Because familial love hadn’t been enough anymore. She’d been lonely. Isolated. The spinster sister of a duke, forever scarred by one foolish mistake. Desperate for something more. Something better.
And removing herself would enable her sisters to make good matches, once the presence of their scandalous sister no longer dimmed their prospects.
Had they made good matches? She’d left them merely that morning, and yet here, now, their lives were more than a century gone. She’d have to ask Cat. But not now, not when she was drowning in change, in newness.
She sighed.
Cat reached over and touched her hand. “We’ll help as much as we can. I promise. Ben’s right; how absolutely overwhelming this must be for you. I can’t fathom it, and I had my own weird stuff to come to terms with.”
The tears pricking Amara’s eyes spilled over. As they coursed down her cheeks, her shoulders shook in silent sobs.
“Why Cousin ‘Mara sad, Mama?” Wash had stopped chewing his meat and his little eyes peeked at her with such concern it only made her weep more.
After a moment, she sucked in some air. “I am sorry. I ... it ...”
“No need to apologize,” Ben said. “No need at all. Believe me, I didn’t react well when Cat told me about her love-creating powers, and that was within the same century.”
“I don’t create love,” Cat gently corrected. “I create the initial spark. The couple decides the outcome. That’s what happened with Eliza and your brother, right?”
Amara nodded, a smile spreading across her face in spite of herself. “Yes. And I thank you for that. Deveric was quite miserable until Eliza appeared. She was the sun to his rain, though it took him time to accept it.” She poked at the rice on her plate. “But what if I decide I don’t want Mr. Goodson?”
Her face flushed as if in midsummer’s heat at the lie. She did want him, only without attachment. But that was hardly something she would have admitted to her own sisters, much less to new acquaintances. Especially when one was a man. “Will I return to my time?”
Cat set her chin on her hand, considering. “I don’t think so. I mean, I wrote myself several suitors but ultimately decided they weren’t for me. I chose Ben, instead. But those men are still around. Grayson and Jill were here for dinner just a couple of days ago, in fact.”
“Still around? Did you call them forth from other times, as well?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then where—” Amara stopped as a particularly bad jab of pain stabbed her head. She reached back to the lump, a groan escaping.
“Goodness, do you think we should take her to the doctor?” Cat’s gray eyes locked on her husband’s.
“Modern medicine might be a bit much to absorb on her first night,” Ben said, his voice calm. He walked over to Amara. “May I?”
She nodded.
Carefully, he removed the hairpins from her hair, and it fell around her shoulders and down her back. She tensed. It was an incredibly intimate act, a man letting down her hair, and yet neither Ben nor Cat acted as if anything untoward was happening. With the pressure of the pins off, though, she already felt better. His fingers located the bump. It hurt when he touched it, but not so much as she expected.
“I think an ice pack will do. Her pupils aren’t dilated, and she’s speaking coherently. For a time traveler, at least.”
Cat’s mouth quirked up at her husband’s teasing words. As Ben sat back down, Cat leaned over and rubbed Amara’s fingers again. Did everyone touch so freely in this era? “Tell you what,” she said. “Wash needs to go to bed. How about I take you upstairs with us? I’ll show you the room in which you’ll be staying.”
Amara nodded. Kindness. These people were kind. How much she appreciated that. Given Cat’s position as a shop owner, she and Amara would not have associated with each other in Amara’s era. More was the pity. Eliza was right; people whose character was of the highest caliber should be the most esteemed, not those whose position had been bequeathed on them through a happy accident of birth.
She rose, smoothing down her skirt.
Cat stood as well, lifting Wash into her arms. With one hand, she gestured toward Amara’s dress. “I still have a few of Eliza’s things, but they’re not likely to fit you. Neither will mine. You’re taller than Eliza and curvier than I am.”
Amara self-consciously glanced down at her bosom. Definitely larger than Cat’s. And while Eliza had borrowed several of Amara’s gowns when she’d first arrived, it was true the American was a number of inches shorter. Amara had no doubt anything of Eliza’s would reveal much of her ankles.
Her cheeks burned at the thought of donning breeches or trousers like a man. She’d worn her share of low-cut gowns over the years, but was she ready for such exposure of all parts of her body?
“We have to go shopping!” Cat exclaimed. “Though I’m not sure what women your age wear these days.” She shrugged. “I’m mostly a jeans and T-shirt type, myself.”
Amara followed Cat to the stairwell behind the register.
“You’re twenty-seven, right?” Cat asked.
“Twenty-eight now. Quite the spinster.” Amara gave a self-deprecating snort.
“Honey, in this era, there are no spinsters. You marry because you want to. Or you don’t. No judgment.”
Amara grinned, the first fully felt smile of the evening. A bit of her spirit flowed back. She didn’t have to marry unless she chose of her own accord. As she ascended the stairs behind Cat, one thought echoed in her brain.
I believe I shall like it here.
Chapter 6
Matt hummed along to the radio as he drove. He didn’t live far from the Coopers—just on the south side of campus, off of Jefferson Park Avenue (or JPA, as every resident of Charlottesville called it)—but far enough that he didn’t usually walk. Besides, his truck needed exercise every once in a while, right? The advantage to living close to his office was he didn’t need to drive to work. The disadvantage was it gave him fewer opportunities to use his pickup, and he loved the thing.
Perhaps it was an unusual vehicle choice for a computer science professor—he should probably have something more practical, like a Toyota or a Subaru, or at least sporty, like a BMW or Porsche. Not that he could afford the latter, but someday. Someday.
In the meantime, his trusty pickup never let him down, even if his colleagues joked they expected to see him in cowboy boots and a ten-gallon hat.
He didn’t know why he’d wanted a truck, to be honest. He wasn’t a country boy—growing up in Gaithersburg, Maryland, definitely precluded that. He just liked the way it made him feel. Strong. Powerful. Manly. The opposite of the computer geek stereotype. Good God, I sound like a TV ad. He patted the dashboard. Bessie was his rock; she’d never let him down. Never abandoned him. She was the only woman he needed.
Amara’s bewitching eyes danced before him. God, what a strange evening. Not that he was averse to kissing beautiful women, but what the hell had happened back there? And that strange electricity which had crackled between them?
She was sexy, that was for sure. Oddly so, given her garb. When had he ever thought a woman in a bonnet sexy?
Maybe she’d be up for a fling. A relationship didn’t interest him. He couldn’t risk it again. Not with how badly things had gone with Wendy.
It still hurt every time he had to see her with his brother at family events. That was why he rarely attended. Sure, it’d been ten years. Sure, Wendy and Nathan were much better suited to each other than she and he had ever been. Still, she’d left him for his brother, claiming he hadn’t paid her enough attention, that she couldn’t compete with his fixation on computers.
He frowned. He’d thrown himself into his studies, into his work, more after that. Not less. He’d ignored the painful truth in her words by burying himself in screens and research and teaching, avoiding relationships altogether. He didn’t need one. He had his career, his tenure quest, and his determination to make a splash in cybersecurity. And
he had Ada Lovelace, his cat.
“A man with a pickup needs a dog, dude,” his brother, Daniel, often ribbed him. But dogs required time and energy, and he didn’t have enough of either to give. Not to a canine, not to a female.
So why did his thoughts keep flitting back to Amara? He didn’t even know her last name, for Pete’s sake. He didn’t know a thing about her, beyond that she was his mentor’s wife’s cousin. Which should automatically render her off-limits. Despite the fact she was wickedly attractive. And a damn fine kisser.
He ran his hands along his thighs at the stoplight, wanting to smooth out the tension pulsing everywhere. For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d gone months without any action. This physical drive for a woman he’d just met was ridiculous. But there it was.
When the light turned green, he floored the truck, roaring through the intersection, determined to put more distance between himself and the strange events of the evening. An hour’s more work, maybe a break for an episode of Big Bang Theory, a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow he’d begin afresh, with all thoughts of the all-too-strange, all-too-tempting Amara What’s-Her-Name firmly behind him.
Or he could call Julie. She’d made it clear she was up for another night if he wished. That was the kind of connection he liked: no strings attached, no messy involvement of feelings. No chance of potential hurt, either inflicting or suffering. It’d be easier to avoid the opposite sex altogether, but he appreciated an attractive woman and had drives, like any man. Though he shoved his sex drive on the back burner when working. And he was always working. It’s what he loved to do. So what if Taylor claimed he worked so much to avoid dealing with real life? Work was his life.
He pulled into a space in his apartment building’s lot and shut off the engine, sitting for a moment in the dark. Why hadn’t Ben said they had company? They could’ve postponed the meeting. And what was up with this Amara? She’d acted so peculiarly, like she didn’t know the Coopers, despite Cat’s assertion they were cousins. Because of her head injury?
He shrugged, reaching for his phone, which had dinged while he was driving. Who was he to judge the Coopers? Matt liked Ben, but the Coopers were in a different life stage—nearly a decade older, with a young child. Ben and he were colleagues, friendly acquaintances, but not true friends.
Not that Matt had any friends besides her, Taylor often kidded. She was wrong; he lunched occasionally with Ben, or with Dave, whose office was next to his, and on rare occasion, he and several other profs played pool or grabbed a beer. That was enough, wasn’t it?
He glanced at the screen. Taylor had texted:
Hot date. Tell ya later. Wish me luck.
He grinned. His sister was younger by only a year, and they’d always been close. He was glad she was getting her spunk back; her divorce had finally been finalized a month ago, but she’d been down since her marriage fell apart. Further evidence matrimony didn’t agree with the Goodson family.
In truth, Taylor’s ex, Trevor, hadn’t been a bad guy. He just didn’t have any drive, spending his days playing video games and drinking beer while his wife brought home the bacon. When he’d started smoking pot, Taylor left him. Matt hadn’t blamed her, had cheered her on, in fact. Their wastrel of a dad had been enough; neither one of them were willing to relive that again.
“Luck,” he texted back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Sticking the phone in his pocket, he climbed the stairs to his second-floor apartment. As he opened the door, a loud meow greeted him. “Hey, Lovey,” he crooned, bending to pet the calico’s head. “Miss me?”
After kicking off his shoes, he picked up Lovey, rubbing her chin as he walked into the kitchen. Flipping on the light, he pulled a can of food out of the cupboard, then put the feline down so he could spoon her food into a bowl. Setting it down, he surveyed the room. He liked the apartment’s open layout; the main room was one big living room/dining room/kitchen combo, with only a counter blocking off the kitchen area.
Taylor complained his decorating style was Spartan, at best, but he savored the simplicity, the starkness of bare walls and few possessions.
The black tile of the kitchen floor was cold under his bare feet, so he wandered to the other part of the room and sat down at a large desk with double monitors on it. He started up his favorite playlist before settling in for a night of work in this nice, quiet space, with no fussing toddlers. And no oddly adorable bonneted women kissing him unexpectedly.
Amara rolled over in the narrow bed, blinking wearily at the sound of wailing from the next room. Sunlight peeked in around the edges of the window covering. It was morning.
“Shh,” a voice urged. “Cousin Amara is sleeping, Wash.”
The child continued to cry, and Amara yanked the blanket over her ears. At least at Clarehaven, the nursery had been far removed from her bedchamber. In fact, Clarehaven, her family’s estate, was so large, she’d simply moved to another part of the house if something—children, siblings, her mother—disrupted her.
This home was tiny, in comparison. Clarehaven must have overwhelmed Eliza if this was the space in which she’d lived before. Cat had promised a full tour today, but Amara doubted there was much more to see than what she’d taken in last night. The apartment had three bedrooms, though the one Amara was in was quite small.
“More a closet than a bedroom. I’ve mostly stored stuff in it,” Cat had said with an apologetic smile. “It used to be my sister Marie’s—I understand why she was anxious to get the heck out of here after high school.”
There was also a living room with a sofa, a table, and other less familiar furnishings. Amara had got a glimpse into the kitchen, though it looked foreign to any kitchen she’d ever seen and much smaller.
Discomfort in her lower region made Amara aware of pressing needs. She sat up, looking around the room. Ah, yes. No chamber pots. Eliza had wrinkled her nose at said pots, describing modern plumbing and something called a toilet with such a look of wistful longing on her face, Amara couldn’t help but laugh.
She wasn’t laughing now—she had to make use of this bathroom, as Eliza’d termed it. Cat had pointed it out last night, but Amara hadn’t investigated, wanting merely to sleep. Rising carefully, she slipped her feet into her shoes and walked to the door. She’d fallen asleep in her gown, not wanting to ask for help in unlacing it. She’d been exhausted, anyway.
As she entered the main room, Wash let out another cry. Cat held him, bouncing him in her arms as she smoothed the hair off of his forehead. When she saw Amara, she grimaced. “I’m sorry if he woke you. He was fine yesterday, but this morning he’s burning up. I gave him Tylenol, but he’s miserable.”
Amara merely nodded. She had no clue what Tylenol was, but then again, she had no clue what much around her was. A large, black rectangle hung on the wall across from the sofa, with a rope of some sort hanging down behind it. Artwork? On one of the tables near the sofa sat a rectangular object like the ones downstairs the previous night. It resembled a book with its cover propped up or a slim box with a hinged back. Suddenly, it made a noise, and she jumped.
“Sorry. That might be Ben; I messaged him earlier.” Cat walked over to the rectangle and pushed something. The top half illuminated in a manner reminiscent of Eliza’s telephone.
“Com-puter?” Amara gestured toward the machine, testing out the unfamiliar word.
“Uh huh. I guess Eliza told you about them? They are kind of cool, even though I fight with them a lot. Technology and I are not on the best of terms.” She hoisted Wash higher on her hip. “I’ll show you at some point, though Ben’s a better instructor.”
“Mama, my thwoat hurts.” Wash ducked his head against his mother’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, baby.” She pressed a kiss to his hair. “I think I should take him to the doctor,” she said to Amara. “It might be strep.”
Amara had no idea what strep was, but if Cat was concerned, it couldn’t be good. “The doctor does not come here?”
Cat chuckled. “If only. Sadly, no, she doesn’t. House calls are a thing of the past.”
A female doctor? It shouldn’t surprise her; according to Eliza, women held a large variety of occupations in this period: engineers, lawyers, architects, doctors ... even astronomers.
She pinched her arm. She was truly here, in the twenty-first century. Her past was behind her. There was only the future now. Euphoria and terror crashed over her, settling low in her belly and reminding her of why she’d come out of the bedroom in the first place.
“I, um, need to ... ”
Cat nodded, thankfully understanding to what she was alluding. Amara walked toward a door between her chamber and another room that contained a miniature bed with tall rails about it. It wasn’t so different from Frederick’s sided cradle, though this one more resembled a cage. A cage for a child. Intriguing. And perhaps wise.
Cat called after her. “Did Eliza explain modern toilets? And flushing? Toilet paper?”
Amara’s ears burned. She was not comfortable discussing such private matters. Before she could answer, Cat crossed in front of her and opened the door, walking in ahead of Amara.
“Here’s the toilet,” she said, gesturing to a peculiar-looking white chair. “You sit on this part, and when you’re done, you use the paper here to wipe. Oh, and you put the paper right in the toilet. Push this handle to flush.” She pointed to a silver bar on the top of the white apparatus before turning to the side. “Here’s the sink to wash your hands—pull the faucet handle up and to the left for hot water, or to the right for cold. There’s hand soap right there; just push down on the handle and it’ll come out.”
Cat’s gaze darted back and forth as if to ascertain whether or not she’d missed anything. “If you’d like to take a shower, I can explain that, too. But I’ll duck out now to let you have some privacy.”
Amara nodded. “Thank you.” Her head swam, but she’d decided last night she was going to do her best to accept everything as it came by pretending she was dreaming. Fantastical dreams weren’t so unusual, right? Because otherwise she might collapse under the weight of all the newness—and she wasn’t the type to collapse. If being caught naked in a garden didn’t destroy her, no modern toilet would do so.
The Magic of Love Series Page 61
