I have left for you photographs of my family. The one from 1842 is a daguerreotype from Mr. Beard here in London. The latest one, from 1853, was done by Mr. Fenton himself. I’m sure you will remember Mr. Dawes referencing him. I made sure to seek him out.
It may well be a shock for you, dear friend, to see me at such an advanced age, but I wanted to prove to you the truthfulness of my new ‘time’ of life and to show you my beloved husband and glorious children and grandchildren.
Rose has promised to entrust this trunk to our bankers, with instructions to have it delivered to you at the appropriate time. I know it will be viewed as an odd request, but that is the beauty of being quite rich, dearest Cat—one can get away with doing eccentric things. Which is lucky for me, as I’ve been known to break out into my rendition of Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, even at this ripe old age of seventy-one.
With much love, ever your bestie, Eliza
How strange it was to read such formal prose from her friend. At least she referenced Wham, so Cat knew for sure it was her. Could there have been any doubt? Who else would send me something like this?
Cat set the letter aside and carefully lifted out the bundle of cloth on the right side of the trunk. She had at first thought it was empty space, or maybe more books, but now she discerned the outline of frames through the material. She glanced quickly at what lay underneath the frames: several Charles Dickens books, including A Tale of Two Cities and David Copperfield. If her father could only be here now. It was unbelievable. A true treasure trove.
Sitting back on her heels, she removed the linen cloth from the frames and found herself eye to eye with Eliza. This must be the 1853 image, because it was clearly Eliza, only much, much older. She was still beautiful, and happiness shone in her eyes, although the portraits, as so many of that period did, showed no one smiling.
Next to her stood a tall man exuding pride, who had his arm clasped firmly around her waist. Deveric. In front of them, seated on a fancy sofa, were six adults—had they really had so many children? Maybe some were spouses, as there were three men and three women. Below them, on the floor, clustered eight children, ranging in age from toddler to teenager. Cat peered at their faces, marveling that these were all real people, that that was really her Eliza. But it was. It was.
Setting the photo aside, she found the older daguerreotype beneath it, again showing Eliza and her family, slightly younger. Cat ran her finger over the glass, touching her friend’s face. I hope you were happy, Eliza James. Truly happy. She examined the large pile of letters waiting for her in the trunk. I so look forward to reading about your life.
Picking up the daguerreotype again, she felt a bump behind the edge of the frame. Flipping the frame over, she discovered a small oval wrapped in paper. She removed the paper and found herself staring at a painted portrait of her friend exactly as she had remembered her, although bedecked in jewels, including a stunning sapphire tiara tucked neatly into her elaborately coiffed hair. Turning it over, she found a piece of paper attached to the back that read Eliza James, Duchess of Claremont, 1814. R. Westall.
Exhaling slowly, Cat surveyed the collection before her. She could scarcely believe that she was now in possession of autographed copies of Jane Austen’s works. Leave it to Eliza to figure out a way to help Cat financially from two centuries ago.
It was too much to take in—all of it. Derrick and Grayson. William. The Duke. Time traveling. What’s next, werewolves and vampires?
Tears ran down her face as she marveled over everything that had happened in a few short months. Her best friend was gone. And it was clear from the items in front of her that she was never coming back. Cat reached into the trunk and pulled out the stack of letters. Each had her name and a simple date written across the front. It was apparent Eliza had written her at least once a year, but often much more. There’s enough here to fill a novel. How ironic.
The front door jingled, startling her out of her reverie. Oh, yeah, I’m running a bookstore and we’re open. Hopping up, she quickly set the pictures back into the trunk and closed its lid, then walked out to the front of the store, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“Cat?”
She looked up to see Ben Cooper standing in the entrance.
Chapter 27
“Are you okay?” He gestured to the trails running down her face.
“Fine, fine.” She pasted on a fake smile. “How are you? Long time no see.” She couldn’t believe he was standing there, in front of her. It’d been nearly three weeks. He hadn’t answered her phone calls, hadn’t responded to her emails. Why had he shown up now?
He ignored her attempt at small talk. “You don’t seem fine.”
She burst into tears. He hesitated for a second, then strode toward her, drawing her into his arms. She stood there, clinging to him, her body spasming with the strength of her sobs. He didn’t say a word. He just held her and stroked her hair.
“She’s gone. She’s g-gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
“E-Eliza. She’s in England with her duke. And she’s not coming b-back!”
Ben pulled back so he could study her face. “What are you talking about?”
Cat sobbed harder. Ben guided her to the sofa and helped her sit down.
“Give me a second,” he said, crossing to the front door. Cat heard him latch the door, then watched as he flipped the sign from Open to Closed.
Striding back to her, he sat down and reached for her hand. She launched herself into his arms and let the tears come. Ben continued to stroke her hair, not saying anything. Eventually, her sobs died down and she sat with him, staring into the fire that she’d started earlier that morning.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Ben said simply. That made her cry harder. Reaching over, Ben grabbed the box of tissues off the side table and handed them to her. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
She wanted to ask him where he’d been. But she figured she might as well tell him everything. It wouldn’t matter where he’d been if her story drove him away now.
Wiping her nose, she nodded. “I do. I really do. But you won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
For the next hour, Cat talked, uninterrupted, telling Ben every detail about the medieval book, and Derrick and Grayson and William, and Eliza and her duke. He continued to run his fingers through the back of her hair, but his body tensed as he listened. Not that I blame him. At least he hasn’t called the psych ward.
When she fell silent at last, Ben didn’t speak. She sat up and looked at him. He was watching the fire, an impenetrable expression on his face.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she said in a soft voice. He turned to look at her.
“Not that I blame you,” she added hastily. “I wouldn’t believe me either.”
“I have to admit, this was not what I was expecting when I came in here today,” he conceded, his lips narrowing.
At that, she raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”
Ben shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I, um. I don’t know.”
“Do you believe me?”
He fixed his eyes on her again, glancing away after a minute. “I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you come to the New Year’s ball?” Cat said, desperate to keep him from walking out. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and reached for another tissue. “I thought maybe you were angry with me about, you know, the thing. And Mei.”
“The thing?” he said. “That’s what you refer to that kiss as—a thing?”
She shuddered at the anger in his tone.
“And as for Mei and I. We were already done. I broke things off with her after I bought the book for her. After I realized...” He stopped, shaking his head. “It was never a good fit.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered lamely.
Ben regarded her for a long moment. “I’m not.”
She sniffed again. “You don
’t think I’m nuts for telling you I created all these people? That a book has given me this strange power?”
“You’ve been under a lot of stress.” He shifted away from her a bit. “Maybe you just need some sleep.”
Anger stormed through her. “I wish,” she muttered. She wanted to snap at him, at the incredulity written across his face. Did he think she was lying? That Eliza was really sitting upstairs? Or maybe he was considering whether she’d offed Eliza and hidden her body somewhere. Bitterness ate at the back of her throat.
She took a deep breath. It had taken her weeks to come to terms with all of this, she reminded herself, and she was the one directly involved. She’s the one who’d translated the book and knew now what power it granted. Had claimed to grant, she’d first thought, until she experienced everything first-hand. No wonder he seemed to be debating whether to run out that door or not.
“Assuming it’s all true—and I’m not saying it is...” Breaking off, he peeked at her again. “Are you telling me that I’m a literary creation, too?” He paused. “Because if I am, couldn’t you have given me a smaller nose?”
She let out a sob at that. She could hardly believe Ben was doing just what Eliza had always done, trying to cheer her with humor in the midst of all this chaos. “No, you’re not. You appear to be one hundred percent real.”
“That’s a relief. I guess.” He ran his hands along the tops of his legs. “Because I’d hope you’d make me more exciting than I really am. You don’t see many middle-aged unmarried computer science professors as the hero in a story, do you?”
Cat laughed. “I don’t know. You’ve saved the day for me more than once.”
Ben exhaled. “Cat. This is a lot to take in. And I wasn’t in the best headspace before I got here today. Can we ... Can we both get some rest and come back to this later?”
Cat frowned as he stood up. “But I have proof. Let me show you the medieval book. And Eliza’s letters. Come with me to the back room,” she said, grabbing onto his hand.
He wrested his fingers free. “Not right now. I’m sorry, Cat, but I need to prepare for this evening’s lecture. And honestly, I need some time to think.”
She stood up, tears welling in her eyes again. “All right. Okay.”
He cupped her face with his hands. He didn’t say anything, just studied her for a long while.
“I’ll see you soon,” he finally whispered, before turning and walking out the door, leaving Cat standing alone in the middle of the bookstore. She watched him go, wishing beyond anything that he would turn around and come back; come back and hold her again and tell her everything was going to be fine, tell her he believed her and that he would never leave her. But the shrill ring of the telephone interrupted her fantasy, drawing her back to the reality that she might never see Ben Cooper again. Just like she’d never see Eliza. Or her dad.
Ignoring the telephone, she left the Closed sign on the door and trudged up the stairs into her bedroom. Climbing into her bed, she burrowed as deeply as she could under the covers, wanting only to forget it all and not think about tomorrow. Elvis jumped up next to her with a curious meow as if to ask her why she was in bed in the middle of the morning. He settled down with a contented purr against her side.
She ran her hands over his fur, grateful for the small amount of comfort he gave. Then, with thoughts of Eliza and Ben swirling in her head, she fell asleep.
A week later, Cat sat in her usual booth at the coffee shop, nursing her butterscotch latte. She had brought over the first few letters from Eliza but hadn’t yet opened any more of them, feeling somehow as if she left them untouched it wouldn’t be real, and that Eliza would come sailing in any minute, chattering about how she shouldn’t eat the cake but ordering it anyway.
Or maybe Ben would walk through the door.
That was the more realistic expectation, even though she hadn’t heard a thing from him. At least she and he were still in the same century. She watched the door, but the only person to open it was a harried-looking mom struggling to push through a stroller, in which a small girl of maybe one or two was pitching an enormous fit.
“Here, let me help you, ma’am,” a familiar voice said. The woman flashed a grateful smile then tilted her head flirtatiously at the impeccably dressed man who held the door for her.
William. William is here.
She hadn’t tried to call him again. She probably should have, but she’d left two messages, and besides, she was, frankly, a mess.
“I’m glad to be of help,” he responded to the woman, bending down to hand the little girl the teddy bear that had fallen by her feet. The girl stilled, chewing on the bear’s ear and watching him with wide eyes. Standing up, he turned and looked toward Cat’s booth. Seeing her there, he broke into a wide smile and walked over. The mom watched him go, an air of disappointment on her face.
“Hello, Catherine.” He slid into the booth across from her. “I was hoping to find you here.”
“William.” If only she was wearing something other than her ratty old sweatshirt. She’d stuffed her unwashed hair up into a sloppy bun. “What are you doing here? I wish you’d told me you were coming,” she said, trying to adjust the bun briefly before giving up.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he answered. “We just got back in from London, but I had my pilot fly me here instead of D.C. I needed to see you.” He gave her a warm grin.
“I, um, would have tried to look a little nicer,” she mumbled, wanting to sink below the table.
“You look beautiful, Catherine. You always do.”
Cat chewed her lip as William reached for her hand across the table. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you on New Year’s Eve. We ended up having to stop in London for a few days to finish up some business on that end. I hope the party was a success.”
“It was. Did you get my messages?”
The briefest of frowns crossed his face. “I did. The traveling and time changes threw me off. Besides, I figured the best way to talk with you would be in person.”
Cat looked down at the letters strewn across the table. She wished he’d just called. She’d never been good at confrontation. Perhaps breaking up with someone didn’t have to be confrontational, but it made her throat catch just thinking of it, when he was standing right in front of her, looking so hopeful.
He followed her eyes. “What beautiful script. Letters from an old relative?”
“A beloved friend,” she answered. His eyebrows furrowed in question, but she ignored it.
“How’s Eliza? I expected to see her here with you. I know this is your morning routine.”
“She’s ... fine. She’s, um, gone to England for a while to visit ... family.”
“Where in England?”
“Um,” Cat said, fumbling. “London.”
“I can’t believe I missed her there. Not that London is exactly a small town, I guess.” He chuckled. “Have you ever been?”
“No. I’ve never left the States.”
“We shall have to remedy that. I’d love to take you to England. I can show you our family’s ancestral estate. I’m sure Uncle Edward wouldn’t mind.”
Cat gawked at him, once again reminded of the immensity of his power, wealth, and prestige. “You have an estate in England?”
“I don’t,” he answered. “But the Pierfield Estate has been in the family for centuries. Entailed to a distant elder male, however, so not part of my immediate family’s holdings.”
“Sure, sure, okay,” she mumbled.
“You’ll come?”
“Um, no. I meant, well, no. No, I won’t come, William.”
She extricated her hand from his.
His face fell. “Too busy at the bookstore?”
“No. I mean, yes, I can’t leave the bookstore, but no, that’s not why.” She swallowed hard. “I can’t see you anymore, William.”
His face creased in hurt. “Wow,” he exhaled after a minute. “May I ask why? Have
I done something to offend?”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “Nothing at all. You’re perfect. In fact, too perfect.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s ridiculous.” He rubbed his forehead as if in pain. “This doesn’t make any sense. I thought that you—that we—had a wonderful time together.”
“We did. Truly. An amazing time. And I’ll always be thankful for your help after my mother’s accident.”
He looked at her, trying to read her face. “You’re telling me that you don’t wish to see me anymore because I’m perfect? You’re giving me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ line?”
Cat nodded, feeling miserable. “I guess I am. I don’t feel like it’s right for us to be together,” she said, adding softly, “At least not under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” he asked. “Is there someone else?”
“Um, uh, just ... never mind.” Her tongue tripped over her words. “I’m sorry. I’m not the one for you, William.”
“You mean I’m not the one for you, Ms. Schreiber,” he said, a chill entering his voice. Standing up, he gave her a measured look. “It’s been nothing but a pleasure,” he finally said, a tinge of sadness evident in his tone. “I wish you luck in your future endeavors, whatever they may be. And, Catherine?”
“Yes?”
“If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“You will find your great love,” Cat burst out. “I promise. She’s just not me.”
He stood up, adjusting his coat. Leaning down, he gave her a peck on the cheek. She shot him a small, sad smile, then returned to staring at the table. Turning to leave, he bumped into someone standing behind him.
“Excuse me,” William said. “Oh, it’s you. The computer scientist.”
Cat’s eyes flew up, meeting Ben’s. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard much? She couldn’t read his face.
“It’s you. The rich CEO,” Ben replied dryly.
The Magic of Love Series Page 25
