Regency Society Revisited

by Susanne Marie Knight

  He leaned over and placed his ear on her tummy. “Yes, I can hear him now. He is saying his name is Edward Nicholas Basil Wycliffe."

  Nick laughed and gave her a bear hug.

  She savored his warm embrace. “Edward Nicholas Basil Steele Wycliffe,” she reminded him. “Remember, we agreed? The name ‘Basil’ still bothers me, though, but I can't recall why.” She tapped her finger against her temple to force herself to remember.

  Nick murmured into her hair. “How so, my love? Basil means kingly, royal. M'mother herself chose that name for me—and it fits, doesn't it?"

  "Pooh! You've a conceited head."

  A flash of green eyes surfaced in Serenity's memory. “That's it! Basil—you're conceited just like the other Basil I knew—Stanhope B. DeVries. He was always strutting like a peacock. He and I never got along."

  DeVries was one person who didn't regret her no-show to the year 2021—of that much she was certain.

  "Now, now,” Nick rebuked, “I will not have you talk of other men around me. I am jealous, don't you know? Besides, I would say you and I get along quite nicely. Quite nicely indeed."

  He kissed her soundly until all thoughts of her green-eyed arch-rival flew from her mind.

  After Nick fell back asleep, Serenity sat, vaguely troubled. An inner alarm had gone off and she knew she wouldn't sleep until she followed her instinct.

  Creeping out of bed, she tiptoed to her twenty-first century portmanteau and removed some books. It was in there someplace. There! She found the one she looked for.

  Lifting up the antique copy of Debrett's Peerages of England, she fancied the book beckoned to her. “Open me! Open me and I'll reveal the future” it seemed to shout.

  Serenity tried but she couldn't resist its lure. She took the book back to bed and flipped through the pages. Under the Wycliffe family tree, she found her Nicholas married to S. Steele!

  A toasty feeling spread through her middle. She looked at Nick and smiled. Talk about a time paradox! It boggled the mind! So much for the Time Displacement Wave not changing the past. But then again, she'd been told that whatever was meant to happen, would happen.

  Taking care to focus only on the information about their progeny, she spotted the name of their first-born: Edward Nicholas Basil Steele Wycliffe.

  Gazing at her stomach, she blew it a kiss. “Ah, so you are a boy,” she whispered.

  She covered the page with her hand. It wasn't playing fair to learn if Baby Edward was to have brothers and sisters.

  How happy Nick and his father would be. Once the baby was born, there'd be no living with the Marquess of Rotterham.

  But something still nagged at her. She tugged on her lower lip and analyzed the source of her anxiety. It was “Basil.” Basil and green eyes. Green eyes like hers, like Tracy's, and like ... like Stanhope B. DeVries?

  With her finger, Serenity scanned down the Wycliffe family tree. Following one of the offshoots, she stopped and gulped down hard. The name “DeVries” jumped out at her.

  It didn't take a genius to figure out where this was headed. Mr. Obnoxious himself was actually related to her.

  Serenity slammed the book shut. The dregs! Some things were better left unknown, weren't they? It was almost like opening Pandora's box.

  For comfort, she took to her favorite pastime as of late: stroking her stomach. “Well, little Eddie, it looks like Stanhope is a descendant of ours."

  She counted on her fingers. “That makes him about my great-great-great-great grandson. Super."

  Then, the humorous aspect of this information struck her. Picturing DeVries's reaction, she grinned. “If he found out, he'd grow livid ... again. First I replace him on this plum assignment. And, because of that, he's now related to me. This is great. Poetic justice!"

  Serenity had to make sure DeVries learned about this. She had to gloat one more time, and she was guaranteed to have the last word! In the first book she wrote, she would leave a message for Tracy so she could rub his nose in prehistoric dirt—one last time.

  Serenity clasped her hands together. Yes! No amount of denial could take away the fact that Stanhope B. DeVries was her great grandson times four. Revenge was sweet!

  She slid under the covers and cuddled up to Nick. His arm automatically went around her and pulled her close.

  Maybe Stanhope wasn't so bad. She could even see admirable qualities in him—a few anyway.

  Perhaps everything happened for a reason. Because of him, Serenity found the love of her life—her Nicholas.

  She gave her husband a kiss. Now she could go to sleep!

  Epilogue

  Axel Rhinehart sat behind his antique wooden desk, head in hands. Sniffling, he reached over a pile of paperwork to get a tissue but the box was empty. Fiddlesticks. He pulled out a much-used handkerchief and blew his nose.

  It was no use. He couldn't get Serry Steele out of his mind. How could he? The stack of papers on his desk was her monograph, her research. As he'd expected, her work was brilliant—certain to win her accolades. Perhaps even an award or two.

  But she'd never be able to collect. Due to a glitch in the Time Displacement Wave's makeup, his dear, sweet Serry was never coming back.

  That damn machine. The devil's handmaiden.

  He gritted his teeth. Mustn't get riled up—again. He looked at a battered envelope set apart from the mess on his desk. Serry's letter. The last communication he would ever receive from her.

  A tear puddled in his eye and he flicked it away. Just one week ago today, he had stood in the same room as that monster machine to welcome her back to the twenty-first century. The secluded platform had glowed a dark blue, and then her papers appeared. Another wave of light followed the first, and for an instant he swore he saw her outline. Then a thunderous crash and a glaring bright light filled the stark room.

  Axel didn't need one of the scurrying technicians to tell him something had gone wrong.

  Serry's silhouette vanished. Seconds later, three white envelopes plus an ermine stole and muff materialized. Evidently, Serry's swan song.

  Axel knew; he knew before the Displacement Wave's director had come over to give him the bad news. The machine rejected Serry. She would not be coming back.

  Tearing his gaze from the envelope, Axel rubbed his smooth forehead. Had to get a grip. Had to perform one last service for Serry. Already he delivered one letter to her parents. That had been the hardest thing he'd ever done.

  But now, in five minutes, a more difficult task faced him. In five minutes, Serry's beloved little sister, Tracy Steele, would walk through his door to collect her own letter. And from what Mr. and Mrs. Steele had told him, Tracy held him responsible for sending her sister back through time.

  By the ghost of Margaret Mead! She was right. He was responsible. He believed men made their own purgatories and every morning he woke up to his own personal version of hell.

  Hell. Even though he knew the virtual reality window would show his small, ranch-style house, he avoided looking at it. What if, instead, the scene reflected back his own tortured thoughts?

  Axel's shoulders sagged, but a soft knock at the door caused him to straighten them. Taking a deep breath, he called out, “Come in. Come on in."

  The door slowly opened and his gaze was riveted by the sight. The woman stepped in from behind the door.

  "Serry!” He jumped up, which was not easy for a man his age. Running over to her, he enfolded her in a bear hug. “Serry, you're back!"

  A timid voice broke through his dream. “Dr. Rhinehart? Dr. Rhinehart, I'm not Serenity."

  He drew back and stared at the woman's huge forest-green eyes now blinking at him. She was just a girl, really, only seventeen. But almost a double for his dear Serry Steele.

  "Tracy?” he asked hesitantly.

  Turning her watery gaze to the floor, she nodded.

  Fiddlesticks. What a blunder. “My dear, please forgive me. I.... “What else could he say? Of course she realized she looked just like her sist
er.

  He gestured for her to take a seat. She didn't seem too steady on her feet anyway. When she chose the worn couch Serry always sat in, he smiled. “You must be mistaken for your sister all the time."

  "Yes,” Tracy replied softly. “I don't mind.” She brushed back her hair. It was almost as long as Serry's had been. “My parents told me you have a letter for me from ... from her."

  Poor child was trying to hold back the tears. Axel felt a pain—as swift and as hard as a horse's kick.

  She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Why did it have to be Serenity, Dr. Rhinehart? Why did she have to have the bad luck? After all, the other two anthropologists came back safely. Why didn't she?"

  "You should read this first.” Reaching into a desk drawer, he produced an envelope.

  The familiar handwriting on the front caused his own gaze to swim. He offered the letter to the girl. Also, he passed over the ermine furs. It was the least he could do.

  "She would have wanted you to have these."

  Tracy ignored the furs and picked up the envelope. She turned it over and over again, memorizing its appearance. “Do you mind if I open it here, sir?"

  "Please, feel free, Tracy."

  As she opened it, her hands shook. She unfolded the letter and he watched her green eyes dart left and right, devouring the contents.

  Axel busied himself with some papers. She was entitled to privacy. The silence seemed to stretch for an eternity.

  "Dr. Rhinehart.” Tracy's bottom lip quivered, but she fought to keep control. “Dr. Rhinehart, I've been away at school so I haven't talked much with my parents about Serenity. I wanted to speak with you first."

  The girl cleared her throat. “Serenity says she's married. Married to a Lord Brockton and that she's a countess. She's also expecting."

  He knew that, of course.

  Tracy accepted his nod and stared down at the letter. “My mom and dad told me a little of this but sometimes they don't make much sense."

  She smiled pitifully. “Serenity really loves him, this Nicholas guy, doesn't she? She really doesn't want to come home."

  Her eyes flashed a request at him, just like Serry used to. Tracy was begging him to deny her words.

  But he couldn't. And the dear child hadn't grasped the situation yet. She still spoke of Serry in the present tense.

  He tightened his grip on his armrests. How could he tell her Serry was dead? That she had died almost one hundred and fifty years ago?

  "Yes, Tracy, your sister really was happy. Just as well, too, if you think about it. Serry couldn't come back here, because of the baby. Remember the rule about nothing created in the past can pass through the Time Displacement Wave?"

  Now was as good a time as any to let Tracy realize her sister was gone forever. “The baby was a boy. I looked up Brockton's history in an old copy of Debrett's Peerages of England. Serry gave birth to Edward Nicholas Basil Steele Wycliffe on the twenty-fifth of May 1813. Sounded like a fine son, too. Then in 1816, they had another boy, Rodney James Basil Steele Wycliffe. Debrett's goes on to say their last child was born in 1820, a girl, Tracy Zeena Sylvia Steele Wycliffe."

  He let that information sink in.

  "Basil.... “Tracy referred back to the letter and reread a portion. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed together. “Serenity named her daughter after me."

  "But..."

  Tracy leapt up from the couch and paced the length of the office. “But this can't be! Dr. Rhinehart, Serenity just arrived in Regency England. She's only been there a year. How can her name appear in some moldy book? How can her children's names be listed? They haven't had time to be born yet."

  He kept quiet. Tracy needed to piece things together herself.

  "Why that means ... there's a date in that book for Serenity's d-death, isn't there?"

  Tracy collapsed on the sofa, her face an ashen color.

  Axel pulled a hidden bottle of brandy from a drawer and poured some into a glass. “Here, drink this. You need it."

  Liquor to a minor. Rhinehart, what are you doing?

  He silenced his conscience. Rules were made to be broken. She needs it.

  Tracy obeyed down to the last drop. In a deadened voice, she said, “Don't tell me the year. I don't want to know."

  He reseated himself. “I understand. I thought you would want to know about the unbroken line of her descendants, though, down to present day. There's an abundant number of Edwards, Nicholases, Tracys, and even Basils."

  Why did the name “Basil” figure so prominently in the Wycliffe family tree? Perhaps he should look down the line further.

  That news didn't cheer Tracy. But maybe this next item would. “I made some inquiries. The current Lord Brockton is a twenty-seven year old Nicholas Basil Wycliffe."

  She was uninterested. Axel would have to play his trump card.

  Walking over to the bookcase, he took out a dusty book, its gilt page edges dulled by time. He placed it on her lap. “It seems Serry wrote a few books, you know. I was able to find a copy of one. She wrote under the name S. D. Steele."

  Tracy slowly moved her fingertips over the inscribed title. "The End of an Era."

  "Yes, the Regency era. A marvelous job. Thorough research on her part."

  Right now, praise for Serry's work didn't mean much to Tracy.

  "I thought you'd be interested in the dedication."

  Tracy carefully turned the ancient book's pages. She read aloud,

  "For my two Tracys

  One in the past, yet future,

  And one in the present, yet past.

  I love you both."

  Tracy hugged the book to her chest.

  Axel returned to the bookcase. She needed time to compose herself. Her unexpected laughter caused him to spin around.

  "Oh, that Serenity!” Tracy wiped tears from her eyes. Tears of, what? Merriment? “S. D. Steele—that stinker!"

  "Pardon?"

  "Do you know what the ‘D’ stands for?” She laughed again. “No, of course not. Serenity never used her middle name. Never told anyone what it was—not that I blame her. It was ... Disco!"

  So Serry had kept a dark secret. Well, good thing too. At least her sister was laughing now.

  The office door suddenly flew open and in stomped Stanhope DeVries. “Rhinehart, what's this about the assignment schedule? I didn't—"

  DeVries gave a quick glance at the couch. “Sorry. Didn't know you were with someone, Rhinehart."

  The man had all the manners of a bull.

  DeVries turned to exit but then stopped and gave Tracy the once-over. “S-Steele? Serenity? But I thought...."

  He pointed his finger at her.

  "What game are you playing now, Steele? They told me—"

  Axel had to interrupt. No telling what DeVries was likely to say. “Dr. Stanhope DeVries, may I introduce Dr. Steele's sister, Tracy?"

  "Her sister?” he murmured.

  Then he collected himself and, with green eyes flashing, turned to Axel. “Stanhope B. DeVries."

  Pivoting again, he bowed. “At your service, Miss Steele."

  Axel's heart stilled for a microsecond, then resumed beating furiously. DeVries's eyes matched Tracy's and Serry's. Did that mean...?

  "What does the ‘B’ stand for?” Axel asked.

  The man looked down his nose as if Axel were a fly to be swatted. “It's a name that's been in our family for generations. Stands for ‘Basil.’”

  Of course. Axel glanced over at Tracy to see if she grasped just who this man was.

  She gasped. Indeed, she did. Giving him a wink, Tracy suddenly stood, appearing more mature. “Thank you for your time and understanding, Dr. Rhinehart. I'll be sure to return this.” She picked up S. D. Steele's book. “Oh, by the way, may I also borrow Debrett's Peerages? Seems I have some new relatives to look up."

  With a smile, she cocked her head at DeVries.

  By the ghost of Margaret Mead. Tracy is as sharp as her sister.

  DeVries cleared hi
s throat. “Ah, Miss Steele, I was wondering if perhaps you would like to go to lunch. There's a small coffee shop down the block—"

  "Yes, I would, Dr. DeVries. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about. Thank you for your kind offer.” Linking her arm through DeVries's, she headed for the door, then turned to give Axel another wink.

  After the door closed, Axel shook his head. What would Serry make of her sister lunching with her despised great-great-great-great grandson? Somehow, he detected S. D. Steele's fine hand behind Tracy's actions.

  The small hairs on the back of his neck rose. Perplexed, he turned around to the virtual reality window. There, under a haze of mists and swirls, stood Serry. By her side was a shadowy dark man.

  Axel's mouth dropped. “By the ghost—"

  Serry's image smiled and she lifted her hand in greeting. The next second, the picture lost focus, breaking up into millions of color dots. Like a swarm of bees, these specks rearranged themselves into his small, comfortable house.

  "Will wonders never cease!” Axel pulled out his handkerchief to dab at his eyes. By rote, he recited one of the Time Displacement Wave's axioms, “Whatever is meant to happen, will happen."

  How true ... and how indisputable.

  Feeling as if a weight had been lifted, Axel returned his attention to Serry's monograph. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he knew she would always be with him.

  ~The End~

  To learn about other books Awe-Struck publishes, go to the Awe-Struck E-Books website at www.awe-struck.net/

  * * *

  Visit www.awe-struck.net for information on additional titles by this and other authors.