Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)

by Jasmine Cresswell

  “Nifty costume,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the catch in her voice. “Was that manufactured here on the premises, too?”

  “No, these clothes were made for me the last time we were in London,” William said. “I am sorry if they do not meet your high standards of sartorial elegance, but I have spent the morning closeted with my steward, and did not change before coming to see you. I offer my apologies.”

  “Stop it!” she commanded. “For God’s sake, William, stop this absurd pretense! I’m not delirious anymore and it isn’t working.”

  “I do not understand which pretense you refer to, Arabella. But let us not waste time in useless, mutual reproach. The children have been asking to see you, and I have ordered them to be brought here. The baby as well. You haven’t yet held your new son, and it is time for you to make his acquaintance.”

  Robyn looked at him coldly, but inside she felt hot with anger. “You have a sick mind, William. I can’t imagine how someone as honorable as Zach ended up with a brother as callous as you.”

  He inclined his head with a hint of weary mockery. “So you have often remarked, my dear. But do, pray, show a modicum of kindness for your children. They have been sorely worried about you and would appreciate some small display of affection from their mother.”

  Robyn recoiled. “Surely you haven’t drawn real children into this scheme? William, that’s disgusting. How can you sleep at night, knowing what terrible harm you’re doing to so many innocent people?”

  William turned to her, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn that his blue eyes darkened with genuine bewilderment. “Will you believe me if I say that I am not aware of having committed any act that merits your scorn?”

  “Your treatment of me after I was shot—”

  “Ah, I see.” The tension in William’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Arabella,” he said gently. “You were not shot. This belief that you have suffered a bullet wound is but a figment of your delirium—”

  “Don’t try to feed me that bullshit! What about the three-inch scar on my scalp? Is that a figment of my imagination, too?”

  “Of course not. Alas, it is very real. But it is the result of your accident last Friday, not the result of a bullet wound.”

  Robyn’s heart was pounding so fast it was becoming difficult to breath. “Tell me about my accident,” she said abruptly.

  “You do not remember it?”

  “No, apparently not.”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot enlighten you as to many of the details since you told nobody where you were going. You left the house alone, in the late afternoon, perhaps forgetting how early the nights draw in at this time of year. Or perhaps you had some assignation for which you wished total privacy—”

  “Are you trying to suggest I was sneaking out to meet a lover?”

  “I did not say so.”

  “But you damn well implied it.”

  He looked at her coolly. “You may interpret my remarks however you please, Arabella. Suffice to say that I have no definite knowledge of why you felt it necessary to leave the house at dusk, without the escort of your groom.”

  “Maybe I needed some fresh air,” Robyn said cynically.

  “That is... conceivable, I suppose, although you have never been noted for your love of the outdoors. In any event, we believe the carriage horse must have bolted as you returned to the house. It seems that you did not have the strength to rein the horse in, and you were dragged beneath the overhanging branches of the hawthorn tree that stands at the entrance to the courtyard. The thorns gouged a deep and painful cut in your scalp, and you also suffered a severe blow to your temple when you were thrown from the carriage. The doctor suggests that the blow to your head is causing this strangely selective loss of your memories—”

  “Give it up, William,” she said tiredly. “I wasn’t even here last week, much less riding a horse. You know I was in New York, working with your brother Zach—”

  William spoke crisply. “My dear, you must try to remember that Zachary has been declared a traitor and that it is not wise to speak of him. Our good King George and his government have rightly set a price on my brother’s head following the fiasco of the Young Pretender’s rout at Culloden, and I have forbidden all mention of my brother’s name in my house. We are Tories, loyal servants of the Hanoverian kings, and it is dangerous for you to forget that fact.”

  Robyn struggled to her feet. “Stop it!” she yelled, pummeling his chest with her fists. “Stop trying to pretend it’s 1746! You can’t push these horrible lies down my throe—”

  William put his arm around her shoulders. Gently, but impersonally, he guided her back to the chair. “Sit down, my lady, and try not to overset your emotions. We have all been most impressed by the fortitude with which you have endured the pain of your accident, and we are certainly delighted that your premature labor resulted in the birth of another healthy child. For the moment let us concentrate on the happiness of successful motherhood and forget these painful recriminations.”

  The happiness of motherhood. Before she could stop herself, Robyn lifted her hands to her breasts, which ached and throbbed with the excruciating fullness of their milk. She didn’t realize she was crying until William pulled a scented handkerchief from the lacy cuff of his shirt and handed it to her.

  “Come,” he said quietly. “Dry your tears, my lady. I hear your children approaching.”

  “Not... my... children...” she whispered despairingly.

  William didn’t answer her. He swung around and seated himself in the chair placed at the opposite side of the fire. “Enter!” he called out at the sound of shuffling feet and a faint scratching on the panels of the door.

  To Robyn’s overwrought nerves, it seemed that a dozen people entered her bedroom all at once. Gradually the jostling mass of bodies sorted themselves into two adult females dressed just like Mary, three small children, and a plump young woman garbed in drab, rusty black, who was holding a tightly swaddled bundle. Robyn turned hastily away, determined not to look too closely at that frightening bundle.

  Even before the maids placed restraining hands on their shoulders, the three children all tumbled to a full stop just inside the entrance to the bedroom. They looked instinctively toward William, clearly waiting for instructions. Did they need directions for speaking their lines in a prearranged dialogue? Robyn wondered.

  “Come in, children, and pay your respects to your mother,” William said, smiling encouragingly. “As you can see, she is feeling very much better, but you must not shout, or you will give her the headache. George, Frederick, you first. Approach your mamma and make your very best bows.”

  Two boys of about five years of age, identical in appearance and presumably twins, stepped forward in unison. They swept into bows that were passable imitations of William’s earlier performance.

  “You look very well, Mamma,” one of them said as he straightened from his flourish. “And we were happy to meet our new bruvver. We are glad the angels sent him here safely.”

  Robyn didn’t know what to say, or how to reply, so she said nothing. The twins exchanged wary glances.

  “We have been out riding,” said the second twin, giving up on the notion of discussing the new baby. “We rode to Uppingly Woods and Jake says we have egg... eggsellent bottom.”

  “And Monsieur Petain says we will be the death of him,” said the first twin.

  His exasperated brother kicked him in the ankle. “But we didn’t mean to spill ink all over Monsieur’s nightshirt,” he reassured Robyn, sounding anxious. “It was a aggsident.”

  “The spider, too, Mamma. The spider in Monsieur’s book was a aggsident as well.”

  Robyn astonished herself by starting to laugh. Heart pounding, she stared at the two little boys lined up in front of her. She looked at their eager, worried faces and the twinkle of mischief in their eyes and her laughter died. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to scream at them to stop playacting, to stop partici
pating in William’s cruel deception, but something about their innocent, childish expressions cut off the angry words before they could emerge. The twins were genuinely worried, she realized. They looked at her longingly, as if they needed to be reassured that she was indeed alive and well. Even worse, from Robyn’s point of view, was the distinct impression she gained that they were afraid to approach her too closely.

  The twins were scared of her, Robyn thought, scared of how she might react. Just like Mary.

  Robyn swallowed hard, trying to grasp hold of emotions that were spiraling totally out of control. “Anyone can have an accident,” she said to the twins, resisting the crazy impulse to open her arms and hug the two little boys tight against her heart. “And I’m sure the ink will wash out of Monsieur’s nightgown.”

  The twins smiled in relief at her mild response, but William spoke sternly. “Your mama is too generous. You will come to see me in the study before dinner tonight and explain just what you were doing with Monsieur Petain’s nightgown in the first place. I wish you always to remember that your tutor is a fine scholar and he is to be treated with the greatest respect.”

  “Yes, sir.” The twins did not look in the least alarmed at this imminent interview with their supposed father, but Robyn couldn’t help casting him an anxious glance. “You won’t... punish... them. Please, William? I’m sure they meant no harm.”

  His gaze raked her face. For no logical reason, when his eyes met hers, she felt herself blush. His mouth tightened and he spoke abruptly. “Have no fear, my lady. With such a charming champion to plead for them, I shall not beat your sons. At least not this time.”

  The twins grinned at each other without even a twinge of foreboding. Despite William’s threats, Robyn had the odd impression that they feared her a great deal more than their supposed father. She held out her hands, beckoning them closer, curiously anxious about these children she had never set eyes on until now.

  “I hope you dressed warmly when you went out riding this morning. Mary tells me it is very windy outside today and it would be easy to catch cold.”

  The boys looked impatient at what they clearly considered a boring reminder, but she thought she heard William let out a tiny sigh of relief. Because she had temporarily accepted these imposters as her children? she wondered. Because she was buying into the fantasy that they had been outside, learning to ride, and getting up to mischief with their tutor? She could think of no other reason.

  “We wore mufflers, Mamma,” one boy said.

  “And mittens and woolen stockings.”

  “There is ice on the pond,” said the other. “Freddie and me is going sliding on the pond tomorrow.”

  “Jake is going to show George and me how to put sliders on our boots so that we may go faster an’ faster.”

  “Make sure the ice is thick enough,” Robyn said, feeling an alarm that was as instant as it was irrational.

  The twins sighed in unison. “Yes, Mamma.”

  They were sturdy, good-looking little boys, and she couldn’t help giving them another smile. “I know you think I’m being a boring old fusspot, but I don’t want you falling into the water and coming back to me frozen into icicles.”

  They both giggled and would have said something more, but the little girl who had been standing behind them in the doorway lost patience and pushed forward, shaking her mop of soft, light brown curls. The charm of her chubby, unformed features was marred by a sulky expression.

  “I wan’ sit on you’ lap,” she said, clutching at Robyn’s knee, her mouth pursing into a pout. “George and Fweddie is taking too long. Mamma, do you like my dwess?” She twirled around, light and surprisingly agile on plump baby feet.

  “It’s very pretty,” Robyn managed to say, although her anger had returned with such overwhelming force that she could hardly think straight. “You’re very pretty.”

  Good grief, she exploded in silent, internal rage. Where in the world had William recruited this little girl? The child was scarcely more than a toddler, certainly no more than three. How in the world had a three-year-old been trained to address a perfect stranger as Mamma? A child actress? Come to think of it, William lived in L.A. and might have friends working in Hollywood and the movie industry.

  The little girl was squirming, trying to get comfortable on Robyn’s lap. “Do not muss your mother’s robe,” William said quickly. “Perhaps I should hold you, Clementina.”

  “No, she can stay here.” The way she felt about William right at this moment, Robyn couldn’t bear the thought of any child coming near him, not even a well-trained child actress.

  The little girl stopped squirming and looked up at Robyn, staring at her long and hard. “What have you done to your eyes?” she asked at last. “Your eyes is funny. Where is my real mamma? You is not my real mamma.” She started to cry, huge gulping sobs that seemed too large for her minuscule, baby-plump frame. “I want my real mamma!”

  Robyn glared at William, almost speechless with fury. “What did you tell her?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice low and calm for the sake of the child. “Surely to God you didn’t pretend to a baby like this that I was really her mother?”

  “You is not my mamma!” The little girl howled some more. Mary and William both jumped up and lunged forward. William moved faster than the maid, whisking the sobbing child away from Robyn’s lap, swinging her up and over his head before nestling her in the crook of his arm.

  “Papa is going to take you flying. Look, you are a bird, sailing up in the sky. Flutter your wings or you will fall.”

  Clementina flapped her hands and laughed delightedly, forgetting her tears in an instant. “More!” she commanded. “More swings, Papa. More bird. More more!”

  “Shh,” he said quickly. “We must not make too much noise or your mama will not feel well. She has been very ill and you cannot climb on her lap for a little while yet, Clementina.”

  “My old mamma is gone away. This is a new mamma. She has new eyes.” Clementina’s face crumpled. “I want my proper mamma. I don’ wan’ my new bruvver. My new bruvver is silly.”

  William nodded almost imperceptibly to one of the servants, and the woman hurried forward, curtsying to Robyn. “My lady, I’m right sorry for what she is saying. I will take the child back to the nursery so that she does not disturb you. Come along, Miss Clementina, you have been a bad girl. A naughty, bad girl, and everyone is very cross with you.”

  “No, don’t say that! She hasn’t been naughty at all!” Robyn protested, horrified at the callous way in which the child was being blamed simply for speaking honestly. She held out her hand to the little girl, forcing herself to smile in a calm, friendly way. “It was really nice to see you, Clementina. Will you come back and visit me again tomorrow?”

  Clementina inspected Robyn thoughtfully. “Are you going to be my new mamma for ever an’ ever?”

  Robyn couldn’t decide how to answer. In the end, she smiled again and answered as truthfully as she could. “I will be here to look after you for a little while, Clemmie.” She had no idea where the nickname came from. It simply slipped out, as natural and easy as if she had used it a hundred times before.

  She saw two of the maids exchange astonished glances. The taut, hard lines of William’s mouth relaxed. Robyn realized with a shock that everyone was immeasurably relieved that she hadn’t lost her temper at Clementina’s innocent remarks. They had obviously expected her to be furious with the child. Why? Why in the world would they expect her to behave so badly? she wondered.

  “Take Miss Clementina back to the nursery,” William said to the nursemaid. “And the boys should go, too. We must not tire the Lady Arabella.”

  “Oh, no, Papa!” The twins’ response was instantaneous. “We would much rather stay here with you.”

  “But you will, of course, do what you have been asked,” William said mildly. “Otherwise I might feel obliged to suggest to Monsieur Petain that he should give you an extra lesson in French grammar tomorrow.”r />
  “We are going, Papa,” the twins said hastily. They turned to Robyn and swept deep bows. “Sleep well, Mama. We shall look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

  The children and most of the maids trooped out, but when the plump servant carrying the bundle would have left with the rest of them, William held out his hand and stopped her. “Since your mistress is feeling so well, I am sure she would like to hold her new son for a little while. Annie, will you step forward so that her ladyship may see her child?”

  Robyn clenched her teeth. “Don’t do this to me, William.”

  He came and stood beside her chair, his expression implacable, although his voice sounded quite mild. “My dear, it is for your own good. I am sure you will feel easier in your own mind once you have seen what a fine healthy child your new son is. If you are worried that he is misshapen in any way as a result of your fall, you may put such fears entirely to rest.”

  Robyn felt her stomach lurch. She turned her head away, staring obstinately toward the window. She heard a restless, mewing little cry, followed by a shushing sound from the servant holding the baby. Beneath the rhythmic shushing of the maid, she heard the snuffling, wheezing noises of a tiny infant stirring from sleep.

  She couldn’t bear to look, but she couldn’t bear to continue looking away. Feeling as if her head were weighted with lead, Robyn swiveled around toward the source of the sound. The plump, homespun-clad nurse held out the bundle, her expression difficult to define. Robyn thought she saw sadness and maybe a touch of resentment behind the carefully arranged features, but she couldn’t be sure.