Forever, Lately

by Linore Rose Burkard

  The mixer would have been last night, then. Guess Adam realized by now that she’d not be taking them up on the offer of a suite. No problem there, for even if she couldn’t return with Julian, Claire still wouldn’t stay at the lodge. The Winthrops were causing the destruction of the cottage—she’d never stay with them.

  Adam’s third message was more of the same. “Hey,” he said. “Even if you don’t need our suite, you ought to take it. People pay big bucks for it. It includes a daily buffet breakfast. Ciao.”

  “Thoroughly poor form to oust a woman from her home,” Julian said, coming from the other room.

  Claire smiled as she took his coat. “Even if said woman is about to disappear into the past?”

  “Adam doesn’t know that.” His eyes had lighted upon her laptop, and before she’d even hung up their coats, Julian was seated before it. He powered it up and entered her password. She surveyed him in his Brooks Brothers duds and could not find one little thing to dislike in the view. She’d thought it was his Regency attire that lent him his air of dignity and manliness, but from his thick black hair and sideburns with their distinguished hint of grey, all the way down to his loafer-clad feet, Julian looked wonderful.

  Claire felt suddenly awkward being alone with him. When he hadn’t remembered her, it was like sharing space with a stranger. Now that he loved her, she’d have to keep her distance. Julian disliked loose women—but it was going to be like ignoring the pull of a magnet—a very handsome, incredibly sexy magnet.

  When she joined him, sitting beside him in order to share the screen, he said, “I had a thought. Before we return—”

  “Yes?”

  “I should like to drive a car once more.”

  Of course—he hadn’t had a chance to get moving with any real speed. But parking lots didn’t offer such opportunities. And being on the road was too risky. She looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, you can’t.”

  “Why not?” He turned to her. A smile played on his lips and his gaze swept over her face and fell to her mouth. Uh-oh. He felt it too, the pull of the magnet. She pushed her chair back a few inches, and then looked at him earnestly. “Because you need a birth certificate and another form of ID. Something to prove your identity in case you’re stopped. Not to mention, a learner’s permit.”

  “To prove my identity? I have an identity,” he scoffed. “Why is that not enough?” His eyes narrowed at her. “Why did you move away?” With one arm, he drew her chair back to where it had been, and they studied each other, practically nose to nose. Claire took a deep breath. And pushed her chair back again.

  He put his head back with surprise. “Are you afraid of me?”

  Claire stared at him, not wanting to say that yes, she was very afraid. She was afraid because, until now, she’d never felt the least interest in knowing a man sexually, in her life. And now it seemed as if it was all she could think—or rather, try not to think—about.

  His gaze softened. “I’ve given my word, Miss Channing.” He smiled. “To behave.”

  “I’m not afraid of you misbehaving,” she said miserably. “I think I’m afraid you won’t!” He suppressed a smile, but took her hands. Gazing at him, she said softly, “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever known. The most wonderful human being—except for when you weren’t reformed,” she added quickly.

  He grinned.

  She paused and swallowed, and looking miserable, added, “Please understand! I’ve never been involved deeply; and I’ve certainly never been in love before—” She glanced around at the cottage. “And here we are, alone! I trust you, utterly, but I don’t trust me.” She tore her hands from his and shot to her feet, but St. John clasped her and brought her to his lap.

  Smiling gently, he grazed her cheek with a finger and moved a stray curl behind her ear. “I understand you,” he said.

  She had to chuckle at that, for his words brought back the terrible scene when he had said exactly the same thing and then kissed her passionately, though he meant nothing by it.

  He placed his forehead against hers, so their heads were touching. “I had hoped to stay longer only to get behind the helm, er, the wheel of a car. But come back with me now, and I’ll take you to Scotland. We can be married in less than twenty-four hours.”

  “That soon?”

  “’Twill take time to reach Gretna Green, but we’ll be married as soon as we do.” He kissed her nose and her forehead. “And no one,” he added softly, “can drive you there faster than me. Not in 1816, that is. Not even the mail coach.”

  She looked up and smiled. “The mail coach—it is the fastest in your day, isn’t it?”

  He kissed the side of her face. “Not faster than me.”

  She smiled and nestled her face against his. He said, “After we’re married and settled, we’ll come back. And then I’ll get behind the wheel again.” Claire’s heart sank. He enveloped her in his arms, but she pushed against him.

  “The cottage won’t be here. We won’t be able to come back.”

  “The shawl is what brought me; it worked from my town house.”

  “And brought you to the cottage. It’s tied to this place, though I don’t understand how.”

  He reflected on that. “Miss Andrews wasn’t brought to the cottage.”

  Claire stared at him, realizing he was right. “But she was evidently brought somewhere nearby. Grandmamma told me the shawl and the cottage only work together.”

  He said, “Ah. Her Ladyship.” And gave a breath of a laugh. “I gave her quite the set-down when she told me she came from the future.”

  “She told you?” Claire was surprised but delighted, for some reason.

  “I gave her grief, unfortunately. I was desperate to know what had become of you.”

  “Were you?” Claire’s heart swelled. She threw her arms around his neck and he clasped her up against him. He kissed the side of her face and then found her mouth. It was a warm and wonderful kiss. She drew apart and rested her head against one strong shoulder, and he settled his arms around her.

  “Come,” he whispered into her hair. “Let us return. We’ll go to Gretna, by Jove. And begin our lives together.” She looked up at him with shining eyes, and he said, “You are indeed beautiful, Miss Channing. In every way.” He kissed her again. “You’ll be even more so as Mrs. St. John.”

  Claire left to retrieve the shawl but with a heart pounding strangely. She was either about to leave her present life for good, or discover that she was stuck in it. She was ready to leave it—if the tallit would work for both of them. Her career, her books, the cottage, the pesky Winthrops—the life she’d known—it would all be behind her. And that was okay. She’d have Julian! She’d be his wife! It really did seem like a fairy tale.

  She gathered Grandmamma’s jewelry. She wasn’t dressed for diamonds and sapphires, but she put on the set. Still her heart pounded, thumping like a bass drum in her ears. Whatever happened, whether she was able to return or not, at least Julian would be safe in the past, safe from Clarissa, and where he belonged. If only that thought would calm her frayed nerves!

  When she returned with the shawl, St. John’s eyes roamed over her. “Those are fancy baubles,” he said.

  Claire smiled. “They're Lady Ashworth’s. I told her I’d bring them back with me if I could.” He nodded. Looking back at the laptop, he ran a hand along it.

  “Do you think—” he started to say, but Claire shook her head. “It would be useless. It only holds what I’ve downloaded, that is, copied onto the hard drive, er, the memory. Everything else it can do here won’t exist, and the battery will run out in hours.”

  “I would yet have hours to read information?”

  “Only what I’ve saved, and if it came through unscathed.” She turned troubled blue eyes to him. “I’m concerned that we won’t both make it with only half the shawl. Much less a laptop.”

  He nodded. “Let’s find out.”

  Holding the torn piece, Claire put her arms caref
ully around Julian’s neck. He entwined his arms around her and couldn’t help planting a small kiss on her mouth. Looking up to meet his gaze, she smiled. A beautiful sense of anticipation filled her, and her fears floated away—she was going to her new home, to 1816! It was a vastly different world, but one to which now she would belong. She thought of Grandmamma and how happy that lady would be when they were back.

  Seconds passed, and still they stood with the tallit in Claire’s hand, but nothing happened.

  “When I left the past,” he said, “’twas against my chest.”

  “Of course,” Claire said. It had only worked that way for her too, from the present to the past. She put the shawl against his crisp Brooks Brothers checkered shirt and then twined her arms back around his neck. “Hold tight,” he said. She felt him stiffen, as if he’d had an important thought.

  “What is it?” Claire asked.

  But it wasn’t an important thought, it was time travel. And just like that, Claire fell forward and landed flat on her face on the floor. Julian had vanished.

  There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.

  Byron

  CHAPTER 58

  Claire’s worst fear had happened! Half the tallit wasn’t enough for both of them! She picked herself up, rubbing her head where it hit the floor. She went and took the chair Julian had so recently occupied and stared off into space. She wouldn’t panic—not yet. Julian still had the shawl; the cottage was still standing; he could return. And he would. Of course he would.

  But she shook her head. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They were meant to be together—she’d dressed and spoken properly for life in the Regency—the tallit had somehow made that possible. So why hadn’t it been smart enough to transport them both?

  As minutes ticked past and he didn’t return, Claire tried to squelch a growing sense of despair. She was again stuck in the present without him!

  To keep herself occupied—and in order not to get frantic with worry—she boxed up anything that she wouldn’t want demolished come morning. What else was there to do? And Adam said they’d empty the house first of anything worth saving. But her heart was only with Julian. Please, come back! Once more!

  She ought not to wish him back. With Clarissa in the present, he was safer in the past. But he had to come back. They still had one more night before the cottage would be razed. One more night to be together. He could leave safely the following day—so long as Miss Andrews remained, she couldn’t cause a coaching accident in 1816.

  And then it hit her. Two people could time travel. Clarissa had come to the present with the other half of the tallit. That was Claire’s ticket home! All she had to do was get it.

  Oh dear.

  Sometimes, you have to manufacture your own history.

  Give fate a push, so to speak.

  Sarah Dessen

  CHAPTER 59

  Julian found himself in his library—the very room he had vanished from when he left for the future—but Claire wasn’t with him. This was no good. He couldn’t possibly stay without her. The shawl had fallen to the floor, so he picked it up. At that moment, a maid walked in with a coal scuttle. She saw St. John and stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide as saucers.

  “Oh, sir! I beg yer pardon, sir!” she said, in the hoarse tone of one seeing a ghost. She dropped the coal scuttle to curtsey. St. John put his hands behind his back, still holding the gauzy shawl.

  “That’s all right,” he said. He motioned with his head at the grate. “Go on.” She obediently picked up the coal scuttle and shuffled to the grate to stir and add to the fire, which had been kept going at Mr. Grey’s order. But she took a sideways look at him as she passed as if she couldn’t credit her sight.

  St. John, meanwhile, realizing the shawl hadn’t brought Claire, figured he’d be spending more time in the future until they found a solution to get her back as well. He’d best take a quick peek in his study to see if anything needing attention had landed on his desk. As he hurried along the corridor, the quietness of his house enveloped him like a warm blanket, and he couldn't deny a sense of elation at having returned. The future had gadgets—and cars—but his home was here.

  When the maid saw him leave, she dropped what she was doing and ran pell-mell to the servants’ quarters to find the butler. When she found him just leaving his room, turning the key in the lock, she gasped, “Mr. Grey! He’s back! I just saw him, sir!”

  Grey looked thunderstruck. “What, the master?”

  “Aye, sir! ’Twas him, right an’ tight!”

  Grey moved swiftly down the corridor. “Where is he?”

  “He was in the library sir, but he left. I can’t say as where he went.” Grey gave her a concerned look and then strode quickly on. He checked the library just in case, then hurried on toward the master’s study. If he didn’t find him there, he’d check his bedchamber. At the study door, he hesitated and gave a small knock, holding his breath.

  “Come in,” St. John said. When the door opened, he only glanced at Grey and then went back to a letter upon his desk. “Yes?” he said.

  When Grey was silent, he looked up, this time with more attention. “Grey?”

  “Sir!” he managed, almost choking on the word. He swallowed. “If I might say, sir—on behalf of all the staff—how happy we are to have you back.” He was blinking rapidly and looked away. Finally he dared to meet his master’s eyes. “Have you been home long, sir?”

  St. John’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, old boy. Didn’t mean to worry you. I took a rather…unexpected trip, I’m afraid.”

  The butler still looked troubled. “All of your equipages were here, sir. None of your horses missing…” He looked pained.

  St. John said, “Ah, yes. I..er…took passage on a different vehicle. I’d describe it to you, Grey, but…” He hesitated. “’Twas beyond description,” he finished with a sparkle in his eye.

  Grey stared at him. “Beyond description, sir?”

  “Another time, perhaps, I’ll explain it to you. I owe you that.” He folded the letter and put it down. “All you need know now is that I shan’t be staying. I’m very likely to take another such trip tonight. In fact, I depend upon it.” He gave the servant a bracing look. “Hold the fort for me, sir,” he said.

  “The fire in the library, sir?”

  “Keep it going. I won’t be gone for long.”

  “Lady Ashworth was concerned about you, sir. She called yesterday.”

  “Send a message,” he said, coming to his feet. “Tell her I’m endeavouring to arrange a wedding with her granddaughter. That will satisfy her, I daresay.” He wore a small smile as he met the butler’s eyes as he strode past.

  The servant gazed affectionately at him. “May I offer congratulations, sir, on behalf of the staff?” His eyes smiled. Grey understood, now, what was what. The master must have been away to see Miss Channing’s family. He was now off to cement the arrangement with them and marry his bride. A fortuitous event! All that worry for nothing—thank God, for nothing! And the master, to have a wife!

  He returned to his room with nearly a bounce in his step, to pen that note to Lady Ashworth. Then he’d make an announcement to the staff—first, of Mr. St. John’s safe return, and then of the impending nuptials. Imagine it—they’d feared the loss of their master, and now they not only had him back, but would have a mistress in the house! Smiling at the thought, his mind soared ahead, envisioning little miss and master St. John’s running about the house. Grey held no dislike of children. Wouldn’t it be grand!

  St. John returned to the library. For some reason, he felt positively superstitious about going back; it had to be from the same room. He wanted to end up in the same place—Claire’s cottage—so why not leave from the room that had brought him there? He made his way to the room, looked around, and took a deep breath. He took the shawl from his pocket and held it up against his chest. And vanished.

  Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdl
es, leaps fences,

  penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.

  Maya Angelou

  CHAPTER 60

  Julian was on Claire’s front porch. Why he ended up outdoors was a question perhaps worthy of contemplation, but at the moment it paled next to the need to get to Claire. The door was locked so he knocked rapidly. Soon the curtain to the window overlooking the porch was moved aside while Claire peered out cautiously.

  In seconds she was shutting the door behind him. She threw herself into his arms. “That was frightening!”

  “I had no doubt of returning.”

  They came apart. “You changed clothing!” she chided. “I thought you liked your new clothes.”

  “I didn’t change!” he said, innocently. “I appeared at home dressed like this.”

  Claire’s lips pursed. “I’d like to know what the tallit did with nearly $2,000 of Brooks Brothers clothing.” But she smiled and patted his chest. “I do like your usual style.”

  He studied her. “We must try again. I’ll carry you in my arms. If I hold you closer this time, perhaps we’ll both go back.”

  Claire frowned. “I think our only course is to get the other half from Clarissa.” And suddenly it seemed absurdly obvious: of course they must get the other half. Leaving it with Clarissa meant she could follow and plague Julian, and perhaps still incite him to a fatal chase. She’d still be a threat. Even if Claire could get back with him, Clarissa could plague them like she’d done that very day on the highway.

  “My dear sir,” she said. “I’ve just realized we must get the shawl from Clarissa. If we return together without it, she could follow and still plague us.”

  “It matters not.” He kissed her forehead. “My only concern is making you my wife. She cannot stop that.” He scooped her into his arms and looked into her eyes. “Ready?”