A rush of terrifying images assaulted her, some from her nightmares, some from the waking horrors she’d experienced. She saw the changes in the springhouse, the disappearance of the big oak tree, and the horse-drawn carriage pulling up the drive. Vague visions from her dreams took shape: the spring surrounded in fog and a spirit forming in the mist to tell her that her wish would be granted. Her wish?
Her gaze fell on the coin David held, converted from a battered antique into gold that could have been minted yesterday instead of . . .
Suddenly, she remembered speaking aloud at the spring: “The only thing I wish is that I knew who the coin belonged to and whether they got what they wanted.” Was this the wish she would be granted? No, she’d only dreamed up that water sprite--but her accident at the spring had been real.
She stared at David and Lady Solebury, who both waited for her to respond. “What is . . . what is the date?”
Her ladyship smiled. “The fifteenth of May, dear. You slept only one night, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Leah swallowed. “And the year?”
The others exchanged glances, then Lady Solebury answered, “Why, 1815, of course.”
“Eighteen-fifteen?” Her knees buckled. She would have fallen if David hadn’t jumped forward to catch her under the elbows. “Did . . . did I hear you correctly?”
“Yes, 1815.” Frowning, the marchioness came forward and pressed her fingers to Leah’s forehead. “You don’t seem to be suffering a fever, dear, but that laudanum has quite undone you. Come, let us show you to your chamber, where you will be more comfortable.”
Leah heard only half of what she said but offered no resistance as Lady Solebury and David led her into the hall. Her thoughts raced back to the moment normality had ceased for her: the moment David had pulled her out of the spring.
The spring had taken her back in time, so she could learn whether the original wish was granted. Of course, the whole idea seemed crazy but, deep inside, she knew she’d hit on the truth.
“Goodness, you are shaking,” the marchioness said as she and her stepson directed Leah up a wide, curving staircase. “We are right here with you, love, and we won’t allow any harm to come to you. I promise.”
Leah fixed her gaze on the woman’s eyes, struggling to regain some semblance of composure. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
“Nonsense.” Her hostess steered her into a brightly sunlit bedroom and sat down with her on a large canopied bed. “Don’t even think about whatever is troubling you, Miss Cantrell. You are under my protection now--as well as the marquess’s and Mr. Traymore’s.”
Leah glanced at her rescuer, who stood watching her closely.
“Laudanum distorts reality sometimes, Miss Cantrell,” he said, though he didn’t sound very confident. “Much of your anxiety may be attributed to the drug.”
“How much?” His suggestion didn’t convince her either, but she tried desperately to keep an open mind. “Could I, for example, be dreaming right now?”
He glanced at the marchioness, then back at Leah, his dark eyebrows crunched together. “I fear not, but I, too, would like to assure you of your safety.”
Determined to consider her dream theory anyway, she looked around the room. Sunlight bathed the pastel yellow wallpaper, illuminating the tiny buds that speckled it. Beneath her hands, a matching damask bedspread felt cool and finely textured. Both her senses and her thoughts seemed clear--but dreams could be realistic.
They could also be tested.
A book lying on the nightstand caught her attention. She had never been able to read in a dream; by the time she reached the end of a sentence, the words at the beginning always changed. Snatching up the volume, a leatherbound copy of Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park, she opened to a page in the middle and skimmed the first few sentences.
“She could not respect her parents, as she had
hoped. On her father, her confidence had not been
sanguine, but he was more negligent of his family,
his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than
she had been prepared for.”
Her throat constricted. Not only could she understand the words, but the passage made her think about her own parents. Her relationship with them lacked respect, too--on both sides, unfortunately. But underneath all their differences, she knew they loved her. She loved them, too, and now she might never see them again!
She swallowed the lump in her throat and snapped the book shut. Obviously, she could read. She wasn’t dreaming. Given that, she couldn’t bear to think about her parents.
“Do you like to read, Miss Cantrell?” her hostess asked. “My sister left that novel behind last time she visited. She said she greatly enjoyed the story.”
Leah looked stupidly at the book in her hand. She had to pull herself together and try to act normal. Lady Solebury and David had been very kind to her, but if she didn’t calm down, they would start to doubt her sanity. Who knew what that might mean in the year 1815? Commitment to Bedlam? Being locked in a cell or chained to a wall?
She took a deep breath. “Yes. I’ve read it.”
“Indeed? I had no idea Miss Austen had been published in the States.” She paused and looked to David. “Mr. Traymore, I think you can leave us now. Would you tell Molly to have Miss Cantrell’s bath brought up? I daresay she will feel better after a good soak. I always do.”
“Do you have to leave?” Leah heard the words come out of
her mouth before thinking about whether she should say them. As cynical as David seemed, he had rescued her, and his presence felt reassuring. But she couldn’t cling to him. She had to find her own strength. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. I’ll be fine soon. My head is clearing already.”
“Did you strike your head, Miss Cantrell?” he asked, his eyes intent. “Yesterday you told me you had not.”
“Oh. You know, maybe I did.” Leah put one hand up to the back of her skull and feigned a wince. “I am a little tender. I’m afraid I don’t remember everything about my accident. Yes, I guess I must have hit my head.”
Lady Solebury laid a hand on her shoulder. “Well, I personally will oversee your recovery, Miss Cantrell. Meanwhile, Mr. Traymore needs to go and dress for dinner, and that will give you a chance to do the same. No doubt you will feel much better by the time you meet him at the table.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” Leah gave a nervous laugh and nodded to David. “Thank you again.”
“Your servant,” he murmured. Turning to the marchioness, he said, “I will send Molly to you directly.”
She thanked him, and Leah watched him leave the room, attributing the strong attachment she felt for him to the fact that he’d saved her life. She thought back on the conversation they’d had at the spring and realized how strange some of her talk must have seemed. As for the discrepancies between what he’d told her and the tour guide’s stories, now she knew the guide had been describing a different era. The David Traymore in the photograph she’d seen during the tour must have been a twenty-first century family descendant of this one. And the roots of David’s bitter nature were clearer now, too. Illegitimate birth would be a bigger problem in this century.
“Miss Cantrell, dear,” Lady Solebury said, “I will only trouble you a moment longer before Molly comes with your bath. I don’t mean to pry, but I must ask if you have family or friends whom I should contact. I imagine they’re quite concerned about you by now.”
She looked away, forced to think of her parents again. Were they worried? Grieved over her disappearance? Technically, they hadn’t even been born yet, so their grief wouldn’t come for almost two centuries. Maybe she could somehow return before they had time to miss her.
Could she get back home the way she’d come here? She glanced out the window toward the wooded area surrounding the spring. Terror at the thought of nearly drowning made her wonder if she should even try. Why had she been whisked into the past anyway? Only because she’d spoken a thoughtl
ess whim out loud as she threw an old coin into a spring? Or did she have some other purpose in this century, something more important?
“Miss Cantrell?” The marchioness leaned closer to her, looking into her eyes. “If you don’t want me to contact them, I shan’t. If you are in some sort of predicament, I promise to do all I can to help.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. In fact, I wish we could reach my family.” She pushed a long strand of hair out of her face. What could she tell this sweet woman? Certainly not the truth, though she didn’t like to lie. “They’re . . . in the States. For now, I’m on my own.”
Her ladyship frowned. “But you cannot be alone. Surely someone accompanied you to England? You mentioned something to my stepson about a coach. Perhaps your traveling companions might be seeking you?”
She shook her head. “I had a friend with me, but she won’t be looking for me here. I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to sound mysterious. I still can’t seem to think straight. Maybe I am in a predicament. I appreciate your help, but I think I need some time to sort myself out.”
Her hostess watched her with narrowing eyes, but just when Leah expected an interrogation, Lady Solebury got up and went to the door. “Certainly, dear. You take all the time you require to determine what course is best for you. For now, all you need do is relax in your bath until dinnertime. You are joining us for dinner, I hope?”
Leah didn’t have much choice if she wanted to avoid starving. She only wondered what she would do once she’d worn out her welcome at Solebury House. “Yes, thank you, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all, dear. You must stay with us as long as you like. I shall enjoy the company. I often find myself lonely out here in the country. But I shall be quite content for the time being with both you and David visiting.” She grinned suddenly. “Your angel of mercy.”
“Yes.” Leah did think of him that way, though it was funny that his stepmother would refer to him so quixotically. “I probably would have drowned if he hadn’t rescued me.”
“Well, I am very glad he did, but you mustn’t bother to feel overly indebted to him. You see, I may well enlist you to do the same for him.”
The sound of shuffling feet approaching in the hall prevented Leah from asking about the cryptic statement. The marchioness stepped out of the way, while a maid and four male servants came in, carrying a tub and pails of water.
“We’ll speak more on the subject later,” Lady Solebury said through rising wisps of steam. She left, and the servants set up the bath before the fireplace. They looked to Leah for more instructions, and she excused them, feeling awkward in the role of mistress.
After they left, she locked the door, stripped off her unfamiliar muslin nightgown and stepped into the tub. She eased her body into the soothing hot water, concentrating on breathing slowly and steadily. She couldn’t let herself think about magic fountains, ancient Druids or Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. If she did, she really would wind up in Bedlam.
For now, she would do her best to take the Scarlett O’Hara approach and “think about it tomorrow.” She would focus on her survival, both physical and mental. Only when she had regained some emotional footing would she worry about getting home again--if she could.
CHAPTER FOUR
David emerged from the back of the gate house, pausing to admire the pinks and purples of the setting sun. He took in a long breath of the dew-fresh air and closed the door behind him. As he stepped onto the flagstone walk, a footman appeared at the other end, coming off the main drive.
“Good evening, Mr. Traymore.” The young man swept him a low bow, typical of the marked deference David received at Solebury House and nowhere else. “My lady, the marchioness, wishes to inform you dinner will be served in half an hour.”
“Well, tell Lady Solebury she needn’t worry about my tardiness . . . or absence, if that is what she fears.” Never a believer in subservience, he tended to respond to toadies with scorn. Of course, the young footman had been hired to toady and could do little else. He cleared his throat and added with more grace, “I will join her ladyship presently. First, I should like a moment to admire the garden.”
“Of course, sir,” the youth said, his face solemn. “I hope you find all in order. Lady Solebury also sends word that the gate house kitchen has been stocked for your convenience. May I ask if all preparations to the cottage have been made to your liking?”
“Very much so.” Though David would scarcely admit the truth, he privately savored this chance to stay in the little cottage. Through most of his boyhood, a childless couple who let the house had indulged him with the run of the place. Their home had become his favorite retreat during visits to his father’s estate. “You may tell the marchioness I am quite happy with her arrangements. I need nothing further.”
The footman bowed and ran off, leaving him to turn and look back at the house. As he eyed the stone facade, dozens of forgotten memories resurfaced: playing with toy soldiers in the garden, eating biscuits by the kitchen hearth and enjoying hours of free rein in every room. He realized with surprise that he must know every nook and cranny of the place--right down to a secret passageway he had discovered in the cozy room that served as study.
A wry smile pulled at his lips as he recalled imagining himself the only living soul who knew about the tunnel. Even all these years later, he clung to a boyish hope that no one else of his generation had stumbled onto the hinged wall panel that concealed the entrance. He would not mind an old retainer knowing--or perhaps even the marquess--but he would rather his half brother William remained ignorant. The tunnel, if no other part of the estate, belonged to him.
“Foolishness,” he muttered, quitting the cottage garden, along with his memories.
Acknowledgment of his folly, however, did not prevent his enjoying the dusky landscape. Birds chirped as they took to their nests for the evening. The low sun painted the trees and grass with an otherworldly glow. As he progressed through the park, David himself felt an all too rare glow. When had he last taken the time to appreciate a sunset?
He turned up the drive and walked toward a huge full moon, balanced on an orange and lavender horizon. The brilliant spectacle absorbed him . . . until a crackling of twigs off to one side broke the tranquility. The noise seemed to have come from the path that led to the spring.
Amid the darkened woods, something pale floated, obscure and ghostlike, then gone. Perhaps he had simply glimpsed a dove but, in light of Miss Cantrell’s mishap, he felt a swell of misgiving. Surely, he had no reason to suspect a reprise of her “accident,” but his apprehension still stuck with him.
He stole down the path to investigate, praying he would be proved wrong. The stone wall of the springhouse felt cold and damp on his back as he inched toward the end near the pool. He heard no sounds of movement from the other side and began to wonder if his eyes had deceived him. But when he peered around the corner, his stomach clenched. Miss Cantrell, oddly still, stood at the edge of the water.
For the first time in their acquaintance, she wore conventional attire, a maize-colored silk gown and overdress that cascaded down her gently curved body. Her rich auburn hair had been subdued into a loose knot atop her head, but small twisting curls escaped, playing on her cheekbones.
“I wish,” she said softly to the empty air before her, “that I could go back to the time where I belong.”
He contemplated her strange words. There must have been a time when she felt she “belonged” more than she did now--though to what or whom remained a mystery.
She stared at the water with eyes that alternately widened with apparent fright, then narrowed as though she willed her fears away. With her almost preternatural beauty, she might well have been a Celtic priestess, hovering before the spring to invoke the powers needed for a Druid rite. But he knew her for mere flesh and blood, and his heart sank to realize she must be summoning courage for something far more dreadful.
Reluctant to accept the eviden
t, he resolved to allow her another moment, hoping he had misinterpreted her motives. He waited and watched as she lifted her hand and peered into her palm, then clasped her fist together. Whatever she held had a weighty significance for her. She looked back at the water and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she stepped forward, teetering on the brink of the pool. He could no longer doubt she meant to plunge into the water.
“Damn you,” he hissed, leaping out from his hiding place.
Still oblivious to his presence, she swayed precariously forward.
He vaulted forth and snatched her around the waist. One yank set her feather-light form aloft, alighting again a yard away with his arms to keep her from tumbling.
“Damn you to hell, woman!” He trapped against her his chest, through she made no effort to escape. “Is that really what you want?”
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, her eyes rounded like two green moonstones. She clutched him as tightly as he held her and dragged him yet further from the spring, apparently seized--rather belatedly--by terror.
He could feel her body trembling, and his initial anger melted into compassion. What on earth had she suffered that left her so determined to end her life?
The faint scent of rosewater drifted up from her hair, and he placed his hand on the side of her head, cradling her against his body.
“David,” she whispered.
Though she had called him by his given name before, the second time startled him as much as the first. He ought to have found the stolen liberty presumptuous, even rude, but her artless manner drew quite the opposite response. She used the familiar address so naturally that he felt almost as though they belonged on intimate terms. He even had a compelling urge to address her the same way.
“Leah?” The word fairly caressed his tongue.
She looked up at him, her eyes still wide and lips slightly parted, as though inviting a kiss. Indeed, everything about their circumstances cried out for kissing, from their intimate embrace to their use of given names. Even the vulnerability he read in her uptilted eyebrows implied an inclination to bend to his will. She moistened her lips, heightening the tension to an unbearable intensity.
As You Wish Page 4
