by Susana Ellis
"So now what?" She clutched James's arm.
Lady P smiled. "They are eager to meet you, dear child. Not without a fair amount of apprehension, however. Put yourself in their shoes—meeting their grown-up daughter after an absence of nearly twenty-seven years. The daughter raised in another country and another era. I assured them that you would be a credit to them despite your modern ideas and tendency to use peculiar language."
Helena collapsed against James's shoulder, her eyes filling with tears.
"When?" Apparently James understood her inability to speak.
"Soon," Lady P replied. "Very soon."
She took a sip of tea and put her cup down. "Cold again. How I wish I had a microwave oven—and some electricity to power it, of course. It's so aggravating to wait for the pot to boil."
* * *
Later that day
“Are you absolutely sure you don’t mind that I am Anne’s cousin?” Helena asked for at least the third time. “I never knew her, of course, but I’m sure I’m not at all like her.”
James finished pouring her a lemonade and handed it to her with a reassuring smile.
After a few hours of sleep, another dose of Tylenol thoughtfully supplied by the housekeeper, and a hot bath, Helena was feeling much more like herself. Finding Her Ladyship gone from home, she and James had moved out to the terrace to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine while they could. It rained a lot in England.
James gave a deep sigh. “Helena, my dear, it's time I told you the truth about my first marriage. You have a right to know that I wasn't a very good husband."
Helena's eyes widened. "What do you mean? It wasn't an arranged marriage, was it?" She could understand how a marriage between strangers could end up a disaster.
He shook his head. "No. It was a love match. She was the daughter of a vicar, a pretty little thing. I'd managed to turn things around at Melbourne Manor enough that I thought I could afford a wife, and the daughter of a vicar seemed to be a good choice at the time."
His jaw clenched. "One sees things in terms of black and white when one is too young to know better. I was lonely rattling around in the big house with only a couple of servants. I figured a vicar's daughter couldn't look much higher than a landed gentleman, and I assumed she felt the same way."
He rubbed his temple. "I was such a dolt. It didn't dawn on me for weeks after our marriage that she had expectations of becoming a society matron."
Helena raised her eyebrows. "You hadn't discussed it with her before the wedding?"
"Not a word. I'm certain I did not mention any such thing. Women do not ordinarily participate in marriage settlements—" he shrugged his shoulders helplessly "—and her father was relieved when I was willing to take her without a dowry. Little did I know then that she and her mother had been counting on my Melbourne relatives to sponsor us in society."
He went on to tell her about his determination to refuse handouts from either his family or hers, in spite of the willingness of her aunts to sponsor her in London.
"She was young and I thought she would adapt to the situation, and when our daughter came, she would be too busy to fret over such things, but it didn't happen."
Helena stared down at her hands when she heard the circumstances of her cousin's death. Could Anne had been mentally ill, even manic-depressive. Even in the future such things often went undiagnosed and ended in tragedy, although medication was certainly available. In this century, mental illness had a huge stigma attached to it and families went to all sorts of trouble to keep it hidden, even to the point of confining them to Bethlehem Hospital. She shivered in horror at the very thought of it.
James's eyebrows drew together and he reached for her hand. "Helena, my love, I hope you know that I will not be that sort of husband again. At least, I have every intention of offering you the sort of equal partnership you wish for and deserve."
He gave her a half-smile. "I shall at least do my best. I suppose it will always be in the back of my mind that if for some reason you become unhappy, you might well take it in mind to abscond to the future without me."
Helena sat up. It hadn't occurred to her that James might be concerned that she might leave him.
"Oh James! I would never—"
He put a gentle hand over her mouth. "I comprehend that you will be giving up a great deal to settle with me here in what you must consider a very primitive society. Are you certain that you can commit yourself to me and to Annabelle for the rest of your life?
Helena had considered that often since her arrival in 1817, although for the most part it had been in hypothetical terms. As long as she had no home or family to keep her here, this century was no more her home than the twenty-first. If she were going to continuing feeling out of place, it would be much easier to make a life for herself in the future. But with James and Annabelle here to keep her centered—regardless of the reaction of the Cranbournes—the modern world had lost its appeal.
Oh, there were things she would miss. Trains and cars and planes, although she was getting used to the constant odor of horses. Her favorite authors and musicians weren’t even born yet; she’d read that Jane Austen had passed away a month ago. Computers and the Internet. No more having information at her fingertips. Air conditioning. Screens on windows, she thought idly as she freed her hand from James’s to swat a fly.
But hey, who was to say it wasn't she who had invented screens on windows? Perhaps there was some way she could get someone to make them. And maybe even start up her own business… who knew?
She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of the roses from the garden.
“My life is with you, James, and dear Annabelle. The modern conveniences meant little to me when I was there. Always alone. As long as I have you, I promise that my time traveling days have ended.”
He pulled her up onto his lap and kissed her deeply.
“There is one thing,” she said, her brow furrowing. “The state of medical care. Bloodletting and leeches—I won’t stand for that. And as far as childbirth—James, did you know that most women died because the physicians didn’t know to thoroughly wash their hands?”
“Is that so?” James said idly, his attention focused on her décolletage. “I shall make sure the doctor who delivers our children cleanses his hands thoroughly before he is allowed to touch you.” His lips kissed her nose and lips and made their way slowly down to the curve of her neck.
“James! I’m serious!” she half-protested. “What if Annabelle or one of our other children gets sick and needs an antibiotic? I wonder if eating moldy bread will have the same effect as penicillin?”
“My wife, the physician,” James said, his eyes focused on her hair. “You have the loveliest hair, my love. Tawny waves of gold with flames running through them. How lovely it will be to see it spread out on the pillow on our wedding night.”
Helena gave herself up to James’s kisses. None of that other stuff mattered when she had James.
As long as they had each other.
* * *
James and Helena talked away the entire afternoon. Once James had made his confessions, it was Helena's turn. The foster homes. The sweet and loving Mrs. Lloyd, who had provided the stability and guidance at a time when she desperately needed it.
"I'd never have deserted her if she hadn't died," Helena confessed. "She was my mother, the only one I'd ever had, and I loved her. But when she was gone—during my first year of college—university—I felt the solitude more than ever before."
Oh, she’d had friends of a sort. Partied a bit in college, but didn’t care for it, somehow feeling much older than the people her own age. She took her education seriously, felt compelled to, in order to justify her adoptive mother’s faith in her—and the money she'd left to pay for it. After graduation she'd gone straight into grad school, mostly because she didn’t know what else to do. She worked at waitressing, temping, even worked at Disney one summer playing Jasmine, the Arabian princess from Aladdin. But none of it felt real. It
was like her whole life was playing a fictional character.
Like all adopted kids, she'd considered initiating a search for her birth parents. Wouldn't that have been a hoot! It never happened, though. Mostly because she'd been afraid of what she might find—who wanted to find out she was the product of rape or incest, after all? Also because she was more interested in searching for historical treasures in England.
"I just had this peculiar feeling that I belonged there—here. Well, not in the past, exactly. I guess I thought it was my passion for history drawing me here. But it was kind of weird the way I felt drawn to collect things. Like the portrait."
The portrait! How could she have forgotten the allure she'd felt from it, from the image of James, of Annabelle, and the mysterious faceless Anne in the stunning blue gown. That painting had played a huge part in her decision to make the attempt to travel back in time.
James tilted his head and listened with eyebrows raised as she described the day she'd uncovered it in the antique shop. She couldn't blame him for being somewhat doubtful. She didn't understand herself.
"I'm sorry to say that your portrait was damaged in a fire," she told him. "But that is in the future, of course. I'm looking forward to seeing it the way it is now, with Anne's face intact. I can't wait to travel to Melbourne Manor to see it. Is it in Annabelle's room? She should have a picture of her mother to look at, even though she was too young to remember her."
James blinked. "Portrait? What do you mean? I've never had a portrait done. You found a portrait of someone who looked like me? In the twenty-first century?"
"It was you, James. With Annabelle. And Anne. I'm absolutely certain of it!"
James shook his head. "It can't have been, Helena. It must have been some other family who resembles us. Because we've never commissioned a portrait—and Anne is gone now."
Helena and James stared in each other. It couldn't be. Could it? A flush of adrenaline tingled through Helena's body.
James was the first to verbalize it. "It was you, Helena. Us. Our family."
Helena burst into tears. It was the final confirmation that she did indeed belong here. In the nineteenth century with James and Annabelle. No matter what happened with the Cranbournes, she had a home at last.
* * *
That evening
After dinner—for which Lady Pendleton had not appeared—James and Helena adjourned to the drawing room for wine and conversation. And perhaps other things.
James had always considered himself to be a practical man, steadfast, hard-working, self-sacrificing—everything his own father had not been. In retrospect, he realized he'd become intractable and uncompromising, so certain was he that his way was the only way. His domineering manner with his first wife almost certainly had contributed to her mental instability, as well as her tragic death.
Before Helena, he'd been on a path to repeat the same mistakes with himself and his daughter, with the added burden of the guilt over his part in his failed marriage. Then she'd exploded into his life, challenged his ideas, and obligated him to consider a world that was not only not merely black and white, but alive with color, all the colors of the rainbow—as she was herself.
Because of Helena, he'd been able to confront the past and make peace with it. And look forward to a new life with a woman who would demand to be an equal partner, challenge his ideas and raise his ire from time to time, but who would also share his burdens and add the dimensions of love and family—and passion—to his life.
He tightened his hold around her waist. "We will have to set a date for the wedding, my love. I wonder if Lady P has some influence with the archbishop. With a special license, we could marry tomorrow."
Helena pushed her head away from his chest, eyebrows raised.
“Refresh my memory. Have you actually made a proposal of marriage? Because if so, it must not have been terribly memorable. I shouldn’t like to have to tell our children that their father’s proposal was so insipid that their mother cannot even recall it.
"And besides," Helena continued, "I want a proper wedding, not some hole-in-the corner affair. With family. Yours—and hopefully mine."
James hid a smile. It was already starting—his exciting and dramatic new life.
"Of course you do. My apologies, Miss Gibson. I wouldn't have it any other way."
Young ladies craved the romantic falderal, and Helena was no exception. He wanted her to have the memories to look back on for the next fifty years or so.
Fumbling in his pocket, he rose to his feet, then dropped to one knee. “Miss Gibson, I have long admired you and desired to make you my wife. Will you accept this ring—my mother’s betrothal ring—as a sign of my love and your willingness to become my wife?”
He opened the box and placed the diamond and peridot ring on her finger. “It matches your eyes,” he said, peering up into those fairy-green eyes at the same time.
Teary green eyes. “Oh James, it’s lovely. But… are you sure? There's still so much you don't know about me. I couldn't bear it if my being from the future caused you problems.”
James took her in his arms and gazed directly into her eyes. “I know everything I need to know,” he whispered. “And I love your eccentricities, as you call them. Your unique manner of speech." Helena smiled at that. "Your kind and generous nature. Your intelligence and yes, even your frankness. I need you in my life. My daughter needs you in her life. And I have no doubt you will be a matchless mother for her and other children."
“Children? How many children do you want? A sister for Annabelle, I think, although there will be a considerable age gap, and a boy too, of course. Men always want boys. And I'd love to have a mini-James to spoil too, of course."
She was babbling. With happiness, James noted with delight.
“Don’t you think we should settle the wedding date first, before we get started on creating our family? What do you say, Helena love? Will you marry me soon, so that we might get started on those additions to our family" he observed with a smile.
Helena started. "Oh yes, of course I will marry you, James. I love you so much. But as for the date, I do believe we'll have to wait until after…"
James's lips came down hers, and Helena's arms went around his neck as she returned it eagerly. The kiss deepened, his fingers ached with the need to hold her closer, touch her.
"Helena, my love," he muttered after they finally pulled apart, "The time is getting late. It has been quite an eventful day. Do you not think it wise to retire early for the night?"
Helena's eyes twinkled. Putting a hand to her mouth and feigning a yawn, she said, "Why yes, James, I do believe that to be an excellent idea. Will you help me to my room and… tuck me in properly?"
His smile grew. Did she mean what he thought she meant? His body flooded with warmth at the thought of making her his.
"Certainly, madame. It will be my pleasure to assist you… in whatever manner you wish."
Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her out of the room and up the stairs to her room, cautioning himself to take slow, deliberate steps so as to keep safe his precious cargo.
A maid emerging from another room blinked when she caught sight of them, but immediately put her hand to her eyes and hurried past.
Helena giggled. "I hope we haven't shocked her delicate sensibilities. Here, let me," she said as they arrived at her bedchamber and she turned the knob to open the door.
He kicked it ajar and strolled inside to place her gently on the bed. And then stood there, feeling uncertain.
She sat up and pulled on his arm. "Hey, what's the matter? You aren't going to leave me alone, are you?"
"Well," he said, wrinkling his brow. "Are you certain? I shouldn't wish to damage your reputation. Or offend Lady Pendleton."
"Don't be silly," she said as she pulled him down to a seated position on the bed. "I'm a modern girl from the future."
She tugged at the collar of his jacket until his arms fell backward and the offensive piece o
f clothing was liberated from his body and tossed to the floor.
"And besides, Lady P's staff has seen much more scandalous goings-on in this house than any shenanigans we might get up to. Trust me, they are the essence of discretion."
Thank God! He let out a huge breath and reached for her shoulders as he kissed her with all the pent-up passion he'd been trying to hold back.
"My modern woman," he said hoarsely when their lips pulled apart and he ran his hands through her hair, the pins dropping everywhere as he tested its silkiness in his hands.
"My evolving nineteenth century man," she added softly. "And our future."
"Begins now," said James with a gleam in his eye as he pressed her gently down on the bed.
And it did.
* * *
In the early hours of the morning, James reluctantly kissed Helena good night and returned to the room to which he'd been assigned earlier that day. Helena mourned his absence, but agreed that a certain amount of discretion was called for. She wondered how much time it would take to arrange a wedding. Certainly not before they could resolve the situation of her relationship with the Cranbournes. But even that uncertainty wasn't enough to spoil her euphoric reconciliation with James and the anticipation of a long life with him. Her sleep went uninterrupted until mid-morning, when a maid came in with coffee, offering to help her dress. Breakfast, she announced, was being laid out on the sideboard, and that handsome Mr. Walker was asking after her.
She rushed through her toilette and dashed down the stairs to join him, forcing herself to slow down only when she caught sight of Lady Pendleton.
"Your Ladyship," she said in surprise. "You're back."
"I am indeed," Her Ladyship replied, with a look of mock disapproval at Helena and James. "I daresay a quick wedding for the two of you is in order?"
Helena blushed and looked guiltily at James, who winked.
“We missed you at dinner,” he commented casually.
“Yes,” Helena said, making a vain attempt to straighten her hair. “Where were you all day, Lady P?”
