To Eternity

by Daisy Banks

  The consequences of his carelessness would need time and effort to put right. He could not begin the process until, if Gorsewell were infected, the yob accepted the inevitable and came to his creator in deference. Somehow, he hoped that would never happen. Should Gorsewell change, then he would feel compelled to return here. Perhaps when he felt strong enough to challenge for Sian, he would.

  A prickle of sensation lifted the hairs on his arms. If Gorsewell wanted a fight, he’d be overjoyed to oblige. No twenty-first century spiv, the perfect description of Gorsewell, a furtive, cheating, greedy bully, would take the woman he adored. He took a swig of tea and swallowed. Presently he must await Gorsewell’s healing. He’d deal with the outcome when the first opportunity presented itself.

  Once he’d finished his cup of Earl Grey, he glanced at the promotional pages Sian had left for him, Green Girls and their company director. He looked again, certain this image could be no one but Dorothy Fowler. A finger above six feet tall, with a physique to match, she was able to down a pint of the Highwayman’s Rest’s Best Bitter as fast as any man. Dorothy had also shared other appetites as demanding. So many years had passed since he last saw the woman he remembered. But the sweep of fair hair from this girl’s wide forehead, the strong but attractive open features, he couldn’t doubt his memory. Yet Dorothy would be old now, in her eighties or nineties, not youthful and full of vigor, nor capable of shoving a wheelbarrow full of vegetables. A sudden inkling gave him gooseflesh.

  No, impossible.

  Damn it, he’d call the gardening company this morning as soon as they opened to find out if his intuition was right.

  * * * *

  “Thank you, Mrs. Tyson. We’d be most pleased. Sian and I have enjoyed all the meals Cook has so far presented. Yes, of course, I understand. You have my thanks.” He set the phone on its cradle before picking it up to call through to the study where Sian worked for much of each day to prepare for the filming. “Can we talk for a few moments?” he asked.

  “Hi, Magnus, I’ll just click this thing. There, yes, done. Now, you have my full attention.”

  “Mrs. Tyson has rung through to me. It would appear, since I’d not told her of other plans, Cook has taken it on herself to present us with a fine Bonfire Night meal tomorrow evening, including a Neapolitan Bombe for dessert.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s an amaretto-laced mousse.”

  “Oh, will you want fireworks, too, Magnus?”

  “Good grief, no. We’ll make our own.” The low chuckle in response warmed his blood. “I do think I’ve discovered a surprise of my own to share with you. One I hope you’ll understand.”

  “Of course, I will. I’ll meet you for lunch. You can tell me all about it then. I’m afraid I have to go. The bass player in Dreams is having a bit of a meltdown. His girlfriend is in rehab and he doesn’t want to be too far away from her for too long. I need to dole out a lot of reassurance.”

  “No doubt he will be grateful. You’re so good at reassurance. I’ll meet you in the dining room at one.” He set the phone down. When focused on others in this way, her voice always made him smile. Part of his desire for her originated from her rare generosity of spirit. His confidence she would understand what he’d discovered this morning remained high.

  Sian’s passion for beauty encapsulated the needs of body and spirit as well as aesthetic pleasures. He’d never met another woman like her. Julia had demonstrated a similar ability to meet him in dreams, but she had possessed nothing like Sian’s talents to control him, or the bountiful spirit to offer herself in such an unconditional way. Julia had never given herself in the same manner, despite her promises of love. When faced with the question of their marriage, Julia had obeyed the will of her father, who had thought him a wastrel, and she had declined. He shrugged his shoulders. The heartbreak from so long ago seemed as though it belonged to another person, yet at the time he’d thought her refusal permanently stole every hope of joy.

  No, not that, for he had dreamed and hoped still, even when he reached Italy. Julia had dreamed with him. When those interactions ceased, he’d been full of fears for her. His return from the continent to find Julia dead shattered him.

  Sian was something so much more than Julia had ever been, vibrant and stronger, too. His feelings for her were…like the first time he saw electric light in London in the late nineteenth century and understood what it meant. She was his true mate. He could taste it, feel it stronger inside with every day they shared.

  The agony of the question plaguing him clenched an iron fist around his heart. To make her his forever, he must offer her the bite of the beast. A shiver rolled down his spine.

  Not yet. She must be sure in her decision and…she was so much younger than him. Even though she thought herself ready, he doubted she understood all she would lose.

  He gazed back down to the image of the Green Girl’s director. Another cloud of concerns to mull over, but simple in comparison to the dilemma he and Sian faced. She would understand the circumstance regarding Dorothy. Perhaps she’d recognize his need to take things a step further so he could find out the truth.

  The prospect of a living connection to his past warmed his heart. Bonfire Night tomorrow, the fifth. There would be fireworks in the village, though he never attended the pub display. He liked standing up on the roof walkway to watch, yet sometimes the thunder of noise brought back so many recollections of the war, he crept back into the house filled with sorrowful memories. Not of the second war when he’d known Dorothy Fowler, but the first when he’d known no one but servants and the lads who made up his company in the mud-bath trenches of Verdun and the Somme.

  He shook his head and glanced at the computer. An age must have passed since he thought of the pals he’d led, encouraged, and marched with through the mire as they made their way from one battle to the next. Pursing his lips, he whistled the first few notes of “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary,” astonished he recalled the tune with such ease. He must be growing sentimental. He hit the touch screen to refresh his search and focused.

  Artifacts for the conservatory should be his goal for the morning. Sian was always full of her morning’s achievements when they met at lunch, and he must have something positive to tell her. After that, he’d share his other news.

  * * * *

  “What do you have there?”

  “I printed this out. We could go tomorrow evening after dinner.” Sian waved a piece of paper. “It’s a Bonfire Night firework display, hosted by Stonewells Cricket Club, not more than three miles away. The display starts at nine-thirty. I think it looks like it would be great, as long as there’s no rain. Can we go?” Her smile beamed her enthusiasm.

  “Of course,” he said. “You have found the perfect post-dining entertainment. I have to say dinner tomorrow evening will be tres chic. The staff are preparing an extravaganza between them.”

  “Sounds exciting.” She sat, reached over for a plate, and passed one to him before she helped herself to sandwiches and a side salad.

  He took a chicken portion and a little potato salad for himself. “Indeed, it seems Mrs. Tyson and Cook were rather concerned we were alone so much last week, thought perhaps we’d starved. Well, you more than I, or so I think. They’ve enlisted the help of the local Women’s Institute to create a celebratory menu, apparently. I think half the village has been involved in planning this while the ladies have been away from the house.”

  Sian laughed. “I see. I’m looking forward to the results. So, shall we book a cab?”

  “I think if I telephoned my mechanic Monty, he may be willing to drive us in one of the cars. We’ll not take Bertha. I’d hate to get holes in her canvas roof from a stray firework. It’s so hard to get replacements for vintage vehicles, and although Bentley are very good suppliers, I’ve had to have things custom made once or twice. Maybe one of the other cars would benefit from a spin
. Do we need to book tickets for this event?”

  Sian pushed the advert across the table to him. “No, it says they take a donation of five pounds on the gate.”

  “I see. The display seems interesting.”

  “Don’t you go comparing this to the fireworks for the king or anything extravagant like that.” Her gaze snapped with crackles of her own.

  A wash of tenderness hit him. She spoke so readily of his longevity, as though it might be an ordinary part of their life together. “Of course not. I’m sure the display will be a most pleasant, simple entertainment.” He broke the chicken leg in two. “Thank you, for finding the event. I shall look forward to it. I’ll telephone Monty this afternoon. I’m sure he won’t mind taking one of the cars out tomorrow evening.”

  “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me? I’m intrigued—you sounded so mysterious.”

  He took a deep breath. “A discovery I made regarding the horticultural company you found.”

  “Oh, yes, the Green Girls. “

  “Indeed. It appears their sales pitch is no exaggeration. Martha Raynalds is, in fact, the descendant of a Land Girl who worked in this area in the 1940s.”

  Sian’s eyebrows arched. “No. Did you know her ancestor?”

  The link between them had deepened, as he’d suspected it would. Already, he must make an effort to keep information back from her. “Yes, I believe I did.”

  The delightful smile dissolved. Her brows drew together as she narrowed her eyes. “How did you know her?”

  He gazed down at his plate for a second or two in an effort to gain time. Today, he’d made a grave mistake, one born of his stupid lack of emotional perception. Sian was special in so many ways, but she remained a young woman, with all the emotions of a young woman. She’d not had a couple of centuries to teach her the true depths of his callous selfishness. Cursing his foolishness, he looked at the wedge of tomato on his plate as if it were the latest art offering to the Tate Gallery.

  Sian might be hurt if he told her his suspicions, yet he couldn’t live his life refusing to share the truth with her. As time passed, it would destroy them. Due to their situation, they both had to accept unusual occurrences, some of them difficult. He looked up into eyes full of fire and ice. After a small cough he spoke. “Martha Raynalds’s grandmother, a delightful woman, Dorothy Fowler, worked in this locality for some time. I, er…” He paused.

  “You slept with her?” She set her half-eaten sandwich down.

  “A very brief liaison.”

  “Did she know the truth about you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you love her?”

  He shook his head. He shouldn’t have told her, should have kept the secret. “I was home on leave. We met at the Highwayman’s Rest. The pub in Heathstoke. Dorothy was a marvelous darts player. I spent a little time with her during my leave.”

  Her gaze held his, searching, but she didn’t speak.

  “No, I didn’t love her, Sian. I have only loved twice, you know that.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do.” He swiped the napkin over his fingers before he took her hand in his. “I have loved Julia and you. No other woman has touched me in the way you do. After Julia’s death, I thought I would never love again. A creature such as I has little right to ask for love. I’d not offered to make Julia like me, therefore she had no protection as I do. I never wanted another cruel disease like smallpox to steal my loved one from me in such a bitter way again. My passion for Julia seems a pallid thing in comparison to my feelings for you. I never anticipated I might find you.”

  “So, why tell me of this woman Dorothy? Did you think your—” She shook her head. “It’s no good, I don’t understand, Magnus.”

  “You would have discovered it, either in the dreams or from my reactions to her granddaughter. You would have known, and I thought it worse for you to find out then, rather than now from me.” He pressed a kiss to her palm.

  She leaned back from the table. The napkin slipped from her other hand. “You’ve booked them?”

  “Yes. They’ll come to the house at the end of November. I’ve scheduled the visit to take place before the next full moon. From my conversation with Martha, as long as I’m agreeable to their terms and plans, once they’ve evaluated the garden, they’ll work through part of December to clear and repair, do some minor decorative planting. After the initial work, they’ll offer me more in-depth plans for spring.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m not sure you do, but I thought it important to tell you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “There’s more. I know it.”

  “It’s an inkling I have. I won’t know for definite until I meet Martha in person.”

  “You think she’s a relative?”

  He stared, not astonished she’d understood so quickly. Her pain radiated to him, but it was too late to do much to mend the situation. “It may be possible.”

  She removed her hand from where it topped his. The set of her shoulders squared. “Magnus, how could you?” She shifted her gaze from him to stare away across the dining room.

  “I wanted you to know.”

  The gloss of tears shone in her eyes.

  Guilt snapped through him. “Would you rather I’d not said?”

  “No.” She faced him again. Her sadness poured like a corrosive through his soul. “But I wish you could understand.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you’ve no idea. Since you told me the truth about you in September, I’ve spent hours longing for you to say we will be together always. That you’ll allow me to be your love in truth, that one day we’ll become a real couple and have children. Yet, each time we’ve spoken of it, you back off, tell me it’s impossible, you won’t inflict your malady on a child. Yet today, you sit here at lunch and tell me a woman gardener I found on the internet happens to be what you believe is your granddaughter!” She swiped at a tear. “How could you?” She pushed the chair back and stood. The thick weave of her curls swung when she shook her head. She turned on her heel to the door. “I need to think about this.”

  “Sian! It’s not like that.”

  The heavy carved door slammed behind her. He buried his head in his hands. Sometimes the truth hurt more than anyone could imagine.

  Chapter 5

  Sian grabbed her jacket from the walk-in cupboard in the entrance hall. She shoved her arms in the sleeves as she headed out the front door and through the black and white tiled portico. Outside, her confusion didn’t lessen as she’d hoped. She strode down the cinder path, her vision bleary with tears. She palmed them away, but more fell. What an arrogant, soulless, thoughtless bastard he could be.

  No one in their right mind would welcome the news he’d just shared. The possibilities this discovery opened up were so disturbing she couldn’t get her head around it. She’d not considered he might have had a child. This woman, who could be his granddaughter, might represent something she could scarce believe. Was this the only relative he had? Over the years, he might have fathered hundreds of children. He could have scattered infants throughout eighteenth century Europe in his youth. More since as he traveled. Though he’d explained his relationship with Julia, he couldn’t have always lived like a monk since 1763.

  She stood still where the cinder path forked, one side leading to the gateway to the rose garden, the other to the lake.

  “How could you?” she yelled.

  A wave of anger sent an adrenalin rush barreling through her body. She broke into a run, pounding down the path toward the lawn and lake.

  No, not that way. She changed direction for she’d no wish to look at the pagoda or recall the golden autumnal day she and Magnus had first made love skin to skin. What a bloody fool she was. The steps to the terrace came into view. The early autumn day that had changed her life, all happened here. After the best
sex she’d ever known, and with her shredded underwear in the bin, she came here to sit with Magnus for tea. Trust and truth, they’d spoken of both, but the conversation had delved into much more. Magnus hadn’t pressed her, but she’d acknowledged there was no other man she wanted. She’d trusted him, but look at the truth he had offered her.

  She wasn’t good enough for him to make her his forever. Oh, no, she was just a one-lifetime screw. Not much more than a roll in the hay for a guy who was near immortal.

  He’d refused to make her like him, point-blank. No way. Yet a girl he met in the pub had his child. “Selfish then. Just as bad now!”

  Turning away, she ran off the path, over the slope of slippery grass, along the thicker, rough turf on the flat ground. She didn’t slow the pace as she pushed herself hard on the track into the woods. She dodged to avoid fallen branches and rotting logs half-buried in the undergrowth. Despite the difficult ground, she raced on until her chest burned fiery with her efforts. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t leave the pain behind.

  Twiggy branches lashed her face as she dashed through the trees. One vicious hit caught her cheek a stinging blow that forced her to slow. A few paces on, she had to pause. She bent with her hands on her thighs. A muscle burn flamed. She must make the time to run more. Finally, her breathing slowed, her legs eased, and she sank down onto a mossy damp tree stump to think.

  She’d never imagined he might have had a child, or dreamed the idea would hurt so much. Self-analysis proved hard. It wasn’t the child, or in this case grandchild, who might appear in his life that bothered her most. It was the symbolism of what it might mean.

  Magnus said he hadn’t loved the woman. That, at least, was something.

  She wiped her eyes with a tissue, and her nose with another, as she recalled his surprised expression at her reaction. He didn’t expect her to be hurt or even upset because…he thought she wouldn’t feel that way.

  She shook her head trying to get into Magnus’s mind. He thought he’d offered her something no one else had ever had from him. She stood and walked for a short way as an idea formed. No one else had ever gotten so close to him. Maybe she’d gotten more intimate than even Julia. Of course, Magnus offered Julia marriage, but she’d refused and they had parted, in the physical form at least.