by Bess McBride
He bent over her hand, thankful she wore gloves. Had she not, he feared he might have pressed his lips to her skin.
“Good night, Clara,” he said.
“Good night, Roger. First thing in the morning. Your place or mine?” She smiled brightly.
“I shall come to the castle in the morning. We will need to speak to St. John and Mary as well.”
“Okay, see you then.”
“I look forward to it,” he said. He turned away reluctantly and returned to the carriage.
“Drop me at the gatehouse and return to Fairchild House to await Lord and Lady St. John,” he directed the coachmen. With a last look over his shoulder at the now closed door of the castle, Roger climbed into the carriage and contemplated the events of the past half hour.
He did not know how, he did not know why, but he rather thought he had fallen in love with Miss Clara Bell. He could not know if Miss Hickstrom had a hand in engaging his affections, but that information would not have changed the outcome. His heart quite clearly belonged to Clara, and he could not imagine a future without her.
The carriage discharged him and went on its way. Rather than return to his solitary gatehouse, Roger sat on the stairs and contemplated the stars, the moon and the mysteries of life. He contemplated love and regard, matrimony and permanence.
Some hours later, the carriage returned, lumbering on toward the castle. Roger did not hail it, did not call out in greeting. Nor did he sleep that night, choosing not to enter the gatehouse but to remain on the steps. The sun rose, and with it, so did Roger. He walked toward the castle.
As he approached, a movement in a window caught his attention. Clara waved with a bright smile, and Roger knew great happiness.
Chapter Fifteen
Clara bounded down the stairs as fast as her long skirts would allow. She stopped at the bottom stair to catch her breath...and steady her nerves.
“Lord Rowe is coming,” she said to the footman, who opened the door. Clara moved toward the open door to see Roger climbing the stairs. Her cheeks flushed as she dipped into a curtsey.
“Lord Rowe,” she said formally, albeit with a twinkle in her eye. “How nice to see you.”
Roger’s smile was bright, warm and engaging, and she realized she’d only seen him smile once before in broad daylight. Her heart thumped in her chest, and a pulse beat wildly at her throat.
“Good morning, Miss Bell,” he said just as formally with an eye toward the footman. “Shall we step into the drawing room?”
“Sure!” she said. She followed him into the drawing room, where he shut the door behind them.
Clara sat down, and Roger took the chair opposite.
“So, we call Hickstrom now, right?” she asked.
“Are St. John or Mary awake yet? It is very early. I was very surprised to see you awake.”
“No, I think I’m the first one up...besides the servants.”
“Very well then. I suggest you call her. I have not had very good luck with that.”
“Okay, let’s agree again. We’re getting married, and then I’m going to ask her if I can go back. She can’t drag me back here unless I read that book of fairy tales again, right?”
Clara bit her lip as the light went out of Roger’s eyes.
“We agreed though, right, Roger? That I’m going back?”
He closed his eyes for an overly long moment and opened them again with a nod.
“We agreed. We will meet the conditions of Miss Hickstrom’s...curse...by marrying, and then you will return to your home.”
“Curse,” Clara murmured. “Are we going to start hurting each other’s feelings again?”
“It was not my intent to wound you, Clara. I do not know how else to describe Miss Hickstrom’s schemes.”
Clara nodded. “Do you still want to do this?”
“I do not wish to marry Miss Whitehead.”
Clara’s throat tightened. He hadn’t exactly said he wanted to marry her either. She tore her eyes from his somber face and lifted her chin to look at the ceiling.
“Hickstrom! Hickstrom! We’ve agreed to your...um...proposal! Can you come, Hickstrom?”
Hickstrom didn’t appear, and Clara dropped her eyes to Roger.
“Oh, I hope she comes! Without her guarantee that I can go back, what would be the point?”
“Precisely,” Roger said, pressing his lips together.
Clara looked at him. “Roger, are you sure about this? You seem...mad...or sad...or something. If you don’t want to go through with this, we don’t have to. I’m really doing this for you, not me. She’s already agreed to send me back. You have to trust me. I will leave. You won’t be stuck with me. You won’t be stuck with a wife. You can go on living in the gatekeeper’s lodge on your own just like you always have. I promise.”
“Well, if you promise,” Roger said, still unsmiling. He raised his head.
“Miss Hickstrom, could you grace us with your presence? You have demanded that I wed, and I am prepared to do so.”
Clara noted a gruffness to his voice. Embarrassment? A tap sounded on the door, and Clara stiffened. The door opened, and the footman looked in.
“Yes, Will?” Roger asked.
“Miss Hermione Hickstrom,” Will said.
Miss Hickstrom sailed in as resplendent as ever in an emerald-green velvet sack dress that was totally unsuitable for morning anywhere, anytime.
“Good morning, my dears. Is there tea?” She turned to the footman. “Do bring us some tea and toast, Will.”
Roger rose and bowed.
“Thank you, Lord Rowe. Do sit down.”
Clara laced her fingers painfully together and turned to face the fairy godmother.
“Hickstrom, we—”
Hickstrom held up an imperious hand. “Do please wait until the tea arrives, dear. I am quite parched and famished. I cannot think straight.”
Clara looked at Roger, who had resumed his seat. “Okay.” She sighed, forcing herself to unlock her fingers.
Hickstrom patted her striking blue hair. “Such a busy few days, my dears. You can have no idea!”
“No,” Clara said. “Have you been back to the twenty-first century?”
Hickstrom scrunched her face and put a finger to her nose, as if trying to remember. “No, I do not believe so.” She shook her head. “No, I have not. I would remember.”
“Hickstrom,” Clara began. “We really need to talk to you. That’s why you’re here, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course, my dear. But I really do need my tea.”
Another tap on the door brought Mary, followed by Cedric with a tray of tea and toast that he set on a table between the sofa and chairs.
“Thank you, Cedric. I will pour,” Mary said. “Good morning, everyone! I was up with the baby and heard Hickstrom had arrived. Cook already had tea going. So what’s up?”
Hickstrom reached for the cup of tea Mary poured her, and she took a piece of toast.
“Do let me enjoy a cup and a bite,” she said. “These two summoned me very early this morning!”
Clara bit her lip. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Mary about her plan and hoped that Mary would play along, even if she didn’t understand what Clara and Roger were doing. She tried directing meaningful looks toward Mary, but Mary didn’t seem to catch them.
Clara took a cup of tea and let the warm liquid ease her dry throat. She had awakened in a cheerful mood and confident in her plan, but her throat felt constricted. She was afraid Hickstrom would see through their plot.
Hickstrom finished a piece of toast and wiped at her lips with a linen napkin. She sipped her tea and finally lowered the cup to her lap before looking up.
“Now! We may proceed. Did I hear correctly? Did Lord Rowe say that he is prepared to wed?”
“Oh!” Mary’s head swung in Roger’s direction, and his face took on color. He nodded assent, however.
“Since Miss Bell has steadfastly refused to marry you or remain in the nineteenth c
entury, I presume you are prepared to marry Miss Penelope Whitehead, Lord Rowe?”
Clara rushed in before Roger could speak. “No! It’s me! I agreed to marry him. We’re”—she looked toward Roger—“we’re in love!”
“Really?” Mary asked on a high note.
At a look from Clara, she clamped her lips together.
“In love?” Hickstrom repeated, looking from one to the other. “What’s this?”
Clara jumped up and rushed to stand beside Roger’s chair. She grabbed his hand.
“We’re in love! You brought me here to fall in love with Roger, and I have. He’s very easy to love. Really!”
Roger, playing along, pressed her hand to his lips. Clara drew in a sharp breath at the shiver that ran up her spine.
“Yes, quite in love,” Roger said. “We will post the banns today and marry on the sixteenth day. There is one condition though.”
“This is quite extraordinary!” Miss Hickstrom said. “I knew you were meant for each other, but to realize it so soon? Bravo!”
“The condition?” Clara murmured.
“And what is that, my dears? Quite extraordinary! I must say...I have certainly outdone myself this time!” Miss Hickstrom’s blue eyes glowed.
“I need to go home after we get married...to settle my affairs.”
“Go home?” Miss Hickstrom repeated.
Mary’s expression of confusion cleared.
“Yes, I have to turn my business over to my partner, Janie,” Clara said, her knees shaking. Roger’s hand tightened over hers, as if to give her support.
Hickstrom’s eyes narrowed, and Clara had the worst feeling that she suspected they were lying to her.
“Lord Rowe, what do you say to this?” she asked. “Would you consent to Miss Bell returning to the twenty-first century to settle her affairs? What if she refuses to return?”
“I have the utmost faith in Miss Bell. She will return.”
“Yes, I’ll be back,” Clara lied. “Of course I’ll be back. I’ll be Roger’s wife! I wouldn’t abandon him.”
Tears formed in Clara’s eyes at her last words. She hadn’t meant to use the word “abandon.” It held such painful memories for her.
“No,” Roger said. “Of course she would not. This condition is not negotiable, Miss Hickstrom. Do you consent?”
Hickstrom looked from Clara to Roger to Mary and back to Clara.
“Clara, my dear, you know the pain of abandonment. Roger does as well. If I allow you to return to the twenty-first century as Roger’s wife, you must come back.”
“I will,” Clara lied with a stiff nod. “I will.” She almost used the word “promise” but held back, hoping that Hickstrom didn’t ask for it.
“Then I consent. I will send you back to settle your affairs after your wedding.”
“Thank you!” Clara said. She squeezed Roger’s hand. He gently pulled his hand from hers and settled it in his lap. Clara patted his shoulder gently before returning to her seat.
“You do understand, Clara, that you must find the book of fairy tales and read the story again?” Miss Hickstrom asked.
“Yes, I will. I will.” Again, Clara fought against saying the word “promise.” Her mouth wanted to say it, but her brain told her it was a bigger lie.
“Well, this is a most happy occasion!” Hickstrom exclaimed. “Do let us celebrate with another cup of tea!”
Mary silently poured her another cup before resuming her seat. Clara studied her enigmatic expression, hoping that she wasn’t upset about Clara and Roger’s plan. Clara had no doubt that Mary saw it for the scheme it was.
Hickstrom drank her tea and rose.
“It is time to leave. I must not shirk my duties to my other lovelorn charges. Do enjoy planning your wedding, my dears. I hope for an invitation!”
Silence followed where neither Roger nor Clara responded.
Mary finally replied. “Of course.”
“Very well then. I shall see you in sixteen days!”
Roger jumped up and escorted her to the door. Mary and Clara followed and saw her out of the house. As Will closed the door, Mary turned and stared at them.
“Let’s talk,” she said, leading the way back to the drawing room. Roger and Clara exchanged a look and followed.
Once in the drawing room, Mary turned to them. “I take it you’re not planning on coming back,” she said to Clara. “But you’re going through with a wedding?”
Something in Mary’s tone sent a wave of shame through Clara. She looked up at the ceiling, hoping that Hickstrom couldn’t hear.
“Yes, that’s the plan. It keeps Roger from having to marry Penelope. And think about it. When I’m gone, he won’t be married because I’ll have never existed. He can marry someone of his choosing...or not.”
Mary turned to Roger. “And you consented to this?”
“I thought it a splendid notion,” Roger said, though his voice was grave. “I did not wish to marry Miss Whitehead.”
Mary stared at him for a full minute. “This isn’t like you, Roger.”
“You may blame Miss Hickstrom,” he said. “She has placed me in a difficult position...both of us, really.”
Mary shrugged. “Well, I guess it does make sense. You certainly convinced Hickstrom that you were in love. In fact, I almost thought you were.”
Clara blushed. “It was just an act.”
“Yes, of course,” Roger said in a dry voice.
“Not that Roger isn’t...you know...” Clara shrugged. “You know what I mean, Roger.” She turned back to Mary. “Roger and I have agreed to stop hurting each other’s feelings. We both want our freedom. He doesn’t want a wife, and I want to go home. Right, Roger?”
Mary turned to look at Roger, who inclined his head.
“Yes, I believe that is what we agreed upon.”
Roger rose. “I must leave now. I shall ask Reverend Small to have the banns read beginning tomorrow, and I must secure a license. Please tell Lord St. John that I will return later to speak with him.” He bowed and left the room without a backward glance.
Mary turned to Clara. “What are you doing to that poor man?”
Chapter Sixteen
Clara gasped.
“What do you mean? I’m doing what I think I can to help him!”
“Really?” Mary asked. “You haven’t noticed something about him?”
“Like what?” Clara shook her head.
“How hurt he is?”
Clara sighed in relief. “Oh, that! I told you. Off and on, we’ve been hurting each other’s feelings. You know, he says he won’t marry ever...and of course, that makes me feel like... Well, how bad can I be to marry, right?” Clara shrugged. “Then I say I want to go home, and that seems to hurt his feelings...and probably yours, I’m sorry to say. Then he says he doesn’t want to marry Penelope and agreed to marry me to get out of that situation. But truthfully, he doesn’t want a wife, and I don’t want a husband. Plus I think I should go home, and I’m sure he would rather I did.”
Clara finished her ramble and looked to Mary for understanding. She tried to clarify.
“So, yeah, we hurt each other’s feelings throughout this ordeal, but we’ve talked about trying to avoid that.”
“I don’t mean to be mean, Clara, but I haven’t noticed that you’ve done a good job of avoiding hurting each other. Did you see the way he kissed your hand? The way he looked at you when you stood beside him?”
Clara’s throat closed over, and she fought against tears, though why she should cry, she had no idea.
“I felt him kiss my hand, so yes, I was there. No, I didn’t see him look at me. Was it weird? You know he was acting, right? For Hickstrom’s benefit?”
“Oh, Clara,” Mary said with a sigh. “No, I don’t think he was acting.”
“What are you saying? That he’s in love with me?” Clara’s voice ended on a squeak. “We hardly know each other!”
“Well, I think he’s well on his way to being in lo
ve with you. So please be careful. I understand that you want to go home. I get that. I really do. And I even appreciate that you’re marrying Roger to prevent him from having to marry that hateful girl Penelope. But when you go, I suspect Roger will still consider himself married. He’s that kind of guy. I doubt he’ll ever marry again.”
Tears slipped down Clara’s face, and she brushed at them. “Well, he didn’t want to get married to anyone anyway, right? So he can just use that excuse...if he wants. I think you’re wrong about him falling for me. I’m not the kind of girl handsome men fall for.”
Mary started to protest, but Clara continued talking. “I think we’ve come to an agreement, and maybe we look like we’re getting along because of that. We’re allies, partners in crime. Roger is a really nice man. I see that now. But we’re not in love. He’s not in love with me.”
Clara wiped at another unwanted hot tear rolling down her cheek.
Mary made a sympathetic face.
“I think you’re wrong about that. And honestly, why wouldn’t a handsome man fall in love with you? You’re beautiful...and funny...and practical...and kind. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Clara blinked against a new wave of tears.
“Oh goodness,” she murmured.
Mary rose. “I left the baby with St. John. Let me go rescue him because he’s got work to do. I’ll tell him about your plans.”
“What do you think he’ll say?” Clara remained intimidated by the earl.
“Nothing much,” Mary said. “He loves Roger like a brother, but he’d like to see him married, but—” She shrugged. “I’ll explain it to him.”
She paused at the door. “It looks like we have a wedding to plan!”
“Oh, no! Don’t go to any trouble. Can we do a justice of the peace kind of thing?”
Mary laughed. “No, that’s not a thing here. At any rate, the wedding will be small. We’ll hold it at the church, probably just us and the Halwells in attendance.”
“Oh!” Clara said in relief. “Thank goodness!”
“Just because it’s small doesn’t mean it’s not valid,” Mary said. “Just think—when you return, you can visit some archives somewhere and see a copy of the banns.”
