‘'Begin' your pardon, miss," the gnome interrupted. "She'll be just fine. I ain't never lost a fare yet." Maggie wasn't sure why, but a profound sense that everything would indeed be all right flooded through her at his words. Lydia would be well taken care of.
"What about my clothes?" Lydia frowned, glancing down at her lovely rose-colored gown. "Won't I look extremely odd in your time?"
Maggie laughed. "Lydia, trust me. In London in the 1990s nothing is extremely odd. Wait, one more thing." Again Maggie dove into the bottomless purse and pulled out her camera. "Give this to Kiki and tell her to have the pictures developed right away. It might just be the one thing that really convinces her."
Maggie glanced from Lydia to Adam and back again. This might not be the perfect, totally correct choice, but it seemed more right than anything ever had in her life.
"Time's a wasting, miss." The gnome's voice signaled their time was indeed up.
Maggie and Lydia embraced. Maggie whispered into her ear, "Tell Kiki not to worry. Tell her I'm happy and I've found what I was looking for." She pulled back and her gaze met Lydia's. “And thank you."
"No." Lydia laughed lightly, her gaze still linked with Maggie's. "Thank you."
The women broke apart and Lydia turned to Adam. He pulled her into his arms. "Take care, little sister. I will miss your laugh and your extravagances and your exasperating adventures. I am still not fully convinced of this."
"My dear, darling brother, of course you aren't. You have spent far too long looking after me." She drew back and excitement sparkled in her eyes. “Don’t you see how right this is? I want so much more than I can ever have here. Since I first met Maggie I have suspected her world was much more suited to me than my own. Much more forgiving." She grinned. "This will be the adventure of, well, a lifetime.”
She kissed him lightly, squeezed his hand, and turned to the carriage. "Sir, if you will?" Lydia presented her hand to the gnome. He helped her into the carriage and took his place on the seat in front. Lydia twisted around and waved gaily, then eagerly settled in. The carriage slowly moved off.
Adam wrapped his arms around Maggie and they watched the retreating carriage.
"Will she be all right, do you think?" A worried note sounded in Adam's voice.
Maggie snuggled deeper in his arms. "Oh, I think she'll do just fine. It's the twentieth century that needs to worry."
“And what of you?" He nuzzled her ear. "Are you happy with your choice?"
She sighed and leaned her head back against his chest, her gaze never leaving the carriage. All she would never see or do again flashed through her mind. She would miss her sister fiercely, but Kiki would understand.
Her commitment was to more than just Adam. She was now a permanent part of his time. A time that had always been remote and unreal for her. A time she'd never given much thought to. A time she would spend the rest of her life in. Maggie would now have to at least try to become a proper nineteenth century woman, with all the annoying restrictions that entailed. There was time enough to adjust to that. There was all the time in the world.
It was a trade-off. She wasn't giving up so very much compared to all she was getting. A chance to live a new life by the side of the man she loved. The man who loved her. Was she happy with her choice?
She murmured quietly, "Ask me again in about thirty years.”
Adam chuckled softly. He and Maggie stood watch until the carriage disappeared into the mist and the future. Together they turned and stepped into a future of their own.
Epilogue
May 13, 1995
Kat Masterson sat in a small, private room at the Bank of England staring at an old-fashioned trunk and a large, flat parcel wrapped in brown paper. She clutched an envelope of freshly developed photos. Kat had toyed with the idea of developing them herself but she was almost afraid to look. She'd been in a state somewhere between disbelief, curiosity, and sheer panic ever since that ditzy blonde had shown up at her hotel room last night.
The blonde said her name was Lydia Coleridge, and carried a note from Maggie, one of Maggie's favorite earrings, and her camera. The message was short, to the point, and made no sense at all. It simply told her to present the earring at the Bank of England with identification. It asked her to take care of Lydia and not to panic and call the police. The note closed by saying Maggie loved her and hoped one day she'd understand. Kat prided herself on being a calm and rational person who took life's unexpected turns in stride. She could handle anything.
Except, perhaps, this.
She'd questioned Lydia most of the night and the story the young woman told was unbelievable. Kat would not have bought it at all except for a couple of odd things that didn't add up. Lydia was either the best actress ever or had lived all her life in some remote, uncivilized part of the world, or . . . in another time. She was genuinely fascinated with literally everything from the light switches to the television to virtually every item in the bathroom. And her English was far too perfect, far too pure. Classic.
Lydia’s clothes were hand-sewn and she needed help getting in and out of them. They were possibly the best historical reproductions Kat had ever seen or . . . They were real.
And Lydia had called her Kiki in a completely natural manner. Almost as if Lydia had spent a great deal of time with someone who talked about her a lot. On her passport, her name was Katherine. Professionally she was Kat. Only one person in her life ever called her Kiki.
Maggie.
Kat would have dismissed it all as some kind of con, would have called the police but for an instinctive gut feeling. A feeling that had saved her life more than once. A feeling that, as weird as it sounded, told her the blonde was indeed telling the truth.
The evidence mounted. Kat brought the earring to the bank and learned there really was an account in her name. The bank referred to it as a legacy and the bank officer who explained said there was a single stipulation. She was to administer the account but it was to be shared with one Lydia Coleridge. The account was opened approximately one hundred and seventy-six years ago. With interest and compound interest and specific, confidential instructions for investments it amounted to what the bank officer said with no little pride could be considered one of the largest private fortunes in the country, perhaps even in the world.
Kat knew the answers to all of her questions were probably in that trunk. Still, she hesitated. What if it was true? What if it wasn't? Maggie could still be in trouble. Kat set the packet of pictures aside and took a deep breath. Standing, she leaned over the chest and with a determined tug, yanked on the lid. It stuck for a moment, then gave way with a moan.
Kat peered inside. Most of it was filled with antique leather-bound books. Packed in one comer she found her sister's oversize, leather purse. Kat would have known it anywhere. She carefully pulled it from the trunk, the leather now cracked and weathered with age. Inside, Kat discovered Maggie’s wallet and gently opened it. It creaked with the movement and Kat worked carefully, prying out credit cards and a driver's license. All the dates were current, all the cards curiously discolored. Old. Antique.
She pulled out the packet of pictures, drew a deep breath, and checked inside. These were the pictures Maggie had developed just two days ago, now yellowed and fragile, and Kat stared in fascination. She reached for two magazines still in the bag. Current issues of Time and Cosmo crumbled with age. Finally, she pulled out a digital watch and a plastic calculator, both in remarkably good condition although obviously old and worn.
Maggie must have simply used up the other things she typically kept in her purse, like pens and makeup. The thought nearly passed unchallenged, then hit Kat with an impact that left her breathless.
Oh, dear God, it's true!
Kat gripped the edge of the desk to support herself against the swirling maelstrom of emotion threatening to engulf her. Lydia. The account. The purse. It all added up. Her sister was really gone.
Dazed by the revelation, Kat stared into the trun
k. Abrupt anger washed over her. She needed more than bits and pieces. She needed to talk to Maggie, needed to hear this from her. She reached for the closest book when her eyes caught sight of a folded paper that had slipped beneath the purse. With a trembling hand, Kat slowly pulled it toward her. She knew before she opened it that this was the message she hoped for. Kat unfolded the paper and read the faded words in her sister's familiar hand.
September I6, I870
My dearest Kiki,
I can scarce believe it has been fifty-two years since I left your world, although, if all went well, I suspect for you it has been but a day. I have rewritten this particular letter every year. In this trunk, you will find my journals with the entries addressed to you. One for every day of my life. It was my only way of sharing those days, and my thoughts, with you.
Lydia has by now explained what happened, how I came to travel through time, and why I chose to stay. Please watch over her as you watched over me. Treat her as a sister. She will need you as I did. The accounts should enable you both to live free of financial concern.
We have prospered here as well, helped by the history lessons I fought so hard against as a student. I wish now I had paid more attention. My family accepts my unique ability to know what will happen before it does and, I say with satisfaction, I have used the knowledge wisely. Yet I do not feel I have tampered with history. Looking back, I firmly believe it was always my destiny to be here.
It is odd to think by the time you read this I will be long dead and buried. I see you in my mind as vividly as if I had never left. My beloved Adam died three months ago. He lived to be far older than most do in this day and age. I anticipate I will soon follow and the notion does not displease me. I do not fear death. Adam and I will be together again and this time nothing will tear us apart.
Do not grieve for me. I have led a wonderful life full of love and laughter and miracles. I made the right choice.
I have no regrets.
Your loving sister,
Maggie
Tears blurred Kat's eyes and she blindly groped for the envelope of pictures, spilling them on the table. She fanned the photos out and recognized scenes of London. But a different London. Somehow more sedate and gracious. She picked up a picture of a handsome blond man in a book-lined room. Adam. Then she spotted one of Maggie, apparently in the same room. Her eyes twinkled at the camera and the photographer and she seemed to be wearing some kind of robe. Kat laughed through her tears. Maggie would show them. She'd set Regency England on its ear.
Kat scooped the pictures up and set them aside, reaching now for the package. Her fingers shook slightly and she fumbled at the knot in the twine around the brown paper-wrapped parcel. She managed to get it untied and the paper fell away. Kat gasped in astonishment and delight. There were two paintings, back to back. The first was a portrait of four young children at play, three girls and a boy. It was clearly Maggie's work, free in spirit and slightly impressionistic. Their hair color varied from blond to dark red and Kat could clearly see glimpses of Maggie and the man in the picture in their faces. She choked at the recognition.
Maggie's children.
She propped the painting against the trunk and turned over the second. Her heart caught in her throat. It was of Maggie and the man she now realized was Adam. Maggie was a little older but beautiful, serene, obviously happy. Maggie did not paint this one and whoever the artist was had talent, managing to capture the love shared by these two people. It radiated in their eyes.
The second painting joined the first and Kat sank down in the chair at her back. Here was her proof. Here were her answers, her sister's way of letting her know she was all right. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She would miss Maggie terribly even though it appeared Lydia would keep her more than busy in the sister department. She laughed out loud. Leave it to her sister to hand her a project like that.
Her gaze drifted back and forth between the happy couple in one painting and the laughing children in the other. It would be hard not to grieve but she had the paintings and the journals to keep her close to Maggie. A sense of calm and peace sifted through Kat. Her sister had finally stopped her drifting.
Finally found the place she belonged.
Finally found her happiness somewhere in yesterday . . . and forever.
Discover More by Victoria Alexander
What Happens at Millworth Manor
What Happens at Christmas
Lord Stilwell’s Excellent Engagements (novella)
The Importance of Being Wicked (crossover with Wicked Family Secrets)
The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress
Wicked Family Secrets/Hadley-Attwater Family
His Mistress by Christmas
My Wicked Little Lies
Standalone Books & Novellas
Yesterday and Forever (time travel)
The Princess and the Pea (historical)
The Perfect Wife (historical)
Promises to Keep (second chance romance / time travel)
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Shakespeare and the Three Kings (historical novella)
Play it Again, Sam (reincarnation)
Believe (time travel)
One Magic Moment (historical)
Paradise Bay (contemporary)
The Last Love Letter, Secrets of a Perfect Night Anthology (historical novella
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The Husband List
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Mistress Trio (unfinished)
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Victoria Alexander was an award winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. She turned to writing full time and is still shocked it worked out.
Since the publication of her first book in 1995, she has written thirty-one full-length novels and six novellas. Find a complete list on her website http://www.victoriaalexander.com and chat with her on facebook https://www.facebook.com/VictoriaAlexandersPlace
The Perfect Wife--originally published in 1996 and reissued in March 2008--hit #1 on the New York Times list. Sixteen of her books are bestsellers hitting the New York Times, USA Today and/or Publishers Weekly bestseller lists. With books translated into more than a dozen different languages she has readers around the world and has twice been nominated for Romance's Writers of America prestigious RITA award. In 2009 she was given a Career Achievement Award from RT Bookclub and was named Historical Storyteller of the year in 2003. In 2008 she was the keynote speaker for the Romance Writers of American annual conference in San Francisco. Victoria credit
s much of her writing success to her experiences as a reporter.
Her years as a broadcast journalist were spent in two radically different areas of the country: Nebraska and West Virginia. In West Virginia, she covered both natural and manmade disasters. She was on the scene when a power plant construction accident in a small town left 52 men dead. She once spent the night on a mountain waiting to learn of the fate of coal miners trapped in a mine collapse. Victoria was producing a newscast when her husband (who worked at the same television station) and several other journalists were held hostage by a disturbed Vietnam veteran. In Nebraska, she reported on the farm crisis and watched people lose land that had been in their families for generations. She covered the story that was the basis of the movie BOYS DON'T CRY and once acted as the link between police and a gunman who had barricaded himself in his home. Her investigative work exposed the trucking of New York City garbage to a small town dump in rural Nebraska.
During her journalism career, Victoria covered every president from Ford to Clinton. She knows firsthand what it feels like to be surrounded by rising floodwaters and inside a burning building. She's interviewed movie stars including Kevin Costner, ridden an elephant and flown in a governor's helicopter. She's covered a national political convention and Pope John Paul II's historic visit to Denver as well as small town festivals celebrating everything from walnuts to Glen Miller. Her work was honored by numerous organizations including the Associated Press who called a feature about a firefighter's school "story telling genius". It was the encouragement she needed to turn from news to fiction. She's never looked back.
Victoria is a former president of the Omaha Press Club and in 2009 was named an OPC Face on the Barroom Floor. A caricature portrait of her joined previous faces including presidents, sports figures and politicians in a tradition that began in 1971.
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