The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2)

by Jennifer L. Hayes

  THE WAYFARER’S DAUGHTER

  Jennifer L. Hayes

  Dormer House Press

  Also by Jennifer L. Hayes

  The Wayfarer

  Copyright © 2016 Jennifer L. Hayes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any material resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

  For my mother, my best friend.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Jennifer L. Hayes

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1 Blame

  Chapter 2 Two Hours Earlier

  Chapter 3 What Are Friends For

  Chapter 4 Manchester Airport

  Chapter 5 Ashes to Ashes

  Chapter 6 Buxton

  Chapter 7 Birds

  Chapter 8 A discovery

  Chapter 9 A Lady’s Companion

  Chapter 10 Coincidence

  Chapter 11 Disappeared

  Chapter 12 Preparations

  Chapter 13 The Watch House

  Chapter 14 The Journal

  Chapter 15 The Earl’s Request

  Chapter 16 A Journey

  Chapter 17 Kindness

  Chapter 18 Lost and Found

  Chapter 19 First Light

  Chapter 20 To Catch A Train

  Chapter 21 The Gypsy Woman

  Chapter 22 Betrayed

  Chapter 23 Together

  Chapter 24 Dilemma

  Chapter 25 Baby Daddy

  Chapter 26 Miss Crabtree

  Chapter 27 Gone

  Chapter 28 Family Matters

  Chapter 29 A Wounded Man

  Chapter 30 Departure

  Chapter 31 A Note

  Chapter 32 Wrong Side of Town

  Chapter 33 Stake Out

  Chapter 34 What Now?

  Chapter 35 The Grieving Daughter

  Chapter 36 Proof

  Chapter 37 Secrets

  Chapter 38 A Day to Remember

  Chapter 39 Flesh Wounds

  Chapter 40 Connections

  Chapter 41 Charles

  Chapter 42 Crown and Anchor

  Chapter 43 Pluckrose

  Chapter 44 One Hell of a Day

  Chapter 45 A Visitor

  Chapter 46 Leaving

  Chapter 47 A Gift

  Chapter 48 Nerves

  Chapter 49 Mistakes

  Chapter 50 Late

  Chapter 51 Perfection

  Chapter 52 Present Day

  Acknowledgements

  To create any good story, not only do you need to allow an idea to percolate and your mind to roam free, but you also depend on a number of people to support that creativity. So I must first thank my family, who are always so patient and understanding during the process. My girls may very well have snuck a few extra treats and watched a bit more television than is normally allowed but other than a few choice words they may have picked up along the way, I don’t yet see any residual damage.

  To me, writing a novel is a collaboration and on that note I’d like to thank my editor RJ Locksley and my cover designers at Deranged Doctor Design for doing such a fantastic job. Others who have also been integral in the process are my dedicated beta readers. A special thanks to Leslie, Nikki and Griffin for all their notes which helped make the book the best that it could be. And of course, my readers who took the time to leave reviews or reach out to me personally by email or social media. Your words of encouragement inspired me.

  “It is not the strongest of the species that survive, not the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change.”

  Charles Darwin

  Chapter 1

  Blame

  Henry sized his father up, both men the very image of stubbornness.

  Even with his injuries, Henry thought that maybe he could force his way up and past his father. But what of the constable outside the door? What then? Would he free Emma and run off? To where? It didn’t seem like an extraordinary plan.

  The events of these last few hours still clogged his brain.

  Emma was a woman from the future. That made a lot of sense given her strange manner. He’d thought it on account of her being American. Evidently, that was only part of it. It was difficult for him to even picture this future world of hers. Even as a man who’d traveled outside of England and who considered himself a modern man, her accounts stretched the limits of his mind. Not to mention the notion of traveling through time. What kind of world did he live in where such things were even possible?

  “What in God’s name has gotten into you?” his father asked, reaching to dab a few beads of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. His large belly strained slightly against the buttons on his waistcoat. “That woman has played you like a fiddle and now am I to believe she’s rendered you incapable of rational thought?”

  “I’d watch your tongue, sir.” Henry’s anger swelled inside him, threatening to spill over. He’d never in his life raised his voice to his father. It was not the way he’d been brought up, but good breeding aside, he felt like he jolly well wanted—needed—to pick a fight now. He felt well and truly done with being at his father’s mercy and following his father’s will. “I will not allow your own prejudice to pollute my own clear thought. First there is the matter of your wife which must be addressed. She and my sister, it seems, have been up to some folly.”

  “Nonsense, Henry. I’ll not hear your stepmother disgraced in her absence. How dare you make such allegations. And your sister, she’s hardly got enough wits about her to plot against anyone.”

  “I beg to differ, sir. Miss Clayton has a very different account of my fair sister and I assure you, it’s not for the frail of heart.”

  “That is absurd.” His father gestured for Henry to gather his things. “I’ll not hear another word. Collect your things and I will have the carriage bring you home. This matter is no longer up for discussion.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort. I urge you to release Miss Clayton this very moment. I’ll not go anywhere without her.”

  “What’s this? Is this some sort of romantic notion? Are you mad?”

  Henry’s body twitched at his father’s condescension. In his whole life he’d never been more sure of anything than he was of his feelings for Miss Clayton. It was as if he’d been preparing for such a woman for a long time—one who would challenge him, inspire him and stand as his equal.

  “I love her.”

  “Argh! Love? What do you know of such things?”

  “I know my own mind, Father, and it is quite made up.”

  “Made up, is it? You speak like a poet, son, not a future earl. You have responsibilities and a path that is most decidedly all laid out for you and I will assure you it does not involve the murderous Miss Jacob.”

  “She’s not a murderer. Nor is she that imposter’s wife. I know her character as I know my own.”

  “Not a murderer, you say? I think the late Mr. Jacob would beg to differ, given that he’s suffered a bullet through his skull.”

  “Pardon me? He died in a fire. Emma told me herself.”

  “There may have been fire involved, but he was found with
a deadly gunshot wound. And then only hours later, I hear of your own misfortune. Can you not see how this looks?”

  “I’ll admit it is untoward, but Father, I urge you not to condemn Miss Clayton on suspicion alone. Please suspend judgment until you have heard her own account. I believe her to be innocent of all wrongdoing and once you’ve spoken to her, you too will understand.”

  The earl cleared his throat impatiently. He hated to be challenged.

  “Very well, I will give her the benefit of her own defense, but from where I stand it does not look to be favorable for her and, furthermore, it reeks distinctly of scandal, something this family can scarcely weather.”

  A knock at the door interrupted the men.

  “I said no interruptions,” the earl shouted. He was red in the face and looked close to an aneurism.

  The constable poked his head in the door. With wide eyes he braced himself for another verbal attack from the earl.

  “Pardon me, my lord, but it seems that, um… the lady, it appears she may have…”

  “Stop mumbling. Spit it out!” The earl dabbed again at his forehead. Yelling had caused him to expel a tremendous amount of energy. Even his breathing seemed a little labored to Henry.

  “She’s run off, my lord.”

  The earl gave Henry a knowing look that screamed, I told you so.

  Concern clawed at Henry’s heart. It would be near impossible to prove her innocent now. Just when he’d finally discovered a kink in his father’s resolve, now that tiny glimmer of hope was extinguished.

  How could she be so careless?

  Did she not trust that he could offer his protection?

  Frustration battled despair within him. Her strong will and lack of propriety were infuriating. Well, if he had to be honest with himself, it was those very same traits that drew him to her, perhaps against his better judgment. He relished how she matched his wit and considered herself his equal rather than his inferior. So rare in a gentlewoman bred merely to serve and obey.

  Some obedience might be useful, however. She would be the death of him yet, of that he was sure.

  Now the matter of his father. His job would become infinitely more difficult with this new setback.

  “You’ve brought the carriage?”

  “I have.”

  “Let’s away then.” Henry stood carefully on one leg and ignored the searing pain in his right side from the gunshot wound.

  Chapter 2

  Two Hours Earlier

  Isobel’s nerves were shattered.

  Why had she not yet heard any news from Mr. White? Their blasted plans were unraveling around her. She would not get stuck holding the boiling kettle, of that she would make sure.

  It had seemed so simple at first. The removal of her brother would drastically change her position within the family. All she had to do then was accept an advantageous proposal of marriage and her husband would become the next earl and she the countess.

  As a future barrister, Mr. White had been very helpful in reminding her about the laws of succession and more than willing to help form a plan when he believed himself to be in the running for her hand. She almost laughed out loud at the thought of even considering his hand in marriage. How could he expect to hold her to such a ridiculous thing? Honestly, a simple tradesman becoming Earl of Pembrooke.

  No, she had her heart set on finding a greater man. Now, with the lure of a title, her prospects increased dramatically. She imagined the suitors lining up outside their front door and down the lane to the little old cottage.

  She studied herself in the looking glass sitting atop the table in her room.

  “Magic mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” she said, smirking at her own reflection.

  Oh, how she loved the Brothers Grimm. Their understanding of good and evil was divine. She had her own thoughts on the matter. Good and evil existed in every living thing. She was capable of good deeds. However, it was always far more exciting to allow her evil side a little more room than was generally permissible.

  Isobel hated allowing others to decide her own fate. That never lent itself to a happy life. Her own mother was a perfect example.

  Isobel and her mother were mirror opposites of each other. On the outside, her mother looked cross and intolerant, terrifying even, but that was a mere act. Her mother was a slave to her own good breeding and upbringing. As a result, she never ventured to take what she wanted, always waiting until things were offered.

  That was certainly not Isobel. When she saw opportunity, she pounced on it like a kitten on yarn. No one was going to willingly give her the things she wanted, so she had spent a lifetime learning how to manipulate those things out of everyone.

  Her own father adored her. She’d made that her number one priority.

  Silly man. Her father had no idea what Isobel was truly capable of. He thought her silly and simple-minded.

  She would show him. She would show them all.

  Over the years, she had become quite the little actress. Miss Emma Clayton had been easy to win over with a few kind words and generous offerings, all while Isobel plotted her next move.

  It was with Miss Clayton that the trouble had started. She and Isobel’s brother were never supposed to form an attachment. That was where Isobel’s plan had faltered.

  With the poor girl’s memory gone Isobel came up with the brilliant plan of a long-lost husband. It served both her parents interests and her own. Although her parents would never have outwardly condoned such a measure, she knew that the outcome pleased them just the same.

  Mr. White was unmatched in his gifts of forgery. He’d been making extra pounds on the side for the last year forging checks from wealthy clients. He’d established quite a little side business with a few of society’s unfavorables.

  A little bob here or there and they never notice, he’d tell her.

  Everything had been on track until Henry, being the gallant man that he was, decided to call off the hunt and go after Miss Clayton himself.

  Of course Isobel could not allow that!

  Mr. White rode out to stop that reunion from happening.

  If anyone found out, Isobel would be ruined. Naturally she would have deflected all of the blame on Mr. White, but not with Miss Clayton there to contradict her story. That could not be allowed to happen.

  Now everything was a dreadful mess. It needed immediate attention.

  Why had Isobel not yet heard any news? She glanced out the window of her room. Another storm was moving in.

  There was a loud knock at the door downstairs.

  Isobel ventured out of her room and stood at the railing of the stairs, hoping to eavesdrop.

  It’s happened!

  There were muffled voices and then men’s footsteps echoed through the great hall towards Father’s study.

  She almost tripped over her skirts as she glided down the stairs, hoping to be the first to console her father over the loss of his only son.

  Right place at the right time.

  When he looked back on this moment, he would remember the tender way she’d held him and given him strength in this time of deep sorrow.

  A tiny thrill of excitement burst in her belly at the thought of being in the middle of a crisis. The center of attention.

  Playing her part as the grieving sister was a role she’d rehearsed so many times in her thoughts that now that it had actually come to be, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to quell her anticipation.

  She arrived on her mark just in time for the door to her father’s study to fly open.

  “Father!” she said. “What’s happened? I heard the door—”

  “It’s Henry,” he said, his voice urgent but not yet grief-stricken. “There’s been an accident.”

  Isobel burst into tears.

  “Nooo, please tell me he lives,” she managed with so much emotion that half the household staff came scurrying out of hiding to witness the commotion.

  “He does, sweet girl,
but I must go to him.”

  Drat!

  “Apparently Miss Clayton discovered him and brought him to the White Hart.” He brushed a knuckle across her face to wipe away an errant tear.

  “Miss Clayton?” Isobel practically spat, the shock impossible to hide. How was this possible? Mr. White had assured her that all would be set to rights.

  How could she have trusted a mere boy to do a man’s job?

  She had to think fast. Her mind spun like a wheel.

  Phoebus the butler suddenly emerged by her side, startling her as he always did. She hated how he skulked around.

  “My lord, there is a constable at the door who wishes to discuss some rather sensitive details regarding what looks to be arson in nearby Lipshire. Apparently, a woman was seen fleeing by a nearby neighbor. A woman of unusual height and blonde unkempt hair,” Phoebus said with one raised brow.

  Lipshire?

  Isobel knew that place.

  That was where she’d found her Mr. Jacob.

  Isobel knew right away that Phoebus suspected this to be Miss Clayton. He also loved a good intrigue. He fancied himself after Dupin, from Edgar Allan Poe’s stories, always using his keen intellect to solve mysteries.

  Utterly ridiculous! But for her purposes, the perfect person to corroborate her own false accounts. His suspicion of Miss Clayton would serve Isobel well.

  “Please tell him I must tend to my son, but if he wishes to follow me I’ve great need of his services.” Her father was already struggling into his greatcoat with the help of his valet. A veil of rain brushed the countryside outside, making the air feel damp and chilled.

  Another storm would be passing through shortly.

  “Very well, my lord.” Without any mark of urgency, Phoebus returned to the great hall.

  Only a little blip.

  All was not yet lost.

  It would be her word against that of a known liar.

  She watched as her father left in a great hurry, the constable on his right and another already mounted and waiting.