by Gina Lamm
But when she drew closer to the bench, he said, “Pardon me.” Then, with another shallow bow, he walked out of the room.
Once her frozen, stupid brain got going again, she followed him down the hallway, calling his name, but he wouldn’t stop. He went straight out the front door without even acknowledging her.
Thornton closed the door behind the earl, giving Jamie a sympathetic smile.
“He’ll come around, miss.”
She nodded to the butler and went up the stairs. She didn’t want Thornton to see her cry.
***
Jamie thought about talking to Mrs. Knightsbridge, but she decided against it. The clandestine witch was too focused on her own well-being to give a shit about Jamie’s situation.
Jamie tied knots in embroidery thread, petted Baron endlessly, and turned her problems over and over and over in her head. No matter how often she thought about them, what angle she attacked them from, what imaginary scenario she played out, nothing ever got any better. It was shit. Shit plus shit equals shit, and her life at the moment was a shit sandwich with shit sauce. Gross. But sadly correct.
About an hour after she skipped lunch, a knock came on her bedroom door.
“Come in,” she called, not bothering to get up. Baron poked his head up, saw Muriel, and flopped back down beside Jamie so she could continue her constant ear scratching.
“A letter has come for you, Miss Jamie,” Muriel said, handing Jamie an off-white folded paper.
Jamie was scared to take it from her. What if it was from Collette and it was another threat on her life? What if it was a good-bye letter from Mike? Her hand trembled as she took it from the maid, and Jamie waited for her to leave the room before she broke the dot of red wax that kept the note sealed.
My dearest Miss Marten,
I am writing to invite you to visit with me tomorrow morning. I should like to further our acquaintance. Do accept, please. We shall become the best of friends, almost as sisters. Also, I have some information about his lordship’s former mistress, Louisa Maucier, that may be of interest to you.
Yours most fondly,
Marilyn Munroe
Jamie shook her head slightly as she refolded the note. That was really odd. She hadn’t told Marilyn that she was living in Mike’s house, had she? Maybe she had at the ball when she explained about her and Mike being in love. But she hadn’t seen Marilyn since then, so how did the woman know Jamie hadn’t said good-bye to Mike like she’d planned?
Jamie tossed the letter onto the nightstand and resumed her greyhound scratching. She wasn’t going, so it didn’t really matter if it didn’t add up. By then, she’d have crashed and burned with Mike again, probably for the last time ever.
Being a failure sucked so hard.
***
Jamie dressed so carefully for dinner that night. She knew that it was probably the last chance she’d ever have to convince Mike that she wasn’t a complete waste of space. She loved him so much, and her aching chest made it hard to breathe as she helped Muriel pick out something to wear.
Way at the back of the small wardrobe hung a white silk gown, its square neckline edged with beautiful lace. Small puffed sleeves accentuated the otherwise simple bodice, and the skirt fell straight from the high waist, snug beneath the bustline.
“It’s perfect,” Jamie breathed, trailing a finger down the slinky fabric of the skirt.
“You will look so beautiful.” Muriel smiled.
Getting dressed with Muriel’s help was so familiar now. Jamie wasn’t ashamed of her body anymore. Muriel had seen it every day for so long that it wasn’t even an issue. Jamie didn’t have to be told when to hold her breath so the maid could tie the laces of her stays. She didn’t have to double-check which layer went where. It was second nature. It was as normal to Jamie now as throwing on a bra and panties had been back home.
Home.
Where the hell is that, anyway? Jamie wondered as she sat and Muriel began deftly twisting her hair into an ornate style. Is it the century I live in? The country? The state? The house I bought with my own credit? Or is it here, in a country and time that was completely alien to me for so long?
Jamie didn’t know anymore.
When Muriel was done, Jamie stood, turned, and hugged the maid close.
“Thank you,” she said against her white mobcap.
“For what, miss?” Muriel’s thin arms wrapped around Jamie, hugging her back.
“For everything. Just thanks.”
Muriel didn’t say a word and let Jamie stay there as long as she needed.
***
Micah stared at the piece of foolscap laid out on his desk. His pen was poised above it, and the three words he’d written at the top froze his brain in place.
Dear Miss Lyons,
He slammed the quill down and scraped the chair back. Pacing in front of the fireplace did nothing to calm his anxiety. Would he be able to do this? It would be the only way to prove to Jamie that she needn’t stay any longer. It was the only way to prove his lie that he loved her no longer. And that was the only way he could save her life.
Setting his jaw, he rounded the desk once more. Crumpling his first attempt, he started again.
My dearest Miss Lyons,
***
Jamie sat in the empty dining room for almost three hours. Staring at the untouched place setting for Mike didn’t make things any easier. She imagined everything she would have said. Everything she should apologize for, make amends for, promise to never do again. Anything, as long as he gave her another chance to make things work between them.
But it was impossible to apologize to an empty chair and have it mean something.
***
Micah had thought that by finishing the note to Miss Lyons, he’d feel better. He was wrong. Walking quickly and quietly, he left his estate room and gave the letter to Thornton, with instructions to have it delivered right away. As he ascended the stairs to his bedchamber, the feeling in his gut was akin to the first time he’d gone to Gentleman Jackson’s salon to learn to fight. He’d come away bruised and aching for a week. This was much worse than that. He dressed in eveningwear once he reached his bedchamber, knotting his cravat in a careless, hopeless tangle. He would meet Felicity in the morning, propose marriage, and that would be the end of it. He hoped that Jamie would leave before then, but he knew, as he pulled on his greatcoat and headed out into the night, he would be forced to break her heart once more. It was easier to break her heart than it would be to see her die.
***
Another two hours went by as Jamie sat at the piano. She played Mike’s song over and over, hoping it would reach him, wherever he was, whatever he was doing. Was he thinking of her? Was he wondering about her like she was wondering about him? It wasn’t fair for her to expect him to be there, not when she’d hurt him so badly. She’d have to give him time.
Jamie closed her eyes, played his song, and wished with everything in her that he were there to hear it.
***
At White’s, Micah sat in the corner, nursing another brandy. The last gentleman to speak to him had received a curt nod, nothing more, and so the rest of the jovial crowd had learned to keep its distance from the brooding earl. Micah swirled the liquor around in his glass. Was she gone? He hoped she was. He did not want to face her after she’d learned what he’d done. Proposing to another woman would break her heart irrevocably, he knew it for certain. But it was the only way.
Draining his drink, he beckoned to the waiting footman for another. It would be a long night, and he had no intention of spending it sober.
***
It was after midnight when Jamie gave up and headed upstairs for bed. The beautiful white gown went back into the wardrobe, unseen by the man that she’d worn it for. She paced the hallways, her nightgown billowing behind her like a ghost’s shroud. She felt kind of like a ghost—achy, empty, and so alone that it hurt.
When the clock downstairs bonged three in the morning, she adm
itted to herself what she’d really known all along—Mike had no intention of coming home, not tonight. She headed to her bedroom, her sore ankle even more painful from the hours of fruitless wandering she’d done.
She climbed into bed, and Baron snuggled against her, but it wasn’t the same. She missed her earl, and her stupid heart wouldn’t beat right again until he came back and things were right between them. If they ever could be.
Jamie barely slept a wink. In the dim firelight, she watched Baron’s sides rise and fall with his breaths. Time wasn’t her friend when it kept her and Mike apart. But tomorrow’s another day, her heart whispered. You can try again tomorrow.
Fat chance, her brain snorted. You’ve lost him forever, you selfish bitch. Good job.
***
When Muriel came in to wake Jamie the next morning, her thin face was even paler than usual. She set Jamie’s chocolate down on the bedside table without saying a word and went straight over to the wardrobe without looking toward the bed.
“Mur?” Jamie called, sitting up. “What is it?”
The maid pulled out a taupe-colored gown, the most drab thing that Jamie had ever seen her select. Muriel’s bottom lip quivered as she brushed the fabric out, hanging the dress on the door of the wardrobe.
“Muriel?” Jamie got out of bed and crossed the room to her side, really worried now. “Is something wrong?”
Muriel shook her head quickly. Too quickly for it to be the truth. She busied herself in the basket of hair ribbons, holding up different colors against the brownish fabric.
“Hey, you can talk to me. What’s up?”
The maid let out a shuddering breath before turning to Jamie and blurting out, “His lordship has proposed to Miss Lyons!”
With those words, Jamie’s whole world shifted.
Mike had proposed to another woman? Her Mike? The one who’d said he loved her and wanted her to marry him? He was going to marry someone else? He’d promised her. He’d proposed to her. He’d asked her to be his countess, and now that pale, blond, annoying girl was going to marry him instead?
He’d taken it back. He’d said he was calling off the engagement, and he’d done it in the most irrevocable way that he could.
By proposing to another woman.
There is nothing to wait for.
Her throat closed off, her eyes burned, and nausea boiled in her gut.
She tried to contain it, she really did. She paced in front of the fireplace, desperately trying to ignore the brokenhearted sobs of the teenaged maid behind her.
It was too much. She had to get out of there. She had to get some air.
“Muriel, help me throw something on quick, please. I need to get out of here for a little while.”
With eyes filled with tears, Muriel nodded. Jamie couldn’t look at her again. She was barely hanging on to her own.
Baron seemed to know something was really wrong with Jamie. He stuck right with her as she threw on her clothes with Muriel’s help, and even walked with her down the stairs. She grabbed the leash that Thornton held out to her with knowing eyes, and she and the hound walked out the front door.
The sunny day seemed to mock the sludge-like depression that had overtaken her chest. Every breath was like a fresh knife in her poor bruised and battered heart. Baron stayed close to her side, not even chasing a bird that landed in front of them on the walk. She ignored people’s happy laughter and chatter as the elegantly dressed strangers rode their horses and carriages down the street.
It was the same. Logan, Mike, it was the same. Things were great, wonderful, perfect, and then Jamie wanted more and they got lost. Big time. Granted, Logan and Mike couldn’t be more different. Logan hadn’t wanted the house and picket fence that Jamie had been planning. But Mike knew her. The real her. He didn’t seem to have any problem with the thought of matrimony. And he’d proposed to her, said he loved her. She’d thought they wanted the same things. So why did they fall apart?
Baron pulled a little on the leash, whining slightly. “Calm down, boy,” Jamie said, petting his ears. “It’s okay.”
He pulled harder, whines growing louder. “What is it?” She knelt beside him, hugging the long neck. “What’s wrong?”
She scratched his silky ears, looking up in the direction his long nose pointed in.
Collette.
Her heart froze solid as she took in the white horse, the feathered cap, and the look of complete rage on the woman’s face. The note from Marilyn. She’d forgotten. It hadn’t been from her friend; it had been from a psychotic, jealous bitch with no qualms about murder. Jamie was in serious, serious danger.
“Baron,” she whispered, backing up slowly, “we’ve gotta go.”
Jamie turned, keeping a tight hold on the hound’s leash. She didn’t have a weapon with her, and the look on Collette’s face was proof enough that she was completely prepared to succeed today where her previous plans had failed. If Jamie didn’t get out of there fast, she was as good as dead.
Jamie quickened her pace. Baron had to break into a trot to keep up. She was within sight of the house. Only a few more yards, and they’d be safe. The street that had been lined with people five minutes earlier was curiously empty now.
The hoofbeats came behind them fast. She barely had time to turn around before the big white horse was upon them. The animal’s chest crashed into her shoulder. It threw her down, yanking Baron’s leather lead out of her hand. Gasping, she curled up instinctively. Flashing hooves passed perilously close to her head.
It was over almost faster than it began, the big white horse wheeling around for another pass.
“Oy!” She heard someone shout. “What have you done?”
The white horse disappeared down the street, frantic footsteps chasing after it.
It took several seconds for her brain to process the greyhound’s cries of pain.
“Baron!” Jamie screamed, scrambling over to him.
The skin of his back leg was shredded, almost peeled back like an orange. His leg had to be broken. Blood was everywhere, splattering his beautiful blue-gray coat. His eyes were frantic, wild with agony. He tried to get up, his paws scrambling on the blood-slicked cobbles, but the pain was too much for him, and he fell back to the cold stones. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she held his head in her lap.
“No, Baron, baby, relax. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” she sobbed, trying to keep him calm.
Think, Jamie! Think!
This backward time didn’t have a damn thing that could help him. The only person with any kind of medical ability she knew was Mrs. Knightsbridge, but unless the witch had a spell for healing broken bones and restoring lost blood, that was a bust. With the way the normally quiet hound cried out, she knew he was in excruciating pain. He needed a vet or he’d almost certainly die. In an instant, she knew exactly where she could find help for her friend.
As gently as she could, she slid her arms beneath him. He yelped in agony as his injured leg was jostled.
“I’m so sorry, baby, just hang on,” she said, panic and tears clogging her throat.
The dog had to weigh seventy pounds, but fear and adrenaline made her strong. She carried him back to the house as fast as she could, screaming at the top of her lungs for Mrs. Knightsbridge.
Thornton threw open the door, his face going pale at the sight of Jamie and the injured dog. She pushed past the butler, carrying a still-howling Baron up the stairs.
“Wilhelmina!” Jamie yelled through her tears. “Get up here and open this damn portal right now!”
Mrs. K ran up the stairs behind her. Jamie turned, still clutching Baron’s body against her. He’d gone limp from the pain.
“You need to open it now,” Jamie screamed at Mrs. Knightsbridge. “I have to get him to a vet. That bitch Collette broke his goddamn leg!”
Mrs. K nodded, tears streaming down her own face. She petted Baron’s side gently, then stooped to the floor beside the bureau. Jamie stood in front of it as the witc
h muttered in an odd-sounding language.
Seconds later, the gold around the edges glinted. It’s time.
Jamie let Mrs. K hold Baron as she climbed through the mirror feet first. When Jamie reached back for the hound, the housekeeper stopped her.
“I cannot open the portal this way again for quite a while. The fabric of time is too worn here. But when I can, I will send Micah to you,” she whispered.
“He doesn’t want me anymore,” Jamie replied. She took Baron’s limp weight and slid out of the mirror into a screaming-hot storage building.
Thirty
The truck was still parked in front of the open storage building. The keys still dangled from the switch. Jamie laid Baron on the seat beside her as gently as she could, tied a clean towel around his back leg to slow the bleeding, threw the truck in drive, and hightailed it for the nearest vet clinic.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye the whole way. His ribs moved shallowly, breaths blowing ragged in the quiet of the truck’s cab. “Stay with me, boy,” she murmured, turning as quickly as she could without slinging both of them off the bench seat. The clinic was only five minutes away, but it felt like five years before she parked crookedly in the handicapped space and cut the engine. Baron lifted his head as she opened the passenger door to pick him up again. He whined pitifully, pawing at her hand.
“Hold on, baby, please hold on.” Her voice was ragged with emotion.
An elderly couple walked out the door of the clinic as Jamie struggled up the walk with Baron cradled in her arms. The sight of her tearstained face and the bloody, injured hound in her arms galvanized them into action.
“Bobby, hold this door for her! Now!” The gray-haired woman flew into the clinic, and Jamie nodded gratefully at the man holding the door for her.
“Get somebody out here now! This dog is hurt bad!” The elderly woman banged on the desk as Jamie rounded the corner with Baron. The receptionist took one wide-eyed look at her and ran to the back of the clinic.
The techs inside didn’t even look twice at Jamie’s odd dress and hat; they just put Baron on a stretcher and took him straight back. Jamie collapsed on a sea-green pleather cushion and sobbed her broken heart out, rubbing at the bloodstains on her dress ineffectually. The elderly couple patted her on the shoulder reassuringly and left her with the clinic staff.
