Serenity sat up and wrinkled her brow. “She said I couldn't come back—couldn't go home. Then she told me why not. But I can't remember."
Nick plumped the pillow for her to lean back. He rubbed her belly. “Does not sound like a nightmare at all. At least, not for me. I pray your sister is right."
"Nick, it was just a dream I created."
Jumping out of bed, she gave a yelp. “That's it! Tracy said that I created, so I can't come back!"
Head in hand, Nick murmured, “Makes perfectly good sense."
Sitting cross-legged on the bare floor, Serenity frowned. “No, I have to concentrate. Have to remember. Something I said to Tracy before I left my world."
Serenity closed her eyes. An image of her parents’ living room surfaced. She was talking to Tracy. In a hollow voice, Serenity repeated her words. "No material from the past can be brought back through time. Nothing created back then can pass through the Time Displacement Wave."
She felt numb. Was this good news or bad? Was her interpretation of the dream correct or was it just, in fact, a dream?
Nick joined her on the floor. “Brr.” The cold wood did have a bracing effect. “Enlighten me, Serenity. What does that mean?"
Serenity suddenly laughed—and then started crying. “Oh, why am I crying? These darn hormones!"
She hugged Nick so tightly, he lost his balance and toppled over. She landed on top of him. Playing with his hair, she said slowly, “I can't be sure, Nick. But it makes sense. I was told that nothing created back in time can pass through the time-travel machine—that was one of the rules. You and I, my dear Lord Brockton, have created a life—here, inside me. And, if my thinking is correct, then I can't return to the future—even if I wanted to!"
"Ah, the important question is, do you want to return, madam wife?” He asked in jest but his eyes said his whole universe awaited her answer.
She felt shy. “I thought this through, Nick, and the truth is ... the truth is I want to stay with you. Dear God, how I want to stay with you."
Tears began to flow freely—hers and his intermingled. They bathed in each other's warm droplets of joy.
"This is the best Christmas present I could wish for—to have my wife and my child with me—forever,” Nick said huskily.
If her interpretation of the dream was correct. If she couldn't return to her home. In six weeks, she'd know for certain.
Serenity shuddered. Her fate would be decided in only six weeks.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The dreaded day arrived. Serenity's frantic wishing to slow the passage of time yielded her nothing. Nothing but pain, anxiety, and a bubbly stomach.
The Brockton town coach slowly rolled up to a fir tree. Defacing the fir's stark beauty was a weathered sign welcoming weary travelers to the only posting house between Bath and the village of Wellow.
Serenity recognized the sign only too well. One year ago today, on the fourth of February, 1812, she first “landed” back in Regency England. One year. So much had happened in that year.
The carriage stopped and Nick alighted from the driver's seat. When they had departed from Bath, he insisted on the closed coach to protect her from the harsh February weather. So she had sat by herself—alone with her thoughts in the comfortable green-squab interior.
Dear Nick had to brave the elements. He must've been frozen by now, and tired. He had to guide their two-horse team over some very tricky roads—the ruts hidden by ice and snow. It was a wonder the carriage hadn't lost a wheel or broken the axle.
He opened the door and leaned inside. A frigid blast of air accompanied him. “This the place, Serenity?"
She shivered and looked out the window again to be certain. Nearby, set off the road, stood a straw-thatched building in the midst of the forest. “Yes, no doubt about it. This is the place."
Nick nodded and closed the door. Unhitching the horses, he tied them to a distant tree. He returned to the town coach and reentered it. After tossing aside the many capes of his great coat, he removed his beaver hat and leather gloves. His face red with cold, he gave her a smile.
Serenity pulled off her own gloves and rubbed his face with her hands. The cold burned her fingers. “Are you all right, Nick?"
His stiff hands held hers. “Not to worry about me, love. I have seen more arduous weather from the bow of a ship. What about you? Are you warm enough? Is the brick still hot?"
The oven-heated traveling brick lay on the floor, under her blanket. She pushed it over to his side of the carriage. He could use the heat. “Yes, I'm fine. Couldn't be more toasty."
They were both nervous. No need to express it in words. This was either the beginning of a wonderful life together or ... or it was the end. They sat, holding hands, and stared at the frozen white conifers surrounding them. She had a little time left to her, before needing to rendezvous at the spot the Time Displacement Wave had dropped her one year ago. Too little time, but she didn't want to waste it outside. She squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back. “How is the baby?"
Five and a half months along, her tummy had ballooned out. No way she could hide the fact that she was expecting.
Serenity patted her stomach. “Baby's fine. Just fine. Not much kicking today."
Probably knows “Mom” is scared witless. She smiled weakly.
Pulling on a thread of wool from her blanket, she asked, “What explanation did you give your parents for this trip? They thought us crazy to travel in this weather, didn't they? After they found out I'm pregnant, I think they expected us to spend the remaining four months at Reveley Hall."
The Marquess and Marchioness had been so overjoyed at Serenity and Nick's news. Lord Rotterham had taken her aside and confided that even if the baby turned out to be a girl, he'd be excited—wouldn't hold the baby's sex against Serenity.
Magnanimous of him! How she wanted the Rotterhams to see their grandchild. But her last days at the Hall had been marred by a bilious stomach. Whether it was due to her condition or her terrible burden of guilt, she didn't know.
Nick ran his hand through his ice-tipped hair. “Actually, I used your ill-health as an excuse. Said you had a notion the healing waters at Bath could cure your ailment.” His laugh sounded like a deep rumble. “M'father was not taken in. All a hum, he said. I assured my parents we would return in a trice."
His brows drew together and he stared out at the woods.
Serenity leaned back against the squabs and tightly closed her eyes. She prayed as she never prayed before. Soon, in fifteen minutes, she would leave the warmth of the town coach, the warmth of the new life she had in England, and stand next to an old fir tree.
If her dream had been correct, if the unborn baby's presence prevented the Time Displacement Wave from transporting her to the future, then Serenity was prepared. Her manuscript, Regency Society Revisited, hopefully would wink out of her existence and reappear in the cold, sterile room located in Washington, D.C.
She hoped the United Anthropological Institute would forgive her, wouldn't think too badly of her for not accompanying her work. But after all, she hadn't counted on becoming pregnant and she hadn't made the rules for the Time Displacement Wave.
Besides, the Institute had wanted her to write a monograph. She did. Nothing was mentioned about her returning to the twenty-first century. They just assumed she wanted to.
Convoluted logic to justify her guilt. Still, she hadn't received an “A” in philosophy for nothing!
If she remained in Regency time, she had three letters of explanation already written: one to Axel Rhinehart, one to her parents, and one to Tracy. Thinking back to the last dinner Serenity shared with her parents, she wished there could be an inter-time post office.
She blinked back tears. Never seeing her family again, never hearing their voices—that thought troubled her deeply.
But, the alternative, if her dream was wrong ... if the Displacement Wave swallowed her whole and spit her out in the year 2021, then ... then she
would lose Nick.
Nothing could be worse than that.
Her senses swam for a moment. If she was transported back, she had left a letter for Nick, back in their room at the Bath inn.
Please God, she prayed, please don't let Nick have to read it.
Serenity opened her eyes, spending her remaining precious nineteenth century minutes lovingly gazing at her husband.
* * * *
They could tarry no longer. Nicholas helped his wife from the carriage and hauled boxes of paper over to an old fir tree. Her research, she said. He had not worked up the courage to read any of it. He placed a second stack—her personal belongings—outside the perimeter that would be affected by the damnable Time Displacement Wave, as she called it.
He called it the Device. If the Device did succeed in spiriting Serenity away, she had asked him to put the stack inside the perimeter. If she remained here, there would be no need for her to lose the few mementos she had of the twenty-first century.
Twenty-first century! Nicholas removed his hat, slapped it against his thigh, and resettled it back on his head.
He allowed that he should not call the Device damnable; after all, it had brought him his Serenity. But now, in less than five minutes, the Device threatened to take her and the baby away—forever.
Hell and blast! Was there ever such a coil as this?
Serenity stood next to the tree—alone. She insisted he remain outside the perimeter. She looked so lovely silhouetted against the white backdrop of snow. Her grey bombazine pelisse, grey bonnet, white ermine muff and tippet provided a contrast for her vivid brown hair, flashing green eyes, and soft pink lips.
God, standing here helpless, not being able to do anything was worse than any horror Brockton had experienced in battle. If that damned Device worked, he would have to watch Serenity disappear and there was not one jot he could do about it.
Feeling the urge to pace, he stamped his feet instead. He fixed his gaze on Serenity. Didn't want to blink. He was afraid that in the space of that second, she would vanish.
She also concentrated on him. “Nick, I love you. Whatever happens, I love you."
She could not wear her wedding ring—could not wear anything he had given her. He patted the pocket next to his heart. Her ring nestled there, waiting to be placed back on her finger. Nicholas was not a praying man, but he silently pleaded with the Almighty to grant him this one favor, this one request.
"Serenity, I.... “His voice broke. After clearing his throat to speak, he abruptly stopped.
From out of nowhere, a sky-blue light bathed Serenity, bathed the entire circular area. She whispered words that chilled his spine. “It's starting."
He watched the soft blue light shimmer and cover his love, her papers, and the nearby trees.
"My God!” he breathed. How could anything as ghastly as that light appear so beautiful?
He bit down on his lip hard. He wanted to pull Serenity out from that unholy beacon. Wanted to keep her safe with him. But if he interfered, he knew she would never forgive him.
Flickering, the light seemed to dance. Portions of the beam darkened, especially around Serenity's research. A translucent midnight-blue color now enveloped the papers. The light grew deeper, opaque—then it evaporated.
Nicholas stared. The papers were gone.
"My God!” he repeated.
Serenity stood as if in a trance, and spots of midnight-blue materialized around her body. Never removing his gaze from her, he fell to his knees. “No, dear God, this mustn't be. I cannot lose her!"
A brilliant flash of pulsating blue blinded his eyes. They closed of their own accord and he was loath to reopen them. What would he see?
He looked. Serenity also had fallen to her knees, her eyes closed. The blue beacon still pulsed around her but its now sky-blue color appeared faint. The next second, the vibrating blue beam was gone.
"Dear God, you are safe!” Nicholas rushed into the circle of light and swept his wife into his arms. He quickly carried her outside the perimeter.
He gently patted her cheeks. “It did not work, love. Oh, on the papers it did. But you, you are safe—with me.” He removed her bonnet and kissed her hair, forehead, cheeks, and her lips.
Serenity awakened from her stupor. She turned to survey the area around her. “It didn't work? Can it be true?"
Another kiss on the lips revived her. “Yes, it is true!"
She closed her eyes as if to say a silent prayer. “You know, while I was in the light, for a minute I felt pulled toward an immense vortex. Sucked in. There was nothing I could do to resist—to fight it. Then, all at once, the pressure stopped and I was free."
Looking up at him, she started to cry. “Nick, oh Nick. I thought—"
"Shh, love. Everything is fine now. The danger is passed. It is over—finally over."
Safe in the embrace of his arms, Serenity looked back at the perimeter. “There's one more thing I have to do."
From inside her pelisse, she extracted three letters. She threw them where her papers had been. Hesitating for a moment, she threw her fur tippet and muff after them.
As they watched, the beam materialized again, growing dark—midnight-blue again, then turning opaque. In an instant, the articles disappeared.
Slowly, the remaining blue light faded, until the normal daylight of a wintry grey day resumed.
Serenity laughed, a sweet and carefree sound. “I'm free! I'm really free!"
She twirled around, then gave him a hug. “Oh, I can't believe it. After praying, and wishing.... “She kissed him with the strength of ten women.
Looking back on the site, she sighed, “It seems so unreal. But it happened, didn't it?"
Somber thoughts crept over her joyful expression. “I returned the ermines because the Institute might be able to use the furs again. I didn't want Axel to think I was taking advantage."
She jabbed Nicholas in the ribs. “Besides, you can buy me more!"
She danced again—quite a rapid recovery from the ordeal.
Nicholas was not so quick to recover. He wiped his brow with a sweaty palm. Turning his back on his trial by fire, he spotted the welcoming posting house.
"With pleasure,” he agreed, capturing his wife, and holding her as tightly as her delicate condition would allow. “But first, let us take refuge at yon inn. I am in dire need of a drink!"
Chapter Twenty-eight
Serenity sat up in bed and rested her folded hands across her belly. She'd awakened because of the baby's movements. Soft twitch-like spasms tickled her stomach: fetal hiccups. She inhaled and exhaled, slowly and deliberately—maybe the motion would calm the baby.
Asleep, Nick muttered something, turned over and flung his arm across her thighs. He squeezed them and then, perhaps satisfied, resumed his even breathing.
Serenity fondled his hair. She was one lucky woman to have both a wonderful husband and a soon-to-be-born miracle child. Every minute of every day, she thanked God.
But there had been a price to pay. And that price was giving up the twenty-first century.
She had avoided thinking about her loss; for one whole month she'd been deliriously happy to continue living with her new family. But now that she and Nick had left Reveley Hall and returned to the Brockton estate, she could take time to pause and reflect.
A mental image of Axel Rhinehart appeared, and she could see him as clearly as if he sat next to her. Serenity could picture him scratching his bald head. She also could envision him wiping away a tear. Axel would blame himself; he would say if he hadn't persuaded her to step into the Time Displacement Wave machine, she'd still be living in the year 2021.
She sighed. Maybe her letter to him eased his mind. She had written that she wanted to remain; that if she'd had a choice, this would've been her decision.
No, Axel, you don't have to invoke the ghost of Margaret Mead. I belong here with Nicholas and my baby. I hope you understand.
And what about her parents? Her father would
be proud of her and, of course, her mom would be excited about the baby.
Serenity massaged her side where the baby hiccupped. Poor little thing would never know one set of grandparents. But she would make sure her mom and dad would see the baby; she would have portraits painted often. After all, Sir Thomas Lawrence, the noted British artist was alive. He was the best at what he did. Nothing but the best for Baby Wycliffe.
Then dear, sweet Tracy came to mind. Tracy would take Serenity's departure the hardest. Her sister's letter, by necessity was the longest. Serenity mentioned everything about her life here with Nick, about being a countess, and even that Tracy had been right—Serenity did have synesthesia—at least she did when she was around Nick.
Serenity planned to continue writing books, and when she did, she would include messages in them for Tracy. Already Serenity had chosen her pen-name: S. D. Steele. Tracy would get the joke. Serenity never used her middle name. Who could blame her? Long ago, she'd made Tracy promise on a stack of bibles never to reveal the “D” word.
Serenity smiled and nestled back against the pillows. Serenity Disco! Imagine her flighty parents acting wild and “indulging” in the back room of a 1970 style disco! That was where she had been conceived. No wonder she never stated her full name!
Her chuckles caused the baby's hiccups to subside. She patted her belly again. If the baby was a girl, Serenity would name her “Tracy."
Nick jerked in his sleep and his eyes opened wide. Wiping his forehead, he looked up at her. “Am I glad to wake up from that dream. I was trying to rescue you from a legion of dragons breathing blue fire. Hope you appreciate my efforts!"
She smiled. “I always appreciate your efforts."
He propped himself up beside her, and kissed her cheek. “Can't sleep?"
Serenity nuzzled his neck. “No, she's keeping me awake."
She was playing their favorite game: she referred to the baby as a girl, and he always talked about his “son."
If Serenity knew Nick, his rejoinder was not long in coming.
With a concentrated air and nimble fingers, he gently probed her stomach. “I regret to inform you, milady, but the vertical position of the babe unequivocally indicates a male heir."
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