Torn, she paused. To leave would ease her guilt, but to stay would mean being with him a little longer… To her shame, conscience and self-respect were vanquished.
Down in the valley, beneath the shady branches of the elm tree, Estelle’s carriage remained motionless. Its window had been lowered and she was observing the Deveril House gardens through a small naval telescope once owned by her late father. The black unicorn on her signet ring caught the sunlight as she adjusted the glass to concentrate upon the two figures by the fountain at Deveril House, They were framed against the dancing water, but only Blair’s face was visible. Then Laura turned her head, and Estelle’s thin hands tightened over the telescope with uncontrollable hatred.
“He told me you were dead, you little whore, and soon you’ll wish you were. He’s come here to be with you, but he’s
mine
, and he always will be,” she breathed.
Laura didn’t sense the malice directed at her from the valley. She was too caught up with the intensity of her feelings for Blair. It was like being a moth attracted to a flame—knowing she’d be burned, but still having to flutter ever closer.
Blair dropped the cigar and ground it beneath his heel before giving her a quick smile. “Perhaps I should outline the duties expected of you. For the next week or two you will take charge of Marianna here at Deveril House, and then accompany us to my Berkeley Square residence for the Season. The wedding preparations will also concern you, of course.”
His brief smile was the first true smile he’d given her. For a moment she was again looking into the mirror at her London apartment, watching herself making love with him.
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face...
She was face to face with him now, and the feeling was exquisite, more pure, clear and sweet than any before it. Oh, God, she was falling over a precipice. Like Alice on her way to Wonderland, except that Lewis Carroll hadn’t even been born yet, so her Regency self would know nothing of him or his book.
Blair deliberately avoided her eyes. “You’ll, er, be required to oversee Marianna, and attend any function to which she is invited but to which I cannot escort her. She’ll need firm direction, for her headstrong ways are bound to lead her into various
faux pas
. If she’s to succeed as the future Countess of Sivintree, what she needs above all is a modicum of restraint, a quality she sadly lacks.”
“She’s very young,” Laura replied, remembering her own conduct at barely twenty, although it had to be admitted that Marianna was a rather young twenty-year-old. Mature in body, but not yet as mature in mind.
He nodded. “I hope her unchecked tongue is only the fault of youth, not an enduring fault of character,” he said with feeling. He glanced at her. “Do you think you can manage her?”
“Why not? I know how to go on in society, and I believe I know how others should be expected to go on as well. Is that not what is needed?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” He searched her eyes for a long moment, and then smiled. Again. “The finer points remain to be discussed, not least remuneration, which I promise will be generous, but the post is yours if you wish, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Are—are you quite sure, Sir Blair?”
“Perfectly sure.”
She felt the change in him. The tension between them almost lit the air, the barrier was lowered, and the warmth in his glance allowed her in. No, it allowed the image of Celina in. She had to be honest with herself. The feelings now aroused in him really belonged to his dead wife.
But Laura knew she was beginning to pay a price for persisting with a charade she knew was wrong. Today she’d eagerly sought to return to the past—in fact, she’d gone out of her way to do so—and she’d sacrificed conscience. Now her heart was Blair Deveril’s for the taking. And so was her body. She felt no hidden shame as she acknowledged the truth about herself, for no matter how preposterous this whole situation, no matter how transitory and ultimately fruitless, she had fallen deeply in love with this man. Nothing would ever be the same for her again. Nothing.
“I accept,” she replied, her moth wings burning around her.
“That’s what I hoped you’d say. When can you commence?”
“Will tomorrow be too soon?”
“Tomorrow will be excellent. I’ll send the carriage at the same time as today. And, of course, it’s still at your disposal now. You will have your own room here, and everything will be provided. I cannot promise an open-armed welcome from the servants, for they are bound to be torn between your position and your resemblance to Celina, but I’m sure you’ll cope.”
The spaniels suddenly leapt to their feet, and made little yelping sounds as they looked up at the steps leading down from the lawns. Blair and Laura turned to see Harcourt hastening toward them. He was out of breath, and his wig was askew as he tried to summon a little composure before speaking.
“Sir Blair, there’s a problem in the tunnel. They’ve discovered another crack in the brick lining about a hundred yards in from the Great Deveril portal, and it looks in danger of falling in!”
Laura gasped. So that was what had happened.
Blair ran a hand through his hair. “Plague take it! See my horse is saddled, and be quick!”
“I’ve already taken the liberty of issuing the instruction, sir.” The butler hurried away again.
Laura looked at Blair. “
Another
crack? It’s happened before?”
“Yes. A mistake was made with the tunnel’s position, and instead of going through a completely limestone part of the hill, it passes directly below Deveril House, where the limestone is interspersed with fuller’s earth. This has given nothing but trouble from the outset, and prevents the canal from being profitable. Forgive me, Mrs. Reynolds, but I really must go. Please rejoin Marianna, I’m sure you and she will have much to discuss.”
But Laura suddenly felt a compulsion to return to the future. This particular close encounter had become so steeped in excitement and conflicting emotions, she just wanted to slip quietly back to her own time for a while. The past was weaving a beguiling spell over what was left of her common sense, and she needed to get away from the magic of Sir Blair Deveril in order to examine thoughts and feelings that at present were running away with her.
She gave a quick smile. “Miss Deveril and I can discuss everything later, Sir Blair. For the moment I have a number of letters to write to friends and family, as well as to my lodgings in London to arrange for my remaining belongings to be sent here, so I should return to the King’s Head.”
“As you wish.” He took her hand and drew it palm-uppermost to his lips. For a breathless moment she was sure he smoothed her skin, but then he released her to hurry away, the spaniels at his heels.
He paused briefly to tell Marianna and Stephen what had happened, and then hastened on toward the house, where a groom waited with his horse. Laura returned to the rose arbor, and Marianna greeted news of her employment with ill-disguised pleasure. Stephen was relieved to know the business of the necklace wouldn’t fall solely to him, and he said as much as he escorted Laura to the carriage.
Soon she was driving away from Deveril House again, but as the coachman began to maneuver toward the humpbacked bridge, Estelle’s oncoming carriage approached at such breakneck speed that collision seemed inevitable. Laura’s coachman started to rein in, but the other carriage didn’t check its pace. Then, at the last second, it swerved and swept past with only an inch or so to spare.
In a blur Laura saw a woman’s thin hand holding a blind aside, wearing the signet ring she’d noticed in Cirencester the day before, but then the other vehicle hurtled on along the lane, its team kicking up dust, and Laura’s coachman managed to halt his frightened team after the bridge, right by the gate. He stood up to hurl furious insults after the retreating vehicle, but then remembered his passenger. “Are you all right, madam?” he inquired, forgetting that she was only a chaperone.
“Yes, I—I think so.” She’d seen a signet ring like the strange woman’s somewhere before. But where?
“Shall I drive on?”
“I’ll just get out for a few moments, I—I feel a little shaken.”
She alighted and crossed the bridge toward the open gate, wondering—hoping—it would act in reverse, and the moment she walked through it she would be in her own time again. But fate seemed disposed to be kind, and before she even reached the gate the May warmth vanished and the much cooler air of January took its place. Deveril House ceased to be and had become the hotel, and her car was there where she’d left it. She ran to it gladly, and fumbled with the key before taking off with wheel spin worthy of Indianapolis because she was so anxious to get away from the past.
She drove haphazardly, following lane after lane until she began to feel more calm. There was no point trying to rationalize it all, for there was nothing rational about it. She, a modern New Yorker, had been going back in time to meet Sir Blair Deveril, an English Regency nobleman for whom she’d fallen hook, line and sinker. This wasn’t a game, and the choice before her was simple. Either she would have to avoid all contact with the past—although how she’d achieve that she didn’t know, because it had begun at the Berkeley Square apartment—or she would have to simply carry on, eyes wide open to the unknown consequences.
She bit her lip ruefully, and took a huge breath. There was no contest really. She wanted to actually experience the physical reality of the lovemaking she’d watched in the Berkeley Square mirror. She wanted to lie beneath him and have him look down at her with a love that matched hers. The only way to make such a dream come true was to go back there to be with him.
Chapter Seven
To reach the hotel after her meandering drive, Laura had to pass through Great Deveril. It was a picture-postcard Cotswold village, boasting a magnificent medieval church and stone cottages with gardens that come the spring and summer would be brilliant with flowers.
There was also a famous village green that had apparently figured in many a TV costume drama. She drove slowly around it, just to take a closer look, and noticed a lane leading steeply down between the churchyard wall and a cottage with a porch guarded by stone lions. It was called Barge Lane, which she supposed hinted that it led to the canal. There was one way to find out, and on impulse she turned down it.
At the bottom she emerged in a meadowy valley through which ran both the canal and a stream very like the one Blair had bathed in. Yes, she was upstream of the field gate, and there was the canal inn she’d seen from Deveril House. It had changed very little since Regency times, except to gain a smartly painted façade with window boxes and hanging baskets, empty now, but ready for the warmer months ahead. There was also a restaurant extension and a waterside parking lot. In one direction she could clearly see Great Deveril and the hotel on the hill, while the other way the tree-choked valley led toward a hilly skyline pierced by the isolated church she’d used as a landmark on the map. She was sure the church was the one in the watercolor in her room; if so, the wooded valley was the painting’s setting.
Appropriately, the inn was called the Bargee’s Arms, and was popular even in winter when there was little tourist trade. Rowboats were moored to the bollards that had once secured barges, and the busy towpath was little more than a close-mown way through a flower meadow. From the inn the canal curved east across the meadow for two hundred yards before vanishing among more trees near the foot of the hotel’s hill. This was the long exposed stretch she’d seen from the garden at Deveril House, but although she looked, the trees obscured any view of the cottage or the tunnel. She found it hard to believe this tranquil spot had been the scene of such busy waterborne commerce. But she’d seen it in the past, and knew.
She decided to have a coffee before walking to the tunnel and so parked her car. The chill in the valley air struck her, and she wished it really could be May instead of January. Hunching her shoulders, she hurried into a low-beamed bar where a roaring fire had been lit in the inglenook. It was a typical English country pub, with horse brasses, copper pans, round tables, cushioned settles, and framed sepia photographs and prints of canal life. There was a murmur of voices from the restaurant, and a waitress hurried past with ham salad and french fries.
The bartender was a thick-set, middle-aged man who gave her a beaming smile when he detected her American accent. “Coffee, miss? Just take a seat, and I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks.” She went to an empty settle next to the inglenook.
Several minutes later, after the bartender had brought the coffee, she heard a familiar whirring noise and saw Gulliver Harcourt gliding toward her in his electric wheelchair. She didn’t doubt it was him, or that Blair’s butler was his ancestor.
“I thought I recognized you, miss!” he said, maneuvering to a halt next to her. He had a pint of beer in his hand, and had been sitting with a group of friends at a nearby table when he noticed her.
“You get around,” she said.
“Oh, my chariot can move,” he replied with a grin, patting the wheelchair as if it were a trusty steed.
“It’s Mr. Harcourt, isn’t it?” she ventured.
He was taken aback. “You know who I am?”
“I’m staying at the hotel, and the Fitzgeralds mentioned you.”
Oh, and by the way, I’ve just met your great-great-something-or-other!
“You’re a friend of the Fitzgeralds?”
“Yes, Well, of Jenny Fitzgerald really.”
He smiled. “May I join you?”
Right now there was nothing she’d like more than to ply him with questions. “By all means, if you think you’ll be safe. I may not be behind the wheel now, but I might spill coffee all over you instead.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take the chance. Cheers,” he said, raising his glass.
“Cheers,” she responded with her cup.
“Are you staying in the area long?”
“A week or so.”
“I hope you enjoy it. We’ve plenty to offer, though of course there’ll be plenty more when the canal and tunnel are fully restored.”