by Laurie Brown
She’d heard what the young man said and wondered what she should do. Call a cab to go into the village? She could probably get something to eat there before going to the museum. She pulled the brochure from her purse to see if it mentioned restaurants in the area.
One motorcycle rider separated from the bunch and drove his noisy machine up the driveway to stop in front of the steps. She looked up. The driver’s worn black leathers clung to his long muscular arms and legs as if they had been custom-made. She could feel him staring at her through his tinted visor.
Bolstered by her recent triumph, she refused to be intimidated. She crossed her arms and stared back.
He removed his helmet and brushed back his long dark hair. Eleanor caught her breath. Omigod!
Chapter Eighteen
It was him. Shermont.
But it couldn’t be. She’d left Lord Shermont nearly two hundred years in the past.
“You don’t look like a professor,” Eleanor said, dumbfounded by the motorcycle rider’s uncanny resemblance to her lost love.
“Haven’t we …” He touched his eyebrow. “Sorry,” he said, taking off his leather glove and sticking out his hand. “James Wright.”
“Mr. Wright,” she said, shaking his hand. That familiar warmth spread to her heart. It had to be him, yet it couldn’t be. Confusion warred with unreasonable hope.
“And you are?”
“Eleanor Pottinger.” She felt a stab of pain. He didn’t remember her. She pulled her hand away.
“It’s not like me to be illogical, but I have to say this even though it’s going to sound like the worst pickup line in the world.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Didn’t I meet you in my dreams last night?”
She realized with sudden clarity that James Wright must be the other time traveler the ghosts had told her about. James Wright, a.k.a James Bond, Lord Shermont. In the past, he hadn’t remembered the future due to his injuries, and in the present, he didn’t remember much of the past they had shared. She crossed her arms, trying to hold the disappointment at bay. “What do you recall of this so-called dream?” she asked.
“All the best parts,” he said, and his wicked grin sent a blush to her cheeks. “Not much that makes sense. It’s all mixed up with spies and secret codes of the Napoleonic War era, which is logical, because that’s the topic of my research. I do remember enough to realize I want to get to know you. Are you free for lunch? Dinner? The rest of your life?”
“What about your friends?” She gestured with her chin toward the parking lot where the other riders waited, quite interested in what was going on in front of the steps.
“Ah, yes. My students.”
“Then you really are a professor?”
“University of Chicago. I took on this summer semester abroad in order to do research for my thesis. They attend classes Monday through Thursday during the week, and I shepherd them around to historic sites on the weekends.”
Eleanor now understood the ghosts’ reasoning in choosing this man to take back the first time. They probably thought his experience dealing with young people would help him provide a strong guiding force for a younger Teddy and might keep him out of trouble. Something must have gone wrong, and they set James down in the wrong place.
“I’m doing research on that period myself,” she said, not willing to let him get away just yet. “Specifically the clothes of the Regency period. I’m a costume designer. I’ll be working on a movie that will be filmed near here.” Which was sort of the truth. If she made it to the interview, she knew she would be offered the job.
“Maybe we can compare notes,” he said. “Won’t you join me for lunch? Uh … me and my students. I have them until seven o’clock tonight. Then I’ll deliver them to a lecture on the architecture of Christopher Wren. That’s why we came here to the Twixton Manor Inn. When the sixth Lord Digby renovated the original building in 1702, Wren designed the new façade and parterre. Unfortunately the formal gardens are long gone.”
“I heard there used to be a fabulous moonlight garden here,” she said, hoping to spark his memory.
He shrugged. “I’m not really into gardens. But I am hungry. Back to the subject of lunch.”
“Well, I was on my way into the village to get a bite before checking out the Jane Austen House Museum at Chawton Cottage.” She handed him the brochure that contained a small map.
He flipped through the single-page, trifold advertisement. “What do they have? Maybe I’ll take the kids there after lunch.”
“I’m not sure what else they have. I’m going to check out a necklace on display that belonged to Jane Austen.”
“A necklace?” He rubbed the scar on his forehead.
She touched her throat, a useless habit since her necklace was no longer there. “An amber cross.”
“How very strange.”
“What do you mean?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown bag. “In the village this morning I wandered into an antique store and felt a strong compulsion to buy this against all reason. Even though I usually analyze every action to death before doing anything, I purchased it straightaway. And now I know why. I bought it for you.” He handed her the package. “Go on. Open it.”
Inside the brown paper was a bit of folded tissue paper. She opened that and found an amber cross on a delicate silver chain. Eleanor recognized it immediately. Cassandra’s cross. Her necklace was similar to Jane’s, but with five larger stones and a different filigree pattern around the edges. “I can’t accept this.”
“I’m afraid you must. It doesn’t go with my outfit.”
She smiled. “You should give it to your girlfriend—”
“Don’t currently have one.” He flashed her that toe-curling grin. “But I’m working on it.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t deny a thrill at his statement. “Your mother or sister then. You should give this to someone special.”
“I have.”
She shook her head and reluctantly held the necklace out to him. “We’re total strangers.”
“How soon you forget. I know you rather well … from my dreams.”
“Perhaps you should tell me everything you remember.”
“Later. Over supper.” He still didn’t reach out to take the necklace. “In the meantime, would you keep it in exchange for helping me this afternoon? You could teach the students about the fashions of the Regency.”
“I’m hardly qualified to lecture—”
“Not a formal class. We’ll do it like a conversation. You’ll talk fashions, and I’ll chime in with whatever seems pertinent about the history of the period.”
That didn’t sound too bad. Even as she thought about it, her fingers curled around the necklace as if they had a mind of their own.
“Excellent,” he said, taking her action as agreement. “Now, let’s—” His words were cut off by the sound of the motorcycles pulling up.
Once they’d stopped and relative quiet was restored, a young male called from the crowd, “Hey, Professor Wright, who’s the babe?”
“Watch your mouth, Mr. Garner. Miss Pottinger is our guest lecturer for the afternoon.”
“I thought we were—”
“You are wrong. After lunch we’re going to tour the Jane Austen House Museum. Then Miss Pottinger and I will teach you about the fashions and geopolitical aspects of the Regency.”
Several girls in the group cheered and clapped.
“Jane Austen? Didn’t she write those chick flicks?”
“I recommend everyone pay attention, and you, Mr. Garner, particularly so. Your assignment for the week is a five-page essay on the subject: Did changing fashion of the day reflect the new political thinking of the time, or did the new fashions influence changes in politics?”
All the students groaned.
“Mr. Tobias, may we borrow the spare helmet you keep in your saddle pack?”
“What? I don’t—”
“Give it up, Toby,”
Garner said, glad to have attention pointed elsewhere. “Everyone knows you carry an extra helmet in case you have a chance to pick up an English chick.”
Garner caught Professor Wright’s glare and ducked his head. Toby handed over a Barbie-pink helmet with cartoon decals all over it.
“My sister’s,” Toby mumbled.
James held it out to Eleanor. “The bikes are rentals, but we each brought our own gear. Sorry, it’s the best we have.”
Eleanor hesitated, but not because of the color of the helmet.
“Or I could wear this one and you could wear mine,” he said.
She laughed with everyone else at the thought.
“I mean it. I’ll do whatever it takes to have you with me,” he added for her ears alone.
She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before, never gone off with a perfect stranger. But he wasn’t a stranger, not really. What would Jane Austen … No. What would the new Eleanor Pottinger, modern woman, do? She shoved the necklace and packaging into her pocket and took the helmet.
James Wright remounted the motorcycle and indicated the seat behind him with a negligent wave, a gesture so like Lord Shermont it made her smile as she put the helmet on her head.
The choice of restaurants was a disaster. Even though the food was decent, the small dining room was crowded and the atmosphere noisy, keeping conversation to the minimal please-pass-the-salt variety. At the Jane Austen House Museum the students scattered with their notebooks to gather information.
Eleanor found what she was looking for. She stood in front of the glass case that held Jane’s familiar amber cross necklace. She traced the outline of the cross on the glass and remembered the happiness on Jane Austen’s face when her necklace had been returned to her—its rightful place.
James came up beside her. “That’s like the necklace I bought you,” he said, a bit of confusion in his voice. “Not an exact twin, but—”
“A sister,” Eleanor finished for him. She fished Cassandra’s necklace out of her pocket and put it on. “Let’s go find your students and talk about the Regency.”
Later, when he took her back to the inn, he lingered on the steps even after he’d thanked her and congratulated her on a job well done. She had maintained their interest enough so that they asked questions, which was saying a lot, and had given them good information.
“We make a good team,” he said.
She smiled her agreement. “You’d better go if you want to make it to Oxford before seven o’clock. There could be traffic.”
“I’ll drop them off and come right back.”
“That’s a long trip, and I know you hadn’t planned to stay here another night.”
“Who said so?”
“Toby.”
“He just flunked the class.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Just kidding,” James said.
“I know. Look. I’m exhausted. Jetlag is catching up to me. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”
“It’s a date then. I’ll be here bright and early.”
“Not too early,” she cautioned. “I’m not a morning person. Don’t tell me you’re one who gets up cheerful and talkative before a decent hour.”
“Best part of the day. Although I’m more the cheerfully silent, read-my-paper-and-drink-my-coffee type of morning person.”
“This doesn’t bode well for—”
“Sure it does. Opposites attract. I’ll pick you up at nine—”
“Ten.”
“Nine o’clock,” he said. “But as compensation I can promise you a good cup of coffee which, believe me, is a rarity around here.”
“Agreed. Nine. Coffee.”
“After breakfast we’re taking the kids to Stonehenge.”
“We are?”
“You’ll enjoy it. A real life Druid is meeting us to talk about … Druid stuff. And an archeologist will talk about the dig inside the stone circle.”
“Sounds fabulous. Count me in.”
“Then Monday we’ll be alone, and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” It was an offhand remark, and yet there lingered a promise of more than a mere sightseeing trip in his eyes.
She touched her necklace as he drove away.
Even though he didn’t consciously remember her, she believed his heart recognized the connection between them. She believed in their future together.
Chapter Nineteen
Two years later
Eleanor sat at the dressing table putting the finishing touches on her makeup.
“This place is fantastic,” her friend Kristen said from the window. She turned around. “I can’t believe it’s really yours.”
“Every creaking floorboard and leaky pipe,” Eleanor said, her words not hiding the pride in her voice. She’d purchased Twixton Manor with a portion of the proceeds from the sale of the Jane Austen books. Even though they’d been renovating for the past year, there was still much to do. And everything had cost more than estimated. The rest of their ambitious plans would have to be adjusted to match cash flow.
“It’s so cool that the two of you met here and now you’re getting married here.” Kristen sighed. “So romantic.”
She smiled her agreement. Funny how the first time around she’d had so many of the elements right, almost as if it was destined to be. The right place. The right time. Just the wrong groom. On the second time two years later, James had been the one to suggest getting married in the garden on the anniversary of the day they met. He’d even agreed to a Regency-themed wedding.
She’d chosen Deirdre and Mina’s tower rooms to dress in, for old time’s sake. There had been no reports of the ghosts making an appearance. Of course, she’d told James some of what had happened, but since he had never remembered much, she’d couched it in terms of a dream.
A knock sounded on the door.
“I’ll get that. You’d better put on your dress.” Kristen walked into the sitting room. “Who is it?” she called through the door.
“I need to speak to Eleanor.”
“You can’t see her now. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding.”
Eleanor heard the edge of agitation in his voice, and since he so rarely got upset about anything, she decided she’d better see what the problem was. She grabbed her robe and shrugged it on while she walked. She entered the sitting room as she tied the sash.
“It’s all right,” Eleanor said to her friend. “Open the door.”
James stepped in, already dressed in his wedding finery, sans tall hat. The dove-gray tails, embroidered blue waistcoat, and charcoal gray pants were a perfect foil for his snowy cravat and stormy eyes. He carried a present, about ten inches square, wrapped in shiny white paper and tied with white and silver ribbon.
Kristen stabbed a finger in his direction. “You have five minutes,” she said before ducking around him and closing the door behind herself.
“She’s rather bossy,” he said with a glance over his shoulder.
“She’s the perfect choice to run the L.A. shop.” Since she and James would be living in England, Eleanor planned to open an overseas branch of her successful costume-making business. “What’s that?” she asked with a gesture to the box.
“I thought we agreed to not get each other gifts. The reestablishment of the garden would be our present to each other.”
“We did.”
He stared at her as if expecting her to say more. She cautioned herself to proceed with care. James could be a bit touchy where money matters were concerned. His pride. Not that he was poor by any means. He had a wonderful job at Oxford that he loved, his doctoral thesis had been published to critical acclaim, and he had even turned his research into three successful historical novels. It was just that he had been shocked and amazed, as had she, at the fortune brought in by the Austen papers and first editions.
“Then why did you leave this on my desk?” James had taken one of the rooms in the north wing near their bedroom suite to
use as an office.
“Me? I’ve never seen that before.”
“The other wedding gifts are downstairs in the parlor. Why would this one—”
“Did you read the card?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Perhaps it’s inside.”
He gave the present to her.
“It’s heavy.” She set it down on the table and unwrapped it. Inside was a silver box. The cloisonne design on top depicted a man and woman in Regency dress in a garden. When she opened it, the tinkle of music filled the air. “How lovely.”
He looked over her shoulder. “Is there a card?”
“No. Just an old key.”
He reached around her and slowly picked it up. “This … is the key to the safe that I gave Huxley after I put the jewelry back … I … I remember. I remember everything. It wasn’t a dream. I remember the ghosts, time travel, getting beat up, Lord Shermont, Digby, and …”
She spun around and hugged him.
He pulled back to look her in the eye. “And I remember you, Eleanor. You were there. You weren’t dreaming either.”
She nodded and shook her head in turn.
“You might have told me.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“With my head? Probably not. With my heart … always. I think I fell in love with you the moment we met. Both times.” He kissed her gently and thoroughly.
“I wonder how the key got here,” she said.
“You don’t suppose the jewels are still hidden in the wall after all these years.”
“Let’s find out,” she said with a grin.
There was a knock on the door. “Hey, you two. We have a wedding to go to,” Kristen called through the door.
“I guess it will have to wait until after the reception,” Eleanor said.
He smacked his head. “I forgot to tell you. Carol’s flight finally made it, and she arrived about an hour ago. I asked Helga to put her in the blue room.”
Eleanor nodded. One wing of the house was still as it was when it was an inn, which had come in handy with all the wedding guests. Their small staff had been stretched to the limit, even with the addition of a veritable army of temporary workers. “You aren’t going to spend the evening talking to your editor about your next book, are you?”
