by Bess McBride
“Certainly, Mrs. Sinclair,” Stephen said. “How inconsiderate I am. I should like some tea as well. I drink coffee when I am at home, but I do so enjoy English tea when I am here. Do you drink coffee at home, Miss Crockwell, or do you prefer tea?”
After pulling the servant’s bell, William moved over to the fireplace and leaned one arm on the mantle. At Stephen’s question, he coughed slightly.
“Miss Crockwell informed me that she also drinks tea in America, did you not, Miss Crockwell?” William said.
Mattie looked up at him and nodded. Of course, they hadn’t had such a conversation because she actually did like coffee, but no doubt Stephen would want to compare coffees.
Just then, the door opened, and John announced a Mrs. Covington and Miss Louisa Covington.
Mrs. Covington, a slender woman of about Mrs. Sinclair’s age, sailed in. Louisa followed more sedately. Mrs. Sinclair rose to greet them, as did Stephen. Unable to remember what folks did during calls in her books, Mattie stood as well.
“Sally, my dear,” Mrs. Sinclair said as she leaned forward to kiss Mrs. Covington and Louisa on the cheek. “How kind of you to call. Please sit here,” she said, indicating the sofa.
Mattie noticed that Stephen’s eyes were riveted on Louisa. Louisa moved to sit on the sofa between her mother and Mrs. Sinclair with a bright smile in William’s direction. She seemed not to see Stephen for a moment.
“Mother, this is Miss Matilda Crockwell from America. She is a distant cousin of the Sinclairs.”
Mrs. Covington, an older replica of Louisa, eyed her with interest.
“Yes, I had heard of Miss Crockwell’s origins.” She turned to Stephen. “A countrywoman of yours, Stephen. You must have so much to talk about,” she said innocently.
Mattie cringed.
“I had hoped to share our mutual experiences, Mrs. Covington, but Miss Crockwell and I have not had an opportunity as of yet to do so. I remain hopeful,” he said with a bright smile in Mattie’s direction.
Mr. Smythe and John arrived with the tea just in time, in Mattie’s opinion, distracting everyone from their attention on her. She glanced at William out of the corner of her eye, and he gave her a nod of encouragement. She wondered how far he was prepared to intercede on her behalf. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he let her fend for herself. She hoped he wasn’t in his fending-for-herself mode.
Another footman opened the door to announce that Lord Hamilton, Lord Reginald Hamilton and the Honorable Samuel Hamilton had arrived.
Mrs. Sinclair rose hastily from her chair, scanning the room, Mattie guessed, for empty seats.
“Mrs. Sinclair.” Lord Hamilton bowed on entering. His sons mimicked his bow. Lord Hamilton scanned the room in some surprise.
“But we are interrupting,” he said. “We have come at an awkward time.”
“No, Lord Hamilton, you and your sons are very welcome,” Mrs. Sinclair said as she signaled to the footman to bring more chairs. “You know Mrs. Covington, of course, and her daughter, Miss Louisa Covington. And Mr. Carver is not, I think, a stranger to you.”
Lord Hamilton bowed before them. He turned to Mattie, much to her dismay. She hadn’t missed that his sons were ogling her with reddened cheeks.
“May I present Miss Matilda Crockwell, Lord Hamilton?” Mrs. Sinclair said. “I do not believe you were introduced last night, although Reginald and Samuel made her acquaintance.”
“Ah, yes, the young lady whose praises my sons have not stopped singing. So much so that I needed to come meet her for myself,” he said with an amused smile. He bent over Mattie’s hand, with Reggie and Samuel following suit.
Mattie tried to smile graciously, but her dry lips stuck to her teeth. As the boys came to stand on either side of her chair, she panicked and threw William a glance of desperation. To her surprise, his lips twitched as he surveyed the room. A lot of help he was, she thought. It would serve him right if she were to “plead a headache” and run to her room. Better yet, if she were to just jump up, disclose all and relieve the anxious tension which threatened to explode.
“Well, what a merry party we are,” Mrs. Covington said dryly. “Come, Lord Hamilton, come sit by me. You are safe with me. I am a married woman. The same could not be said for anyone else in this room, though.”
Mrs. Sinclair’s pale cheeks colored. Lord Hamilton coughed and did as he was bade.
“You say that Reginald and Samuel have talked of little else other than Miss Crockwell, Lord Hamilton?” Mrs. Covington asked. “This is a most fortunate occurrence, Miss Crockwell, to have incurred the favor of two young men of such favorable circumstances.”
“Mother!” Louisa protested, her cheeks bright. Lord Hamilton coughed behind his hand once again, while his sons seemed to fail to catch Mrs. Covington’s meaning.
“I-I…” Mattie couldn’t begin to think how to respond. She didn’t know the rules. What could she say? A quick look toward William, her protector, showed her that he was directing a piercing gaze at his mother, who caught his look.
“I do not know that Miss Crockwell is at present engaged in seeking to form an alliance, Sally,” Mrs. Sinclair said with a gracious smile. “But I am sure that she is most flattered by the esteem in which Reginald and Samuel hold her.”
“Let the girl speak for herself, Lucy,” Mrs. Covington pursued with a sharp look in Mattie’s direction. “Is she shy?”
“No, I don’t believe she is shy, Mother.” Louisa rose swiftly. “Perhaps just well mannered.” She came to Mattie’s side to offer her a hand. Mattie, unclear what Louisa wanted, put her cold, clammy hand in Louisa’s cool and dry one.
“Could we walk in the garden, Miss Crockwell? It seems such a lovely afternoon.”
“Oh, sure,” Mattie said as she rose unsteadily on rubbery knees. So many people in the room, with their eyes focused directly on her.
“I would like to accompany you, if I may,” William said quickly.
“Let us make a walking party of it,” Stephen said. He rose and bowed to Mrs. Sinclair. “With your permission, madam.”
“Yes, let’s,” Reggie said. “I hope you will not object if Samuel and I accompany you. Fresh air will do us both good.” Mattie, wondering if she was really getting away from anyone at this point, eyed Reggie wildly. His face flamed with the boldness of asserting himself, and she was touched by his flattering admiration.
“Let us go, then,” William said shortly. He directed a narrowed gaze toward the younger men who seemed oblivious.
He led the way out into the garden behind the house. Mattie looked back to see that the floor-to-ceiling windows of the drawing room appeared to overlook the garden. The exterior of the house—the mansion, Mattie corrected herself—gleamed, its sandstone seemingly absorbing the golden rays of the afternoon sun. She turned to look at the garden, which sported a water fountain, well-manicured shrubs and flowers, and paths dotted with iron benches.
Louisa tucked Mattie’s arm in hers as they walked ahead of the men.
“I apologize for my mother’s comments, Miss Crockwell. I know it is not my place to do so, but there are times when her tongue runs away with her. I believe she thinks she is being droll.”
“Oh, no,” Mattie murmured. “That’s okay. You’re right. I think she was just trying to be funny.” She felt eight eyes on her back as they walked and looked over her shoulder. Reggie and Samuel followed directly behind, while William and Stephen brought up the rear. They appeared to be in conversation.
“Besides,” Mattie said, “I am supposed to be looking for a husband at my age, aren’t I?”
“Miss Crockwell!” Louisa laughed lightly, appearing to pretend shock. “Well, yes,” she conceded. “We are expected to pursue advantageous marriages. Is this not the case where you are from?”
“I imagine so,” Mattie answered.
“Imagine?” Louisa asked with curiosity. “Perhaps your parents have not pursued the matter?”
“My parents passed away,” Mattie replie
d. “So, I’m on my own.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them, as she had to engage in the same conversation with Louisa that she’d had with William regarding the lack of a companion, that she was independent, etc.
“How very interesting,” Louisa answered. “You do not intend to marry, then?”
“No, I’d like to get married,” Mattie murmured. “I’m just not sure when.”
“I must marry soon,” Louisa said matter-of-factly. “Mother fears I will become a spinster, as I am already five and twenty.”
Mattie threw a speculative look over her shoulder. William caught her eyes and smiled, and a delightful shiver ran up her spine. Stephen smiled as well.
“Do you have anyone in mind?”
To Mattie’s dismay, Louisa also looked over her shoulder. Mattie dreaded her response. Not William, she prayed. Please don’t say William!
“I have known William for many years,” she said softly.
Mattie bit her lip. She pulled her arm from Louisa’s as casually as she could and clasped it behind her back, locking her fingers so tightly she thought they might break. Of course, she had seen it in Louisa’s eyes when she looked at William. Why wouldn’t she want to marry the most handsome, most endearing and most charming man around? That he was incredibly wealthy probably didn’t hurt.
Mattie resisted throwing another look over her shoulder, as if to beg William to pick her, to choose her over Louisa.
If her theory held true, she would be gone soon, and William would go on with the life he was intended to have in the nineteenth century, probably with Louisa. She gritted her teeth.
“And you, Miss Crockwell?” Louisa asked with a friendly smile. “Is there someone special for you?”
Mattie shook her head. “No,” she answered shortly. She couldn’t even imagine what her life would be like when she got back home. She didn’t think she was ever going to be able to read her book again without seeing William Sinclair’s face. It would be like losing him over and over.
“No one at home?” Louisa prompted.
“No, no one,” Mattie said. She smiled faintly before dropping her eyes to the ground.
“Oh, Miss Crockwell, please forgive me!” Louisa said quickly with a contrite expression. “I can see that I have distressed you. How ill-mannered of me to press you on such a personal matter.”
“No, that’s okay,” Mattie said. Louisa did sound genuinely apologetic.
“We will say no more,” Louisa said.
Mattie gave in to temptation and looked over her shoulder. Reggie and Samuel had slowed to speak to William. Stephen’s eyes were riveted on Louisa’s back. When he saw Mattie watching him, he shrugged slightly and gave her a self-deprecating smile.
Mattie returned the smile and faced forward, with a sideways glance in Louisa’s direction.
Should she say something to Louisa? About Stephen? Or would it look like she was trying to steer Louisa away from William. Mattie sighed inwardly. What did it all matter anyway? She didn’t belong here. This wasn’t her life. William needed to marry, Louisa needed to marry and Stephen would probably marry. It was up to them to sort themselves out. She was just passing through.
Chapter Twelve
“You can’t go away!” Mattie almost shrieked the next morning. “You can’t leave me here alone!”
“I am so sorry, Miss Crockwell,” William said. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back as he fought against the urge to take her into his arms and reassure her. The distress on her face tugged at his heart.
“My solicitor needs to see me regarding matters of estate, and I must go to town,” he said. “I will be away for no more than three days.”
“Three days?” she gasped. She jumped up from the bench in the garden where he had seated her. William rose. He had thought it best to discuss the matter with her out of hearing of the servants, suspecting she would protest his impending departure.
“Oh, William, I don’t think I can do without you for three days,” she murmured as she paced back and forth.
Unused to such candor from a woman, William’s heart rolled over as she spoke. That she saw him as some sort of protector touched him deeply. Suspecting her to be quite accomplished in her time, he had already deduced that she was not some sort of miss-ish girl without strength of character. But she was the perennial fish out of water in his time, and it lent her an air of vulnerability, which prompted his protective instincts. He loved his mother and his sister and considered himself their guardian in the absence of husbands, and almost before he’d understood what was happening, Miss Crockwell had joined their ranks—that of a beloved female family member who depended upon him. He wondered what it would be like to be loved by her, as a woman loves a man.
“I would not go at this time, Miss Crockwell, if I could possibly avoid it. Please do not fret. All will be well. You are very resourceful, I have noted.”
She stopped her pacing to face him, her lovely lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Can’t I go with you?”
William stiffened and coughed. His heart’s desire. To be with her always.
“I am afraid that is not possible, Miss Crockwell. I would take you with me if I could, but no female is traveling with me, and you are not such a close ‘relative’ that there would not be cause for gossip were you to accompany me to London.”
“What about Sylvie? Wouldn’t she like a trip to London?” Her green and gold eyes sparkled.
“There is no one in town at this time of year, Miss Crockwell. I could ask Sylvie if she wishes to go, but she has engagements here in the country.”
Mattie clamped her hands over her mouth.
“No, you’re right, of course,” she said through muffled fingers. “I can’t believe I suggested such a thing.”
“I understand your concerns, Miss Crockwell. I do,” William reassured her. “If Sylvie’s presence makes you comfortable, then you will have no concerns. She will stay by your side while I am away.”
“I know she will,” Mattie murmured as she resumed pacing. “She’ll keep me out of trouble.”
“And yet you still seem distressed, Miss Crockwell,” William said as he watched her alternately wring her hands and clasp them behind her back. “What troubles you?”
She paused, and he held his breath. Her eyes, when she turned, gave him the sensation of being swallowed whole—a not unpleasant experience, he thought.
He thought he heard her to say “I’ll miss you,” but he wasn’t quite certain.
“Here you are,” Mrs. Sinclair said as she rounded a corner of the garden, clearly seeking them out. “I presume from your downcast face, Miss Crockwell, that William has informed you he must go to London for several days.”
“Yes, I have just told her, Mother,” William said, “and assured her that Sylvie would stand in my stead to assist her as needed.”
“Of course, we are all available to assist Miss Crockwell, William.”
William failed to understand his mother’s resistance to Mattie, for resistant she was. She had yet to show Mattie the warmth he knew her to be capable of, offering instead a cool demeanor, which never failed to chill him when he witnessed it. He could not imagine how Mattie contended with it, and suspected she wished herself home and well away from the lot of them.
“Thank you,” Mattie murmured. “I think I’ll just…” She paused and looked toward the house. “I’ll just return to the house. I have a headache.” She turned as if to leave, but paused. “When are you leaving?” she asked William. She kept her eyes averted from his mother’s gaze.
“Within the hour,” he said. Her face drooped, but she nodded and hurried away. This was not how he had intended to say goodbye, he thought with anger. What if their moon theory proved wrong? What if he returned and she were gone?
He turned to his mother, who followed his eyes as he watched Mattie stride away quickly, her skirts caught up in an unladylike fashion.
“Please explain to me, Mother, why you
must continue to treat Miss Crockwell as an unwanted guest.”
“I beg your pardon?” his mother said indignantly. “I do not think I have been unkind or cruel to Miss Crockwell.”
“No, Mother, not unkind or cruel, but you have been as cold as a fish to her. That is not like you,” William said with an anger he rarely felt toward her. “It is not Miss Crockwell’s fault that she arrived on our doorstep. She was unconscious. I am sure she did not simply prance over to our garden and decide to faint there. You must see how frightened she is,” he said.
“I do not know where Miss Crockwell comes from, William, and I continue to feel what I believe is a very natural reserve regarding the entire matter,” she said in a frosty voice. “I do not know that she has not foisted herself upon you with this story of time travel via moonbeam in order to gain your sympathy, perhaps with an eye toward acquiring your fortune through marriage.”
William turned an incredulous eye upon his mother.
“Madam, I understand that you have had a difficult time believing in Miss Crockwell’s origins, but I assure you, she does not have designs upon me or upon my fortune. I would be honored if she did.” William could have bit his tongue, to so declare himself in front of his mother in such a premature fashion.
“William! Do not tell me that you have become enamored of this…this chit,” his mother remonstrated with a shocked face. “You hardly know her.” She nodded in the direction of the house. “However, it does not signify. You have agreed that she will return to wherever she hails from in less than one month’s time.”
“It is true, Mother. To my surprise, I have become inordinately fond of her, and yes, she will return to wherever she comes from in one month’s time,” William said with a hint of bitterness. “In the meantime, please try to find it in your heart to warm to her. I remind you again that she is very frightened, has no idea what transpired to bring her here and desires nothing more than to return to her own time.”
