have no wish to dine with Earl Brest!” shot out Clarissa. She looked wide-eyed at her great-aunt. “The only reason St. John could like Miss Channing so well, and so soon, is because she looks like me! ‘Tisn’t fair! ‘Tis me he really wants!”

  Lady Ashworth frowned. “Now there I know for a fact you are wrong. He likes her despite her looking like you.” Lady Ashworth did not really know this to be a fact, but she would say almost anything to put Clarissa off the scent. She must learn to forget St. John!

  “Oh!” Clarissa stood up. “How can you say that? St. John and I are—well, we have an understanding. I must say your granddaughter has stolen him! He really belongs to me!” She was getting rather hysterical. “His feelings are really for me!”

  “My dear, you are distraught,” said Lady Ashworth, staring at her with large eyes. She stood and rang the bell pull. She hadn’t known until this moment how fiercely unreasonable Clarissa was with regard to Julian. She suddenly felt cross with her great niece. No wonder she will hound him to death! Claire must prevent her from doing it!

  Miss Margaret was evidently not surprised by her sister’s vehemence. Her eyes sparkled as though the entire conversation was highly entertaining. She said, “’Tis no use, Your Ladyship. There is no reasoning with my sister when it comes to St. John.”

  Lady Ashworth turned on Clarissa. “Is there no reasoning with you? Let me try. If I hear of your doing anything to undermine the coming marriage of my granddaughter to St. John, I’ll ruin you, do you understand? You must not interfere, Clarissa.”

  Clarissa’s eyes actually came alight. “You fear me. You DO think I can ruin it. Because you know St. John really has feelings for me!”

  “No such thing!” thundered Lady Ashworth. “You are incorrigible, Clarissa! I advise you to study the society book again and chuse any other man who is unmarried. If you do, I’ll lend my support and help you get him. But you must keep your distance from St. John—and from my granddaughter. It will be your ruin if you do not.”

  Miss Margaret stared at Clarissa as if waiting to see what rejoinder she would give, but Clarissa only grabbed her reticule and said, “Come, Margaret! I can see we are not welcome here!” She stopped at the doorway just as the butler arrived at the door.

  “See the ladies out, Yates,” said Her Ladyship.

  “No need for that,” said Clarissa. We can find our way, I’m sure.” She levelled a mean gaze at her great-aunt. “I was good enough for you before she showed up. Why have you let her replace me?”

  Lady Ashworth slowly shook her head. “No, my dear Clarissa. I’m sorry to say, but no. You were never good, my dear.”

  Clarissa turned with compressed lips and stormed from the room. Miss Margaret stopped to shoot a small curtsey at Lady Ashworth. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said. As she was about to leave, she stopped and turned back and added, “And yes. I understand, you know.” She leaned in and whispered, “I saw her vanish twice.” She paused and added, “And I notice she always wears that same shawl. Is it magical?”

  Lady Ashworth just stared at the girl, too surprised and alarmed to form an answer.

  Miss Margaret saw her hesitation. “Are you sure you can make her stay?”

  “She loves St. John,” Lady Ashworth said, hoping it was true.

  “But is that enough to make it stop happening?” Miss Margaret asked.

  “I believe it is,” said Her Ladyship. After all, she fell in love with the marquess and suddenly she could no longer return to the future. She was a widow now, but still she hadn’t been transported from the past. Falling in love is what seemed to seal her presence there. It was sure to happen for Claire, too.

  Clarissa, standing in the corridor,
overheard her sister’s remarkable dialogue with their great-aunt. When Miss Margaret left the room, she almost ran into Clarissa. She stopped in surprise.

  “Come, Margaret dear,” said Clarissa, in honeyed tones. “Let’s you and I have a nice little talk,” she added with musical sweetness, as they moved down the corridor toward the front of the house and the street. Miss Margaret had been wearing a look of triumph, but lost it now, and gazed at her sister with caution.

  “Talk about what?” she asked, though she dreaded the reply.

  As they climbed into their carriage, Clarissa said, “About a certain lady appearing and vanishing. I knew I saw it! And I knew you did, too! Why did you not admit it to me, then?”

  Miss Margaret shrugged. “What difference does it make? She’s here now, Clarissa, and she won’t go back, as you well know.”

  “Back to where, is what I want to know,” Clarissa said. “And ‘tis what I shall find out.”

  Remember, curiosity killed the cat.

  Anonymous

  CHAPTER 34

  Claire stared at St. John. She was almost tempted to believe it was all a delusion, as he called it. For how could he offer for her so soon? She must be dreaming!

  But he was looking at her earnestly, awaiting a reply. “I—I don’t know what to say,” she faltered.

  “Say that you’ll be my wife.” He stroked the side of her face.

  She stared at him, and loved him, and it broke her heart. “Oh, Julian! If I could—!”

  “Of course you can.”

  “But you don’t realise—what I’ve tried to tell you—about where I’m from!”

  “Is that what worries you? I promise you it makes no difference to me whatsoever, where or when you are from.”

  Claire was stunned. “Really? You mean you believe me, now?”

  “I believe you are entirely in earnest,” he said.

  She frowned. “But I really am from the future, and I go back without meaning to! I cannot control it. If I agree to marry you and then disappear—what if I cannot get back to you?”

  He took a breath and leaned his head down so that their foreheads were touching. Then, moving back enough to see into her eyes, he said, “I will not lose you. I promise you.”

  Instead of reassuring her, this sweet, heartfelt promise ratcheted up Claire’s worst fears. “Have you never lost something you did not wish to lose?” she asked desperately. But she was suddenly wishing very much to marry St. John, and it terrified her to no end.

  At that moment, there was a scratch at the door. It opened and a maid walked in.

  “Who are you?” St. John asked, in a tone that said he did not relish being interrupted. Claire was still in his arms.

  “Mary!” said Claire. “She’s from Grandmamma.”

  St. John looked at the abigail. “Go to the kitchens and eat something.”

  Mary curtseyed. “I’m not hungry, if you please, sir.” She looked wide-eyed at Claire and swallowed. She evidently thought Claire was in need of her protection.

  “Go anyway,” St. John said. He stared at the maid, who looked uncertainly at Claire. Claire nodded at her. “It’s all right, Mary. I’ll be fine.”

  “Wait,” St. John ordered. He turned to Claire. “You haven’t yet said you’ll marry me.”

  She opened her mouth—she shut it.

  “As I thought,” he said. He turned to the abigail. “Mary, are you watching?”

  She nodded at him, wide-eyed.

  “Good.” He drew Claire to him in one swift movement and kissed her, a good, long kiss. When he drew apart, she gasped, “What are you about?”

  “About making it impossible for you to refuse me.” He checked that Mary was still watching, and then lifted Claire, and, holding her up against him, planted little kisses on her face, her nose, her cheeks, and then her neck. Giggling, Claire said, “Stop. You must behave!”

  He only smiled roguishly. He moved them to the bed where he planted her upon his lap, and continued to shower her with small kisses. He spoke to her, too, murmuring how she had undone him, disarmed him, destroyed his bachelorhood. In between kisses he purred that he wanted to marry her, take care of her, have children with her. Somewhere during his sweet nothings Claire stopped giggling. He drew his head up when he kissed a tear on her cheek.

  “My sweet!” he said. “Do I distress you?”

  “You do indeed,” she said pitifully. “You break my heart!”

  He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “I want you to be my wife. How is that heartbreaking?”

  “Be-because! How can I?”

  “Shhh.” He touched a finger lightly to her lips. “I’ve been thoughtless. You aren’t completely well. You must rest now.”

  She said, “That is the last thing I can do right now. But—but—let me sit in your library and I’ll find some light reading to calm my mind.”

  He surveyed her. “I have a better idea. Join me for dinner.” Claire couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at the thought of an actual, real live Regency repast. And with St. John! But her eyes clouded. “I have no evening gown here.”

  “I can send to Lady Ashworth if you like, but there will be no other company, just the two of us. No reason for you to worry over costume.”

  She said, touching his cravat, “But you will look very smart, as you always do, in your evening wear—”

  He took her hand. “I need not dress for dinner unless I have guests, or will be leaving the house afterwards.”

  She smiled and then impulsively rested her face against his. He closed his arms around her and she breathed in deeply of his scent—he evidently had superior standards of hygiene for a Regency gentleman, for all she discerned was soap and linen, and perhaps a faint hint of port.

  A surprising feeling of contentment swept through her. From across the room, she met Mary’s eyes, but there was no censure in them; the maid tried not to grin.

  Claire closed her eyes to concentrate on the sweetness of being held by Julian—she could stay in his arms forever! He was any woman’s dream! How could she even think of returning to the cottage? He was thoughtful and kind—and didn’t care that she might be delusional! It was maddening not to be taken seriously, but she couldn’t blame him for not believing the unbelievable. How she wished, suddenly, that she had been born in this day and time! That she wouldn’t have to worry about disappearing or not being able to get back!

  And then, suddenly, it was ridiculously clear: she wouldn’t go back. She’d stay, just as Grandmamma had stayed. She would marry Julian and be Mrs. St. John! The very idea of returning for the sake of writing a book, just for fame and fortune? Pah! Who needed it?

  Meanwhile, the cottage would be destroyed, and then she’d truly be safe here in the past. And yes, she’d keep Julian from that coaching accident! Tears filled her eyes at the mere thought of losing him.

  He kissed the side of her face and lifted her off his lap, landing her feet gently upon the floor. As they headed to the door, he motioned for Mary to follow. She wore an indulgent little smile as she did. What a tale she had to tell the other servants when she got back to Berkeley Square!

  In the corridor, a footman was at the ready. He said, “Tell Mrs. DeWitt I have a dinner guest.”

  “Cook’s been instructed as to that already, sir,” he returned.

  “Good,” St. John said. He led Claire on.

  She was still sniffling when they reached an elegant dining room. As they entered, he put a hand over hers, which rested upon his arm. “Had I known my offer would send you into the doldrums, I would have held off. Forgive me.”

  She looked at him with large eyes. “Oh, Julian! If only there was something to forgive! You are—you are perfectly—wonderful!”

  It took all his restraint not to take her right back into his arms. “Persist in this manner,” he said with a glint in his eye, “and I’ll take you directly to Gretna Green.”

  Servants filtered into the room, carrying covers. He led her to a seat
adjacent to his own at one end of the table. She noted the beautiful place settings and lovely muted light of the candles. “Shall we light more about the room, sir?” asked a footman.

  “This will do,” he said.

  Claire agreed, smiling. “’Tis lovely,” she said.

  He looked at her with a soft gaze. “You are the loveliest thing in this room.” Claire sighed—and felt utterly content. A footman came and filled her glass. Mary had sidled in and stood against a wall. St. John turned to her. “Go to the kitchens. Eat with my servants.”

  She curtseyed and left.

  Claire took a sip of her drink and then looked at the liquid, for she didn’t recognise the sweet, pungent taste, rather like a strong mulled wine.

  Watching her he said, “Negus. I recall you wished to have it.”

  “I wondered!” she replied. “Thank you.” She took another sip. It was stronger than she’d expected, somehow. Regency misses drank this at balls? Surprising!

  While Mr. Yates came and watched as two footmen served the dishes, Claire and St. John said little. She was unable to stop herself from watching everything the servants did, though, as well as looking interestedly at every last bit of what was before her. From the gleaming silverware and crystal, to the folded linen napkins, she was fascinated.

  The food! The first course had three different meats—fowl, venison and pig. They didn't call it pork, Claire noted, simply “pig.” She was always asked first by the liveried footman whether she’d like to try a dish, before St. John. She wished it had been the other way around, for she would have followed his lead, as she forgot that Regency meals were lavish for the upper class. St. John looked faintly amazed when she allowed the servant to fill her plate during the first course.

  During an interval when the servants were absent, he said, “Tell me all there is to know about you.”

  She smiled, but said, “After you. I want to know everything you can tell me.” He seemed amused, but said, since he’d asked her to spend her life with him, she deserved to know. He told her he owned an estate in Gloucestershire with many tenants where he grew crops and leased land to farmers. He was a shareholder in the East India Trading Company but a supporter of abolition. When at his estate, he was often called upon to act as magistrate, but it was not his favourite occupation.