She and her sisters had even begun to say it on occasion. But, oh, if only it were as simple as the child made it sound. Okay. She’d traveled two hundred years and an entire country away from everyone and everything she knew. Okay. She was here with only the clothes on her back, a handful of jewelry sewn into her dress per Eliza’s recommendation, and one cell phone that wasn’t hers. Okay.
This was mad. She was mad. Should she have done this? What had she been thinking?
Escape. Escape is what she’d been thinking. Escape from the strictures of her society; escape from judging eyes; escape from lack of opportunity for anything other than marriage. Escape is what she’d wanted. And she’d found it.
She raised her chin in the air, summoning confidence. She could do this. There was no need for panic. She’d survived scandal, survived years of knowing glances and whispers. There was no judgment in these people’s eyes. Curiosity, yes, especially from Mr. Goodson. But no judgment, no rejection.
Yes, she could do this.
Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, her nerves having dispelled any thought of food before she’d ventured to the stones. The smells wafting from the other part of the room weren’t entirely familiar, but they made her mouth water.
“I thank you for the invitation to partake in your dinner,” she said as she reached Cat.
The little boy grinned at her, crumpling up his cheeks in the most adorable manner, a manner reminiscent of Deveric’s son Frederick at that age. Would this child soon dissolve into a shrieking banshee, as Freddy had often done? She hoped not. The fits that boy had thrown. Those she didn’t miss. Thankfully, Deveric never beat him. But the noise, oh, the noise, had been too much to bear.
Cat led her to a table across from a well-worn green sofa. A fire crackled merrily in the nearby fireplace, giving off familiar warmth, though the entire room was an even, comfortable temperature. Indoor heat. What Eliza had missed most.
Amara looked toward a window, but it was dark outside and she couldn’t see anything. Back home, it’d been autumn. Was it the same season here? And when exactly was she?
As she took a seat at the table, she blurted out, “Might you tell me the year?”
Mr. Goodson stumbled at her words, nearly tripping over his chair. Amara stifled a laugh. Watching him almost land on his backside took the edge off his otherwise perfection.
“It’s February 14th, 2016,” Cat said, acting as if a request for the year was a normal question. She handed a plate to Amara, who set it down.
“2016?”
Mr. Goodson’s brow puckered. “We should take her to the hospital,” he said to Cat. “Confusion like this is a sign of a concussion.” He turned toward Amara. “How did you hit your head, anyway? How long were you there in the aisle? Why didn’t we hear you come in?”
Amara opened and closed her mouth, like a fish gasping in air. At length, she said, “I was examining the books, and I ... tripped on my skirts, hitting my head on a bookcase as I fell.” It wasn’t far from the truth. She’d appeared here in the same sitting position she’d held on the rock, only with nothing to support her, so when her backside had slammed onto the floor, her head had flown back into a shelf. She avoided the other questions, hoping he wouldn’t repeat them.
“Here, Matt.” Ben handed the man a shiny, round thing rather like the new tin cans she’d seen in London. His quick glance at Amara told her Ben had distracted Mr. Goodson on purpose. How nice to have immediate allies here.
Mr. Goodson accepted the object, sliding his finger under a lever on the top and pulling. With a pop and a hiss, the lever came off, taking a piece of the metal from the can with it. He lifted the can to his mouth and drank. Amara couldn’t tear her eyes away from his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in quick succession. She had no idea what he was drinking—had never seen someone drink in that way—but it was disconcertingly alluring.
He set the can down, his gaze meeting hers. She moved her eyes away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
“Would you like one?” he asked.
“One what?”
“A soda.”
“Er ...”
“Perhaps tea might be more to your liking?” Cat interjected.
Amara nodded gratefully as Cat walked to a side counter on which sat cups, bottles, and some sort of machine. She took a mug and set it under a smaller machine, one Amara hadn’t noticed at first. Pulling a tiny cup from a drawer, Cat removed its lid and placed it inside the machine, then pushed a button. Amara sucked in a breath when, in a matter of seconds, a stream of black tea flowed from the machine into the cup.
“Might you have a spot of milk to add?”
Cat nodded in response to Amara’s question, reaching down to pull a white jug from a black box.
A sound from her side drew Amara’s eyes away from the tea. She turned her head and nearly leapt out of her skin. Mr. Goodson’s ice blue eyes pierced hers, his face mere inches away. “Why’d you do that?” His voice was a low whisper.
“I-I beg your pardon?”
“You know what.” He blew air out of his cheeks, his brow crinkling. “Why’d you kiss me?”
“Er ...” What could she say? I had to so the magic would hold?
“Pretty sure she was just overcome by your extraordinary good looks,” Ben said from her other side, obviously having overheard Mr. Goodson’s words. “The whole department knows half your female students are in love with you. Even some of the male ones.”
“Ben!” Cat elbowed her husband gently before setting the cup of tea down in front of Amara. The familiar scent of the brew tickled Amara’s nose as she picked it up for a sip.
“I’d blame Cupid and let it go,” Cat said, gesturing toward the paper cherub. “Unless, of course, you want her to do it again, Matt.”
The cup clattered back onto its saucer, liquid sloshing over its sides. “I beg pardon,” Amara exclaimed, though whether referring to the spill or Cat’s provoking suggestion, she wasn’t sure. Her eyes shot to Mr. Goodson, whose lips curled into a half-grin.
“It was a nice change of pace from my typical Sunday night, I’ll admit,” he said. “No offense to you or Cat, of course.” He nodded at Ben, who burst into robust laughter.
Amara took a quick sip of tea, scalding her tongue. “I do apologize for disturbing your person.” What was the proper etiquette to atone for mauling a stranger? What was the proper etiquette for anything here? Her tongue hurt and her head pounded. What had she got herself into?
He nodded briskly. “No big deal.” Sliding his chair away from her, he picked up his fork and took a large bite from his plate.
A strange sense of disappointment flooded through Amara. She didn’t want complications, yet it bothered her how quickly he’d turned his attention away. Did a kiss such as that mean nothing?
Cat scooped a portion of food out of a container onto Amara’s plate, then added rice. Picking up her fork, Amara poked at it.
Cat sat down next to her. “Beef with broccoli. Wash loves it.” Sure enough, the little boy grabbed another piece of broccoli off his mother’s plate and shoved it into his mouth.
The dinner certainly smelled appetizing. Amara gathered a small amount of rice onto her fork and added a piece of beef, as the others had done, before taking a hesitant bite. Heavens above, it was good, the sauce like nothing she’d tasted before. “It is delicious,” she said after finishing the bite. “Is this an American delicacy?”
The noises from her left stopped, and she looked over to see Mr. Goodson watching her again, a half-scowl on his face. “You’re kidding, right?”
Before Amara could say anything, Cat interrupted. “Amara had a different upbringing than most. Her parents ... home-schooled her in a rural part of England, so she hasn’t had much exposure to certain things. Especially modern technology.”
Ben chuckled. “A little like you, my adorable Luddite,” he murmured in an affectionate voice.
“Luddite?” The wo
rd burst forth from Amara before she could stop it. Why was Ben referencing a rebellion from her era? Why would an American be a Luddite?
Her head pounded again. Despite her long conversations with Eliza and the pictures she’d seen on Eliza’s phone, she was largely ignorant of two hundred years’ worth of history—or the future, from her perspective. Her throat constricted. She was ill prepared for this.
“Someone who doesn’t readily accept new ways of doing things, new technologies,” Mr. Goodson said almost absent-mindedly as if the definition sprang from him without him paying any attention.
His words made sense, considering the protests over the mechanization of the cotton mills in her time. She studied the strange tea maker on the counter, as well as the bigger machine next to it, full of myriad buttons and levers. Were there machines now for everything?
“You could help her with understanding the tech, Matthew,” Cat said, her eyes hopeful. “Amara could really use someone like you.”
Chapter 4
Matt gulped down the bite he’d been chewing. Not that he was always clued into undertones, but he could swear Cat was speaking at two different levels of discourse. Had she meant that last sentence the way he’d taken it? Because it’d sounded as if Cat weren’t merely referring to computer help.
“Uh,” he said, fidgeting with his napkin. “Sure, if she needs help.” Wait, what? Why was he volunteering time he didn’t have?
“Pretty much everything is new to you, right, Amara?”
Was that a wink Cat threw at her cousin?
Cat addressed Matt again. “The ... area in which she lived was quite remote. No cell service or internet.”
Matt’s brow quirked up in disbelief. “What? Seriously? There are still places in the world—in Britain—where one can’t get those?”
Amara pinched her lips before looking down at her plate. Great. Had she taken offense? He wasn’t trying to bash the UK, but he couldn’t imagine living without his phone, much less Internet.
Ben made a great show of feeding Wash a piece of beef, and he started babbling at his son in that high-pitched voice that grated on Matt’s nerves, though his brothers did it with their kids, too.
Amara still stared at her plate, not eating, her forehead wrinkled in ... in what, consternation? Damn. He’d better smooth things over, though he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done. Maybe her head was bothering her?
“You okay?” His fingers settled on hers. She looked at his hand resting on her skin before meeting his eyes, her own round and huge. As he stared into those hazel-green circles, it hit him again: that physical zing, that pulse of connection.
What the hell? Imagining a literal charge between them? That was as corny as anything he’d ever read in a book or seen in a movie. It reminded him of a line from that Walt Whitman poem: Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.
Heat shot through him from head to toe and all the parts in between. That merely from touching a woman’s hand?
Had she felt it, too?
Amara pulled her fingers away, clasping them with her other hand. “Indeed, thank you for your concern.” Her shoulders tensed, but her voice was soft, sweet.
For reasons beyond his comprehension, he wanted nothing more than to take hold of her hand again. To kiss her. Cradle her. Matt grimaced. Physical desire he could handle, but the unexpected emotion, the unwelcome longing overwhelming him was too much to process.
He stood abruptly. “I must be going.”
“Oh, no, Matt, please stay.” Cat’s eyes flashed to her husband’s, the wrinkle between her brows suggesting more concern than his departure should merit. Why did she want him to stay? He normally spent an hour tops here on Sundays, and rarely joined them for meals. It was closing in on two hours. He needed to go home, or at least back to the office, to get more done—and clear his head from this bizarre reaction to the gorgeous woman at the table.
“No, you have company, and I have work obligations.”
Ben’s mouth tipped down for an instant before he rose to his feet, nodding in Matt’s direction. “I’m sure we’ll see you again soon. Don’t work too hard.”
The last words came out in a wry tone. If anyone knew how driven Matt was, it was Ben. “You need a life, even in the middle of trying for tenure,” he’d said just last week.
“Did you have one?”
“Well, no.” Ben’s self-effacing chuckle had wrought a similar one out of Matt. “And in fact, I tell Cat I’m glad I didn’t, or I might have met someone before her.”
“I’m sure she appreciates that.”
“And I’m sure it’s a lie. Few women looked at me twice before her. But it’s all good now; I don’t need anyone else.” His eyes had grown soft, as they always did when he spoke of his wife.
It set off heart pangs in Matt he refused to acknowledge. He needed no unnecessary distractions at this stage of his life. No more unnecessary hurt.
“But I speak with the wisdom of the elders,” Ben had gone on. “Do as I say, not as I did.”
“Right. I don’t see you complaining from your big professor’s chair.”
Matt liked that he had such an easygoing rapport with Ben—when they saw each other, at least, which was mostly on these Sunday night meetings. Occasionally their paths crossed in the CS department in Rice Hall, but if he were honest, those interactions were strictly business and for the least amount of time Matt could manage. Not because he didn’t like Ben, but he had things to do.
Gathering up his laptop, he stowed it carefully in his leather messenger bag. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Amara,” he said. “An unexpected interaction, but pleasant, to be sure.”
Damn it. Why was he alluding to that kiss again? Did he need to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible? On the other hand, the woman had leapt on him mere minutes after they’d met. That deserved some sort of acknowledgment, didn’t it?
He slung the bag over his shoulder. “Are you here for long?” He didn’t know why he’d asked that question, only that now that he’d announced he was leaving, something in him didn’t want to.
Cat reached over and rubbed Amara’s hand. Amara herself said nothing—seriously, did the woman ever speak?—but Cat gave him a smile. “She’s relocated here because she ... lost her family.”
Oh, God. He couldn’t imagine losing his mom, his siblings. Even Nathan, despite the Wendy issue. They were the only things tethering him to human interaction sometimes.
He fought the sudden urge to touch her, to smooth away the tiny frown of her mouth, the sadness in her eyes. Instead, he straightened his back, his hand gripping the strap of his bag, lest he give in to this strange impulse and scoop her up in his arms. “I am very sorry to hear that.”
She nodded, a crisp, quick nick of the head.
“Perhaps our paths will cross again soon.” Lame. He needed to stop talking and just go.
“We’d like that,” Ben said, shaking Matt’s hand. “You know you’re welcome anytime.”
Matt grinned, but his eyes were on Amara. When she finally looked up, he tossed her a wink, trying to set her at ease. “Thanks for shaking up my normal Sunday routine.”
Cat snickered. “More than you know,” she muttered in a voice so low he barely heard it.
Sometimes it was easier to walk away than to figure out the subtext in conversations like this. With that in mind, he turned and strolled out.
But his thoughts lingered on the honey-haired woman he’d left behind.
What did Cat mean?
Chapter 5
As the door closed behind Mr. Goodson, Amara let out a huge gush of air, a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “This is real, isn’t it? I’m truly here. In 2016.”
Cat’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Yup. It’s true. I can’t wait to hear everything. I want to know about Eliza, anything you can share.”
Ben reached over and rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “Give her time to adjust, swe
etie.”
Cat ducked her head, a sheepish smile crossing her face as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “He’s right, I’m sorry. I just ... I thought I’d never know more of my friend again. I have her letters, thank God, but letters can’t capture all of life.”
Nor could a picture. Eliza had shown Amara the photographs on the cell phone, yet they didn’t compare to being here—and she’d only seen one place so far.
A low humming noise reverberated from somewhere outside.
“Matt’s truck,” Cat offered.
Two bright lights shone briefly through the window before moving off. Amara swallowed. Deveric had told her about such lights—headlights, he’d called them. So much to accustom herself to. Her head pounded, and not just because she’d hit it on a shelf.
“The good news is, you’re well set here. Eliza, that smart little thing, set up an account for you, one that’s held funds and grown interest ever since you left,” Cat said as she fed Wash another piece of meat.
Relief spread through Amara. “It worked, then? She told me she’d arrange something with our family’s solicitor, to be kept private, but I wasn’t sure her plan would succeed, given the two-hundred-year time difference. It’s why I sewed jewelry into this dress. For backup, as she termed it.” The corner of her mouth tipped up. How she’d loved Eliza’s peculiar ways of speaking.
“Yup. A few months after the trunk containing Eliza’s letters arrived, a second package showed up. In it were legal papers made out in your name—a birth certificate, bank records, educational transcripts, even a pre-approved passport application. All we need to do for the last one is email a photo of you to the solicitor. I don’t want to know how she did it, considering it’s illegal, but my bestie had your back. You’re a fully documented, extremely wealthy ex-pat!”
Amara wasn’t sure what a number of Cat’s words meant, but it didn’t matter. Eliza had managed it. She’d provided her with true independence. Tears welled up in her eyes. It’d been so hard, so very hard to say goodbye to Eliza, to Deveric, to her family. They’d loved her, and she’d walked away.
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