“Yeah.” Who else would answer his phone?
“She’s gone.”
His stomach dropped. He knew immediately to whom she was referring, of course. “Where?”
“To England. To Clarehaven. She wanted to go ... home.”
Home? From what she’d said, Amara didn’t have a home anymore. What was going on? Why on earth had she left? He closed his eyes, his heart thudding an erratic rhythm against his ribcage. Crap. Things kept getting worse. Would she really do this? Leave without discussing them or this child? “Permanently?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shit.”
“I’m so sorry, Matt. But I thought you should know.”
“When did she leave?”
“Sometime after four. She snuck out before Ben and I woke up. She left a note.”
Fury rose in him. She’d blindsided him with this news yesterday, then fled. Now she was fleeing even farther, across an ocean? He pinched the top of his nose with his fingers. He didn’t know what to do. “Okay,” he heard himself say. “Thanks.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he bit out, unable to hide the anger in his voice. After a tense second, he apologized. “I’m sorry, Cat, the anger isn’t for you.”
“I know.” She paused again. “Matt? I don’t have the answers, but I’m here if you need me. This wasn’t how this was supposed to work out.”
“Tell me about it.” He sniggered, a noise of pain mixed with bewilderment. “I, uh, will you let me know if you hear anything from her?”
“Of course.”
He set the phone down, staring at it. He had no way of getting into contact with her. Crap. What should he do?
His watch beeped, reminding him it was time to go. He had class to teach. He stood and jammed his phone into his pocket, shutting everything behind a wall in his mind as best he could. He had other obligations right now, and unlike Amara, he wasn’t one to run from them.
Amara didn’t sleep a wink on the plane, in spite of her exhaustion. She disliked being restricted to such a small space for so long, though at least it was less bumpy than a coach ride. Looking out the window at the ocean below brought waves of both terror and elation, almost too much to bear, so she’d copied the man next to her by putting on headphones and watching movies on the screen in the seatback in front of her. Movies. On an airplane. How rich was this?
What would her sisters have thought of modern technology? Would Grace have enjoyed watching acted-out versions of her beloved novels and plays any time she wished? Or would the pages still call more than stage or screen, her imagination supplying the details in a way more satisfying than anyone else’s version?
Emmeline would love it, would love the gossipy reality TV shows, including the one Amara was now watching documenting the lives of young, rich English people. She winced at their antics; her scandal had nothing on them. Her mother would roll over in her grave to see people of privilege comporting themselves in such a way.
Amara sighed, glancing around. People of all shapes, sizes, and colors occupied the seats. The front of the airplane held the first-class passengers. Walking through their cabin on her way to her own spot, she’d envied the large chairs. Why hadn’t she been offered such a ticket? Then again, she didn’t care for the way the passengers seated there avoided eye contact with the people moving past them, as if to deny their existence.
Would she have been any better, if not for Eliza? Eliza’d opened Amara’s eyes to the servants Amara had taken for granted, had pretended were invisible, as her mother had taught her. Shame settled on her now for the class divisions she’d accepted as God-given, though it was hard to let go of some of the attitudes of privilege.
A woman worked to soothe a wailing baby, bouncing the infant on her lap as irritated passengers grumbled or gave pointed glances. No man was there to help her, no husband stepped in in any way.
That will be me.
She touched her hand to her abdomen, grateful that as scandalous as it might be to bear a child out of wedlock, to become a “single mother,” as it was termed here, she could afford it. Standing up, she excused herself past her neighbor—a difficult task, considering there was scarcely room between seats, and approached the woman. “Would you like me to hold it?”
The offer startled her as much as the woman. Amara didn’t particularly like children. But the empathy flooding her for this poor woman trapped with a screaming child could not be denied. The woman nodded gratefully. “Him. Brady. And I would love to at least use the restroom. Thank you!”
Amara bounced the child up and down on her hip, as she’d occasionally done with her nephew Frederick when he was an infant. The boy stilled, staring at her with wide blue eyes—eyes nearly the same light shade as Matthew’s.
She froze. Was she staring into her future, seeing this tiny face before her? She continued to rock him, and after a minute he closed his eyes, his body softening as he relaxed into sleep.
“Oh my. How did you do that?” The boy’s mother reappeared at her elbow, the first tremulous smile passing her face at her quiet child. “Here, I’ll take him. Thank you.”
Amara returned the baby as carefully as she could. Thankfully, the boy didn’t wake.
She retreated to the open space near the restroom area, the one place in which she could stand, not ready to take her seat, emotions rushing over her. She was pregnant. She was going to bear a child. Matthew’s child. And she was running to escape this scandal of her own making. Would Matthew be grateful or resentful she’d robbed him of his child?
This was the right decision, wasn’t it?
A bell dinged, and a flight attendant touched her on her elbow. “Please return to your seat, ma’am. We’ll be landing shortly.”
Amara dutifully obeyed, sinking into the narrow chair and staring out the window, surprised to see spots of light below. They were over land. Over England. Soon she’d be home.
Except it wasn’t truly home anymore.
Matt banged his hand on the keyboard in frustration, unable to focus on the screen before him. Damn her. Damn her! How could she do this to him? How could she tell him she was expecting his child, then run?
He clasped the green paperweight, turning it over and over with his hand. Okay, so he hadn’t exactly responded well to her grand proclamation. But she hadn’t given him a chance, hadn’t let him wrap his mind around any of this before running off.
He glanced at his watch. Eight p.m. Midnight in London, as he knew they hadn’t yet moved to Daylight Savings Time. She must be there by now. How could he contact her? Her phone was in his possession—he hadn’t been able to leave it on the Colonnade’s floor, wanting that piece of her. He debated sending an email to the account he’d set up for her, but would she ever check it?
He sighed. He should go. He wasn’t getting anything done. He didn’t like this, didn’t like not being in control, didn’t like his whole life in upheaval. Yes, he should go home. But he didn’t want to be alone. Picking up his phone, he dialed.
“Hello?” His sister’s voice was breathless as if he’d interrupted her while she was running. Except Taylor didn’t run.
“Tay? It’s me. Can I come over? I need to talk.”
There was rustling in the background, then a murmur of voices. Did his sister have someone over?
“Tonight? Um, sure, okay.” More noises. “See you in thirty minutes or so?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He hung up the phone. In thirty minutes, whatever had been going on over there would be easily covered up. Not that it was any of his business. And not that it was something he wanted to talk about tonight. No, tonight he needed to be selfish.
Grabbing his jacket, he jogged down the stairs and out of his office building, making his way to his truck. The stars twinkled in the night sky, and he stopped for a moment, sucking in a painful breath as memories of looking up at the heavens with Amara flooded him. The same heavens that covered England. Weirdly enough, it soot
hed him to know that while she was so very far away, they still had a connection through the stars.
He shook off that overly cheesy thought and hopped into the truck, revving the engine and peeling out of the nearly empty lot. Now was not the time for tender memories. Now was the time for anger. And planning.
“She’s what?”
Matt glared at her. “You heard me. Loud and clear.”
A wide smile settled on Taylor’s face.
“Why are you smiling? This is not the time for smiling, damn it. She’s pregnant. And she’s fled, not just Charlottesville, but the whole damn country. What do I do?”
Taylor’s face sobered, and she walked to her overstuffed sofa, plopping down. She patted the cushion next to her, and Matt dropped into it, all of his attention focused on his sister’s answer.
“What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?” He frowned.
“Well, it seems to me you have two choices. One, take the freedom Amara offered, and let her go.”
Matt’s frown deepened.
“Or, two, go after her.”
“To England?”
Taylor nodded. Matt leaned back into the sofa, exhaling loudly as his palms traced paths across his thighs.
“The big question is, which do you want to do? Moral issues aside, like you worrying about being responsible, as I know you are. Do you want Amara in your life or not?”
He closed his eyes, tipping his head back. “But it wouldn’t be just Amara anymore; it’d be Amara and child.”
“Yup. But the heart of the question is, how do you feel about her?”
He opened one eye and peeked at her. “I barely know her. We spent a few weeks together, a no-strings-attached deal. We never talked future.”
She eyed him. “That isn’t what I asked.” Reaching over, she patted his knee. “If you want my opinion—and if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here—I think you care for her far more than you know. I watched you with her, you know, both that first night when I took her shopping, then when you were here. That first night, you were interested. Clear as a bell. But the second? There was something else, something deeper going on. And you both felt it.”
Matt’s mouth fell open. So that’s why she’d said Captain Obvious. He’d barely acknowledged to himself that night he might feel something for Amara other than physical desire, might want something more. But his sister had noticed, had texted him about fish. Had Amara? Had she felt the same?
Regardless of what each may or may not feel for the other, there was this ... this baby looming between them. Everything had been placed on fast-forward, whether they wanted it to be or not.
“Matt, I’ve seen you with other women. But I’ve never once seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her. Not even Wendy.” Taylor’s eyes softened, and her hand remained on his knee. “I think you know what you need to do. What you want to do.”
Matt’s chest exploded with feeling, his heart hammering against his ribcage. An odd mixture of longing and fury flooded through him. “Yes, but I can’t! I can’t go to England, Tay. It’s the middle of the semester. I’ve got responsibilities. Teaching. Research. Finishing this tenure dossier!”
“Yup.” Taylor nodded. “All of that’s true.”
Matt sighed, his eyes meeting hers. They held for a long time. “You think I should go.”
Taylor shrugged. Damn it, why was she so nonchalant about it all? “Only if you want to. I can’t make this decision for you, Matty. But you knew that before you came.”
“Fuck.”
She giggled. “Yeah, that’s what got you into trouble, to begin with. Naughty brother.”
He snickered as he stood and gathered his coat. “Given the noises I heard on the phone earlier, I’m not the only Goodson being not quite so good lately.”
He bellowed with glee at the crimson flooding his sister’s face before sobering. “Thank you, Taylor. Truly.” Tears flooded his eyes, to his surprise and dismay.
Taylor jumped up, enfolding him in a hug. “You’ll figure it out, Matty,” she whispered in his ear. “That’s why I’m not worried. You’ll make the right decision. You always do, big brother.”
He held her a moment longer before backing up and giving her a brief nod. He wished he were half as confident in himself as she was.
Ducking out the door, he ambled slowly to his truck, his sister’s words rolling around in his head. He put his hand on the handle, glancing at the truck bed. The last time he’d been here with this truck, Amara had been, too, and they’d shared one of the best evenings he’d ever had. One that hadn’t ended in sex.
Sighing, his breath foaming in front of him in the cold night air, he whipped open the truck door.
He was going to England.
Chapter 34
London was familiar, but it was also foreign. London was consolation, but it was chaos, too. After a night spent in an airport hotel—she’d been too exhausted to consider traveling after the flight, plus it’d been past one in the morning by the time she’d cleared customs—she’d taken a taxi into the city, her eyes glued to the window. London had expanded exponentially, yet the closer they neared the West End, the more familiar landmarks she saw, and her heart warmed. They passed Hyde Park, the sight stabbing her with longing for the times she’d strolled there with her sisters and brothers.
They weren’t there now. Nobody she knew was. They were all dead. Her stomach roiled as the cab turned off of Piccadilly, wending its way through the narrow streets to Grosvenor Square, the destination she’d requested. The cab rolled to a stop, the driver indicating a fare of fifty pounds. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to exchange money at the airport. She handed it over without looking at him, her eyes soaking in the square as she alighted from the vehicle.
It was the same, yet not. Unfamiliar stone structures and monuments were scattered about. A monstrous, ugly building —the American Embassy, according to Eliza—dominated the west end, and the row houses lining the square were at once familiar and different, some clearly newer than her era but built in similar style.
“World War II damaged some parts of London,” Eliza had warned her. “And the natural passage of time has brought other changes.”
The natural passage of time. There was nothing natural about a woman standing now in the very spot she’d stood two hundred years earlier. She clutched at her abdomen, a wave of nausea overtaking her. Good Lord, don’t let me faint.
People passed her by. Nobody gave her any notice, much less tipped a head in greeting. She sat on a bench and observed the humans around her. She could spy tourists almost instantly: the Americans with their white athletic shoes, people snapping photos with their phones.
I’m a tourist now.
A stranger in a strange land was how Eliza’d described landing in Regency England. That’s exactly how Amara felt. She sat a while longer, letting the thoughts and emotions roll over her. She’d done it. She was here. Two hundred years and thousands of miles from anyone who knew her. Now what?
Perhaps the decision to come here had been foolish. She snorted. Of course, it was. She was a fool. She’d done it again, throwing herself down a path from which there was no easy retreat. How was it she hadn’t learned a thing between that night in the garden, so long ago, and her time here? She was alone, enceinte, in a city both familiar and strange, with no plan for the future. She buried her head in her hands, letting the tears fall.
“Hey, are you okay?” The voice was a surprise, American in accent, and Amara’s eyes rose to lock with those of a young blonde who bore a marked resemblance to Eliza. Amara’s mouth dropped. Was this a sign? If she believed in signs, that was. Which she didn’t. Did she?
She wiped her eyes. “Yes, thank you.”
The woman’s own brow creased. “You sure? I can listen if you want.”
A man’s voice called to the woman, and she glanced over her shoulder. “My husband,” she said with an exuberant grin, as she turned back to Amara. “We
’re on our honeymoon! I finally got to see Grosvenor Square. I’ve read about it in so many novels!”
Amara couldn’t help but smile, too. With her similar looks and bubbly personality, the woman could have been Eliza’s sister. Amara would choose to take this as confirmation she was where she was supposed to be. It was better than thinking the opposite. “Truly, I am fine. Return to your husband. And congratulations,” Amara said, as she stood up.
The kindly American nodded her head. “Thanks! Being married is awesome!” she exclaimed before practically running to a dark-haired man, who dropped a kiss on her lips.
Eliza. And Deveric. It could have been the two of them, standing there before her. But it wasn’t.
With a sigh, she shuffled off, determined to see if Claremont House, the family’s London residence, still stood. Not that she would know what to do if it did; anyone who lived there wouldn’t have a clue as to who she was. But she had to know.
“You’re sure?” Matt’s brows rose dubiously as he looked at Ben.
“Absolutely. I can cover your classes. Gabe can help, too, if need be.”
“We’ll even feed your cat,” Cat blurted out.
Ben clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You need to do this, Matt. Believe me, I understand.” He gave a meaningful glance to his wife, who nodded.
“Is there something you know that I don’t?” Matt asked point-blank. Some signs were too big to miss, even for him.
Cat bit her lip. “Amara made me promise to let her talk with you first. I have to honor that. But when you come home, if you still have questions, I’ll answer anything I can.”
Matt ran a hand over his hair, clasping the back of his head in frustration. He liked Mrs. Cooper, but at the moment, he wanted to wring her neck. Should he press her more? Maybe. Right now, he just wanted to get to Amara. “What if I don’t find her?”
“She’s going to Clarehaven,” Cat said. “It is—was her home.”
He blew air out of his cheeks. “And I’m supposed to know where Clarehaven is?”
The Magic of Love Series Page 82
