by Gina Lamm
Jamie tilted her head back and looked at the cloud-covered sky. Mike, me, love, future, past, impossible. The words tumbled in her head like jeans in a Maytag. She couldn’t make sense of all this stuff on her own. Puffing her cheeks out in frustration, she turned on her heel and headed into the house. Mrs. K thought, for some reason, that Jamie and Mike were destined. It was time for Jamie to face the fact that she was beginning to believe the housekeeper, as crazy as that was. Mrs. K had to have some kind of idea as to how she thought this could possibly work. Jamie needed to find her to get some shit figured out.
She wasn’t in the kitchen among the busily cooking and scrubbing maids. She wasn’t in the dining room polishing silver. She wasn’t in the sitting room arranging knickknacks. Jamie had decided to head upstairs to see if Mrs. K was on the upper floor when she heard Mike’s voice. It was coming from the room off the main hallway that had always been locked when she tried it. The door was slightly ajar, and she peeked through the crack.
Mike stood by a large desk made of dark wood. Ivory pages were scattered on the surface, and another man spoke in a concerned tone. Mike took a step toward the door, eyes locked on the other man, and Jamie ducked back out of sight.
“Nonsense, Amberson,” Mike said. The wood of the desk creaked then. He must have sat on it. “I assure you, the ton’s gossipmongers have had plenty of new scandals to focus on. Poor Louisa hasn’t been in the spotlight for over a year now.”
“My lord, it is simply a precaution. Sir Frederick Lyons has had his solicitor poking around, asking questions about your situation, both financial and personal. It would only be natural for Miss Maucier’s death to be examined. I am doing my best to protect your interests, but I would be remiss if I did not inform you of his activities.”
Mike snorted. “Sir Frederick has no concern for Miss Lyons’s safety. He is simply making sure that my pockets are as well lined as they are reputed to be. Since Miss Lyons’s match with Lord Kensington did not occur, he’s set his sights on me as the next available fish to gut, despite Sir William Knightley’s interest. Apparently, the young gentleman’s coffers are not so deep.”
The strange man’s voice was surprised. “Does that anger you, my lord?”
“No,” Mike said thoughtfully. “Despite her family’s grasping nature, Miss Lyons is of a meek and amiable disposition. She’ll do as my countess.”
Jamie’s stomach knotted painfully, and she swallowed hard to keep the nausea at bay. She pressed her body back against the doorframe hard, listening despite the urge to run.
“Is your mind made up then, my lord?”
“It is. I will propose next week, on Tuesday.”
Slamming her eyelids shut, she bit her lip hard. The bitter tang of blood stung her mouth.
“Very good. Shall I send your regrets for the Wentworth masked ball on Monday evening then?”
“No, not at all. Miss Lyons will be away in the country, so I will attend alone.”
George, the footman, chose that exact moment to round the corner from the kitchen into her part of the hallway. Jamie whirled around at his thudding footsteps, hand clasped to her racing heart.
“Oh, pardon me, Miss Marten.”
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t want Mike to hear her, to know she’d overheard his plans. She rushed past George and up the stairs. If she wasn’t careful, then she was going to do something really dumb and emotional. Like collapse on her bed and cry.
Apparently, her eyes didn’t realize that she was being careful, and the tears pricked as she flew down the portrait-lined hallway to the Lemon Room.
Jamie nearly took out Mrs. Knightsbridge when she shoved open the door to her bedroom. Ignoring the housekeeper and her armload of dresses, Jamie flung herself down on the neatly made bed and let the sobs wrack her body.
This is completely idiotic, Jamie told herself as the hot tears soaked her sleeve. She didn’t care if Mike proposed to some stupid, spineless woman with no boobs and insipid yellow hair. She didn’t care if he married her to have beautiful little Colin Firth–lookalike future earls. She didn’t care if he crushed her heart beneath the heel of his way-too-shiny boots by marrying someone with the combined IQ of a paramecium and bubblegum on a stick. It is completely fine with me, Jamie thought as snot clogged her nose and her cheeks stung with hot, salty tears.
A gentle hand rubbed her back.
“Go away, Mrs. K,” she rasped into the bed covers.
“Miss Jamie, whatever is the matter?” Her soft voice lashed Jamie like a whip. She couldn’t take the sympathy; it would break her into a million pieces.
“Nothing. I’m fine.” Another wave of tears overtook her, and she sobbed hoarsely, not raising her head.
“I doubt that. Come now. Dry your tears. Tell Wi…me what’s the matter.”
Despite her misery, Jamie lifted her head and looked at the housekeeper through watery eyes.
She nodded and pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket. Jamie took the offered square of linen and wiped her wet cheeks, sitting up on the bed.
“Whatever can cause such a strong woman to cry as though her heart would break?” Mrs. Knightsbridge’s warm hand rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.
“I’m not strong, Mrs. K. I’m not. I heard Mike tell some guy that he’s going to propose to Miss Lyons next week, and I don’t know why, but it makes me so miserable.” Jamie covered her face with the hanky, trying to stem the fresh flood of tears that threatened to overtake her again.
“Shh, dearie. Don’t fret. When did he say the proposal would occur?”
“Tuesday. But I can’t stop it, and I shouldn’t. I can’t live in this time, not happily. And if she’s really who he wants, then why should I get in the middle of it?”
Mrs. Knightsbridge’s gray eyes glinted with a knowing light. “Why are you so certain that Miss Lyons is who he really wants?”
Jamie refolded the hanky to find a dryer spot. “Why wouldn’t she be? She’s apparently meek and amiable, two words that no one in their right mind would ever say about me.”
“His lordship is a forceful man, a strong man. He needs a woman who will stand up with him, not a wilting flower to be crushed under his bootheel. He will never be happy with less. You, Jamie, you are the sort of woman that he needs.”
“Tell him that,” Jamie said darkly as she wiped her nose with the square. “He can’t stand the sight of me. You saw how he acted when you wanted him to dance with me.”
“He reacts badly because he fears his feelings for you. He does not understand. It is up to you to make him see the truth. You are his ideal woman.”
Jamie looked over at Mrs. Knightsbridge. Her round face shone with sincerity.
“Why do you care about him so much? Why go to all this trouble to make sure he’s with the right person?”
The housekeeper looked down into her lap. Jamie’s eyes followed. Mrs. K pulled back the cuff of her sleeve and traced a delicate scar across her wrist. She spoke without lifting her gaze.
“I know the pain of a bad marriage. Micah is like a son to me. I’ll not let him suffer as I have suffered.”
“Is that…” Jamie’s voice trailed off.
Mrs. K shook her head. “Let’s not speak of it. For now, we must plan.” She jerked the cuff down and rose to her feet with a determined smile.
“Plan what?” Jamie stood, watching Mrs. Knightsbridge pace. The evidence of the woman’s pain had shaken Jamie.
“How to convince his lordship that you are the perfect countess, of course. Now, you must listen carefully.”
“Wait. I can’t convince him of that. I’m pretty sure it’s not true. I’m not cut out for this time.”
Mrs. K smiled at her. “Jamie, whenever you are, wherever you are, you’ll always be perfect for Micah. Now, come. Indulge me.”
***
By the time they were done scheming, Mrs. Knightsbridge almost had Jamie convinced. Like it or not, Jamie cared about Mike. A lot. Maybe even bordering on that othe
r L word that she was terrified to even think. Even if he didn’t end up with Jamie, she couldn’t let him marry that other woman just to get an heir. The thought was sickening. She had to convince him to marry for love, whether it was her—gulp—or someone else.
Mrs. Knightsbridge’s plan was deceptively simple. Jamie was to be as near to Mike as possible. Day in and day out. Talk to him, laugh with him, ask him to help her practice dancing, teach her to ride a horse, spend time with him. Give him a chance to see how compatible they were when they weren’t fighting about his arrogance or her ignorance of the time she was stuck in.
The housekeeper was convinced, by next week this time, Mike would be head over heels in love with Jamie and forget he ever thought to propose to Miss Lyons. Jamie wasn’t sold, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t let Mike marry blondie unless he loved her. He deserved to be happy. She didn’t know if she could ever live in this time happily, but she owed it to herself and Mike to figure out if there was something possible between them.
By the Wentworth masked ball Monday night, Jamie would have had every opportunity to let the man know how she felt about him and his loveless marriage idea. Mrs. K was going to work on a costume for Jamie to wear, and she’d promised to procure her an invitation to attend the ball. She’d meet Mike there, and if things hadn’t worked out between them, it would be their good-bye. Not that he would know that. Mrs. K promised to have Wilhelmina open the portal that Tuesday if Jamie failed. If she succeeded, well, then that was a whole other barrel of monkeys to be dealt with.
Mrs. Knightsbridge helped Jamie scrub her face, removing all traces of tears. After pinning up her hair, leaving a few curly tendrils dangling by her ears, Mrs. K walked with her downstairs.
“Now remember,” she said in a quiet voice, “stay with him. Be patient with him, and all will be well. He is headstrong, but you mustn’t let that vex you overly. He will see reason if you stand your ground.”
“Here goes nothing,” Jamie muttered as Mrs. K left her and she strode purposefully into his office.
He looked up at Jamie from his seat behind the large wooden desk. He was alone in the room now, no sign of Amberson. He paused, his hand still poised on the quill pen that hovered over a half-scribbled sheet of parchment.
Jamie swallowed hard, searching for strength to spend time with him without further compromising her heart. As a smile broke out across his face when he saw her, she felt herself sliding farther into the danger zone.
“Miss Marten.” He rose to his feet smoothly. “I trust you are well? You left our lesson rather quickly.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She leaned on the bare corner of his desk. “Sorry about that. I had some thinking to do.”
He sat back down. “I see.” The nib of the pen scratched across the parchment as he resumed his letter.
She moved a little closer. “What are you doing?”
He glanced up at her quickly before dipping the nib in the inkwell. “Writing.”
She rolled her eyes. “No shit. What are you writing?”
“A letter. And must you continually use foul language? It is hardly becoming.”
Irritation boiled up within her, but she tamped it down hard as she remembered Mrs. K’s words. Don’t let him vex me. It was a damn sight harder than she realized.
“Sorry.”
That simple little word stopped all forward progress on Mike’s letter. He looked up at her wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said sorry. As in, I’m sorry for offending you.”
Jamie almost laughed aloud at the sight of his strong jaw dropping. She’d truly shocked him. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.
He sputtered as he tried to answer. “Well, I…it is…well, no harm done.” Turning back to his letter, he shook his head slightly, as if stunned.
“What are you doing when you’re done? Writing, I mean.”
“I have no pressing business.”
She ran her nail along the smooth edge of the desk. “Do you think, maybe, you could teach me how to ride? A horse, I mean.”
He laid his quill pen down flat on the desk. “Whyever would you want to learn to ride?”
She swallowed, her brain scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t sound like the complete lie it would probably be. “I had fun the other night, riding. I think I’d like to know how to do it. On my own, I mean. And besides, there are horses back in my time. It might come in handy.”
He eyed her warily, and she swallowed. It had been a stupid lie. The only reason she hadn’t been petrified of the horse was the leftover fear of her would-be attackers and the fact she was pressed up against Mike’s strong, warm back. He’d never believe her. This was a bad idea. She’d have to…
“I would be delighted. You will need to change your gown, however. Mrs. Knightsbridge should be able to help you locate a riding habit. I shall meet you at the front door when you are suitably attired.”
She couldn’t stop the relieved grin that spread across her face. She hopped down from the desk. “Thanks, Mike. See you in a few.”
She left the office and winked at Mrs. K as she thundered up the stairs. Phase one of the plan was working. Now, she had to get over the idea that she’d be stuck on a huge horse all by herself.
Mrs. Knightsbridge entered the Lemon Room in time to see Jamie yanking the gown over her head.
“Heavens, dearie, slow down. Let me help.”
“He’s going to teach me to ride. Is there something I can wear? God, I’m so nervous. What if I make a fool of myself again? Crap, I’ve got a hairpin caught.”
Her struggles against the gown and her hair only got her entangled further.
“Still, now. Here.” Mrs. K easily detached the pin and finished pulling the gown over Jamie’s head. “Now, let me look. The late countess was fond of riding in her younger days. She was a talented horsewoman. Ah, here we are.”
She pulled an outfit from the trunk, the vibrant green of a wine bottle. It had a full skirt, with a jacket embroidered with gold and black braids. She fetched a hat from the wardrobe, a tall-looking black thing with ostrich feathers adorning it.
Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “Really? Feathers? Did I do something horrible in a past life?”
“Come now, we mustn’t keep his lordship waiting.”
Much as Jamie hated to admit it, the riding outfit did look good. The ornamented jacket was tailored, and it fit her like a glove. The skirt was so long that it covered the toes of the dark leather boots that completed the outfit. They were a touch too big for her, though not so much that it would be difficult to walk. When she’d pulled on the tan gloves and Mrs. K had repinned her hair up and placed the hat on top of it, she gaped at the sight of herself in the mirror.
Her normally pale skin glowed. There was a light in her eyes, something approaching excitement. She stood tall, and her figure looked more womanly than it ever had before. Seeing herself this way made her think that Mike might be able to see them as a couple. She looked the part, even if inside she was still Jamie.
“You look a treat, Miss Jamie. Come now. Off you go.”
With a quick kiss on her cheek, Mrs. K steered her out of the bedroom and down the hallway. Butterflies beat against the inside of her stomach as she descended the stairs. What was the matter with her?
When she saw Mike standing beside the front door, hands clasped behind his back, the butterflies turned into water buffalos. When he looked at her, brows lowering, eyes hungry, they turned into rampaging African elephants.
“You are looking quite fine, Miss Marten.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Her use of his proper title earned her a cryptic look. “Shall we?”
“Let’s do,” she said grandly, and sailed through the door that was held open by a footman.
Twelve
Her bravado lasted exactly two minutes and sixteen seconds. On the seventeenth second, a stable boy led two horses from their outdoor residence.
“H
oly shit,” Jamie whispered as one of the beasts was walked directly in front of her. She was eye-to-shoulder with the thing. And Mike expected her to ride this monster. Alone. The other day when Mike had pulled her up behind him had been the first time she’d ever sat on one of them. They always seemed way too strong and big for a single person to handle—especially if that person was Jamie.
“Um, Mike? This is a weird-looking saddle. How does it work?”
“You sit atop it.”
She shot daggers at him with her eyes. Was that a smart-ass smirk on his face? She thought it was. There was no mistaking the mischievous curl to his lips.
“Wow. Thanks for the insight there, Batman.” She bit her tongue, remembering too late that she was trying to be easy to get along with.
Before she could apologize, Mike had grasped her around the waist and hoisted her atop the beast.
“Oh my gosh. Okay. How about a little warning next time?” She grabbed at the horse’s mane to steady herself. It tossed its reddish head and snorted.
“Easy, Belle,” Mike crooned to the creature, patting its soft nose. “Easy.”
When he’d finished calming her horse, he gave her a couple of pointers, then mounted his own horse. They started a sedate walk toward the park. A groom followed them on another mount several yards back.
Jamie clutched the reins with a white-knuckled grip, holding them the way Mike had shown her. The sidesaddle was awkward, and she felt very precarious up there on top of the world. The horse’s feet clacked loudly against the cobbles of the street, and she gritted her teeth, willing her body to stay rigidly still.
“Miss Marten, relax. Do not fight the rhythm of Belle’s walk. Watch me.”
She looked beside her and watched Mike’s body as he rode. His body was relaxed, easy, and natural. His lean hips rolled with the horse’s movement, almost as if he and the beast were one. She swallowed hard and shifted a little in her saddle.
Belle sidestepped at the sudden shift in weight. Jamie felt her hips start to slide off the left side of the horse. Panicking, she threw her body right to compensate.
