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

by Jennifer L. Hayes

  Emma walked through the door, her cheeks flushed and her smile brimming. “What exciting plans do we have the night before my wedding?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Let’s see, after Miss Crabtree and I take you downstairs for a wonderful pub dinner, the Chippendales crew are going to give you a lap dance.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Emma set her iPhone by the window with her solar power charger. “I want to make sure we capture every moment of it.”

  “What was your surprise?”

  “Oh, yeah. You are looking at the proud owner of one very fine horse.”

  “Wow!”

  “He also said that Angus is mine”—she plopped down on the four-poster bed—“and the new chestnut is named Blue, a very naughty boy indeed.” Emma beamed.

  “Do you think your mother might have a go?” Eileen asked with enthusiasm.

  “That could be arranged.” Emma looked around the room. “Where’s Miss Crabtree?”

  “She said she had something to tend to.” There was a pause. “But I’m not quite sure what that meant. Perhaps she’s gone to ensure that Mrs. Greasley is well stocked with cakes.”

  They laughed together at that.

  A moment of silence hung in the air.

  “Have you ever asked her what happened to your sister?” Emma asked.

  “Funny you should ask that. I’ve brought it up but she’s reluctant to talk about it.”

  “Oh?”

  “I asked her if Emily kept another journal. I’ve read through the one we have but it seems to end abruptly and…” Eileen hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Well, from what you said, Emily was here for about eight months and this journal ends two months before that.”

  “So you think there might be another journal somewhere?”

  “Could be. My sister was always very fond of writing and I can’t imagine that she would simply stop.” Eileen waved a hand at her daughter. “I’m not implying that anything sinister has gone on.”

  “Still, it would be nice to know what happened. When I met her she was afraid of something but she didn’t really say what. She lived a bit off the grid.”

  “Being a lesbian in a small town was never easy, but I wonder what happened to her. That scene you described in her house disturbs me. But…” Eileen clapped her hands together. “Let’s not dwell on that for now. This is a big night for you. After tomorrow we’ll be calling you Mrs. Henry Drake.”

  “I guess there’s no option to keep my own name?”

  Eileen gave her a scolding look. “Not in the nineteenth century, darling. Let’s have a drink to Miss Emma Clayton.” Eileen got up and opened a bottle of French wine that she’d had the foresight to purchase earlier that day. She poured two generous helpings and handed one to Emma, holding her glass up high. “To my beautiful brave daughter. Your courage and your light inspire me every step of the way.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m so relieved to have you here. Your honesty and integrity inspire me.”

  Eileen forced a broad smile. She knew that she’d not been honest with her daughter and she dreaded the look on Emma’s face when she realized that. There were still secrets between them. Big ones.

  They clinked glasses and took a sip of their wine.

  “Can I drink wine—you know, if I’m pregnant?”

  “Darling, they won’t even realize that it’s bad for you for another one hundred and forty years. Plus I’m sure I drank when I was pregnant for you.”

  Emma shot her mother a dubious look.

  Eileen shrugged innocently. “What?” She hoped that when the time came Emma would be able to forgive her.

  The door opened with a creak and Miss Crabtree clucked her way into the room. “Have you started the celebration without me?”

  Another glass was poured and in her hand just as she reached the small armchair.

  “To what are we toasting this time, dear?” Miss Crabtree asked.

  “To a long and happy life,” Emma offered.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve already missed the boat on the former. I’ll have to settle simply for happy,” the old lady said with pursed lips.

  Judging by the last two months perhaps longevity was too much to hope for, Eileen lamented.

  “To happiness!”

  Emma held her glass up and then took a sip.

  To happiness, Eileen thought, a pain constricted in her chest.

  Chapter 49

  Mistakes

  “I fear you may need to give the scones and clotted cream a rest, dear, if you’re to have any hope of fitting into that dress.”

  Miss Crabtree had gotten me hooked on those delicious English specialties and now I couldn’t stop eating them. It might also be that they were some of the few foods that didn’t turn my stomach.

  “It fit two weeks ago. I can’t believe my body has changed that much.”

  “Believe it, darling, I will need to sew you into the blasted thing.” Eileen rose and headed for the door. “I’ll ask Mrs. Greasley for a needle and thread.”

  “I can’t believe it. How humiliating.” Everything was setting me off this morning.

  Was I turning into Bridezilla?

  “It could be worse, dear,” Miss Crabtree said innocently.

  “How?”

  “I’m not quite sure at the moment, but give me time and I’ll certainly come up with something.”

  Overnight my belly had been activated. It was as if sensing my imminent nuptials it just sort of gave up. At least it was going to be a small wedding. The earl and countess were hosting dinner immediately following the ceremony at St James’ Parish. That had been a surprising turn of events. Not only had they finally given in to Henry’s wishes, they had also given us their blessing.

  The skeptic in me had asked Henry what the catch was. Were we to hand over our firstborn?

  “Have you so little faith, Miss Clayton?” he’d asked me.

  “As a matter of fact experience has taught me well.” That had been my smug rebuttal.

  Trust was no longer a commodity. There were very few people I did trust: Henry, my mother, Miss Crabtree and of course April, even if she wasn’t yet born.

  I shrugged out of my dress and placed it carefully on the bed. It was made from the finest silk and lace. The front swooped down, giving a hint of cleavage.

  With no inhibition, I strolled through the room in my French lace underwear. I wanted to give Henry a nice little surprise once we were alone tonight so I’d had the dress made to accommodate my undergarments. Of course the seamstress had seemed quite scandalized but, knowing who I was to marry, she’d obliged.

  My mom knocked and walked straight in.

  “Oh, Emma, do put something on,” she scolded. “What if Mr. Greasley had been standing outside the door?”

  “Then he would have had a show,” I said innocently.

  “Definitely not my daughter.”

  My mother was not as comfortable with nudity, maybe even a bit prudish. When she’d noticed my tattoo she was mortified that I’d done that to myself and that some man I didn’t know had seen such an intimate part of my body.

  I obliged and wrapped myself in my blue cashmere shawl. Its soft fabric felt like heaven on my skin.

  My mother fiddled with the back of my dress.

  “All right, dear, let’s try this again.” She waved a hand for me to join her.

  As soon as I stepped in she got to work trying to fit my small bulge within the confines of the dress.

  “As least you’ll have a long train,” she mumbled with a needle held between her lips. “It’s a shame really, Henry will have a devil of a time prying you out of the thing.”

  She and Miss Crabtree laughed. I was a little less amused. My impatience could hardly handle a cravat let alone a full-on mummy costume.

  With another small tug she was done.

  “Look at you.” With emotion running high she walked a full circle around me. “What a beautiful bride.”


  “Thanks, Mom. Even if I do look like a meringue.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  I threw my arms around her.

  The unmistakable sound of a carriage and four-horse team pulled up out front.

  I looked out the window, but it wasn’t Henry’s. In fact, it looked rather fancy compared to anything around here. Some sort of family emblem was painted on the door.

  That’s odd.

  My mom was still fiddling with my train when there was a knock at the door.

  “Are you decent, ma’am?” Mrs. Greasley’s panicked voice came from the other side.

  Had she run up the flight of stairs? The thought made me giggle.

  “Yes, we are,” Eileen called out, only half paying attention.

  “It’s just that there’s a gentleman here to see you, and I wasn’t sure if it was proper, but he insists,” she said, still on the other side.

  “If it’s Lord Henry, tell him he mustn’t,” I called out.

  Miss Crabtree seemed oddly quiet. I was surprised she hadn’t rushed to barricade the door as she’d done to the earl.

  We heard voices on the other side of the door. Mrs. Greasley was clearly swooning over someone.

  “Your Grace, sir…” she started and then stopped.

  The door clicked and creaked open and a very handsome man in his early fifties came through.

  Who was this man who was so adamant about coming in, now of all times?

  Surely this violated some sort of rules.

  His eyes locked on to me.

  “Eileen?” he said tentatively.

  I looked immediately to my mother, who stood frozen in place, her expression impossible to read.

  The gentleman’s eyes followed mine and now I was looking between the two as they stared at each other.

  No one was saying a word.

  Uncomfortable.

  Was anyone going to explain?

  “Mother?” I usually used this formal form of address when I felt like she needed to do something.

  The man spoke first.

  “You must be wondering what I’m doing here.” His accent was so incredibly proper, deep and commanding.

  “It had crossed my mind, now that you mention it.” My comment dripped with sarcasm.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d received my letter.” My mother was slowly coming out of her coma.

  So she does know him fairly well if there are letters.

  “Yes, well, I had a little trouble finding you without some help.” He looked towards Miss Crabtree, who was doing a good job of looking like she no longer heard anything.

  “Well, I’m very pleased that you found my mother and all, but I do have a wedding to get to, so, not to be rude or anything…” I let my words trail off. He did look like a very nice gentleman, gold buttons and all, but I did not want to be late.

  “Right, about that. I’m afraid you cannot marry Lord Drake—”

  I knew the earl had something up his sleeve. I just knew it. Of course they would bring some fancy-shmancy guy from London, no doubt with a legal reason why the marriage could not take place. Typical.

  Was my mother also involved? That hardly made sense.

  My eyes narrowed and I contemplated how best to dispose of the man.

  “—without the blessing of your father.” His tone was serious save for a small twitch from the side of his mouth.

  “Charles?” my mother said almost in reproach. At the moment that seemed to be the only thing she could say.

  “It just so happens I am very well acquainted with the gentleman, a fine man, I do say, and—”

  What on earth was this man jabbering on about? He could not know my father.

  “Excuse me, sir.” I put a hand out to stop him. “Who might you be? I don’t recall an introduction.”

  If I was going to tear him a new one, I certainly needed his name.

  “My apologies, dear, the sight of you has made me forget my manners. I am the Duke of Harrington. Most refer to me simply as Your Grace, or Duke if you are one of my peers, Harrington if we are perhaps better acquainted and if you’d like to see me in a foul mood Harry. But other than my mother, only one”—his eyes were now trained on my mother—“has had the distinct privilege of calling me Charles.”

  Right.

  If he wasn’t so charming and easy on the eyes I would have found him obnoxious.

  My mother stepped around me now and stood in front of the duke.

  “So pleased to see you again, Your Grace.”

  “Please do still call me Charles,” he whispered, but it was loud enough for me to hear.

  “Am I missing something?”

  “You are so like your mother,” said the duke to me. His eyes were kind and just like mine. Hazel with gold specks, slanted just slightly.

  My own eyes widened and something hard rose up in my chest.

  “If you only knew how desperate I was to meet you, and after twenty-four years.”

  “But…how…what?”

  My mother turned to me with tears in her eyes.

  I knew what she was going to say. There was no denying it.

  “Emma, the duke is your father, your real father.”

  Heat flooded to my checks. I needed to sit.

  “Come sit down, dear.” Miss Crabtree finally joined the reunion. “Before you overreact, please hear your parents out.”

  Parents? These were my parents?

  “I’ve made mistakes,” the duke started.

  “And so have I,” my mother continued.

  “How did this happen?”

  “Your mother and I…” He broke off. “Clearly you don’t need a lesson, child, but twenty-five years ago your mother and I were well-acquainted, let’s just say. Perhaps we can save the specifics for another time when we aren’t so pressed. I understand you have a wedding to get to.”

  “Umm…yes, I do.” All of this was so much to process. I didn’t know which emotion to allow to flourish. So many were twirling around inside that I felt conflicted. “You both have a lot of explaining to do. Right now, I have other things to consider, not least of which is the man who is waiting for me at the altar.”

  Henry would not like to be kept waiting.

  “Would you allow me the honor of accompanying you and presenting you to your future husband? I certainly don’t want to be presumptuous, but it would mean a great deal to me.”

  So much pressure.

  My mother looked at me hopefully, her eyes full of tears waiting to be shed.

  I supposed it would be better than having the earl walk me down the aisle.

  “Hold on,” I said. Before I could continue I needed to know something. “One thing that is rather confusing though, Your Grace, is what am I supposed to call you? I mean, of course I can call you Your Grace but should I want to address you another way, is there one? The formality at times may seem a bit odd…”

  His smile reached all the way to his eyes.

  “Dear child, you are more like your mother than I ever imagined.” He paused as if considering how to proceed. “When it pleases you, call me Father, and perhaps over time, you may permit me to call you Emma. My sweet Lady Emma. I have waited so long to say those words.”

  Lady Emma…I kind of liked the sound of that.

  “Very well, Your Grace.” I looked to my mom. “Mother, let’s do this thing because I am starving.”

  The duke offered the crook of his arm and we made our way downstairs towards his carriage.

  What other surprises are in store? I wondered with apprehension.

  Chapter 50

  Late

  Henry looked again at his pocket watch.

  Emma was running thirty minutes late and there was still no sign of the lieutenant. This was a disaster.

  His father and stepmother sat in the first pew and Edmund in the one behind them.

  The sound of a carriage approaching sent the earl back to his post by the door. He was meant to walk Emma down the aisle and took his
job most seriously today.

  “It’s her, I believe,” the earl called back to his son. The vicar shifted anxiously and gave Henry a nod of reassurance.

  Without the lieutenant Henry didn’t have the ring, however. What was keeping his dear old friend?

  After everything that he’d gone through to be here he hated the thought of any more delays.

  The countess, sensing his distress, rose from her seat and walked towards him.

  “Take this, darling. Without the lieutenant you may need it.” And she put her own wedding band in his palm. “It’s only to borrow, mind you, so don’t let Miss Clayton develop an attachment,” she said with her version of a smile.

  He almost laughed at the thought given Emma’s aversion to jewelry.

  “Thank you.” He was touched by the gesture. He couldn’t remember even an ounce of kindness from the woman during his life thus far.

  “Of course.” She nodded and made her way back to her seat.

  Miss Crabtree walked into the parish alone. His father, feeling a strange fondness for the old woman since their time with Mr. Pluckrose, took her arm and guided her to a pew.

  The sun was shining bright and casting long fingers of light through the stained glass.

  At least it wasn’t raining, Henry reflected.

  Miss Crabtree whispered something into the earl’s ear, which perked him up. He looked over to his son with an expression of approval.

  Henry almost chuckled to himself. Rarely had his father looked at him that way.

  His father walked briskly towards the altar to join Henry.

  “What is it? Why are you smirking?”

  “Did you know that Emma’s father has come?”

  “No.” He gave his father a skeptical look. Emma had told him her father had passed. Short of conjuring up a ghost he failed to see how that was possible.

  What was going on?

  “He’s none other than Duke Harrington, were you aware of that?”

  He is who?

  Impossible!

  “Of course, Father.” Henry hardly even missed a beat. Inside his own head the revelation was staggering.