Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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

  A human-to-cat dictionary. And a woman-to-man dictionary.

  As we walked back to the house, there was a distance between us that made me feel even sicker. I had honestly planned to be back home by now. James had been this shadowy figure who wasn’t real. But now he was here. I was about to meet him.

  Stephens could have gone on ahead, but he stayed with us like some kind of self-appointed chaperone. Which was probably a good thing because it seemed like lately whenever Hartley and I were alone together, it was only a matter of time until we started kissing. Burn-down-the-house-hot kinds of kisses. Which prevented me from thinking clearly, obviously.

  It was totally one thing for a guy to want you. It was quite another for him to love you.

  I needed to stop confusing the two.

  Not that it mattered now. James had finally shown up, and my window with Hartley was closing.

  As if Mother Nature got how I felt, the skies above us darkened just as we reached the parlor. Stephens held the patio door open for us, and Hartley glanced up at the clouds. “We should hurry inside before an older gentleman starts collecting things in pairs.”

  Now he joked? I felt like my whole world was falling apart, and he thought this was the time to make some kind of Noah reference? Seriously?

  They waited for me to go first, and as I entered the room, a loud crack of thunder shook the house’s frame and the ground under my feet. I cringed and immediately felt Hartley walk up behind me, as if ready to comfort or protect me.

  “Are you well?” he asked softly, but my eyes were trained on the man standing near the fireplace.

  He was tall like Hartley and had the same sun-kissed hair as Hartley. He turned slowly, and there was no question that this was James. He had light-brown eyes and a warm smile.

  Objectively, he was hot. He shared Hartley’s DNA. How could he not be hot?

  But there was no thrill. No zing. No racing heart when I saw him. I only half listened as Hartley made the introductions, offering my hand while James bowed over it. Neither one of us were wearing gloves, and while his hands felt a little like Hartley’s, they weren’t warm like his. I didn’t shiver when James touched me.

  He was Diet Coke. Not quite like the real thing.

  “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Blythe. I have heard a great deal about you.”

  I totally forgot all my manners. “You too, J—I mean, Mr. Portwood.” I probably should have curtsied at some point during this exchange, but I watched Hartley instead. Wondering what he was thinking. Now that his brother was here, would he change his mind? Would he give up his scheme to get me married off to James? I sat on one of the sofas, and the brothers sat a second later in matching armchairs.

  The two men made small talk and both tried to draw me into the conversation several times as they spoke about James’s travels. But I was still too keyed up from what had almost happened in the garden and couldn’t make myself concentrate. Was it just physical between Hartley and me? Did he feel something more? Why did he keep kissing me? Was I just convenient?

  At some point, the brothers must have given up on trying to include me and just talked to each other. Which was good, because I had too much to think about. Holding in a wistful sigh, I wished Bex were here so I could talk to her about it. She was the only person who would be on my side. Everybody else wanted to marry me off.

  A few minutes later both men stood, startling me.

  “If you will excuse us, Miss Blythe, my brother and I have some family business to discuss,” Hartley said. They bowed slightly, and this time I would have made Charles proud in remembering how to respond.

  What family business? Was I the family business they were going to talk about?

  James walked in front of Hartley, leaving the room first. And just as he walked past me, Hartley turned. His voice was low and urgent. “As to your question earlier, I still believe it would be best for you to marry my brother. He will protect and care for you, and given your unusual circumstances, you will be in need of both. Especially if you have to stay.”

  He bowed again and left before I had a chance to respond. A red haze lit up the edges of my vision, and my lungs constricted in my chest. Why would he want me to marry James when he kept kissing me like I was the only woman in the whole world who mattered? Why did he act like an overprotective boyfriend when he intended to pass me along to his brother? He didn’t treat me like I was going to be his sister-in-law. He behaved like he wanted me for himself.

  But his actions never seemed to match up to his words.

  What was I supposed to trust? How he acted or what he said?

  I raced across the room, ready to confront him. He didn’t get to almost kiss me and then say I still had to marry his brother. I almost smacked right into Charles, who popped up in front of me like some kind of witch-in-the-box.

  “Have you made James’s acquaintance yet?” she asked, her eyes dancing. She was up to something, no doubt.

  “I met him, yes. And?”

  She studied me carefully, probably noticing my heaving chest, my balled-up fists, and my angry expression.

  “Have you ever seen a group of dolphins, my dear?”

  Surprise diffused my anger. “Yes.” I didn’t have time to explain to her about SeaWorld and school field trips.

  Princess barked once at me and then sat next to Charles’s feet. “I saw a great deal of dolphins while accompanying my husband aboard his ships. Do you know what happens when a dolphin is ill? I was told that dolphins need to move or they die. And they need to stay close to the ocean’s surface for air. When a dolphin becomes too ill to swim, the other dolphins stay with him. They nudge him, helping him up to the surface.”

  Was this a metaphor or a literal thing given her abilities? I did not want to be turned into a dolphin. Before I could say as much, she went on.

  “People are sometimes like dolphins. They just need a nudge to bring them back to the surface.”

  And after dispensing that bit of wisdom, my so-called chaperone went up to her room with her dog.

  Who needed the nudge? Not me. I knew what and whom I wanted. Was she saying Hartley needed a nudge? To get over his dead girlfriend and see if we had a future together?

  But how could I nudge him?

  As I thought of ways to find out whether or not he had real feelings for me, I walked through the foyer, just near the study. Until my feet struck something warm and solid, sending me tumbling down face-first.

  I just avoided hitting my head and turned over to see Sir Reginald blinking back at me. “So I save your life, and this is how you repay me?” Dumb cat. I got up, stretching to test my limbs to make sure I hadn’t broken anything. I didn’t want some 1816 shaman attempting to fix a fractured tibia.

  “You know, you could try and do something besides plot my death. Why not make yourself useful?” I asked the unmoving feline. “Like help me find the spell I’ve been looking for.” I let out a sigh, worried that me having a conversation with Sir Reginald was probably indicative of how stressed out I’d become.

  Then the strangest thing happened. The stupid cat meowed at me. Repeatedly. Like he was trying to speak to me. Maybe I actually had hit my head and was now imagining things.

  Sir Reginald took a few steps forward and expectantly looked over his shoulder. He meowed again. It was like he wanted me to follow him, crazy as that might have sounded. Not traveling-through-time crazy, but close.

  While recognizing that none of this made sense, I followed him anyway. And once he saw that I was doing what he wanted, he sprinted upstairs and trotted down the hallway. It wasn’t easy to keep up with him.

  He stopped in front of Hartley’s room and meowed. Glancing from left to right to make sure I was alone, I opened the door, and the cat darted inside. I closed the door shut and locked it, not wanting to be discovered by any of the staff. The sight of Hartley’s bed made my cheeks flush a
deep pink, and I focused on Sir Reginald instead. He meowed at another door, and we walked through a small room containing Hartley’s clothes to another door. I opened the door to the second closet, and it was the same size as Hartley’s, but there was a distinct feminine scent here. It was faded, but I could definitely detect lavender.

  The shelves and armoire were empty. Had this room belonged to his mother? And had anybody even been in here since she died? Unlike the rest of the house, these shelves were covered in dust, and the sunlight filtering in through the dirty window was full of motes that I kicked up.

  Sir Reginald jumped on top of a small desk and meowed.

  This was crazy. I had followed a cat through the house like he was Lassie and was going to help me save Timmy.

  But I’d come this far. I opened all the drawers. Dust flew up, causing me to sneeze three times in a row. Like the shelves, they had all been emptied out.

  “There’s nothing here,” I told the cat. He blinked at me in response but maintained his vigil on top of the desk.

  I’d found a secret door behind Hartley’s portrait. And I’d certainly seen enough movies to know that old desks had hiding places. I started pushing on knobs, feeling really silly.

  Right up until the moment when I pushed a raised fleur-de-lis and a slot opened just underneath the main part of the desk. Hand shaking, I reached in and pulled out a thin stack of papers. I thumbed through them, heart pounding in my throat. A few pages in I found what I was looking for. Not only did the words seem familiar, but a bolt of recognition shot through me. I knew this was it.

  The way back home.

  I hurried out, not stopping until I reached the safety of my own room. I silently read the page over and over again, not daring to say the words aloud.

  This was it. This was what I had been desperately searching for. I could go back to electricity, sanitation, and better personal hygiene. And razors! First thing I would do was shave my legs, as they had taken on a gorilla-like appearance.

  But . . .

  Hartley.

  I loved him. And I didn’t want to leave him. Not while there was still a chance. Not until I knew for sure that he either didn’t or couldn’t love me. Not until all hope was gone.

  Sir Reginald came in the room and jumped onto the bed next to me. “So all I had to do was ask you and you would have led me to this spell earlier?”

  The cat blinked lazily before curling himself into a ball and going to sleep.

  There was a knock at my door, and I shoved the papers under the pillow. I went to answer it and found Charles. I hoped I looked calm, because my nervous system was freaking out.

  “I have arranged for a carriage to take us shopping, and then we will return home to dress for a musicale I am hosting in James’s honor. It will be a small affair; I only wanted to make sure we celebrated the occasion.”

  “Give me a second to grab my stuff. I’ll be right down.” I didn’t particularly want to go shopping given what had just happened, but I intended to keep it to myself for now.

  Grabbing my bonnet, I slammed it down on my head. I used my key to open my locked drawer and put the papers inside. Hartley still had my phone and my watch, but I knew he would keep them safe. Making sure the drawer was secure, I joined Charles downstairs.

  Once we were on our way, I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Hey, do you have any, like, magic animals?”

  “Magic animals?” she repeated. “Sometimes we have familiars. Magical creatures that take on the appearance of animals. They often help to guide and protect young witches. My mother said they were also useful for divining information. Why do you ask?”

  That explained what had just happened to me. But did she not know about Sir Reginald? Did Jane? He had been her cat. I supposed it didn’t actually matter whether or not they knew. It seemed that he wasn’t out to kill me. He was here to help me. Had already helped me. Why? Who had sent him?

  But if I told Charles my reason for asking, I would have to tell her about what I found. “Just you talking about dolphins earlier and seeing how attached you are to your dogs. It made me wonder.” I didn’t like lying to her, but it felt necessary in my current situation.

  Charles bestowed a beaming smile on Princess. “My dogs are just dogs. Wonderful, loyal, loving dogs.”

  I watched the buildings and trees as we drove past. I could guess what Charles would want me to do. She would want me to stay. She might even do something to force me to stay.

  But I would be the only one who decided what was best for me and my future.

  * * *

  Seeing Emma’s belongings still on his desk, Hartley nonchalantly placed several papers on top of them. He glanced at his brother to see if he had noticed, but nothing in James’s expression indicated that he had. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Hartley dropped into his chair while James sat across the desk from him.

  “So Miss Blythe is the woman you wish for me to marry? To keep me away from Amelia Godwin?”

  Hartley’s mind had remained in the garden, caught up in the memory of the feel of Emma’s soft skin, the urgent desire he had to kiss her senseless and make the entire world fade away. The world that had come crashing down when his brother had arrived.

  And he had planned to subtly manipulate James into doing what he wanted. Hartley had not counted on James already knowing about his plan. “Who told you?”

  “Julia.”

  “How the devil does Julia know?”

  James had not stopped smiling since he sat down. “Jane, of course.”

  Hartley should have accounted for the gossiping of his sisters. They were extremely close and did not believe in keeping secrets from one another. It meant that Jessica, even though she was far away, most likely also knew.

  Was there a way to salvage his scheme? Because this marriage had to take place. Not only to keep James from Miss Godwin and to ensure an heir to the earldom, but because Emma needed a husband. The things she had shared with him about the future made her marriage imperative. Someone else might think her mad and have her committed to a place like Bethlem Hospital. She had to be kept safe.

  “Am I to take it that you mean to thwart me?” Hartley asked.

  “I did not say that,” James responded. “Tell me about her.”

  The request made something twist in Hartley’s gut. There was so much he wanted to say as tribute to her, but he held his words back. He wanted to tell James how capable and strong she was. That he was sure he would not have fared half so well if he were forced into her century. But at the same time how soft and vulnerable she could be, provoking long-dormant protective instincts.

  Or how her quick wit had moved him to laugh more in the last few weeks than he had laughed in the last few years.

  How she had won over every one of their family members and collected the admiration of so many influential members of the ton.

  That he admired her and generally liked her as a person.

  As an actual friend.

  But he did not say these things to James, because to say them would reveal that his thoughts about Emma had been less than proper, particularly given the basis for this discussion. So instead he asked, “What would you like to know?”

  “I saw for myself that she is pretty. But is she amiable? What made you think I would want to take her as my wife?”

  Pretty nearly felt like an insult. Emma was breathtakingly beautiful, exotic looking and enticing. But he didn’t contradict James. “She is amiable.”

  That made James laugh. “You are not hawking her wares very well. What’s wrong with her? Is she simple?”

  “There is nothing simple about her. She is an extremely intelligent and well-educated woman,” Hartley retorted, still stung at James not appreciating Emma’s beauty. “Although she often chooses to treat reason and logic with a certain degree of flexibility.”

  “Most women do,” James said. “I’m glad. I expect to have an intelligent wife. One that is unlike your Miss Amesbury.”
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br />   “Don’t,” Hartley warned. He didn’t want Libby to be brought into this. His family had never cared for her, and James bringing her up made him experience a sharp guilt he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  He realized it was because Emma had made him forget.

  “Don’t what? Say her name? Why ever not? You were admittedly blinded by love, but she was not a bright woman. You would have tired of her quickly. She was unworthy of your devotion.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Hartley refused to contradict his brother or to make Libby a part of this conversation. “We were speaking of Miss Blythe. And I wanted to mention that she is a quieting sort. She does not feel the need to have all eyes on her or to be the center of attention.”

  This did not redirect the conversation as Hartley had hoped. From James’s expression, he knew what his brother was thinking. He was again comparing Emma to Libby, who had always wanted to be the most popular woman in any room.

  And “quieting” was most likely an inaccurate description. While Emma was not loud and boisterous in the company of others, Hartley did not feel quieted while with her. She agitated him. He always felt on edge around her, as if he were being challenged. He found himself in a constant state of anticipation to see what she would do or say next. And she might have made life confusing, but she also made it interesting and exciting. It seemed he did not prefer things to be routine and reliable, as he had once thought.

  “Is she selfish? Mean-spirited?”

  “Not at all.” Hartley felt the need to rush to her defense. “She’s kind. Even to the servants. She’s always noticing them, calling them by name, and thanking them. The other night Stephens brought us our tea. He’s had a bit of a rough patch lately. He stumbled, and Emma jumped up to help.” His instinct was to correct her, but he had found that he had no voice. He could only watch as she soothed Stephens’s injured pride and put everything to right.

  And then he had felt ashamed. Ashamed that he hadn’t leaped to Stephens’s rescue first. “She is the sort of woman that makes a man want to be better.” Even he couldn’t deny the roughness in his voice. “Which would obviously make her the perfect wife for you, James. You so desperately need the improvement.”