by Bess McBride
“Stuff!” Louisa murmured. Her lovely white cheeks took on the faintest pink hue. Mattie was surprised to see the break in her composure, infinitesimal as it was.
William bowed in Louisa’s direction with a teasing smile. “Please give your mother my regards.”
“And mine as well,” Sylvie said.
“Mattie, you and Sylvie must come and call on me soon. My mother would enjoy that.”
“I’d—I would love to,” Mattie ventured, unsure if that was a good idea or not. However, failing to answer would be noticeably rude, and she could only stall for answers by coughing into her gloved hands so many times before someone carted her away to a tuberculosis sanitarium.
“Lovely. Perhaps you would be so kind as to bring them around, William.” Louisa allowed William to kiss her hand before she moved off, a vision of elegance in lilac satin.
“Well, William,” Sylvie said with a chuckle. “You certainly are fast on your feet. Did the Daniel Webster really arrive a few days ago? You know that Mr. Carver is quite likely to discover whether that is so.”
William’s lips twitched as he looked from Sylvie to Mattie.
“Yes, it did, my dear sister. Though how the voyage went, I do not know. Perhaps Miss Crockwell can embellish that portion of the tale, should the need arise.” He cocked his head to the side as he regarded her. “Although Miss Crockwell appears to be remarkably tongue-tied at the moment.”
Mattie raised a hand to her cheek as if to unlock her tense jaw. She released a deep breath.
“I can’t thank you enough, William. I didn’t know what to say. I have no earthly idea how long it takes to sail from New York to London, or—”
“The voyage is from New York to Southampton. London does not have ports deep enough for seagoing vessels.”
Mattie wrinkled her brow.
“See? That’s exactly what I mean. How would I know that?” She hugged herself, looked down at the tips of her small slippers and shook her head. “I have no idea how I’m going to get by. Perhaps we should have introduced me as your mute cousin.” She raised her eyes and gave them a crooked smile.
“Dear ones,” Mrs. Sinclair murmured in a low voice as she approached. “Please do not allow Miss Crockwell to cross her arms in that unbecoming fashion. People will begin to talk of our strange American cousin.”
Mattie dropped her arms as if they were on fire. No, of course, young women in the Georgian era didn’t cross their arms at dances. Sylvie had already said so.
Mrs. Sinclair came to stand beside them. “Take her to dance, William. She will be less conspicuous on the dance floor amongst other young women. I have had several inquiries about her already, and I am quite beside myself trying to remember what story we agreed upon.”
“I would be honored, Mother,” William said as he held his arm out to Mattie with a reassuring smile. “We are also finding that it has been difficult to remain true to the narrative we fabricated. However, any alternative is quite out of the question.” Mattie put her hand on his arm, grateful that he always seemed ready to defend her from his mother’s sharp tongue.
What alternative, Mattie wondered?
“Mother, I am sure William is happy to oblige you, but he has already danced with Mattie once. If you want her to be inconspicuous, perhaps dancing two dances within one half-hour with the most eligible bachelor in the county is not quite the best way to achieve that.” Sylvie’s smile bordered on a smirk.
Mrs. Sinclair threw a sharp glance in William’s direction.
“Sylvie is right, William. I had not realized. I think it is best if Miss Crockwell remains with me. You should mingle with our guests.”
Drat the woman! She was probably right. Mattie remembered reading some such nonsense in her novels. Not that she minded keeping William all to herself, but she wouldn’t be here forever, would she? Mattie sighed inwardly and attempted to pull her hand from William’s arm, but he covered her hand with his own, subtly but firmly disallowing her retreat.
“Nevertheless, I believe I shall dance with Miss Crockwell, Mother. It would be poor manners to withdraw my arm after I have offered it.” He softened his words with a smile in his mother’s direction. “I do not concern myself with the gossipmongers. You know that. Let them enjoy themselves.”
With a short nod of the head in the direction of his mother’s slightly flushed face and Sylvie’s broad grin behind her mother’s back, he turned to guide Mattie toward the ballroom.
On the dance floor, he bowed toward Mattie, who hoped her responding curtsey was an improvement over the last. Several sets of female eyes, probably more than several, bored into her head, and she faltered slightly as she placed her hand in William’s. The music began, and William placed his right hand around her waist once again.
“I’m sorry, William. Your mother looks angry,” Mattie said as William moved her across the dance floor. She kept her eyes on his chest and concentrated on not embarrassing him by stumbling.
“She will recover, Miss Crockwell. She is not used to being thwarted.”
Mattie took a second to peek up into his face. He looked down at her and met her eyes. A smile played on his mouth, and his eyes twinkled.
“I see,” Mattie murmured, fixing her gaze upon a button on his shirt. “You’re enjoying this. Making your mother mad.”
“Not at all, Miss Crockwell. I presume by ‘mad,’ you mean angry, and not insane.” He smiled. “I most certainly do not enjoy angering my mother. But you are correct about one thing. I am enjoying this.” His fingers tightened against hers.
Mattie caught her breath and met his eyes. His smile broadened, and he whirled her away. Somehow, the feminine eyes boring into her back didn’t seem quite as frightening as they had only a few moments ago.
Chapter Ten
Mattie awakened in the morning to a soft gray light filtering in through the crack in the curtains. She turned her head quickly to locate the wing chair, but William wasn’t sitting in it, keeping watch over her. She had begged William to let her sneak upstairs after their second dance. Anxiety had taken its toll—anxiety about being discovered, anxiety about her future, anxiety about being in William’s presence—and she had been desperate to relax.
She turned on her side to stare at the chair—William’s chair, as she thought of it now. Where was he? Was he awake? Had he gone off to work? Did he work? She couldn’t remember. The last thirty-six hours had been hectic.
One moon down, only twenty-nine more to go, she thought. Twenty-nine more days. How would it happen, she wondered? Would she go to stand on some balcony at midnight? Would she put her robe and slippers on and traipse out into the garden again, waiting to be taken up in a light? Or faint? Would she be in the middle of a conversation with William and suddenly fade away? Or even lying in his arms?
Mattie shivered, and then she chuckled. Fat chance she’d ever end up in William’s arms. He was way too romance-novel-cover handsome for her to handle.
A tap on the door brought her out of her pleasant daydream.
She sat up. “Come in,” she called out. William?
The door opened slowly, and Jane peeped in, pushing the door wider with her foot while she balanced a silver tray.
“Good morning, miss. I hope you slept well.”
“I did, thank you, Jane.”
Jane closed the door behind her with a hip and moved toward the bedside table with the tray of what looked like hot chocolate and some sort of biscuit on a saucer.
“What’s that, Jane?” Mattie peered at the biscuits, which resembled biscotti.
“Biscuits, miss. You’re to drink your chocolate, miss, and dress quickly. Master William asks for the pleasure of your company in his carriage this morning. Miss Sylvie will be joining you. Master William sent me to tell you.” Jane’s lips twitched becomingly in her otherwise passive expression.
“Carriage!” Mattie cried. “Are we going for a ride?”
“Yes, miss. I believe Master William and Miss Sylvie have pl
anned an outing to the lake.” Jane headed for the wardrobe.
“You’re kidding! That sounds great!” Mattie said as she jumped out of bed. She grabbed a biscuit. “I’ve never been in a carriage before. How exciting!” Mattie crossed over to open the curtains on a softly lit day.
Jane pulled her head out of the wardrobe to stare at Mattie.
“Never been in a carriage? But how is that possible, miss?”
Mattie bit her lip. “Well, I mean, we didn’t have a carriage,” she mumbled lamely. She turned away to head for the bathroom.
“Oh,” Jane murmured as she returned to selecting garments. “Even I have been in a carriage. My father owned a conveyance, and I rode with him to visit his patients.”
Mattie mumbled an acknowledgement and stepped into the bathroom, not looking forward to the cold water left over from the night before. To her delight, a pitcher of steaming hot water rested by the bowl, and fresh linen had been laid beside it.
She pulled open the door.
“Did you sneak in here earlier and bring this hot water?”
Jane, her hands full of clothing, closed the cupboard, and turned with a smile.
“Yes, miss.”
“Oh, Jane, thank you.” Mattie’s voice broke and unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. “You take such good care of me. I would be lost without you.” Mattie embarrassedly dashed a hand across her cheeks. She must be tired, she thought.
Jane paused in the middle of the room, her smooth forehead creased.
“Oh, miss! It’s nothing. You sound so sad. Are you homesick, then?”
Mattie thought of her dull life back in the States, back in her own time. Not homesick. Then what? Why the unexpected moment of grief?
“No, I’m not homesick,” she said with a small shake of her head. “I’m probably just tired,” she murmured with a last quick swipe of the back of her hand across her cheek. “Don’t pay any attention to me. Thanks for the hot water. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Ten refreshing minutes later, Mattie opened the door and stuck a hand through.
“I’m ready for the undergarments,” she sang out. The mirror showed her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes sparkled. Amazing what hand-delivered hot water and the prospect of time with a handsome nineteenth-century man could do for a gal’s expression, she thought. Everything seemed just a little more precious here than it did in her time.
Jane dropped the drawers and chemise into Mattie’s outstretched hand, and she quickly slipped into them. She opened the door and stepped back into the bedroom.
“Is Mrs. Sinclair going as well, Jane?” Mattie had to ask the nagging question.
Jane shook her head as she helped Mattie into her stays and turned her around to lace her.
“I do not know, miss. I have not heard. I think Mrs. Sinclair is expecting Lord Hamilton to pay a call this morning.”
“Oh, really?” Good, Mattie thought. Then she wouldn’t be coming. Mattie wished she could like William’s mother, but the arrogant woman wasn’t making it easy.
Mattie reached for the petticoat in Jane’s hand, but Jane extended her other hand—the one holding the stockings and garter belt.
Mattie made a face, and Jane raised an eyebrow. Again, the corner of her otherwise placid face twitched.
“I take it miss does not like to wear stockings?”
Mattie sighed, shook her head and took the stockings gingerly from Jane. She trudged over to the chair to sit down heavily.
“No, Jane, miss doesn’t like to wear these things,” Mattie murmured as she bent over to thrust her foot into one stocking and then the other. “I don’t mind the dress, or the petticoat, but I don’t like the stockings, and I definitely don’t like the corset.”
“Stays, miss. They are called stays,” Jane murmured with a smile. She discreetly laid the stays down on the end of the bed before holding the dress up.
Mattie slipped into the white muslin gown decorated in small rose ribbons. Jane stepped around to tie Mattie’s dress.
A knock on the door startled her, and she spun around and out of Jane’s hands.
“William?” she asked in anticipation. Jane shook her head in inquiry and crossed the room to pull open the door.
“Thank you, Jane. If you could leave us for a moment, please. I will ring when I need you.” Mrs. Sinclair stepped into the room, crisply dressed in an elegant moss green silk gown, accented with ribbons in a darker shade of green. Jane didn’t turn around, but bobbed a curtsy and left quietly, pulling the door shut behind her.
Mattie’s mouth went dry, and she clutched at the untied dress, which threatened to fall from her shoulders.
Mrs. Sinclair eyed her narrowly.
“I hope you do not mind the interruption, Miss Crockwell. I wished to speak with you briefly concerning…” She paused as her eyes took in Mattie’s struggle with her gown. “Whatever are you doing, Miss Crockwell?” she asked in an amused tone, somewhat reminiscent of William. “Ah! My arrival prevented Jane from completing your toilette.” She turned toward the door as if to call Jane, and then turned back. “Perhaps I may be of assistance. That will allow us time to talk.”
Mattie nodded mutely while Mrs. Sinclair expertly tied the back of her dress.
“There,” Mrs. Sinclair announced with an air of satisfaction. “I will have Jane return to dress your hair shortly. Please join me.” She led the way to the settee near the opposite end of the room.
Mattie followed, uncertain of what was to come, and wishing William was with her at the moment. He had thus far managed to stand up to his mother.
Mrs. Sinclair sat on the edge of the settee with a straight back and inclined her head, effectively commanding Mattie to sit, which she did, albeit with much less grace than Mrs. Sinclair due to the fact she accidentally stepped on the back hem of her dress and essentially plopped onto the settee. Mrs. Sinclair pretended not to notice. Mattie’s face flamed.
“Miss Crockwell,” Mrs. Sinclair began. “Perhaps you can imagine how perplexed I am by this situation.” She gave a gentle shake of her head. “At the risk of sounding quite impolite, I must reiterate that I simply do not understand how you have come to be with us.” One eyebrow lifted hopefully as she looked at Mattie. Mattie opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Mrs. Sinclair went on.
“I now believe that you are as perplexed as I am regarding your presence in…this time, Miss Crockwell.” She refolded her hands in her lap, and Mattie had the distinct impression that she was nervous. Ill at ease. Perhaps she wasn’t used to feeling out of control. Welcome to my world, Mrs. Sinclair!
“What I wished to discuss with you is the…em…your connection with my son. With William.”
Mattie shook her head vehemently.
“Oh, Mrs. Sinclair, there’s no—I mean, there is no connection. Not like you mean.” Mattie shook her head once again for emphasis. “William is just trying to help me until I can return…” Mattie left the last word hanging. Return how? Mrs. Sinclair wondered the same thing.
“And how do you plan to return, Miss Crockwell? Is there a mechanism by which you arrived here? A spell? A chant?” Mrs. Sinclair refolded her hands once again.
Mattie almost smiled.
“No, Mrs. Sinclair. I don’t think there is a spell or a chant. William and I…” Mattie paused at the tightening of Mrs. Sinclair’s jaw. “That is, I believe I will be able to return on the next full moon. At least, I hope so.”
Mrs. Sinclair faced her directly. “Then you do wish to return? Is that correct, Miss Crockwell?”
“Yes, of course,” Mattie replied airily. And never see William again. Sure! Who wouldn’t want that? “Of course,” she murmured, as she looked down at her own fingers clutched together.
“I must admit that I am pleased to hear you say so, Miss Crockwell. Under any other circumstances, I would be pleased to have you visit, but…” Mrs. Sinclair paused, and Mattie looked up. A delicate rose stained her cheeks, giving her a vulnerability Mattie did not k
now she possessed.
“William must marry, Miss Crockwell,” Mrs. Sinclair stated with a sigh. Her shoulders softened just a little, with what in other people might have been described as a sag, but Mrs. Sinclair did not “sag.”
“The estate is entailed to him,” she continued. “He must produce an heir, or the estate will pass out of our hands and into the hands of some distant cousins. My husband would not have wanted that. This estate has been in his family for over one hundred years.”
Mattie wasn’t surprised to hear the details of William’s inheritance. Mrs. Sinclair paused and looked at Mattie.
“I understand,” Mattie said, more to fill an uncomfortable silence as Mrs. Sinclair seemed to study her.
“I would like to be frank with you, Miss Crockwell. William seems…quite taken with you.”
Mattie opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Sinclair held up a graceful hand.
“No, Miss Crockwell. I can see that you will attempt to deny it, but it is true.” She smiled unexpectedly. “You have a certain…mystery to you, Miss Crockwell. An air of…candor, of informality that we do not practice in our time. I can see why William would be fascinated by you.”
Mattie’s face burned, and her heart thumped loudly against her chest. Really? William fascinated? By her?
Mrs. Sinclair’s face sobered.
“But William must stay here, Miss Crockwell, in this time. And if you are to return to your time—to your home—then I think it best you dissuade him from his attentions to you.” Mrs. Sinclair gave Mattie a direct look. “For his sake. I do not want to see my son cast down by a romance without future.”
A lump formed in Mattie’s throat. It seemed obvious by the softening of Mrs. Sinclair’s face that she really loved her son. And Mattie wasn’t sure she herself hadn’t fallen head over heels for the tall, dark, handsome hero of her romance novels as well.
“No,” Mattie murmured with a faint shake of her head. “Of course not.” She forced herself to meet Mrs. Sinclair’s brilliant blue eyes. “Please do not worry. William is only trying to help me until I can go home. He is not interested in me.” Mattie gritted her teeth to ensure that her face remained neutral, though she felt very near to tears. She forced herself to face reality.
