Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)

by Jasmine Cresswell

  “It’s quite warm here in front of the fire,” Robyn said. Nevertheless, she took the shawl.

  William watched as she arranged the fleecy folds around her shoulders. “Why were you running away?” he asked.

  What in the world should she say? “I... wanted... hoped to recapture the threads of my old life.”

  “And you felt that fleeing from your home and your family would achieve that?”

  “Not... exactly.” Robyn pleated the hem of the shawl between her fingers, avoiding William’s gaze. “I needed to return to the place where I had my accident.”

  “If that is so, how did it come about that Captain Bretton’s men found you wandering near the woods?”

  “I... got lost.”

  “Ah, I see. After nine years of living at Starke, you could not orient yourself to the front gates. A most credible story.”

  “Credible or not, that’s what happened,” she said defiantly.

  “It is a most odd coincidence that you should choose to return to the site of your unfortunate accident on the very night that Captain Bretton spread his dragnet of dragoons across the countryside.”

  Robyn choked on a gasp of laughter that was almost a sob. “Not nearly as odd as some of the other things that have been happening to me lately.” She drew in a deep breath and forced her nervous fingers to lie still. “You will not like the truth, William, but the truth is that I didn’t know Captain Bretton existed until two ragamuffin soldiers dragged me to the clearing and he confronted me.”

  William looked at her, then gave a harsh, frustrated laugh. “By God, you are a remarkable woman, Arabella. Just when I am convinced there is no trick you can employ that will deceive me, you come up with a fresh stratagem that leaves me floundering, trying to grasp the tiny acorn of truth that lurks behind your oak tree of lies.”

  “This time you have no need to search,” she said quietly. “I’m telling you the truth as I understand it. It was obvious from my conversation with Captain Bretton that we are old acquaintances, but I swear to you, William, that I have no memory of the man. I know nothing of our past dealings with each other. When I saw him tonight, I felt as if I saw him for the first time in my life.”

  “You are claiming to have lost your memory, my lady?”

  Robyn hesitated. Claiming amnesia as a result of the carriage accident might be the easiest way to account for her strange behavior. Certainly it sounded a lot more believable than an hysterical statement to the effect that she was trapped in a time warp, lost inside another woman’s body. Pretending amnesia was a safe course and might even evoke sympathy. Telling the truth was likely to get her clapped away in the local lunatic asylum or confined to a dark turret in Starke Manor.

  Decision made, she looked up and met William’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I think the blow to my head when I fell from the carriage affected my memory.”

  Her pause had been too long, and William misinterpreted it. His gaze became cynical. “How selective your memory is in its failures, my dove! Is it not curious that you forget the captain, but retain vivid memories of my brother Zachary? Your lovers would like to think that they receive equal attention, you know.”

  “They do. I don’t remember your brother, either.”

  “Please do not insult my intelligence, my lady. Zachary was the first name you spoke when you regained consciousness after your fall from the carriage. And now you insist upon calling your son by his name.”

  “That’s not for the reason you think. That’s... for a different reason.”

  “Yes,” William said, “I am sure it is.” He glanced at baby Zach sleeping in the cradle, and for a moment his eyes darkened, as if with pain. Then he swung on his heel, turning his back to Robyn. “Poor Captain Bretton. He would be devastated to know that the lady who was once his affianced bride claims to have no memory of him. The captain does not like to feel ignored.”

  “Captain Bretton was once my fiancé?” Robyn sputtered in her shock. Whatever she’d expected to hear, it hadn’t been that.

  William’s voice shimmered with sarcasm. “The first gentleman to win a promise of eternal fidelity from you, my lady, but certainly not the last.”

  “Wait!” Robyn was too confused to feel insulted. “Why didn’t the captain and I get married? Did I break off the engagement?”

  William rested his boot on the comer of Zach’s cradle and rocked gently. “If you really cannot remember,” he said at last, “mayhap ‘tis better if we do not rake over past events that still carry the power to wound.”

  “No,” she said, her throat tight with tension. “William, I have to know. I can’t walk around with my own past a sealed mystery to me. Don’t you see? If I had known the truth about my relationship with Captain Bretton, I would have handled our encounter differently. I need to know what happened in my past.”

  William studied her face in silence for several long moments. “Captain Bretton broke off his engagement to you,” he said finally.

  “Why?”

  He met her gaze head on. “Because he discovered that you were with child.”

  Robyn felt the shawl slip out of her grasp and slide to the floor. She didn’t bother to pick it up. “Was it the captain’s child?” she asked, her throat feeling so dry that the words seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth.

  “No.”

  “Whose child was it?” She rose to her feet. “Was it yours, William?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me,” she said, sensing the vital importance of the information he was withholding. “You must tell me. Who was the father?”

  William shook back the lace of his cuffs and drew out a box of snuff, flicking open the lid with a casual expertise that was almost convincing. Almost, but not quite.

  “The child was Zachary’s,” he said. “You were pregnant with my brother’s child when Captain Bretton spurned you.”

  Chapter 11

  Betrothed to one man, pregnant by another, and married to somebody else. The lady sure spread her favors around. Fighting back an absurd impulse to apologize to William for having betrayed him in so many ways, Robyn decided that the more she learned about the Lady Arabella Bowleigh, the less she liked her.

  “Okay, so Arabella was pregnant with Zachary’s child,” she said. “I still don’t understand why she... why I ended up married to you.” Uncertainty made her voice deepen, and the words came out sounding far more hostile than she’d intended.

  “My dear Arabella, however faulty your memory, you can surely understand that a woman with a babe in her belly is in desperate need of a husband. Captain Bretton refused to ally himself with a fallen woman. In such straits, any willing fool who offers himself will have to do.”

  “And you were that willing fool?”

  “Indeed I was. As willing—nay eager—as I was foolish.” His bitter smile mocked the memory of his own past. “If I can recall the emotions of that overheated time, I believe I indulged in some boyish fantasy of redeeming my brother’s honor.”

  “Hah! I expect your sense of family honor would have been a lot less acute if Arabella... if I... had been cross-eyed and buck-toothed.”

  “Undoubtedly.” William appeared unruffled by her heated accusation. “I make no claim to nobility of conduct, my lady, merely to youthful lust and astonishing lack of judgment. Our marriage was entered into for selfish reasons on both sides and we have reaped the harvest we deserve.”

  “I’d still like to know why your brother didn’t take responsibility for the child he’d created. Why did you need to restore his honor when he could have restored it quite easily himself? I may not understand much about social customs in the eighteenth century, but I’d have thought a man who took the virginity of a noblewoman—”

  She broke off. “Oh, is that it? Was I a peasant, or a farmer’s daughter, or something socially beneath contempt until you deigned to marry me?”

  William gave a short, hard laugh. “Now, my dear, you almost convince me that your wits have trul
y gone begging. No, you were not a commoner, as a moment’s thought would tell you.”

  “How so? Do aristocrats come with a certificate of authentication sewn to their navels, ready for any interested party to glance down and inspect?”

  William looked genuinely puzzled. “I do not understand your strange attempt at repartee. I refer to the fact that you are addressed as Lady Arabella, which, as you very well know, is itself an acknowledgment of your noble birth.”

  “Why?”

  “Had you been a commoner before our marriage you would take my title and you would be addressed as Lady Bowleigh. As the daughter of the Earl of Marshe, you are of higher rank than I, a mere baron: a fact you normally delight in mentioning on every possible occasion.”

  Robyn bit back a sarcastic remark to the effect that Americans had staged a revolution in part so that they wouldn’t have to waste their time worrying about the correct way to address the daughter of an earl, as opposed to the wife of a baron. She returned to her previous question, which remained unanswered.

  “Since I’m a genuine, blue-blooded aristocrat, that ought to have been all the more reason for your brother to marry me. Why wasn’t my father pounding on Zachary’s door, demanding that he make an honest woman out of me? And why would Zachary refuse? I should think the daughter of an earl was a pretty good catch for a second son with little hope of inheriting the family mansion.”

  “Zachary had left for France before your condition became apparent,” William said, after an almost imperceptible hesitation. “We considered sending a courier in search of him, but we were not sure of his precise route through France, and time, naturally, was of the essence. In fact, my brother never knew of your plight.”

  Robyn paid less attention to the hesitation than she might have done, because she was struck by the sudden realization of what William’s revelation really meant.

  “Good grief!” she exclaimed, shocked into tactlessness. “If I was pregnant when we got married, that means the twins... George and Freddie... they’re Zachary’s sons and you’ve always known that!”

  William shot her a narrow-eyed glance. “No,” he said. “You miscarried Zachary’s babe within the first month of our marriage. George and Freddie were born eleven months later.” He gave a wintry smile. “Ever the optimist, I have allowed myself to believe that the twins are heirs of my flesh as well as the legal heirs to my estate.”

  Robyn was surprised at how relieved she felt to learn that George and Freddie were truly William’s sons, although why she cared so much on his behalf she couldn’t imagine. The state of her feelings was confusing, so she decided to change the subject. Lord knew, there seemed to be a fresh puzzle for every mystery William cleared up.

  “How did Captain Bretton discover that Arabella was pregnant? I mean, given that Zachary was lost in the wilds of Europe and Arabella was in urgent need of a wedding ring, she seems to have handled the whole situation with incredible stupidity. Or did she get a sudden attack of conscience and confess everything to the captain? Although, heaven knows, that doesn’t sound in the least like the lady. She seems to have kept her conscience pretty well tamed to suit her convenience.”

  William stopped his pacing, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. “Why do you persist in referring to yourself thus impersonally, as if you never knew the Arabella of whom we speak?”

  “Because I don’t know her,” Robyn said, admitting the truth with a sense of real relief. At some point during the evening’s ventures it had begun to seem vitally important for William to stop disliking her. And if she wanted him to become her ally instead of her adversary she needed to find some way to persuade him that she could be trusted.

  “I wish I could convince you that my accident affected my memories,” she said. “Honestly, William, I remember nothing about my past life with you and nothing about Arabella’s thoughts and feelings in the past.”

  He made no effort to hide his impatience. “I find such a statement incredible. In fact, your actions since the accident give the lie to your claim. The first name you spoke on opening your eyes was my brother’s.”

  How could she possibly respond without giving him grounds to doubt her sanity, let alone her integrity? “I don’t recall the first few moments after the accident,” she said finally, not comfortable with the half lie, but not sure what else she could say. “If you reflect back on the last few weeks, surely you must have noticed changes in my behavior? Changes that suggest I’m a different person from the Arabella you once knew?”

  William inclined his head in mocking acknowledgment. “Indeed, my lady, the transformation of your behavior has been striking. I have wondered what new ploy you were attempting, and I believe I now stand on the brink of finding out. Enlighten me, my lady, I beg. If it was your aim to have piqued my curiosity, I confess you have been successful.”

  “There is no ploy, William.” Robyn tried to lessen the tension stretching between the two of them by holding out her hands and meeting his gaze with frank, open appeal.

  “My lord”—strange how easily the formal title tripped off her tongue—“my lord. This hostility between us is exhausting, and I think unnecessary. Couldn’t we try to treat each other more kindly? The truth is, the blow to my head when I had the accident affected my mind. I need your help.” God knew, that was the absolute truth.

  William said nothing. He stood, silent and unmoving, his expression swept carefully clean. Only the sardonic gleam in his eyes suggested he was even listening. In her eagerness to forge a new beginning to their relationship, she moved even closer, grasping his hands in an impulsive attempt to establish a link between the two of them.

  “I know the servants think I’m crazy, but I’m not, William. I just feel—bewildered—by my situation. But I can reason logically, and function in an everyday situation, which must mean that I’m not totally out of touch with reality.”

  Of course, the reality she was in touch with seemed to be two hundred and fifty years out-of-date, but she wouldn’t dwell on that minor problem for the moment.

  William still didn’t respond. She felt unnerved by his obdurate silence, but if she wanted his cooperation, she didn’t see any alternative to persuading him to change his opinion of her, so she drew in a deep breath and pushed on with her plea for help. “What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that I honestly and truly have no memories of my life with you before my accident. I’m not lying, William, or trying to trick you as part of some obscure plot. Believe me when I tell you that I don’t remember this house, or the servants, or the countryside around the Manor. Worst of all, I can’t remember the children, and that hurts me more than all the rest.”

  She shook her head, blinking back tears. “I need your help, William, if I am ever going to find my way out of the mess we’re both in. Please let’s try to make a fresh start to our relationship.”

  When she started speaking, she could have sworn she saw a flash of sympathy in his face, but as soon as she mentioned the children his mouth tightened angrily and ail trace of sympathy vanished. He withdrew his hands from her clasp with exaggerated courtesy and swept her a deep bow. Heart sinking, she recognized the signal for one of his sarcastic diatribes, and knew that she had failed to convince him that she spoke the truth. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising when she had no idea what “the truth” of her situation really was.

  “You plead your case with superlative grace,” William said, his hand on his heart, his posture all cool, insincere elegance. “I vow ‘twould be monstrous ungentlemanly of me to let such an impassioned and eloquent plea go unanswered. I shall, of course, do my best not to disappoint your ladyship.”

  “Disappoint me? I don’t understand—”

  “Come, Arabella, do not be trite. Whatever your problems may be, my memory is not gone missing and I recognize the prelude to one of your usual invitations to seduction. When all else fails between us, you invariably promise a fresh start to our relationship and reward me with the offer of your body. ‘Tis a sca
nt nine months since we last danced and fumbled our way through this scene and I clearly remember the details of our ritual. Smile, my dear, it is now time for you to simper a little and glance suggestively toward your bed.”

  Robyn shivered. “Dear God, how could you imagine I want to make love with you? No such possibility crossed my mind.”

  “Make love? What an inappropriate way to describe our couplings, my dear.” William shook his head. “The oddness of your speech since the accident can sometimes be quite diverting.” He took her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers gracefully, his smile glittering with derision.

  “You should not strive so mightily to achieve so simple an object, my dear. I am but a normal man, with all the usual appetites. I am happy to oblige your ladyship if you feel a swift tumble between the sheets would serve to refresh your ailing memory.”

  “I feel no such thing—”

  “Come, my lady, why do you waste time with useless denials? Make this easy for both of us and tell me what you would like me to do next. You cannot expect me to invent all the lines in this play we are enacting, despite its tedious familiarity. Do you wish me to seize you with passion? Whisper sweet poetry into your shell-like ears? Or mayhap play lady’s maid and ease you slowly out of your damp clothing? Speak up, my lady, let me hear your pleasure. God knows, fornication is beyond doubt the activity which has played the most important role in our past. Why should we not make it the key that unlocks our future?”

  “You are cruel,” Robyn said. “Ruthless and cruel. Good grief, William, I asked for your help, not for this vicious mockery.”

  “You are ruthless and cruel,” he repeated, seeming to savor the words. Robyn recoiled, but even through the haze of her own hurt, she recognized that William’s ferocity sprang from a deep-rooted need to conceal his pain. “Ah yes, your familiar reproaches burst forth with all the old relish. It seems we have only to mention the possibility of a tumble on the bed, and your memory revives.”