Time After Time

by Wendy Godding

  Finishing their game, Georgina and Penelope bid goodnight and retired for the evening. This time though, Georgina followed Penelope to her room.

  ‘You must tell me all!’ she cried, shutting the door behind them. ‘I know something has transpired between you and Heath, and I have to know what.’

  ‘I think you’re imagining things,’ Penelope lied, her face colouring.

  ‘Penelope, you cannot lie to me; I know you too well,’ Georgina announced. ‘And I am not leaving until you tell me. Or shall I go back downstairs and ask Heath myself?’

  Penelope blanched in alarm. ‘No! Don’t!’ she cried before falling silent. ‘I will tell you, but you must promise to not tell anyone else, not even Harry.’

  ‘I promise,’ Georgina assured her. ‘And you know I never tell Harry anything.’

  Penelope hesitated, then the words fell eagerly from her lips. ‘Heath and I are engaged.’

  Georgina gasped. ‘Engaged? To be married?’

  ‘Yes. Oh Georgie, I love him! I love him more than I can say,’ she gushed. ‘But I’ve only known him a few weeks and Father might not approve. But tell me, Georgie, do you approve?’

  ‘Well, I—’ Georgina faltered, at a loss for words. ‘Of course I approve! I want your happiness as much as my own, and I can see how in love you are. Just as I can see how very much in love with you he is.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘can’t you? He lights up whenever you enter the room, and he stares at you so intensely. When you are there, he sees only you. Surely you’re secure in his affection for you?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Penelope admitted. ‘But he is so handsome and charming, and I am just a parson’s daughter.’

  ‘You are not just a parson’s daughter,’ Georgina corrected, ‘You are my cousin. You are a Broadhurst, and you are a beautiful and accomplished young lady.’

  Penelope sighed, Georgina’s kind words resting lightly on her chest. ‘Yet I am not sure Father will approve of such a hasty match.’

  ‘I think you sell your father short,’ Georgina said. ‘If Heath’s character is blemish-free and his manners good and acceptable, what objection would your father have if you are in love? Besides, we have both heard the stories about him and your mother. They barely knew each other when they wed, and her background was little known, her family of no consequence.’

  Penelope fell quiet. That was true. Perhaps her father wouldn’t disapprove the engagement.

  Then she asked the very question she’d wanted to ask for days. ‘Georgie, tell me, did you ever hear back from your aunt in London?’

  Georgina nodded. ‘Yes. She wasn’t familiar with Heath, but she knew his brother quite well—she said he was a fine, upstanding citizen of good character. And very, very handsome.’

  Penelope had hoped for a little more information, but at least she’d not received any bad news. ‘And their family?’

  ‘It seems their parents were killed in a carriage accident,’ Georgina continued, ‘and they inherited a small fortune. Not a great amount, but enough to support a wife and family.’

  Penelope blushed, delighted by this news. What did it matter if Heath had no family save a brother? Her mother had been the same, and she and Penelope’s father had been very happy. Penelope’s heart surged. ‘Oh Georgie, I can hardly think straight!’

  Georgina embraced her. ‘Then why the secrecy? I think you should tell your father, seek his permission, and marry your Mr Lockwood.’

  ‘Really?’ Penelope felt relieved; it was what she wanted more than anything, what she’d yearned to hear for days.

  ‘Yes, I do. My dear, how happy I am for you! It seems your future has begun, and it is full of all the happiness and joy you deserve!’

  Penelope woke later that night, her heart thumping in her chest and her throat dry and tight. Was it a nightmare? Had something disturbed her? Her thoughts raced as she tried to locate the source of her inexplicable distress. When she’d gone to bed hours ago, she’d been deliriously happy. But she couldn’t explain the sudden feeling of dread that weighed on her chest and had her lungs feeling like they might burst.

  A lamp burned low on a table in the corner, illuminating the chamber. Her robe lay discarded on the end of the bed, and above the mantle sat a portrait of her mother, an addition to the room that made it hers. Focusing on the image, Penelope wondered what her mother had been like. Her memories were vague, and her father had only kind words to describe her, but what had she really been like? How much had she loved her husband? Why had she married a country parson she barely knew? What had she dreamed of? Was she afraid of the dark—like Penelope—and did she ever suffer the strange, surreal nightmares Penelope did? The ones that pulled her from her sleep and left her gasping with fright?

  A tap on the door echoed in the room, drawing her attention. Climbing out of bed, she pulled on her robe, wondering if it was Georgina again. They used to sneak into each other’s rooms and sleep together when they were younger, but it’d been years since they’d done that.

  Opening the door a crack, Penelope was surprised to see Heath. Her face must have registered her shock, because he quickly sought to calm her.

  ‘Pene, don’t be alarmed,’ he whispered. ‘I just want to talk.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered, glancing down the dark, empty hallway.

  ‘I know. But…can I come in?’ He was dressed in a robe himself, and despite her awareness of how improper it was, she opened the door slightly, granting him entry.

  He strode in, kicking the door shut, his eyes raking over her and arousing that familiar ache in the pit of her belly. She opened her mouth to speak but he moved quickly, pulling her into his embrace and covering her mouth with his.

  She struggled at first, resisting his kiss and the impropriety of it, but soon found her arms encircling him, holding him close as he pulled her against his hard body. His hands moved beneath her robe and roamed her body, tracing the curve of her hip and the indentation of her waist. She should be shocked, she thought, she should stop him. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to break the union. She felt bound to him in a way she didn’t understand.

  ‘You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you,’ he murmured against her mouth, then traced hot kisses down her throat. ‘I have waited a whole lifetime and more for you, Penelope.’

  She didn’t understand his words, but at the same time she knew that somehow they made perfect sense. As if she too had waited a lifetime—and longer—for him.

  ‘I want you forever,’ he was saying, ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘I’ll tell my father tomorrow,’ she murmured, threading his hair through her fingers, marvelling at how silky the strands felt.

  He looked down to her, his eyes hooded and heavy with desire, their colour deepening to dark, melted chocolate. ‘I’ll write my brother. Tell him to come sooner if he can. He should be here for the wedding.’

  ‘Kiss me again,’ she breathed, not thinking about his brother. Not wanting to think about anything other than the feel of him, the taste of him.

  He lowered his head and devoured her mouth. They fell on the bed, tangling in the bedcovers, as he tugged at her robe and nightgown. Penelope could feel the heat of his desire, and her mind screamed at her, telling her to stop, but her heart told her something else entirely. This is your only chance, a soft voice whispered in her mind, your one and only chance. Your last chance.

  Take it.

  ‘Wait! Stop!’ she panted as his hand traced up her calf, pulling her nightgown up with it. ‘We have to stop.’

  ‘I can’t stop,’ he murmured. A low, soft groan escaped his lips. ‘I love you, Penelope. I want you.’

  But she braced two hands against his chest, determined. ‘We have to stop, Heath. We aren’t married yet.’ Her mind overpowered her heart, for which she was grateful. She was the daughter of a parson and knew the importance of her virtue, even if she had forgotten for a brief
moment.

  Heath lifted his head and gazed down at her. Penelope averted her eyes, knowing that if she met his and saw her own desire reflected she would relent and be ruined forever.

  After a moment of internal struggle, Heath released a trembling sigh and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Of course. Forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ she said simply. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You will speak to your father tomorrow?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I want to marry you, Penelope, and feel a sense of urgency attached to it,’ he said, unknowingly echoing her earlier thoughts. ‘I don’t want to wait much longer.’

  ‘I don’t either,’ she admitted.

  He rose and made to leave, straightening his robe, which had fallen open during their tryst. Catching a glimpse of his muscled chest, she swallowed, resisting the urge to recant her words.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to see you. I wanted to be close to you. I feel like I’m being driven mad by my desire…It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.’

  Penelope nodded, but she couldn’t find her voice to speak.

  At the doorway he paused, not looking at her. ‘I’ll write to my brother first thing in the morning and ask him to come as soon as possible. He’ll be delighted to hear I’m to be married. And I’m sure you will love Sebastian.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Present day

  When I awoke the next morning, my thoughts were immediately of Penelope and Heath. Of the way he kissed her—me—and the way he held her close and whispered sweet words against her lips. Even now, my lips trembled from his kisses, which was completely ridiculous because it was two hundred years ago. No kiss could be that good. Not that I would know.

  Idly, I wondered if Marcus’ kisses would be as sweet.

  Sighing, I got up and made my way quietly upstairs, not wanting to wake Meredith. It’d been after one when Marcus had dropped me home, and it was only six now, but I wasn’t tired. Just weary and resigned.

  Once upstairs in the cramped, dusty attic, I pulled out the journal and snuggled in the armchair. The room was cold, the attic window too high and tiny for the sun’s warmth to squeeze through, so I tucked the blanket around me. Then I wrote with careful detail everything I remembered from the dream.

  How Heath looked at her.

  How he smelled.

  The way his eyes crinkled in the corners, and how silken his dark hair felt entwined in her fingers.

  His sweet, warm breath against her lips and cheeks.

  His powerful embrace, and how hard and expansive his chest was.

  How she’d struggled to resist him when he’d pulled her to the bed. I blinked, a little disappointed by that.

  Once finished, I stared at the pages. What I’d written was entirely about Heath, with no mention of Georgina, Harry or anyone else. It was all about Heath. He consumed Penelope; she could think of little else. It was most troubling.

  I should note the other things too, I thought. The chill that had suddenly pervaded the room, the sense that someone had been watching her. Penelope had dismissively thought it was her overactive imagination at work, but I knew it was him. The murderer who watched quietly for a while before slowly encroaching into her life and killing her. It was like watching a movie where you knew the heroine was running in the wrong direction and you were powerless to stop her. But this movie had already been made, the ending already played out.

  And like a movie, Penelope’s story was finite. Time was running out.

  I shut my journal and looked around the attic. A section of it had been cleared and I’d set up an easel and art supplies, using it as a tiny art studio. How odd that Penelope had done the same thing. What a strange coincidence.

  But then, of course, I didn’t believe in coincidences.

  My eyes fell on a drawing done in coloured pencils, resembling a child’s creation. In fact, it was a child’s drawing, one I’d done years ago of the man that now stalked Penelope. I’d drawn his face, but the only thing I’d managed to capture with any skill was his eyes—the almost feline slant to them, the shining silver of them, and the strange tear shape of the pupil. I wished I could somehow send it to Penelope with a warning to watch out for this man. Because he was coming. He was coming for her.

  My laptop and books were still at the library where I’d left them the night before, so once dressed I made my way to the red brick building in the centre of town. As I walked, I noticed for the first time the beautiful oak trees that lined the streets of Brookdale, how warm the sun felt on my skin, and how the birds sang in the trees. Odd. I was no Snow White, and the birds never sang for me. Still, I decided to indulge in the scenery and enjoy my rare good humour, if only for a little while, telling myself it had nothing to do with Marcus and the way he’d made me feel last night. It had nothing to do with the current that surged through me when we touched, or the fact he’d left Lilly to find me. No, it definitely had nothing to do with any of that.

  Walking past his house, I averted my eyes, although I couldn’t help but notice his car was parked in the same spot he’d left it, beside the silver motorcycle, which probably meant he was home.

  Turning the corner, my thoughts on Marcus and not on where I was going, I ploughed straight into something solid.

  ‘Ow!’ I cried, landing with a thud on my backside.

  Blinking through the brightness of the morning, I saw Marcus leaning over me, as if by thinking about him I’d somehow managed to conjure him.

  ‘Abbie! I’m sorry—I didn’t see you!’ His face was red and covered in a thin veil of sweat. Wires dangled from his ears, and I realised he’d been running with his iPod plugged in when we’d collided.

  He reached out to help me up. I hesitated for a second before slipping my hand into his. The static that I might have imagined last night was there again, and I shivered as the heat of his touch raced through me. His eyes flashed, and I knew he’d felt it too.

  ‘Where are you going so early?’ he asked, pulling me up but not letting go of my hand.

  ‘The library,’ I replied. ‘I left my laptop and schoolwork there yesterday.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘You’re on your way home.’

  Marcus shrugged. ‘No matter. I can walk with you. Okay?’

  I nodded and began walking, all too aware of my hand in his. He smelt hot and sweaty and strangely enticing. Sexy, even. Suddenly, I had a bizarre urge to press against his chest and inhale deeply. But that would be weird and very wrong, I told myself, and I smothered the instinct, stepping slightly away from him.

  ‘Are you working today?’ he asked after a few moments of silence.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have plans?’

  I glanced sideways at him. ‘No.’

  ‘Good,’ he grinned, ‘Then we can go out!’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to ask me first?’ I retorted. ‘Or are you so arrogant that you assume all girls want to go out with you?’

  ‘Oh, you want to go out with me, all right,’ Marcus replied confidently, ignoring my gibe, ‘as much as I want to go out with you, I suspect, although I’m not sure that’s possible.’

  I blinked, the compliment echoing in my ears, making my heart thump with pleasure. He affected me the same way Heath affected Penelope.

  But then, I’m not Penelope, I reminded myself, I’m Abbie.

  All the same, I walked with him to the library, all too conscious of his perspiration, of the heat that burned around him, of the way he still held my hand. I was inexplicably drawn to him, like he was a magnet and I a clumsy piece of metal. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn so many earrings, I wondered, pulling further away from him.

  ‘You run?’ he asked after a while.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. I was wearing a dark, flowery dress and heavy boots. ‘Do I look the athletic type?’

  ‘No, yo
u look the cute type,’ he said lightly. ‘I like to run. Go every morning if I can. My brother often comes too, although he’s faster than me.’

  ‘Brother?’ I asked, vaguely remembering Marcus’ mother had referred to another son. He must own that motorcycle.

  ‘Yeah. You have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No. Just me.’ I wanted to add that I scared my parents too much for them to want to procreate, but I didn’t.

  Letting us in the library, I switched off its alarm system while Marcus wandered around. I wasn’t supposed to be there after hours, and really shouldn’t have brought Marcus along, but I didn’t want to wait until opening time. Besides, Simone wouldn’t mind. Mr Frank would though, I reminded myself, shooting a quick, guilty glance at the video surveillance cameras. Oh well, those things are probably only checked when something happens—like if there’s a break in.

  I retrieved my laptop and school books from behind the front counter.

  ‘So what do you want to do today?’ Marcus asked as I rearmed the security alarm.

  I suddenly felt shy. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, what do you normally do on a Sunday?’

  ‘I normally work. Or study.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’ He made a face as if that were a hideous suggestion. ‘Well, what about when you aren’t working or studying?’

  I shrugged, but I offered no more suggestions. I really didn’t do much at all, having few friends to hang out with and not being particularly welcome at the regular hangouts, such as Delilah’s.

  We strolled along in silence, hands bumping briefly every now and again. I wished he would hold my hand again.

  We passed a lamp post and a poster on it caught my eye, but before I could say anything Marcus ripped it down. ‘Hey, a carnival! How about we go? I reckon you get a thrill out of really scary, nauseating rides.’

  I grinned. I did indeed.

  ‘Just let me shower and change, and I’ll come over in about ten minutes.’ He smiled his lopsided grin again, throwing me off balance once more. I’ll never get used to that feeling.