Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)

by Jasmine Cresswell

  Gerry smiled. “Well, I’m planning to spend Christmas in D.C., so it wasn’t much of a drive over. Robyn and I were good friends, as well as colleagues. I keep hoping that if I pay the occasional visit, she’ll remember me, maybe even wake up one day, ready to explain about those coded files on her computer.” He shook his head wearily. “You know, I can’t believe Robyn was behind the sale of all those fraudulent antiques, even though the sales seem to have stopped now that she’s—like this...”

  His voice tailed away unhappily, and Zach followed his gaze to the comer of the room, where Robyn was hunched on a stool, watching television, her gaze glued with hypnotic fierceness to the screen. She must have sensed people looking at her, for she suddenly jerked up her head. Her cheeks whitened, but it was a measure of how much her parents and therapists had achieved that she didn’t scream the instant she saw Zach. She shrank further into herself, staring at him in hostile silence, but at least she didn’t scream.

  Be thankful for small mercies, Zach told himself sardonically. He gulped, feeling as gauche and uncomfortable as a teenager. Hell, he couldn’t bear to accept that his relationship with Robyn was never again going to be more than this painful mishmash of her fear and his regrets.

  “Hi, Robyn, merry Christmas.” He held out the small, brightly wrapped package he had brought with him. She stared at him with alien eyes, and he felt as if he were being confronted by a hostile stranger masquerading behind Robyn’s familiar features. The sensation of otherness was so strong, he shivered. Then Robyn reached out to seize the box, snatching her hand away as if she feared any form of physical contact with him. Safely in possession of the box, she stroked the shiny tinsel paper for several seconds, untying the ribbon slowly, her eyes shining with almost childish anticipation as she removed the glittering gold foil bow.

  Inside was a bottle of perfume, an unoriginal gift, but Zach hadn’t been able to bring himself to choose something unique for a Robyn he no longer knew. Fortunately, she seemed well satisfied with his choice. She removed the stopper and sniffed cautiously, before taking a handkerchief and tipping perfume onto the comer. She waved the hankie in front of her nose, breathing in the scented wafts of air with a pleased smile. She made no effort to dab the perfume anywhere on her skin, but she was wearing a high-necked sweater, so Zach supposed that was why.

  Her smile faded as she turned to Zach, but once again, she managed to control her obvious mistrust. “I thank you,” she said stiffly. “It is a most pleasing scent. Although here in this country, I find it most strange. Even the servants are agreeably perfumed.”

  One of her quirks since the accident was the belief that ninety percent of the people she encountered were servants. Zach took the coward’s way out and ignored the comment, as he ignored most of her comments that he didn’t know how to deal with.

  “I’m glad you like the perfume.” Zach sat down, careful to leave plenty of space on the sofa. Robyn tended to get nervous if he sat too close. “Your mother tells me that you have done some beautiful embroidery,” he said. “Would you show me something you’ve sewn?”

  “My mother is dead,” she said, her voice aching with resentment, as if she had already made the same remark a thousand times and had given up all hope of being listened to.

  Zach glanced toward Gerry, who simply shook his head in silent warning. Zach turned back to Robyn. “I would still like to see your embroidery,” he said.

  “You mean that which I have stitched?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Your mother tells me you’re doing beautiful work.” God, what a patronizing ass he sounded.

  She shrugged and got up from the sofa, walking quickly to an old-fashioned dresser that stood against the wall of the family room.

  Gerry leaned over and whispered in Zach’s ear. “She insists her mother was a countess. She refuses to call Mrs. Delaney anything but Muriel. Honest to God, Zach, she treats the poor lady like a slave. You could hardly believe sometimes that this is the same Robyn we both used to know and love.”

  “You seem to be very well up on the details of Robyn’s condition,” Zach said.

  Gerry shrugged, clearly not wanting to take credit for the time and effort he was expending on a hopeless case. “I feel so sorry for her parents, you know? Somehow, it seems to help if I call and chat every now and then. They don’t feel so abandoned.”

  Robyn returned and held out a piece of canvas, two feet by two feet. “It is not yet complete,” she told Zach. “I trust, sir, that you find it pleasing to the eye?”

  Despite the Delaneys’ lavish praise, Zach hadn’t expected the embroidery to be quite so wonderful. He examined Robyn’s work with awe, trying to recall if he had ever seen such an exquisite piece of needlepoint outside of a museum or an art gallery.

  “I find it very pleasing to the eye,” he said, smiling at Robyn as his fingers stroked the superlative work. An eighteenth-century lady stood in a garden of flowers, her sky-blue satin skirts looped up to reveal a froth of lace, depicted in minute, almost invisible stitches of varying shades of white and cream. In the background of the tapestry, a riot of flowers bloomed, old-fashioned English flowers like flock, lily of the valley, and midnight stock. The lady’s white-powdered curls fell forward over the slope of a delicately curved bosom, even her hand and fingers had been worked in flawless detail.

  Captivated by the impeccable details, it took Zach a minute or two to register the precise subject of the canvas. Then he realized that this was not simply a picture of any old eighteenth-century lady.

  “Good heavens,” he said. “Robyn, you’ve done a truly outstanding job, and all from memory, too. This is a portrait of the Lady Arabella Bowleigh, isn’t it?”

  Robyn stared at him, her mouth slackening. She gripped her arms around her waist, shaking with fear, and he gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “You’ve remembered the portrait that hangs on the wall of my apartment, haven’t you? Do you recall how we talked of Lady Arabella Bowleigh and her family the night before we flew to England to visit the Baron of Starke?”

  “We... flew... to see the Baron of Starke? You and I?” This was the longest conversation they’d had so far, and Zach felt heartened, despite her cowering demeanor.

  “Well, we didn’t fly together,” he said. “You flew from New York and I flew front We were supposed to meet in England, at the Starke Manor Hotel. Do you remember, sweetheart?”

  Gerry leaned forward, anxious to offer encouragement but clearly not quite sure what to say. Robyn ignored him, her gaze fixated on Zach. She backed away until she was pressed to the wall and could go no farther. Her fingers clawed at the walnut paneling. “The Lord has not heard my prayers,” she whispered, her gaze still locked with Zach’s. “My sins have found me out. I am truly in hell, and thou art indeed the devil disguised in William’s form.”

  His stomach lurched with sick disappointment. “Robyn, sweetheart, I’m not William. I’m Zach. Will’s brother.”

  She stared at him, eyes dilating in pure, unadulterated terror. Then she fainted.

  * * *

  The lackey flung open the door. “My lady, I crave pardon. But Captain Bretton is here, my lady.”

  Robyn didn’t bother to look up from the cat she was drawing for Clemmie. “I am not at home,” she said.

  Captain Bretton pushed past the servant and bowed. “This is not a social visit, my lady. I come on the King’s business.

  Robyn raised her head. “You come so frequently on the King’s business, Captain. I trust the matter is of truly vital urgency?”

  “Indeed it is. Where is your husband?”

  Robyn did not invite the captain to sit. She gently lifted Clemmie from her lap, gave her a quick hug, then gestured to the lackey. “Please escort Miss Clementina to the nursery.”

  She waited until the servant and child had left the room before answering Captain Bretton. She eyed him coolly. “The urgency of this situation entirely escapes me, sir. I cannot imagine how the Baron of Starke’s present
whereabouts could be of any concern to His Majesty.”

  “We have been given to understand that the baron has ridden out to Poole.” Captain Bretton was tight-sprung, not with nervous tension but with an unpleasant kind of suppressed glee.

  Robyn refused to display her uneasiness. “And so? Even if that should be true, I believe His Majesty still grants his subjects the right of free passage.” The charcoal Robyn had been holding broke with a loud snap. She laid the pieces on the table and wiped her fingers with meticulous care. “I repeat, sir, that I fail to see how my husband’s presence in Poole, or his absence therefrom, could be of any interest whatsoever to the King’s servants.”

  “Are you determined to be willfully blind?” he demanded.

  “Not blind, Captain, but busy. So busy that I’m sure you will excuse me if I go about my duties.” She walked over to the bell rope and closed her hand around the tasseled pull. “Now, sir, I wish you good day—”

  He strode across the room, squeezing his hand so tightly around hers that the rope cut painfully into her palms. “I recommend that you summon no servants, Lady Arabella. You would not wish them to overhear our conversation.”

  “Sir, you can have nothing of a private nature to say to me—”

  His mouth twisted into a jeering smile. “Well played, my lady. A man who knows you less well might have believed you as innocent as you sound. Alas, our acquaintance is too old and too intimate for such a ploy to work.”

  “Captain Bretton, I am asking that you leave—”

  He put his hand over her mouth and leaned toward her, brown eyes gleaming. “You always did talk too much, Arabella. Now, my dear, I suggest that you shut those delectable, rosy lips and listen. For the sake of the good times we once shared—and which I believe we could share again—I take pleasure in warning you of the peril you face.”

  She tugged his hand away from her mouth. “Captain Bretton, I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

  “Then let me make my meaning crystal clear. Do not aid and abet your husband in committing treason. We both know the road down which the baron is headed, and the end is inevitable ruin.”

  She tossed her head, genuinely impatient. “I cannot possibly aid and abet my husband in the commission of treason, sir, since he plots no treason. The Baron of Starke would not dream of betraying his oath of loyalty to the King.”

  “Fine-sounding words, my lady, but falsehoods nevertheless. If you wish your children to enjoy their inheritance, you will cooperate with me.”

  Despite her conviction that William was a true Tory, Robyn felt suddenly chilled. “In what way are my children affected by this discussion, Captain Bretton?” Dammit, she hadn’t meant to let her voice quaver.

  “Surely you do not need me to remind you that if the baron is executed for treason, his property will revert to the Crown, thus disinheriting all of your childrenand at least one of mine.”

  Fear was subsumed in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

  As soon as she asked the question, even before she saw his derisive smirk, she knew the answer. Clementina. Brown-eyed, round-faced Clemmie was the captain’s child. Stupid, she told herself. Stupid, Robyn, to have laid yourself open to his taunts and to his threats.

  Almost in the same instant, she realized how she could protect Clemmie, and William, too. Everyone for miles around knew that Lady Arabella had lost her wits when she fell from her carriage. If Robyn could convince Captain Bretton that she had no memory of her affair with him, then he would lose much of his power over her. If Lady Arabella remembered no guilty, adulterous secrets, what weapon could the captain use to threaten her?

  She hoped that she hadn’t revealed too much of what she was thinking during her moment of silence. With a little shake of her skirts, she turned around, opening her eyes very wide and gazing at Captain Bretton with a simpering portrayal of bewildered innocence.

  “You speak in riddles, Captain, riddles that I am at a loss to fathom. Can you not make your meaning plain?”

  She had counted on the captain’s conspiratorial instincts to keep him silent, and the gamble paid off. He stared at her, his sneering expression freezing into a frown. “Whatever you may remember or not remember, my lady, think carefully on this. Your husband is a traitor and he will be executed, along with his foolish brother. That I promise you. So if you wish your children to inherit the lands of their ancestors, you have no choice other than to marry me, and throw yourself on my mercy.” His voice lowered, and he cupped her breast with insolent vulgarity. “You will discover, my dear, that I have much to recommend me as a husband.”

  However much might be at stake, she couldn’t bear him to touch her. She threw off his hand, and whirled around to tug the bell rope. “Your loathing of my husband does not make him a traitor, Captain Bretton, except in your fevered imagination. The Duke of Cumberland may have empowered you with much authority over this region, but the Baron of Starke has powerful friends at court. Take care that you do not imperil yourself rather than my husband with these wild and groundless accusations.”

  She had no idea if William truly had powerful connections, but her threat seemed to have struck a chord with Captain Bretton, who continued to look furious, but suddenly less sure of himself. Like most bullies, she concluded, he had no fallback position if his victims didn’t immediately surrender. Her optimism that she had controlled the situation was short-lived, however. Even as the captain hesitated in the doorway, a great shout came up from the courtyard, followed by the sound of gunshots.

  Robyn ran to the window, but her sitting room overlooked a walled garden, and there was nothing to see. Before she could run out into the hallway, a footman arrived at their door, breathless, his wig askew.

  “M’lady, troopers, all over the courtyard. They be a-firing o’ their muskets.” He poked at his wig, so agitated that he only succeeded in setting it farther over his left ear.

  “Why are they shooting?” Robyn asked. “Take your time to draw breath before you answer.”

  “They do be a-chasin’ of a Jacobite rebel, m’lady. They claim as ‘ow they chased the rebel right inside o’ the Manor.” The footman’s speech fell back to the dialect of his youth under the stress of the moment. “They do be a-swarmin’ all over th’ouse, m’lady. Hackett cain’t stop ‘em a-comin’ in.”

  “This is an outrage!” Robyn drew herself up, never more glad that she possessed Lady Arabella’s extra inches, and glared at the captain, eyeball to eyeball. She had no need to pretend fury: her Irish blood was boiling at the helplessness of honest citizens to protect themselves from the wrath of a jealous, malevolent, jumped-up despot like Captain Bretton. It was to protect themselves from just this sort of exploitation that solid American citizens had thrown tea into Boston harbor and successfully staged a revolution.

  “Call your men off,” she demanded. “Or I shall see to it personally that the King is informed of how his loyal subjects are being treated by soldiers under your command.”

  Captain Bretton merely laughed, a laugh rich with triumph. “Straight home to roost!” he exclaimed. “Now—at last—we have him!”

  “You make no sense, sir.”

  Captain Bretton paced the room, literally rubbing his hands in glee. “We were told that he would today attempt to escape to France from Poole harbor. We set close watch, and now we have him. We—have—him!”

  A soldier appeared in the doorway, saluting and standing smartly to attention despite sweat dripping from his forehead and staining the underarms of his uniform. Captain Bretton lunged forward, barely able to control himself. “Yes!” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Is he alive? You haven’t killed him?”

  “There are two rebels, sir. At least one of them wounded.”

  “Excellent. You chased them from Poole?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “At least one of them wounded...” The captain’s voice sharpened. “What do you mean? Don’t you know if they have both been shot? Do you ha
ve them under arrest? By God, I will have you all lashed if you have allowed them to escape.”

  The soldier stared straight ahead. His body grew even more rigid. “Sir, I winged one of them meself, but they disappeared, sir. One minute they was there, and then they wasn’t. Sir. They wasn’t more than a hundred yards ahead of us at the end. We ‘ad them in sight, sir, when we came through the gates of Starke. Then they went ‘round the corner and they was gone. Sir.”

  Captain Bretton was too angry to speak. “Check the stables,” he said finally. “You damn fool, if you’ve let them escape this time, Sergeant, I will not forgive your stupidity. Order your men to surround the house, blast you!”

  The soldier paled beneath his sweat. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I ‘ave already so ordered, sir.”

  “Then get out of here and start searching the Manor. Room to room. Attics to cellars.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Robyn turned to the still-panting lackey. “Find Monsieur Petain and ask him to take both the boys and Miss Clementina for a walk. Immediately. They are not to stay inside the house, is that clear?”

  “Yes, m’lady.” The lackey bowed and backed out of the room. Robyn turned to Captain Bretton not attempting to keep either the scorn or the dislike out of her voice. “I seem to be holding you back from your duties. sir. I would not like to deprive you of the pleasure of searching from room to room for whichever wretched rebels your soldiers have shot this time.”

  She jumped when William’s voice spoke from behind her. “You mistake the captain’s pleasure, my dear. He does not search with this degree of avidity for humble rebels. He searches for me, is that not so, Captain Bretton? For me, and for my brother Zachary.”

  Chapter 16

  Startled to hear her husband’s voice, Robyn swung around. William, still dressed in the riding clothes in which he had left her at dawn, sauntered across the room, swept off his hat, and bowed with casual gallantry. He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across the tips of her fingers. “You are especially beautiful today, my lady. Blue is undoubtedly your color.”