She’d crushed him to her, whispering of the numerous ways she intended to make up for her lack of qualifications. His ardent response was all the affirmation she needed: she could handle any challenge polite society threw at her, as long as Deveric was at her side. Being with him was enough, no matter where she was.
Still, she looked forward to the end of the Season and removing back to the country; as much as she loved London, she was exhausted.
Frederick, at least, was thriving. He’d had no more fevers, and his color was bright, his energy boundless. Deveric had taken the boy out on numerous occasions to show him the sights. Freddy had been particularly taken with the horses at Tattersall’s, and Dev had promised his son he’d teach him to ride once they were back at Clarehaven.
Nothing could move Eliza more than father and son so obviously adoring each other. Until the morning of her wedding, that is, when Frederick had come to wish her well before the ceremony. He’d eyed her in her new dress, an ivory gown trimmed in beautiful green ribbon, a green that matched the green of Deveric’s eyes.
“You look beautiful,” he’d breathed as if he could hardly believe it was her.
“Why, thank you, Freddy. You don’t look so bad yourself.” He was wearing a miniature copy of Deveric’s own wedding garb; white trousers and a blue tailcoat, with a green and blue embroidered waistcoat underneath. It was uncanny how much he resembled his father. “You surely will break hearts when you are older,” she’d teased him.
Frederick had only wrinkled his nose in disgust, thoughts of young ladies clearly years from entering his mind. “Lizzie,” he’d said after a moment, his voice hesitant.
“Yes?”
“Would it be—could I maybe—would you mind if I called you Mama now?”
Eliza’s eyes had welled with tears as she looked down at the earnest young boy. “Oh, Freddy,” she’d said. “I could never take your mother’s place, nor do I want to. But maybe you could consider calling me ... Mom?”
He’d tested out the unfamiliar word. “Mom ... Mom. Okay,” he grinned. “I shall call you Mom!”
She stood now on the front steps of the church, Freddy’s hand in one of hers, Deveric’s in the other. She looked at the smiling faces all around her: Amara, Emmeline, Becca, Grace. Even Deveric’s mother’s face glowed with happiness for her son and his new wife. Deveric leaned over and kissed her, murmuring of what he couldn’t wait to do with her later. Her heart swelled.
“A matter of time,” she whispered, closing her eyes and thinking of her best friend. “You were right, Cat; I would find my true love. It was just a matter of time.”
Epilogue
Deveric Mattersley, Duke of Claremont, paced the hallway in front of his chamber, his son walking in his footsteps right behind him. Moans echoed from within, and Deveric’s throat constricted. He whirled on Frederick. “You shouldn’t be here, my son. This is no place for a boy.”
Frederick gave his father a pat on the back. “It’s going to be all right, Father,” he said.
“How do you know?” Deveric burst out, unable to control himself at hearing Eliza moan again.
“Because she told me so,” Freddy said. “She said it will hurt a little when my brother or sister is born, but that she would be fine, and I was to reassure you of that. I am doing my duty.”
Deveric looked at his son. When had the boy started acting like a man? Like a duke? “Remember, it’s all right—it’s okay—to be scared sometimes. Right?”
“Yes, Papa,” Frederick answered. “But I’m not scared now. Mom told me she’ll be fine. That it was you who was going to have the harder time with this.”
Deveric resumed his pacing, marveling over his son’s resolute faith. Not that Dev didn’t have faith in Eliza; he did. It’s just that God sometimes had other plans. But surely God wouldn’t bring Eliza into his life, only to take her away again. Would He?
After a particularly loud groan, Deveric pounded on the door, demanding to be let in.
His mother opened it a few inches. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “It isn’t seemly.”
“She’s my wife. Nobody can keep me from her.” He pushed his way into the room. “Take Frederick back to Nurse Pritchett. I’m not leaving Eliza.”
Eliza lay on the bed, her face a grimace of pain as another contraction tore through her. “Get over here, Dev,” she commanded. He ran to her side.
“Oh, Eliza, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured, holding her head against his chest. He stroked her face, tears running down his face. “I never should have. We never should—”
“Shut up,” she said. “I admit, I’m ruing the lack of epidurals available.” She squeezed his hand in a vice-like grip as another contraction hit. “But I’m fine. And you’re about to meet your child.” She panted. “Don’t. Leave.”
Deveric glanced down at the midwife, who wasn’t looking the least bit concerned, although she avoided Deveric’s eye. He knew it was unheard of for a man to be in the room during childbirth.
“Push,” he heard her say to Eliza, and he watched as his wife grit her teeth and bore down.
“That’s good,” the midwife said, coaching her through several more contractions. “I can see the baby’s head. The baby is coming!”
Deveric clutched Eliza’s hand, his grip possibly tighter than hers. “Please, God,” he whispered. “Please.” He closed his eyes.
Suddenly, the sound of an infant wailing reached his ears. His eyes flew open. He looked at the babe, a squalling mess, but a very alive, very red and healthy-looking mess. He looked back at his wife, Eliza, who had tears running down her face as she held her arms out for the baby.
“See?” She cuddled the infant to her chest. “I’m fine. We’re fine. And you have a healthy daughter. We have a daughter, Dev.”
Deveric released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He watched as the babe worked to latch on to Eliza’s breast, joy bursting through him. He ran his hand over the babe’s head, marveling over her tininess, her hardiness.
“Shall we name her Catherine?” he said. “Catherine Rose.”
Eliza gave him a tremulous smile, her eyes flashing with raw emotion. “Thank you.”
“No,” Deveric said. “Thank you. You gave me my life back. You gave me my son back. You gave me ... you. I love you, Eliza James Mattersley. For all of time.”
He brushed a gentle kiss onto her lips. “Yes,” she said. “For all of time.”
Acknowledgments
“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends.” – Jane Austen
Thank you to the Shenandoah Valley Writers critique group and my beta readers for helping me shape and refine Eliza’s story into something of which I am proud.
Likewise, thank you to my marvelous editor, Tessa Shapcott, for giving me the tools to chisel the sculpted story out of the marble holding it down.
Thank you to the RWA’s Beau Monde group, for answering my numerous questions regarding Regency period details. Any errors are my own, but I know there are fewer, thanks to your guidance.
Thank you to Lankshear Design for the gorgeous cover and visually appealing formatting—my books look ever so much more beautiful because of your efforts.
Thank you to Emily June Street, for her ebook-formatting wizardry. You are magic to me.
Thank you to my family for putting up with me when the deadlines hit. Kids, you rock. Brett, you are my rock. Thank you for everything.
And finally, thank you to my readers. Your encouraging comments and enthusiasm for my writing mean the world to me. I can’t tell you how touched I am when someone says they love something I’ve written—it’s this giddy little author’s dream come true!
For my sister, Donna, in celebration of her own Second Act.
Chapter 1
1813
Amara Mattersley sat within the circle of ancient stones, wondering for the hundredth time what she was doing. She’d been there for hours, barely moving, he
r heart warring with her head.
It was madness, this plan she’d hatched with Eliza, the idea that by coming to this sacred space and wishing to find her soul mate, it would happen. Her soul mate in the twenty-first century, that is.
She held a hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. It couldn’t work. It wouldn’t work. Did she want it to work?
She did.
At least the part about traveling to the future, to the opportunities Eliza promised. There wasn’t anything for her here anymore.
Oh, that wasn’t wholly the truth—she had her family. Her brother, Deveric, Duke of Claremont, and his wife, Eliza.
Their children, Frederick and Rose. Her sisters, Cecilia, Grace, Emmeline, and Rebecca. Her scamp of a brother, Chance. Her mother. She loved them, and they her. But familial love wasn’t enough to overcome the hurts of her past, the bleak prospects for her future.
“That’s what happens when you throw yourself away on a scurrilous bastard,” she whispered to herself, Drake Evers’ face floating before her. It’d faded in time, now a vague shadow of the man she’d once loved, the man who’d seduced her all those summers ago ... before confessing he’d married.
Pain lanced her heart. How could it hurt, so many years later? Shouldn’t she have recovered by now? Maybe she could if people would let her forget. But forgetting wasn’t possible in this society in which everyone judged everyone else. Being a duke’s sister carried with it numerous advantages, but not when it came to avoiding notoriety in a scandal.
Of course being a duke’s sister is what saved her from a forced marriage. Amara refused to enter an arrangement devoid of affection. Her passions burned too strongly for that. Luckily, her family, even her disapproving mother, had rallied around her, and their support, and certainly their social rank, kept her within polite society.
“I am too much, Eliza,” she’d insisted when she’d revealed her longing to leave. “Too headstrong, too driven by the desires that landed me in trouble, to begin with. Six years I’ve tried to tame my emotions in order to be the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, content with the same endless circuit of balls and house parties and morning calls, the same tedious afternoons of strolling in the gardens, or playing the pianoforte, or reading. It hasn’t worked.”
Not that Amara minded reading. Like her sister, Grace, she’d read nearly every book in Clarehaven’s expansive library, especially any tomes related to science, particularly the stars.
She tilted her head to the heavens now, keeping her eyes closed as the sun beat down on her. The rock beneath her warmed, her fingers soaking up its energy as she grasped at its edges, thinking of Eliza.
Eliza, her brother’s new wife.
Eliza, the woman from the future.
“I want more. A life of my own, like you had,” Amara had confessed to her sister-in-law after learning Eliza’s secret, a secret she never would have believed had her brother not vouched for his wife and had she not seen Eliza’s telephone for herself. Cell phone. She calls it a cell phone.
Amara cradled the small black device in her hands. Though it was long since depleted of whatever powered it, she hadn’t forgotten the pictures—photographs—Eliza’d shown her on it. Pictures of fantastical things. And the stories Eliza had told—not only of the objects depicted but also of the options available to women in this twenty-first century. A full education. True independence. Neither of which Amara could acquire in 1813.
“Take it with you,” Eliza had said, her eyes suspiciously bright as she’d handed Amara the phone that morning. “To show Cat my life here.”
Cat was Catherine Schreiber, Eliza’s friend from Virginia, owner of a magical manuscript enabling her to create love interests, and the woman Amara needed to find once she arrived.
But first, she must find the man.
“Cat can call you forward, I’m sure of it,” Eliza had insisted. “But for love. That’s how her powers work. She can bring people across centuries, as evidenced by your brother and me, but the love element is key. If you want to travel to the twenty-first century, you can only do so by wishing to be with your true love. And, Amara, you deserve that love. You are wonderful—intelligent, witty, caring. You’ve been the dearest friend to me. But I agree you’ve gotten the short end of the stick here. You deserve everything you want. You deserve to know a love like I have with Dev.”
Amara had rolled her eyes in an attempt to disguise the sheen of moisture Eliza’s kind words brought forth. “I thought I had that once, and everyone knows how it turned out. I want to flee this society precisely because of my troubles with men. Why should I wish to leap into a man’s arms, even one you think could be my great love?”
That dilemma was why she’d sat here half the day, torn. She desperately wanted to escape, but to only be able to do so if she gave herself to another man? Oh, the irony.
She’d said her goodbyes to Dev and Eliza that morning. They were the only ones privy to Eliza’s time-traveling secret, and the only ones who knew of Amara’s intended destination. Thanks to the letter she’d left, the rest of the family would think she’d run off with the Royal Navy officer she’d met on their recent journey to Bath.
An unladylike snort escaped her. She had met an officer. A captain. Emmeline even commented on the man’s attentions, but in truth, Amara had wanted nothing to do with him. He’d had that oily aura to him, that essence of rogue she’d become so adept at discerning. He was a convenient scapegoat now, however.
It saddened her to think her family members were unlikely to challenge her bizarre tale. Would her mother be relieved to have her scandalous oldest daughter out of her hair? Amara’s impetuous nature had got her into trouble more than once, though never so much as with Drake.
She dipped her head in shame. If only desire didn’t plague her. If only she could leave it behind. Physical desire, at least. Her intellectual passions burned with equal fervor. Eliza’s talk of women at university, women as doctors, scientists, even world leaders, had roused her mind from its stupor. The opportunities available to women in the twenty-first century were a far cry from Amara’s current options. Here, she could marry. Manage a household. Bear children. Perhaps aid charitable organizations, or become a patroness of the arts or sciences. But she wasn’t to undertake scholarly activities herself. Not as a woman. Not as a Mattersley daughter.
“In my mother’s opinion, in the ton’s opinion, I am no more than an aging spinster in a society where a woman’s marital status determines everything,” she’d told her sister-in-law a few weeks ago.
“Not in my opinion, for what it’s worth,” Eliza had said, clasping her hands over Amara’s. “But give the future a chance. Give yourself a chance. Go. Explore. Open your heart. You never know what might happen.”
This morning, as she’d said her final farewells, Eliza had gripped her in the fiercest embrace. “While I hope you give love a chance, remember, you still have a choice. Cat’s stories promise that; she wouldn’t force anyone into something. You don’t have to marry anyone, even the man from your story, if you don’t wish to.” Her eyes had taken on a teasing glint. “If nothing else, well, you can have the kind of fun you can’t have here.”
“Fun?”
“Yeah. Fun. You know, making out with someone?”
“Making out?”
“Kissing!” Eliza had exclaimed with a bubbly laugh. “You must kiss whomever Cat writes you with to make the magic stick. And you can indulge in everything else if you wish. If he’s cute enough.”
Amara’s cheeks had caught on fire at Eliza’s suggestion, yet the idea of a guilt-free liaison was one of the things that’d brought her here today, despite her doubts. She wanted no permanent connections, but to satiate her desires—all of her desires—without recriminations?
Opening her eyes, she stared at the ruined stones, stones weathered away by thousands of years, stones watching her, measuring her. This was silly. Had Eliza’s plea on Amara’s behalf even reached Cat, two hundred years in the
future? If it had, could Cat truly make this work? Eliza had had a specific person on whom to focus: Deveric. Amara didn’t have that advantage, had no way of knowing on whom she was supposed to concentrate.
Was it not likely, therefore, that nothing would happen, even if she did follow Eliza’s instructions? What did she have to lose, then?
“You have to put your whole heart into it, though, or I don’t think it’ll work,” Eliza had cautioned.
That wasn’t hard to do when Amara’s mind said the success of this scheme was an impossibility. Why not give the whole of her heart in the wishing? In all probability, she’d open her eyes and be sitting right here on this absurdly warm stone, wishing and praying life was different, fuller, better, just as she’d been doing for the last six years.
But what if it did work? She’d acquire freedoms she could only imagine, freedoms she’d never had. Anticipation and excitement filled her, and she pushed out the doubt. She could do this, could give her whole heart to the idea of something better, wherever it lay.
She clutched the phone to her chest. “I have nothing to lose.” And potentially everything to gain.
Closing her eyes one final time, she repeated, over and over, “I wish to be with my one true love; I wish to be with my one true love; I wish to be with my one true love.”
Chapter 2
Valentine’s Day, 2016
Matthew Goodson stretched his legs under the table, arching his back to work out the kinks. “Do you need a break?” Ben Cooper, his faculty mentor, set his coffee mug down, his eyebrows rising in casual concern.
“No, I’m good.” Matt’s back hurt, but that was nothing new. Hours sitting in front of his screen meant his long, lean, 6’3” frame found few comfortable positions. It didn’t deter him; whatever it took, whatever was expected, that’s what he would do. Including meeting every Sunday evening with Ben here in the Treasure Trove, the bookstore Ben’s wife Cat owned.
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