Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

  Charles stood, the black muslin of her dress rustling as she moved around the table in order to sit down next to me. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Emma, my dear, of course we believe you. We do not require proof. More than anyone, we know the sorts of things magic is capable of. I only wish you had told me sooner. What can we do to assist you in your endeavor?”

  I wanted to collapse against her in gratitude. I felt comforted and not alone, for the first time in a very long time. But now that my shock at what they had told me had worn off, I saw the upside. I didn’t have to be stuck here. Magic was real. Witches who could wield magic were real. It was actually possible for me to get back.

  “I thought if a spell got me here, a spell would probably send me back home. Can you guys do that?”

  Jane gave me a sad little smile. “We lack the power it would take to create such a spell.” Her glance flicked over to Charles. “Do you think the twins might be capable of doing something like this?”

  “No,” Charles replied firmly. “Julia might be able to help, if we could lure her away from the estate and her plants, but Jessica is far too distracted and undisciplined at the moment. Not to mention that she has been sent to stay with relatives, and I think it best she stay there for the time being.”

  Understanding lit up Jane’s face, but I didn’t get it.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but what happened with Jessica?” I knew it wasn’t good when girls were sent to live with relatives.

  “She set her cap at a vain spendthrift who did not love her, despite her best efforts. He was rather fond of her dowry, however. He is currently in London, and as such, Jessica should not be,” Charles responded.

  “Couldn’t Jessica just make some love potion?”

  A clock chimed, and Jane began to pack up Charles’s sewing bag. “Although there have been a fair number of husbands who have claimed to be bewitched by women in our family, there are two areas witches have no dominion over: love and death. We cannot control or affect either one.”

  Charles asked Jane for scissors. She dug around the bottom of the bag until she found a pair and handed them over. Charles started disentangling me from Hartley’s torn, blood-speckled shirt. “Love itself is a power that witches can use to increase the potency of their spells. Trust me, if I could create a spell to make Hartley fall in love again, I would. Regardless, sons of witches are impervious to magic. Nothing can pierce their cursed, stubborn, dragon-skin hides.”

  Something still didn’t make sense. “But I’m not a witch,” I said as Charles pulled the shirt clear. “I can’t do magic. I can’t cast spells. How did I get here?”

  Charles gave both the seam ripper and the shirt back to Jane, who returned them to the bag before replying to me. “We know you’re not a witch. But you did cast a significant spell. I felt it today when I first touched you. And some spells are so powerful that anyone could speak them and they would work. But they’re rare.”

  “While I have never heard of anyone going through time, it would take a great deal of magic and a tremendous amount of love to make something like that happen.” Charles looked thoughtful. As if she were working something out. “Something allowed you to come here.”

  “Allowed?” I repeated. “By who?”

  “By whom, my dear.”

  I couldn’t help it. I groaned in disgust and rolled my eyes, even though I knew it was textbook rude. “This is no time for grammar! Dogs have been levitated! Time has been traveled!”

  “There is always time for proper grammar. Our lessons will continue. It sounds as if I need to engage a dance master, as well.”

  Charles could not be serious. “You just completely altered my world and accepted the possibility of a space-time continuum, but you’re still planning on trying to launch me into society and tricking James into marrying me?”

  Apparently, she was serious. “Of course. If we stopped, Hartley would want to know why. And he is far too clever to be put off by lies or half-truths for very long. I think it best for now that we go on as we already are. Until we find a way to send you home.”

  She would probably correct me, but I fell back against the sofa, slouching. Charles must have decided to give me a pass, because all I got was a pointed look. I stayed put. “If you can’t do the magic to get me back, then my working theory has been that there must be some kind of book of spells. And that I could find the book and the spell. Do you have anything like that?”

  “I do not, but Eleanor, Hartley and Jane’s mother, was an avid collector of magic books. Real and pretend. It’s one of the reasons the library is so vast. She bought other types of books so that no one would suspect what she was up to.”

  Jane scooted forward to the edge of the couch, like she was ready to leap off and start looking herself. “How exciting! I have some at home that she gave me. I shall bring them at the very first opportunity, and we can go through them.”

  “And we will start devoting part of our day to searching the library. When Hartley isn’t here,” Charles added, still with that evaluating expression. “And if we are unable to find what you need, you could do much worse than being married to Hartley.”

  “James,” I said. Was she doing that on purpose?

  “Oh yes. James. That’s what I meant to say. Why would I say Hartley?” She was trying to play it off, but I heard the phoniness behind her protest.

  Now that I knew she was a witch, it freaked me out when Hartley threw open the library doors and strode in. Like she had conjured him up by saying his name. I sat straight up, pulse racing.

  “Jane!” he said with a grin, greeting her. “Stephens said you were here. Where are my favorite niece and nephew?”

  “They are your only niece and nephew,” Jane said with a laugh, ringing for the nanny to bring the children back. I didn’t want to participate in their conversation. I had just been silently accusing Charles of being a phony. But I was the phony. I was the one who lied through her teeth every moment of every day. While Hartley had taken me in and clothed and fed me. Yes, sometimes he was a jerk, but on the whole, he was a lot more generous than I had any right to expect. I hated keeping this from him. Going through the motions of something I had no intention of actually doing. Lying to him all the time. And I didn’t love him the way that Charles and Jane did. The way his mother had. How did they keep this big of a secret from people they cared about?

  I sometimes thought that feeling ashamed of my actions was the reason I would get into it with Hartley. Some of it was because he said annoying, obnoxious things, but I didn’t like deceiving him. Using him. Although, to be fair, he intended to use me, too.

  But he’d at least been up-front and honest about it. My dishonesty and guilt curled up low in my gut, twisting and writhing into uncomfortable shapes.

  “Will you be staying to dine with us?” he asked his sister.

  She said her husband was expecting them home soon and that the nanny insisted on keeping to a regular schedule for Jacob’s bedtime, so she politely declined.

  A moment later, the nanny brought in the kids, and Hartley swooped down, picking up Jemima and twirling her around once in a circle. She laughed and shrieked, bringing a smile to all the adults in the room. His face . . . I’d never seen him so happy. Like he’d forgotten to be broody and morose. He went over and planted a kiss on the top of Jacob’s head, who gave his uncle a toothless grin.

  Something whispered to me that this was the real Hartley. The sarcastic, self-serving, withdrawn one was the mask, and this was the actual man. The one who loved his family. Who adored children. Who was excited and caring. Who forgot to scowl and be rude and was just happy.

  And for some reason, that made everything I was currently feeling a thousand times worse.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816

  Hospitals. With real doctors.

  Eventually, the disgust with myself began to wear off. I didn’t really have a choice. There was no way
to tell him about what had happened to me that he would understand. And I didn’t want to betray the trust that had been given to me by telling him about the magic that had made the time traveling possible. I rationalized it as best as I could and kept looking for the right book. Charles helped me search, and Jane brought over what she had. So far we hadn’t found anything, and our time was limited by Hartley’s presence. He seemed to be home more and more as the days went on. Which I liked more than I should have, but it was making it impossible for me to find what I was looking for.

  Even though my life had so radically changed, I was discovering that I didn’t miss the constant white noise and dinging interruptions of technology. There was a stillness here, a quiet that made everything easier. Mellower. My life was like being in college full-time only without the tests or the tuition fees. And I got to study history all the time. Well, it wasn’t technically history. More like current events. With lots of incredible original documents thrown in. I couldn’t believe the extent of the Portwood collection. Every day I found some new treasure that would elicit at least one “wow.”

  The lessons and training continued, and Charles hired a Mr. Watson to teach me all of those complicated line dances. Even though I’d never had any dance training growing up, it turned out I was a natural, and the dance practices became one of my favorite times of the day.

  My other favorite parts were the ones where I got to hang out in the library and lounge. With Hartley. He and I were getting along better. He hadn’t said anything infuriating, and I hadn’t thrown anything else at him. When it wasn’t directed at me, I loved his biting wit. And that I was getting more glimpses of the real Hartley.

  The downside to that was that my attraction to him had reached dizzying heights. I spent a lot of time fantasizing about kissing him. Dancing with him. Cuddling next to him on the couch while we read books together. Running my fingers through his sun-kissed hair or down the (presumably) corded muscles in his strong arms. Going on a date that didn’t end five minutes after we arrived.

  Or him smiling at me the way he smiled at Jemima. You could tell how much he adored her. I was deeply jealous of the two-year-old who had him wrapped around her little finger.

  The worst was when he caught me staring at him, and instead of saying anything, he just had this little half smile, and his blue eyes danced like he knew exactly what was going through my head and he thought it was funny. I still loved making him smile but didn’t like when it was at my expense.

  Sometimes it seemed like I caught him staring at me, too. I wanted to chalk it up to my overactive imagination, but it did happen. I didn’t know what it meant, and he never made any kind of move like he was interested, but it did make me feel less pathetic.

  Like now. I looked up from the book I’d been reading because he had moved from his desk to retrieve a paper that had fallen on the opposite side, close to where I sat. When he straightened, he looked at me, and the fiery intensity in his gaze would have knocked me over if I hadn’t already been sitting. There was a hunger there. Like he was starving and I was a filet mignon. The air between us solidified, making it hard to breathe. It crackled with tension and electricity until it was almost too much to take. I couldn’t help but lean in his direction, drawn to him and to whatever was happening between us. And it lasted for what felt like an eternity, until he sat back down without saying anything.

  It was all I could think about for the rest of the day. Why did he look at me like that? And why was it only when we were alone? Even through dinner, while he and Charles carried on a lively conversation, I was still trying to figure out what his deal was.

  He was very confusing.

  Not just with the staring stuff, but things like the footmen’s names. He called all of them William.

  “That’s Jamie,” I corrected him.

  “As far as I’m concerned, they’re all William.”

  “You do know Stephens didn’t hire a bunch of guys who just happened to have the same name, right?” I got that it made his life easier, but it didn’t seem like it would be that hard to remember the names of the people who lived in your house.

  Dinner ended, and like so many other nights, Charles and I were expected to “go through” to the drawing room while Hartley stayed behind. Sometimes he came with us, but sometimes he didn’t join us for a while. I didn’t get it. It also wasn’t a topic that Charles had covered yet.

  “What is it men do when the women leave?” I asked as the servants cleared the table and left the dining room. “What’s the big secret?”

  Hartley looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to be honest or mess with me. He went with teasing. “Manly things.”

  “Like what?” I retorted. “Belching and talking about sex?”

  My deliberate mention of a forbidden topic caused him to choke on his drink. But I saw his smile. I didn’t even bother to check out Charles’s expression. She was probably going to give me a time-out later. If I hadn’t already given her a coronary. “I can do that, too.”

  “Belch?” he asked, ever so politely.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Talk about sex. I haven’t done it yet, but I know enough.”

  “Should we go riding tomorrow?” he asked, ignoring my response. That desire to provoke him was back. I wanted his attention solely on me. More of what he’d given me earlier. I could just explain to Charles later that it was not as big of a deal in the future as it was here.

  “Don’t change the subject. Women are just as good as men. We can do anything men can do.” I paused. “Except write our names in the snow with our pee. But I bet if I really put my mind to it, I could even do that.”

  Charles gasped, but Hartley looked like he was about to break out in real laughter. “Is that so? Then by all means, let us act like equals.”

  That he agreed so quickly to revealing his secret ritual had me concerned. “What is it we’re going to do?”

  “Drink port. Some men also smoke, but I abhor it. Apparently, it is an unwritten law that all men must imbibe copious amounts of port after dinner.” At Hartley’s signal, a servant approached, carrying three glasses and a bottle of alcohol.

  “Why?”

  “They need the liquid courage before they are forced to rejoin the women.”

  “Pour me a glass,” I said, teeth clenched.

  “Aunt Charles?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “I’ve never much cared for it, but Emma is right. Women are as good as men. And when in Rome.”

  “You should probably be careful,” he said, handing the glass to me. The only thing I was careful about was to take it without touching him.

  “I’ve never actually had alcohol before,” I said, tasting a little bit of it. It was disgusting. But I couldn’t back down now.

  That statement made him freeze. Charles, fortunately, had stopped reacting whenever I said anything weird or shocking, now that she knew the truth about me. “You’ve never had any alcohol? Not even watered-down wine?” he asked.

  “Nope. I mean, no. My parents, or, my mother was killed by a drunk driver. In a car, er, carriage accident. So I’ve never really been interested in the stuff.”

  It was a moment before he responded. “My deepest condolences on your loss, Miss Blythe.”

  “Mine as well, my dear,” Charles added.

  “Thank you.” I would not cry. I wouldn’t.

  He held up his glass of port. “To Mrs. Blythe.” I held up my glass and internally added, to Mom and Dad. He knocked the whole thing back, and so did I. Which ended up being a huge mistake, as it burned my esophagus and made my eyes water. I started coughing, and that amused smile of his was back.

  “Another?” he asked, his tone indicating he didn’t think I could take it. If he’d been a frat boy, I’d have assumed he was trying to get me drunk and/or planned on roofie-ing me. But I knew my virtue was completely safe. Hartley just thought it was funny. I slammed my glass down and shoved it toward him, trying to regain my ability to breathe
. Charles also pushed her glass toward him, even though she had a grimace on her face.

  He again knocked it back, and I again copied him. More burning. Only this time, a pleasant, warm sensation started in the middle of my stomach and spread outward. It was nice. Within moments, I felt the most relaxed I’d felt since I’d arrived. Even with the corset on.

  “A third?”

  I should have stopped. I just couldn’t back down. So he poured again for all of us, and this time it didn’t burn so much going down. I just felt super mellow.

  “Shall we go through?” he asked, offering us his arms. I stood up, and my head spun. I leaned against the table for support until everything was back where it was supposed to be. I needed his arm to walk straight.

  I was drunk. I had to be. I never had been before, and it was strange. It felt like it had happened really quickly. It probably didn’t help that I had only picked at my dinner. My limbs felt loose, and my cheeks felt warm. This was nice.

  Princess came into the drawing room with us, following behind Charles. Charles sat in a chair next to the fireplace, and the dog jumped up into her lap. Hartley and I sat on a couch near her. The fire blazed brightly while the rain fell outside. He shifted and pulled a book out from under his leg. He read the title, and I didn’t recognize the language. “Was that Klingon?”

  “Latin,” he said and put it on the table. “What is ‘Klingon’?”

  “Alien language. Hard to explain. You speak Latin?” He nodded. “How many languages do you speak?”

  He paused, thinking. It was weird, but he seemed different, too. Relaxed, like me. Not as uptight.

  Although that may have been a skewed perception due to my inebriation.

  “English, French, some Greek and Latin. Only a smattering of German, I’m afraid. And you?”