The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  “How about a beer?”

  “Uh—” Matt hesitated. He really wanted to speak to Amara.

  “Amara’s sleeping. And this might not be the best time for you two to talk. Give her a little time.”

  Matt’s shoulders slumped. Ben knew. This was more embarrassing than the time his high school math teacher had caught him with porn. Matt’s cheeks burned as if fire ants were gnawing on them.

  “I know we’re colleagues, but I’d also like to hope you consider me a friend, Matt.”

  The words hung in the air, and to Matt’s surprise, his eyes welled up. It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends of his own. He did. One or two. But he could sure use advice from someone with more experience than he in this area. “A beer sounds great.”

  “St. Maarten’s? We can walk, in case it’s a two or three—or four—beer kind of night.”

  “Sure. And Ben?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  The bar was fairly full, which didn’t surprise Matt—it was Thursday night, after all, and students liked to start the weekend early. But the atmosphere was comfortable, and the high-backed wood booths lent a sense of privacy.

  “So,” Ben said after they’d settled in and ordered.

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “I don’t know. Stunned. Nervous.” He frowned, toying with a paper beer coaster. “Angry.”

  Ben nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “But not at Amara,” Matt added quickly. “It’s not her fault. It’s mine. I, uh, forgot the condom the first night.”

  “It takes two.”

  “True, but Amara’s different than other women in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. A little more naïve or something. Not that I’m so clued in.”

  Ben gave a strangled chuckle. “You got that right.”

  Matt’s eyebrow rose. He took a slug of beer, confused. Was Ben referring to Amara, or to Matt’s social awkwardness? Should he ask?

  Ben sat back in the booth. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Matt. I have every confidence you’ll figure this out.”

  “Ha.” Matt gave a derisive snort. “Sure wish I did.”

  Chapter 32

  Amara woke sometime later, the room black and her eyes crusty from tears. She rolled over to look at the bedside clock. Funny how quickly she’d got used to knowing the time at all hours. 3:24 a.m.

  Her stomach growled. How could she be hungry? How could her body continue its normal functioning with everything going on? She snorted. How could it not? Another human being was growing inside of her, as unimaginable as that was.

  Throwing off the covers, she rose from the bed, scratching Elvis’s head as he meowed in protest. Quietly, she padded out to the kitchen and searched for something to eat. A package of muffins sat on the counter, and she helped herself to one, setting it on a plate before sitting down at the table. She’d only eaten a few bites, her mind swirling with the events of the day, when a door squeaked. Was somebody else up?

  Muffled steps echoed from the next room and then Cat peeked around the corner, her mouth pinched in concern. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Pulling out a chair, Cat sat down. “How are you?”

  Amara shrugged. “I am not sure, to be truthful.”

  Cat picked at an imaginary crumb on the table. “Ben talked with Matthew last night.”

  Amara didn’t respond.

  “Matt’s wigging out, sure, but he wants to talk to you. He confessed to Ben he didn’t handle your announcement well, and he’s sorry.”

  Amara sighed. “I know he is.” She set the muffin down and leaned back in the chair. “But he did not want this. He did not ask for it.”

  “Neither did you!”

  “Of course not, but when I made the decision to be intimate with him, I knew the risks.”

  “So did he! It takes two, Amara. He’s as responsible for this as you are.”

  “I do not wish to ruin his life, Cat.” She turned her head, staring off into the distance, avoiding eye contact.

  “Who says a baby will ruin his life? Maybe it’s what will save it!”

  Amara shook her head. “Babies do not mend things that are broken. I learned that from my brother’s first marriage. He thought a child might reconcile him to his wife. It did the opposite.”

  “But not all—”

  Amara held up her hand, cutting Cat off. “Yes, I know, not all would have that experience.” She exhaled, wiping the hair from her face. “But let’s be honest. Matthew Goodson and I barely know each other. Yes, I understand there are special circumstances. I understand you feel we belong together. That you brought us together for that purpose. I even have feelings for him.” She closed her eyes at the admission.

  “So what’s the problem? My guess is, he has feelings for you, too!”

  “But this pregnancy, unexpected and unwanted, changes everything. It traps him. Traps me. We are no longer free to make our own decisions. I ran from 1813 for that very reason, Cat.”

  Cat said nothing.

  “I came here to escape the things that confined women in my era. Marriage. Babies. Dependence on men. I do not wish to be trapped by them now.”

  “Amara,” Cat said, frustration lacing her voice. “Those things do not have to equal being trapped. Did you see no happy marriages in your time?”

  Amara thought of Deveric and Eliza. They’d been blissfully in love. And it had lasted, as evidenced by Eliza’s letters. And her sister, Cecilia. Cecilia had been truly happy. But they were exceptions. Amara’s friend Frances, her own mother ... Of the women of her social standing who’d married, most had not married for love, but for prestige and social connections. For money. Some of them had ended up in desperate situations, situations Amara never wished to be in.

  Yet here she was.

  “Look at Ben and me! Can’t you see how happy we are? We’ve both got jobs. A kid. And neither one of us feels trapped. We’re exactly where we want to be.”

  “Yes. I see that,” Amara conceded. “But I am not.” She stood up and strolled the length of the room, pacing in an effort to dissipate her nervous energy.

  “You have time. You don’t have to know the answers today.”

  Amara pinched her eyes shut, exhaling loudly. “I need to go home. To Clarehaven.”

  “What?”

  Cat’s voice reverberated around the kitchen, and Amara’s gaze dashed to Wash’s room, hoping his mother’s loud, unexpected exclamation wouldn’t wake him. She shouldn’t have said anything. She’d been mulling the idea over ever since she’d walked away from Matthew.

  Cat’s next words were a whisper. “You want to go back? To your time?”

  Amara shook her head emphatically. “I couldn’t. Not now. Even if I wanted to, even if it were possible.” She stopped her pacing, staring at Cat. “Is it possible?”

  Cat hesitated, her eyes not quite meeting Amara’s. “I don’t know. Maybe. I sent Eliza there, after all.”

  Amara resumed her rhythmic movements. “It hardly matters. Being an unwed mother may not be the biggest scandal here, but it would ruin me completely in my own society.” She snorted. “As a member of such a powerful family, I suppose it’s possible people would overlook even that. But I would not do that to a child, to have them labeled a bastard.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “It’s weird to hear that word used in that sense. Today, when someone says someone’s a bastard, it means they’re a jerk. It has nothing to do with their parentage.” Cat pushed her hair behind her ears. “But if you don’t want to go back, what did you mean?”

  “I want to see if I have any remaining relatives.”

  “For Pete’s sake, you don’t need to go all the way to England to find that out. Just Google it!”

  Amara smiled, a smile full of pain. “Cat, you’ve been nothing but kind. Generous to a fault. I see why Eliza loved you so much. But
I’ve not found my place yet. I have nothing and no one. Not really. I long to see my home, to see something familiar. I know even if there are Mattersley descendants still living, it’s not as if they would take me in. But I need to connect with my past before I can move on with my future.”

  Cat shook her head. “I am going to say something, and it might make you angry, but it needs to be said. You are running away, exactly as you did in 1813. Perhaps it’s time to stay and figure things out here. With Matt. You need to talk to him. He needs to understand, to know why you’re reacting this way. He can’t do that unless he knows everything. And he’s sure to believe you if Ben and I vouch for you, tell him our own story, show him the manuscript and your photographs.”

  “No!” Now it was Amara’s voice threatening to wake those still sleeping. “You promised neither you nor Mr. Cooper would reveal my ... past.”

  Cat sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Yes. I promised. Your secrets are safe with me.” She yawned. “It’s four in the morning. Maybe more sleep will help us both determine what the next step should be.”

  “Yes, return to your bed. I know you must be up early with your son.”

  Nodding, Cat stood up. “But you?”

  Amara smiled grimly. “I do not think any more sleep will be happening tonight.”

  She gathered her things as quietly as possible, not that she had much to take with her, and stole out of the apartment twenty minutes later. Cat was right; she was running. But she needed to take back some semblance of control, and she was doing so by leaving the country, leaving Charlottesville, leaving Matthew. She wouldn’t burden him, wouldn’t burn his dreams to the ground the way she’d burned her own.

  Ben had left his phone on the table, and she’d used it before she packed to call for a car, a trick she’d learned from reading about something called Uber, where people gave rides in exchange for money. Not so different from hailing a hansom cab. Not that she’d ever done that, either, but there were so many firsts she’d experienced since arriving here, what was one more?

  The young man who picked her up cast appreciative eyes at her. But after asking questions and getting only monosyllabic answers, he stopped trying and just drove, the radio the only sound in the car. Amara teared up when Breakfast at Tiffany’s played. She’d listened to the song with Matthew that one afternoon and liked it so much he downloaded it to her phone for her. She’d played it several times, always thinking of him. Now her phone—Eliza’s phone—lay abandoned, broken. She wiped away a silent tear.

  When the car reached the airport, Amara’s heart nearly leapt into her throat at the enormous machines made visible by the airport lights. She was supposed to ride in one of those? Across the sea? The idea scared her witless, and she nearly changed her mind but checked herself. What would that prove? She could do this. And she needed to go. She couldn’t make decisions here, not with her emotions in such turmoil whenever she saw Matthew. She needed to give him space, to assure him she’d meant it when she said he owed her nothing, that she was not going to burden him with this unwanted development.

  Walking into the lobby, she took a deep breath, pulled out her passport and bankcard Cat had thankfully insisted she get, and approached the first counter she saw. “I need to fly to London.”

  The woman behind the desk raised her eyebrows. “When?”

  “Today,” Amara said, nodding firmly. “Preferably as soon as possible.”

  “Passport?”

  Amara handed over the small booklet, and the woman scanned it into the computer, her eyes flying over the screen. Not so different from having papers in England.

  After a moment, the woman returned the passport. Typing on the keyboard, she said, “There’s a flight leaving in forty minutes, with a connection in Philly, but it’s not cheap.”

  “The price does not matter,” Amara said, presenting her bank card.

  “Alrighty, then.” The woman swiped the card, smiling as the machine beeped. There came a whirring noise, and the woman reached down, pulling out some papers. “You’re on American Airlines 4891 to Philadelphia. Then you’ve got a nearly four-hour layover before flight 736 takes you to London.”

  Amara had no clue what a layover was, but she nodded, acting as if everything the woman told her made perfect sense.

  “Are you checking luggage?”

  Amara paused. What did that mean? “I have this,” she said, patting the floppy bag she’d found in a closet. She hoped Cat wouldn’t be too angry she’d taken it.

  “That’s small enough to carry on. Okay, then. Gate 3, after security.” The woman pointed to her left.

  “Thank you very much.” Amara took the papers, clutching them and her passport as she approached the area marked Security. People shuffled through the line, setting their belongings on a moving belt and removing their shoes before walking through a metal door frame. No one acted as if anything were out of the ordinary, but stripping down to bare feet disconcerted Amara.

  Still, a few minutes later, she was through. She found her way to Gate 3 and dropped into a seat, her insides knotting. Closing her eyes, she steeled her resolve. Moments later, she handed over the piece of paper labeled Boarding Pass and walked down a hallway before passing through a narrow metal door into a cramped, enclosed space. Her stomach did somersaults. This was an airplane? She disliked it instantly; confined, crowded spaces had never been her favorite. She found her numbered seat and sat down, breathing slowly in an effort to maintain calm. At least she was directly near the window and could see out.

  “You okay? You look nervous,” came a friendly voice from her side. A rather portly man moved into the seat next to her, smiling as he sat. His leg brushed hers.

  “Sorry,” he said, a rueful grin on his face. “No one likes to sit next to the fat guy.” He shuffled around, searching for his seat belt. “But seriously, are you scared?”

  Personal questions from complete strangers still caught her off guard, much less from one in such close proximity. “Don’t be,” he said, though she hadn’t answered. “I fly every week for business. Piece of cake. Never had a problem yet.”

  This man flew on an airplane every week? How could he stand it, wedging his large form into such a tiny space? Her self-pity dissipated; at least she could sit relatively comfortably. “This is my first time flying,” she confessed.

  His brows rose. “But you’ve got a British accent. How’d you get here if you didn’t fly?”

  Again with the personal questions. She regretted having said anything. “By ... boat.” It’s how she would have come two hundred years ago, had she wanted to visit the Americas. Which she hadn’t. Not since Drake.

  “Huh. Didn’t know they did that anymore.” He pulled out his phone. “Well, gotta call the wife before the plane leaves.”

  Amara rested her head against the seatback, grateful his attention had turned away from her. Minutes later, she clutched at the arms of her seat as the plane began to move. The engines roared, and the machine raced down the runway. Her eyes widened as the earth dropped away from them. Good God, she was in the air. She was flying.

  If only Deveric could witness this. He would love it.

  Amara, on the other hand, feared she might cast up her accounts, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the window. The ground grew smaller and smaller beneath them, the cars resembling ants crawling along pencil-thin pathways.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said the man at her side.

  It was. After a few more minutes, white wisps drifted around the window, and soon her view was completely obscured. Gracious, what had happened? Were they going to die?

  “I love going through the clouds.” The man chuckled. “As a kid, I thought we were flying up to heaven.”

  They broke through, and suddenly she was looking down on a blanket of white, much like the snow drifts that covered Clarehaven’s grounds in the winter, only this was softer, wispier. Clouds. She was above the clouds. The sun peeked across the billowy horizon, its rays nearly blin
ding. And yet, they raised joy in her. She’d done it. She was on an airplane, above the clouds.

  She was going home.

  Chapter 33

  Matt groaned as Lovey draped herself on his face. Shoving the cat off, he popped open an eye to stare at the clock. 6:48. Stupid cat. He didn’t want to get up yet. He didn’t have to be anywhere until nine.

  He shook his head but froze as pain lanced through it. Damn. He’d had more to drink last night than he thought if he had a hangover today. Instantly, the events of the previous day washed over him.

  Amara. Amara was pregnant.

  He grabbed his phone and checked to see if she’d contacted him, then remembered she’d left her broken phone behind.

  She could have found another way to reach him if she’d wanted to. Clearly, she hadn’t. He shouldn’t be surprised; she’d basically walked out of his life yesterday. But surely she’d see that wasn’t the answer, would understand this was something the two of them needed to deal with together.

  He’d give her space today. Fight or flight syndrome in people was strong, and obviously, her urge was to flee, as was his sister’s. He’d let her; they had time to figure out what to do. But he’d also let her know he was waiting, for when she was ready.

  After feeding the cat, he grabbed a quick shower. He didn’t know why he felt so much calmer today. His whole life had changed in an instant, and yet he felt peaceful, as if what should happen would happen, and it’d all work out. He nearly snorted. Likely he was just in denial, but he’d take it for now. Whatever he needed to get through the day.

  Pulling on a pair of khaki Dockers and a button-down shirt—his standard teaching uniform—he grabbed socks and headed to the kitchen, settling in with a large cup of coffee courtesy of the Keurig and his laptop. He’d just pulled up his email when his phone rang. Caller ID said it was Cat. He snatched it up. Maybe it was Amara.

  “Hello?”

  “Matt?” It was Cat. Not Amara. Her voice sounded off.