by Sherry Lewis
That was a low blow. Shelby crossed to the windows to give herself a moment. “Can’t we at least be civil?”
“I am being civil,” he snapped. “As civil as I care to be. Now, if there’s nothing more, I’ll take my leave. It’s obvious you don’t need me here.”
She stole another peek at his lean face, but the pain had disappeared again. She knew instinctively that if something didn’t change soon, it would probably vanish forever.
“I’ll not humble myself to you, Agatha,” Zacharias said, yanking open the door. “Not again.” And without missing a beat, he stepped through and slammed it shut behind him.
Shelby stared at the door for a moment, trying to decide whether to go after him or let him go. Agatha wouldn’t have gone after him, but history proved that Agatha hadn’t exactly made the smartest choices.
On the other hand, Zacharias wasn’t exactly open to discussion. If Shelby chased after him, she might make the situation worse.
Not that it could get much worse, she thought with a scowl. Other than a few foster parents, she didn’t remember ever encountering such hostility in her life. She didn’t harbor any delusions about marriage—she’d seen her share of bad ones as she’d bounced from house to house—but the depth of his anger toward Agatha shocked and saddened her.
Why had she been zapped back into the past and dropped into Agatha’s place? Why did she have to take the brunt of his hostility? She knew the eventual outcome for these two people if they continued along the path they were on and for the first time she thought maybe things had worked out for the best, after all.
Or had they?
Maybe she’d been brought here to nudge them in a different direction. Maybe if she brought these two people back together again, she could alter the future and save the twin houses. After all, she had seen those two lightning-quick glimpses of pain behind Zacharias’s anger.
And maybe not, a warning voice whispered.
She pushed it aside and smiled slowly. Surely, she hadn’t been brought here by mistake. There had to be some reason. And what better reason than to rewrite history?
Seething, Zacharias rode Goliath along the road separating his two houses. His houses, he thought, and let the familiar twinge of bitterness dance in his chest. The midday sun beat down upon his shoulders, perspiration dampened his shirt and collar, but he welcomed the discomfort.
He had forgotten how beautiful Summervale was. How magnificent she’d made it with her one-of-a-kind treasures. Or maybe he’d simply refused to let himself remember. Walking back into the home he loved had been at once soothing and painful.
He hated Agatha for banishing him from the home he’d paid for, the home he’d lovingly built—maybe not with his own two hands, but certainly with his heart. He hated her for that and so much more.
So why had the confusion he’d seen in her eyes touched him? And why had he nearly given in to her request to talk?
Talk. He thought with a bitter laugh. Agatha didn’t talk. If she’d been open to discussion even once, they wouldn’t be in this mess now.
Well, he wouldn’t allow himself to weaken. Only an idiot would forget what she’d done. Only a dolt would believe such a ludicrous story as the one she’d told him that morning. Only a fool would succumb to the charms of a woman who’d burned him so badly.
Scowling at the niggling reminder that what she’d done had been a reaction to his own mistake, he reminded himself that he’d tried to make amends. He truly had. No one could have expected him to do more. Most men—men less thoughtful than he—would have done far less. Why, he’d even let her stay at Summervale. How many men would have done that?
Very few.
He let out a heavy sigh and turned his thoughts to his real home. He’d done his best to recreate Summervale, but time had been of the essence then, and patience had been at a premium. He hadn’t had the luxury of waiting two years for hand-carved mantles or imported Italian floor tiles.
Scowling darkly, he reined Goliath and shifted in the saddle to look behind him. Summervale rose majestically amid the trees and the deep red brick of its turrets gleamed in the sunlight. Outwardly, Winterhill was its twin. Ah, but inside. . .
Inside, Summervale was truly a masterpiece. And she locked it away from its rightful owner, away from the admiring eyes of his peers, away from the small boys who would one day inherit it.
At least he had that, Zacharias thought, straightening in his saddle again and touching his heels lightly to Goliath’s flanks. Agatha might rule Summervale now, but title still belonged to him. And one day, his sons would inherit.
One of them would live where he could not. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He had to content himself with that.
He tried to hold on to the anger instead of the melancholy. Whiskey would help. A good, stiff whiskey to wash the taste of argument from his mouth and remove the image of Agatha’s dark eyes from his memory.
He tilted back the brim of his hat and let his gaze follow the road as he rode slowly toward home. He had no desire or inclination to discuss the morning’s bizarre events with his mother. A man should be master of his domain, after all.
But Zacharias had never been master of his. If his current living arrangements and the estrangement from his wife weren’t proof enough, the very fact that his mother ruled Winterhill with the same iron thumb she’d once used on his boyhood home ought to convince even the most skeptical.
Obedience had been the watch-word in his parents’ home. Until his father’s death, he’d associated the rule with the old man. It wasn’t until his father wasn’t around any longer to take the responsibility for his mother’s actions that Zacharias began to understand the truth.
She was a clever woman, he’d grant her that. And he loved her. One should love one’s mother and so, of course, Zacharias did. But he no longer suffered any delusions about her. She might appear to be a delicate lady, but she’d been forged of iron.
She wanted a life for him that he didn’t want for himself, and she wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say on the subject. Only his sense of duty and the respect had been drilled into him from earliest memory kept him from speaking his mind more often.
Duty. Respect. Love.
Zacharias’s mouth twisted bitterly. Those words were the bane of his existence. Duty kept him locked in a sham of marriage. Respect kept him tied to his mother. Love had eluded him all his life.
There was Patricia, of course. Patricia Starling, in whose willing arms he’d found welcome when there was none anywhere else. In whose lips he sought solace. In whose soft body he found occasional release. And in whose mind he found . . . nothing.
Ah, for a woman with something between her ears. A woman with a wit quick enough to hold him spellbound. With a mind sharp enough to grasp world events and enjoy fine literature. But even Agatha hadn’t given him that. She’d been too concerned with propriety and appearances to flaunt convention.
Perhaps he should listen to his mother and seek divorce. Perhaps he should move on with his life and provide Andrew and Mordechai with the mother they needed. Lord only knew, things weren’t ever going to get better between himself and Agatha. So why did he keep hanging on?
Divorce wasn’t common but it wasn’t unheard of, either. No one would fault him. Hell, most of the county already thought she was crazy. And there were times when Zacharias thought they might be right.
But there were other times—times when he remembered the pain on her face that horrible morning—that he knew it wasn’t true. Agatha might be bitter and angry. She might be hostile and even cruel. But she wasn’t crazy.
In his most candid moments, when he lifted the veil on his heartache and looked at himself with brutal honesty, he admitted he had only himself to blame. That’s why, in spite of every argument his mother presented, in spite of Patricia’s disappointment, in spite of Agatha’s bitter hatred, he didn’t set her aside.
Once again, it boiled down to duty.
But to hell
with duty. To hell with introspection. And to hell and back again with women. If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never understand them. Not a single living one of them. In Zacharias’s opinion, the world would be a perfect place if God had simply never created them.
Next morning, Zacharias sat with his back against a tree and a book propped open on his knees. Shaded from the worst of the hot morning sun, he let out a sigh of contentment. Much as he wanted to believe he’d separated himself emotionally from Agatha, her strange behavior yesterday had left him tied up in knots. And his mother’s foul mood at breakfast hadn’t done anything to make his mood better.
He’d climbed to the nursery to spend time with Mordechai and Andrew, only to have his mother follow him upstairs and begin another argument. And he’d distinctly heard her say something about expecting Patricia to call.
That was all Zacharias needed to drive him outside. If he couldn’t find a moment’s respite from women inside, surely he’d find it here. No one ever came to the copse of trees that separated the two pieces of his property. Agatha stubbornly pretended that Winterhill didn’t exist. His mother pretended that Summervale and Agatha didn’t exist. And Patricia didn’t like to be outdoors.
This was the perfect hideaway. Badgett might know where to find him, but Badgett understood his frustrations, though he’d never overstep his bounds far enough to say so, and he respected Zacharias’s need for privacy.
He tried reading again, but the printed words couldn’t hold his attention. He kept seeing Agatha’s face as it had been yesterday, so much softer than he’d ever seen it, so full of life and hope and confusion. In truth, it had left his thoughts disordered and that had made him unable to sleep most of the night.
Growing frustrated, he set the book aside and turned his thoughts toward other matters. He wished he could say “more pressing” matters, but nothing in his life was even slightly pressing.
One day stretched endlessly like the one before it, with nothing vital demanding his attention, nothing particular important crossing his path. Building Summervale had occupied his days for a time. Trying to salvage his souring marriage had once kept him busy. Later, the construction of Winterhill had filled his days. But now. . .
Now, the endless round of social calls and dinner parties just wasn’t enough to make him happy. Suddenly too agitated to sit still, he pushed to his feet and silently cursed the twist of fate that seemed to hand him everything a man could want, but which robbed him of that which he wanted most. Muttering under his breath, he started away from the clearing. But when he glimpsed the lone figure of a woman strolling beneath the trees along the edge of Summervale’s property, he froze in his tracks.
Who would dare to trespass on private property—especially at Summervale? Or did Agatha have a caller? He laughed at that idea and moved stealthily into the shadows where he could watch her.
She wore a gown of dark blue, one of Agatha’s favorite colors, but he knew she wasn’t Agatha. The idea was preposterous enough to be laughable. Hadn’t she told him she never wanted to set eyes on Winterhill? Hadn’t she ordered these very trees planted to help her forget he and the twins even existed?
Never, not once in five years, had she come near the boundary between the two properties. In fact, if he could believe what Colin and Meg told him, she rarely set foot outside of the house. Even as she’d been yesterday, he couldn’t imagine her coming here.
Maybe he should warn the poor woman to leave before Agatha learned of her presence. Facing Agatha in a temper was an experience he wouldn’t wish on anyone—not even a trespasser. Convinced he needed to make himself known to prevent trouble, he stepped to the edge of the clearing and waited until she drew closer. But when she did, he got the surprise of his life.
“Agatha?” The instant her name left his lips, he wished he could call it back. He had no wish to argue with her this morning. But for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what she was doing here.
She glanced toward him quickly, but instead of the hateful scowl he expected, she smiled. “Zacharias.”
That set him back a pace. Perhaps Meg and Colin were right to be concerned. “Forgive me,” he said, sketching a small bow and preparing to leave her alone. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Oh, but you’re not.” She moved quickly, hand out-stretched as if she might intentionally touch him. “Actually, I was hoping I would run into you. Colin told me you often come here.”
Thoroughly confused, Zacharias nodded. “I do.”
“I can see why. It’s always been one of my favorite spots.”
Zacharias nearly laughed. And he might have if she hadn’t robbed him of the ability to make a sound. When he found his voice again, he demanded, “This spot?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t aware you’d ever been here before.”
Her cheeks burned red and she lowered her gaze. “No, you wouldn’t be, I suppose.”
He studied her silently, carefully, and argued with himself about the wisdom of pursuing a conversation. But boredom and curiosity mingled with a gnawing irritation with his mother got the best of him. “Why did you hope to run into me?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Why?”
She tugged on one of her gloves as if it felt strange on her hand. “You are my husband, aren’t you?”
He nodded once, wondering at the lack of animosity in her voice, marveling at the way she looked into his eyes again today. “I am.”
She smoothed her hands along the folds of her skirt. “You’re looking at me strangely. Am I behaving so differently?”
“Quite.”
“You seem suspicious of me.”
“With good reason,” he pointed out. “You haven’t spoken a word to me in five years. Now, suddenly, you seek me out.”
“Yes, so I understand.” She sighed softly. “Will you tell me why?”
“Why?”
“Why I haven’t spoken to you.”
He studied her carefully, but her face was as innocent of guile as a baby’s. “You truly don’t remember?”
“I truly don’t.” A fleeting smile crossed her lips and the breeze lifted a lock of hair from her face. “It’s as if I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.”
He tried to keep his scowl in place so she wouldn’t mistakenly think he was concerned about her. “Perhaps you should allow the doctor to see you, then.”
“No.” The word came quickly, vehemently. “It’s nothing a doctor could help me with. What I need is for you to help me understand.”
Zacharias rubbed the back of his neck and studied her carefully. She looked completely serious and one small part of him wanted to believe her. “Unfortunately for you,” he said after a lengthy pause, “I have no desire to rehash that particular ugliness.”
“So you said yesterday.” She took a shallow breath and smoothed her hair back into place. “Maybe we could put it behind us and try to mend our marriage.”
That was the second time she’d made that ludicrous suggestion, and Zacharias was growing more confused by her behavior by the moment. “Surely, you can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“After everything that’s passed between us, all the ugly words and accusations, all the anger and hatred—”
“But don’t you see?” she interrupted, “I don’t remember any of it. So what does it matter?”
“Ah, but you will,” he predicted, and bitterness twisted his mouth. “And I’m not about to let myself think things can get better between us, only to go through that hell all over again.”
To his surprise she lifted one hand and touched the front of his shirt. To his dismay, his heart began to thunder in his chest as if he’d never been touched by a woman before. He jerked away from her and tried to glare, when all he really wanted to do was gather her in his arms.
She moved toward him again. “Was it really so awful?”
“Worse.”
“Why won’t you tel
l me what went wrong?”
“And have you begin again right here?” He laughed sharply and put some distance between them. “Not on your life.” Disappointment darkened her eyes and it looked so genuine, Zacharias felt like a cad. He forced himself to remember all the hateful things she’d said to him the last time she’d deigned to speak to him. When his resolve still refused to form, he remembered the things she’d said about Andrew and Mordechai.
That, at last, was enough to shake him out of his stupor. Beneath all the softness, she was the same viper she’d always been. For the sake of his sons, he had to stay away from her.
Ignoring the pleading look in her eyes, he turned away. “Enjoy your stroll, my dear. I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, he hurried back across the clearing, scooped up his book, and headed back to the house.
FOUR
With sinking heart, Shelby watched Zacharias stride across the clearing and push through the trees toward Winterhill. Her corset was killing her, the yards of blue Irish Linen nearly suffocated her, and all the curls and loops Meg had worked into her hair that morning were giving her a headache, and it had all been for nothing.
How was she supposed to fix things between Zacharias and Agatha if he was going to be so damned stubborn? How would she ever be able to zap back through the mirror to the days of running water and flush toilets if he refused to bend even a little? How would she ever return to the convenience of hot showers and antiperspirant if he wouldn’t even give Agatha a chance?
Summoning all her courage, she lifted the pesky skirts and followed him. He set a rapid pace and she had trouble keeping up, so she called after him. “You said you don’t want to think things could get better between us. But that actually sounds as if you want to believe it.”
He shot an angry glance over his shoulder, but she could swear his pace grew slower. “A moment of weakness.”
