Love Lost in Time (Victorian Time-Travel)

by Marie Higgins

  * * * *

  Andrew stepped from the shower the next morning and scrubbed a towel over his hair. As he passed the mirror, he came to a halt and stared at his reflection. What the blazes! He’d lost more of his hair, and the color of his skin was grayer than before. This could not be good at all. Strange how one day would make such a difference. Indeed, death was nearly at his doorstep.

  Not able to look at himself any longer, he tore away from the mirror and proceeded to dress. His movements seemed slower than before, and more painful. His chest hurt to breathe. Cursing this unknown sickness, he was determined to stay alive so he could find a way to return home again. Deep in his heart, he knew the large tree out front was the key to his passage. After all, that’s how he arrived in this century. He wondered if when he finally returned to his time, he’d be able to save his family. Or would it be too late?

  After he dressed and left the house, he looked for Halle, but couldn’t find her. Panic consumed him. He hadn’t talked to her since he showed her to her father’s room. Last night Andrew had tried to find her and couldn’t. Her friends weren’t anywhere in sight, either. He’d wondered if they had checked out, but after asking the night clerk at the front desk, she assured him Halle and her friends were still here.

  He’d been dismal after that. She and her friends probably had plenty to do, and he shouldn’t think that Halle would live her holiday around him.

  The only thing that had gotten him through his lonely night was remembering spending time in her room, and the kiss they shared. His heart quickened just as it had done last night. He placed a hand to his chest, knowing a fast heartbeat was not wise at a time like this, especially when he was so ill. Yet she had believed him about traveling through time—something he never thought she’d do.

  And that kiss…

  He’d kissed many women, but Halle’s kiss meant more to him than anything he’d experienced before.

  Andrew collected his gardening tools and situated himself by the large oak tree in his normal place, tending the weeds and replanting shrubs in the surrounding area. He’d been sitting at this exact spot since the day after he’d come through the tree from 1848. He’d pretty much given up on his search for the treasure. But nonetheless, he worked diligently by the tree hoping to find a way home.

  The weather had turned colder today and an icy breeze rushed around him. He glanced to the sky. Dark clouds slowly moved in. He was certain it would snow soon.

  Taking the hand shovel, he moved to another spot to dig. He’d probably covered every inch of the ground around this tree, but he’d keep trying. Several hours later, the wind had picked up. He had to shrug on his coat and gloves before continuing, but he still felt as if he was going nowhere with his search. Breathing a defeated sigh, he relaxed his stiff and achy shoulders and peered up into the branches. The light from the heavens poured around the limbs in a surreal array. Indeed, God had a hand in creating such beauty.

  A robin perched on a limb, singing its morning song of gladness. It surprised him that the bird was still cheerful even through the blistery, cold wind.

  Never had Andrew taken the time to stop and listen closely to the sounds around him. He’d always been too busy with life—too busy wooing women and making money through business investments. Now he wished he’d taken the time to enjoy more of God’s creations…and not the lovely and charming two-legged kind who wore beautiful gowns.

  The bird stopped singing and flapped its wings to fly away. Andrew watched the flight for a mere second, but as he shifted his gaze back to the limb, he realized the branch was shaped oddly. It almost resembled a hand and a finger pointing downward.

  On closer inspection, he studied the way the finger-looking branch curved into a fist and knuckles. Engraved on the branch was some kind of picture.

  He stood, his knees creaking worse then they’d done before. He stretched the kinks out of his back and neck then shaded his eyes as he studied the century’s old drawing. Thank goodness his vision was still working even if his body wasn’t.

  The drawing appeared to be a sunset. His heart hammered with renewed hope. If his speculation was correct, the gnarly finger may indeed show him the way back home at sunset.

  The remainder of the day passed quickly, and sadly, he didn’t get to see Halle. Even her friends were conspicuously absent. Deep down he knew she wouldn’t leave without telling him farewell. And since tonight was the costume dinner party that Halle had been looking forward to, he knew she was still here. Yet he wondered why she hadn’t come to see him. The very least she could have done was told him if she found anything of importance in Bill Stratford’s room.

  After showering, Andrew proceeded to dress for the evening’s events. He fastened his cravat around his neck while staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was attired just as he was the day he left his home…except he looked older. Sicker.

  When he thought about returning home, excitement beat in his heart—as did hope. He didn’t know what God had in store for him, but dying in this century was not an option. Andrew wanted to return home and die with his family…as long as people in the future didn’t think he was a murderer.

  He glanced out the window. Sunset was nearly upon them. He prayed the tree branch would show him the way back to 1848, but because he’d been hoping to return home for a while now, he didn’t dare believe. Not yet.

  Shaking his head, he moved away from the bathroom sink and hurried out of his room and down the stairs. Guests from the hotel nodded greetings to him, and he returned the gesture. His gaze swept each person and inside every room as he passed by. As much as he wanted to see Halle, he was thankful he didn’t. It was too soon to explain to her about returning home. Deep down inside, he knew she’d understand. If he didn’t think he’d keel over at any minute, he wouldn’t mind staying to get to know Halle Chapman. He hadn’t talked so intimately with many women in this century, but he couldn’t imagine any other woman being as special.

  The tree was in sight, and he hurried his step. By the time he reached the tall oak, he was out of breath and started coughing. He withdrew his handkerchief again, and just like yesterday, he’d coughed up blood. More this time.

  Bending over, he placed his hand on the tree to keep him steady as he took several deep breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat. It seemed the dysfunctional organ had thought he was in a race by the way it pounded against his ribs. Within seconds, pain shot through his chest, making it harder to breathe. He sank to his knees and rubbed the burning sensation spreading fast through his chest—then down his arms.

  All around him a dark cloud formed and everything became fuzzy. Confusion grew thick in his head, making him disoriented. Exhausted limbs shook as the pain deepened. He clutched his chest, squeezing his eyes closed.

  God help me! I’m dying!

  * * * *

  Groggily, Halle opened her weary eyes. The room was darker than she thought it should be for early afternoon. She’d read Andrew’s father’s journal all night and didn’t fall asleep until morning. There was so much she wanted to tell Andrew, unfortunately, the journal didn’t tell her where the jewels had been hidden.

  But she knew more about the duke’s wife and their daughter, and about Edward. Apparently, the Duke of Harrington confided in Edward more than he did his younger son. She figured it was because Edward would soon take over the title in the event the duke died. At least she learned more about the family and some of their special times together.

  She rolled her head on the pillow, and through squinted eyes, glanced at the alarm clock on the night stand. Four thirty…

  “Four thirty?” she shouted as she jumped out of bed and grabbed her cell to double-check the time. “Oh, good grief! It is four thirty!”

  And tonight’s entertainment started at five thirty.

  Why in the world did the day get so dark this early in the day?

  She rushed to the bathroom, and hopped in the shower, not caring that it wasn’t the right temperature. N
ever in her life had she taken such a quick shower, but five minutes later, she was out and drying herself as she blow dried her long hair. This was also the first time in her life she wished for short hair, because it would be dry by now.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she snapped and turned off the hair blower and ran into the bedroom to collect her clothes. Just as she’d finished putting on her underclothes, someone knocked at her door.

  “Hal? Are you ready?”

  “No, Sam, I’m not!” She hurried and opened the door for her friend, then went back to trying to pull her stockings on. Andrew had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure she had the right type of clothes for tonight, the least she could do was wear everything.

  “Hal? Why aren’t you ready yet?” Samantha walked in and closed the door behind her.

  “I overslept.”

  “Yeah, I wondered why you didn’t want to go sightseeing with us this morning.”

  “I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I need your help fixing my hair. I want to be nearly perfect for the masquerade and reenactment of the Merrick family murder tonight.”

  Samantha hurried around the room with Halle, getting her dress on and fastening the row of buttons down her back. Sam then pulled Halle into the bathroom and began winding her hair into a coil.

  “Not so tight. This is the Victorian era, not Regency.”

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “Like I know the difference. Although I enjoy reading historical romances, I’m not a historical freak like you are.”

  “Just don’t make my bun so tight. And leave a little of my hair free around my ears and at the base of my skull. When you curl them, make them really thick.”

  “All right.”

  While Halle applied a little make-up she stole a peek at her friend. Her friend looked pretty tonight, but instead of looking like a Victorian woman, Samantha hadn’t fixed her hair the right way, so she looked more like a girl going to the prom.

  The past couple of days had been a whirlwind of confusion for Halle. Her emotions had been high one moment, only to plunge the next. Andrew’s confession about his past had a lot to do with it. Did she truly believe in time-travel? Even now she wanted to doubt his story. Time-travel wasn’t possible. Yet, he was indeed the historic Lord Andrew Merrick.

  Finally, they finished and left the room. Colin stood near the elevator waiting for them, and when he saw them, he rolled his eyes.

  “Leave it to women to be fashionably late.”

  “What time is it?” Halle asked.

  “Five forty.”

  “Then let’s hurry and hope we haven’t missed a lot.”

  Trying to act like a gentleman, Colin held an elbow out for each woman. Halle wanted to laugh, but refrained. At least he was trying. And although he wore clothes similar to Andrew’s, poor Colin just didn’t look as good as Andrew had the other night.

  Excitement rushed through her as they approached large ballroom where the reenactment would take place. She couldn’t wait to see Andrew. He’d be extremely handsome in his Victorian clothes. But more than that, she wanted to witness desire smoldering in his gaze when he looked her over as he’d done the other night when he first saw her wearing this gown. Never had she felt more beautiful than at that moment.

  She’d missed him, and she wanted desperately to see him and tell him what she read in his father’s journal. Apparently, his father was quite obsessed with the same tree Andrew had been working around since she first spotted him. The more she thought about what she read—how the duke was always talking about the tree—she wondered if the jewels really were buried here as Andrew had suspected.

  As she walked into the great room with her friends, she could see they hadn’t started the reenactment yet. Thankfully everyone was fashionably late.

  Many other guests spilled in through the doorways, dressed in similar costumes. Being the picky historical freak—as Sam had so nicely put it—Halle could tell some of these people didn’t know the difference between the Regency and Victorian eras. Nonetheless, she tried to look past it and enjoy herself tonight.

  Refreshments were set out on a long buffet table. In the corner of the room, a small orchestra tuned their instruments. She couldn’t wait to reenact the Merrick family’s last night alive, wondering exactly how the staff would be able to pull it off. And…who was going to play Andrew. Would it be the very man the story was about? She seriously doubted it since he didn’t look like the young man in the portrait any longer.

  Scanning the room slowly, she searched for him, and to her great disappointment, could not see him anywhere. He promised he’d be here tonight. Strange how much she wanted to see his reaction to her attire. But, if she would admit the truth, she was infatuated with him and wanted to be with him tonight. Nothing would please her more—except maybe finding her father. Then again, being with Andrew would definitely please her more.

  “Hal, how is Drew doing? He hasn’t looked well lately.”

  Halle moved her gaze back to Samantha. “Yes, I noticed that, too. Last night he was coughing up blood.”

  “Blood?” Sam gasped. “That’s really not good at all.”

  “I know, but he promised me he’d see a doctor soon.”

  Samantha sat in silence for a few moments. Her forehead creased as her gaze narrowed on the table in front of them. “I’ve been reading a book about Henry VII, and how he was poisoned.” She placed her hand on Halle’s. “It’s strange, but Drew’s symptoms and King Henry’s are alike. Henry was losing his hair, and his face held a grayish tone. He was weak, and he coughed. In that era, the doctors thought it was consumption. But now we know he was poisoned.”

  Halle’s heart sank as worry encased her. “Oh, my gosh. Sam, I think you’re right, but who would want to poison a sweet man like Drew?”

  Nigel stepped into the room, picked up a champagne flute and tapped his spoon against the glass, making it chime. Although Halle wanted to talk to Samantha more about Henry VIII, she kept her attention on Nigel.

  After everyone had quieted, he proceeded to explain the events of the evening. As Halle studied him, she could tell he wasn’t feeling well this evening. He cleared his throat a lot, and took sips of his drink more than she figured he should. He also took long pauses as if he tried to catch his breath.

  More guests wandered into the room, which drew Halle’s attention toward the back. Servants stood, dressed as people from that era. But there was still no sign of Andrew. Worry dug a deeper hole in her heart. With all this talk of poisoning, and Andrew having those symptoms, she genuinely wondered if he was too sick to meet her tonight. Was he in his room now not able to move or call out for help?

  Nigel introduced the characters: Duke and Duchess of Harrington, Lord Brimhall—Edward—and his wife Lady Agnes, Lady Georgiana, and then Lord Andrew.

  Halle held her breath, hoping it was her Andrew, but when a younger man stepped forward, her heart sank. His face wasn’t the handsome features she’d come to think about lately.

  As Nigel discussed how the evening would proceed, Halle kept watch on the door, expecting to see Andrew walk in any moment now. After all, he’d told her he’d be here. He gave his word, and men in his century kept their word…their honor made them that way. But as the minutes passed and there was no sign of him, worry grew in her chest. Something must be terribly wrong.

  The lights dimmed and the playacting began. Halle leaned closer to Samantha. “I’ve got to leave for a minute.”

  Her friend frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Um…I have to fine Andrew. He could be very sick right now and unable to get help.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, Sam. I’ll just hurry to his room. I’ll be back shortly.”

  She left the great room and hurried into the elevator. Although he’d not told her where his room was, she suspected it would have to be the same floor as Bill Stratford’s room. When the elevator door opened and she stepped out, she glanced
up and down the hallway. Which one was his?

  As gracefully as she could, she lifted her gown to sprint down the corridor. Unfortunately, her get-up wouldn’t allow her much movement. No wonder the women of that time walked slowly. Halle expected even the men didn’t move as fast with the type of shoes they wore, hindering their steps as well.

  “Andrew?” she called out, but nobody answered. By the time she’d been all down the hallway, she was ready to scream. Where could he be?

  Growling with annoyance, she made her way back up the stairs toward the grand room. Before going inside, she glanced around in hopes of seeing him. He still wasn’t here.

  Disheartened, she pulled away from the doorway and headed toward the front door. After stepping outside, she breathed in the fresh cold air. Within seconds, heavy moisture touched her face and she glanced up to the sky. Snow was falling, but thankfully not too hard. But even with the thick snow clouds hiding the moon, for some reason there was more light than she figured there should be.

  The walkways were lit with old-fashioned lanterns and helped to light her way as she hurried toward to the side of the manor. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed another object glowing differently. Blinking, she tried to focus on why the tree had become brighter since there were no lanterns around it.

  As she neared, she noticed a body lying on the ground…

  “Andrew!” she screamed and broke into a run. Her feet slipped a few times, but she righted herself and rushed onward. When she reached him, tears swam in her eyes. He was lying face down in the snow-covered ground. She sank to her knees and touched his back. “Andrew?”

  She shook him, but he didn’t move. Carefully, she rolled him over. A gasp escaped her throat. This wasn’t Andrew…yet it was. The man’s face was white—lifeless.

  Frantically, she felt for a pulse on his neck while her heart beat wildly. “You can’t be dead,” she whispered.