Moonlight Wishes In Time

by Bess McBride

“Although I detect more than a hint of reproach in your voice, William, which I do not welcome, I will attempt to ‘warm’ to Miss Crockwell as you ask. But you must assure me that you have no intention of offering her a proposal of marriage.”

  William looked down at his mother, her chin set, her eyes harder than he was used to seeing. Why did she dislike Miss Crockwell so much?

  He shook his head. “I can make you no such promise, Mother, and I am sorry that you must ask it of me. Please be assured that I have no current intention of asking Miss Crockwell to marry me, but that may only be because I fear she will leave, or that she may have no choice and may be forced to leave.” He sighed heavily as he gazed at the house, Mattie no longer in sight. “But I will make you no such promise.”

  Mrs. Sinclair echoed his sigh. “You are such a foolish romantic, William.”

  “So you have told me before, Mother.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “I must go if I am to arrive before nightfall. Please be kind to Miss Crockwell. I am still unclear as to the source of your concerns regarding her, but do it for my sake.”

  “I will try, my son,” she said.

  A short while later, William poked his head into the library in search of Mattie, having had no luck locating her in her room, the sitting room or with Sylvie in her bedchamber.

  He spied her seated in an armchair, a book in her lap. She had apparently been gazing out the window onto the lawn, but jumped up as he entered the room.

  “Please sit, Miss Crockwell. Do not let me disturb you.”

  She retook her seat.

  “And what book do you have there in your hands, Miss Crockwell?”

  “Sense and Sensibility,” she said. “Although I’m having trouble deciphering some of the text,” she murmured. “The print is a bit different from ours.”

  William seated himself at the edge of the chair facing her.

  “I am pleased to see you utilizing the library, Miss Crockwell, and urge you to read as many books as you like.” He hesitated for a moment as he regarded her. Her eyes looked suspiciously wet.

  “Miss Crockwell.” He paused, searching for words. “Please do not allow my mother to distress you. I understand that I leave you in her care and that of my sister, but my mother is possessed of a generous heart. I acknowledge that she is withholding that from you, and I am unclear as to her motives.”

  Her drawn face relaxed as he spoke, and he hoped he had eased her worries, if only in small measure.

  “I’m sure she’s just worried about you, William,” Mattie said with a faint smile. “Mothers…you know. I’m just a strange woman who showed up on your doorstep. I’m sure she’s worried that I might have ‘designs’ on you.”

  William’s cheeks bronzed at her astute observation.

  “I will not deny I have heard something of that nature,” he conceded with a resigned smile.

  “But she doesn’t need to worry, does she?” Mattie stated flatly. “I’ll be gone soon.”

  William swallowed hard.

  “Not so soon, Miss Crockwell. We still have some weeks.”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  He studied her face, but suspected she masked the emotions normally expressed on her countenance.

  “I must go, Miss Crockwell,” he said, rising from the chair. She rose as well. “I only wished to bid you farewell.”

  “Thank you,” she said with her head downcast.

  He reached to raise her chin.

  “I am not certain that I can do without you as well, Miss Crockwell, albeit for different reasons than you, I suspect.” With a heavy heart, he dropped his hand, bowed, and left the room without a backward glance, fearing he might take her into his arms in a most ungentlemanly manner.

  ****

  “I am of a mind to walk in the garden this beautiful morning. Would you care to accompany me, Miss Crockwell?”

  Mattie froze in the act of buttering her toast as Mrs. Sinclair spoke to her. Sylvie’s eyebrows lifted as she regarded her mother.

  “Um…okay, sure,” Mattie stuttered. Oh, boy. What was coming? There was no hint in Mrs. Sinclair’s studied expression of pleasantry of what she would say. Mattie looked toward Sylvie, who shrugged her shoulders and favored her with a sympathetic smile. It seemed Sylvie would not be included in the walk.

  “Sylvie,” Mrs. Sinclair began, “would you be a dear and attend to our correspondence? I am afraid I am sadly behind in responding to invitations.”

  It was confirmed. Sylvie would not be joining them. Mattie wondered if Mrs. Sinclair was going to send her “packing,” not that she had anything to take with her except the pink robe and slippers currently residing in the large mahogany cupboard in her room.

  Breakfast finished all too quickly in Mattie’s opinion, and she found herself out on the lawn with Mrs. Sinclair as they strolled toward the gardens. Well, Mrs. Sinclair strolled. Mattie felt like she waddled on rubbery legs, which threatened to give way at any moment.

  “Miss Crockwell,” Mrs. Sinclair began. Mattie cringed.

  “I apologize for my behavior these past few days. My son has made it very clear to me that I have been…cold to you. Those are his words. And he is correct. I have been unusually reserved in my treatment of you, withholding warmth or kindness.”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Sinclair” Mattie said hastily. “In all fairness, you have been very kind and generous in allowing me into your house, feeding me and clothing me.”

  Mrs. Sinclair nodded graciously. “Thank you, Miss Crockwell. I hoped I had been polite, if nothing else.” She sighed. “But William is disappointed in me, and I hate to disappoint my children. He feels I could be warmer toward you. He states you are frightened by your circumstances, and that I have inadvertently added to your worries by my behavior.”

  Mattie held her tongue. She couldn’t argue this point. Her heart beat happily with the thought that William had spoken to his mother about her, and that he actually understood some of what she felt. She was scared, that was true—of not being able to return to her time, and of returning and never seeing William again.

  “Please be assured, Miss Crockwell, that I will continue to endeavor to protect you from discovery, and I will guide you in our ways as necessary. I vow to be more…tolerant of your ignorance of our customs. I admit that I have judged you unnecessarily in this regard, and for that, I beg your forgiveness.” She paused. “I have been skeptical regarding the circumstances of your arrival, and am only now coming to believe that something untoward has occurred, and that you are not of our time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Mattie responded. “It is true.” She offered nothing more, still herself skeptical about the other woman’s motives.

  “Shall we sit?” Mrs. Sinclair asked as they neared the bench where William and Mattie sat the day before.

  Upon sitting, Mattie held her tongue and waited to see what else Mrs. Sinclair had to say. She really doubted that she and Mrs. Sinclair had suddenly become the best of buds.

  “Your eyes reflect your distrust, Miss Crockwell,” Mrs. Sinclair said after a quick survey of Mattie’s wary face. “I am to blame for that, I fear.”

  Mattie waited. What could she say? She really was at the woman’s mercy, and had no inclination to go wandering off the property in search of another place to stay.

  “Let me speak frankly,” Mrs. Sinclair said as she shifted her body to face Mattie. “If, in fact, you have come from the future, you and William believe it is likely you will return on the next full moon. My concern, Miss Crockwell, is that my son will have become so infatuated with you, that he will seek to accompany you to your future and that I shall never see him again.”

  Mattie stiffened. Mrs. Sinclair voiced the hope that Mattie hadn’t wanted to put to words—the dream that William would somehow come back with her. But the stark look of fear that passed across Mrs. Sinclair’s face for a brief moment gave her pause. Mattie’s foolish fantasies of life with William lost their appeal at the unexpectedly bleak look on the olde
r woman’s face as she contemplated the loss of her son.

  Mattie chose her words carefully.

  “Mrs. Sinclair. Please don’t worry about that. William doesn’t think of me that way. He’s just being kind to a stranger, and trying to protect me because I’m a bit lost. When and if I go, he’s not going with me. I don’t think that’s possible, and I am absolutely sure he would never leave his home and his family.” She had no trouble sounding firmly convinced. She said nothing that she didn’t truly believe.

  Mrs. Sinclair’s face relaxed…slightly.

  “I do not think you can be fully aware of how fond William has become of you over these past few days, Miss Crockwell, in addition to establishing himself as your knight in shining armor.” She paused and smiled kindly, the first such smile that Mattie had seen from her. Suddenly, Mattie saw the woman that William said his mother was capable of being.

  “But I think you are right,” Mrs. Sinclair continued. “Even were it possible for William to accompany you to your time, he would not leave his estates, or his family. We women are destined to depend upon men for our food and shelter. And as I am a widow, and Sylvie seems determined to become a spinster, we are dependent upon William to provide for us. If William were to”—she seemed to struggle for words—“disappear, the estate would pass to a distant cousin of my husband’s, and Sylvie and I would have to find a home elsewhere.”

  Mattie couldn’t bear the image of Mrs. Sinclair and Sylvie holed up in some rat trap somewhere in the slums of London.

  “That’s not going to happen, Mrs. Sinclair,” Mattie said firmly.

  Mrs. Sinclair nodded and eyed her pensively.

  “And what if you cannot return to your time, Miss Crockwell?”

  “Me?” Mattie said as she stalled for time. What of her? She had no earthly idea.

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Mrs. Sinclair. If that happens, and I hope it doesn’t, but if it does, then I’ll probably try to find a job as a bookkeeper or maybe a teacher.”

  “A bookkeeper? A teacher?” Mrs. Sinclair echoed. “I am not aware of any women in these professions. Did you mean a governess?”

  Visions of Jane Eyre ran through Mattie’s mind. “Oh, gosh, no,” she said. “Not a governess.”

  “It is not always an enviable position, I admit,” Mrs. Sinclair said sympathetically. “And yet a profession Sylvie might need to pursue one day if she does not marry and William were to abandon his estates. Perhaps even myself. William must marry and produce an heir.”

  Mattie searched her face to see if she was smiling, but she was not. She was serious. Mattie really couldn’t bear the thought of the two women working as governesses. It seemed ludicrous. As for herself, was it too early in the nineteenth century for women teachers? Surely, they had female teachers in the United States in 1825, didn’t they? One-room schools?

  “I would not wish that on either of you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Mattie said. “I am sure William will marry and produce an heir.”

  “That has been my dearest hope,” Mrs. Sinclair sighed. She rose. “Let us return to join Sylvie. She will have grown tired of attending to my correspondence. Perhaps you and she could pay a call on dear Louisa Covington. She is such a lovely young woman.”

  Mattie clasped her hands behind her back and squeezed her fingers so hard that they hurt. Dear Louisa Covington.

  She didn’t think Mrs. Sinclair had raised Louisa’s name deliberately to distress her. The vision of lovely Sylvie acting as a governess prompted Mattie to ask the question.

  “Do you intend for William to marry Louisa Covington?”

  Mrs. Sinclair hesitated before resuming her step. She directed a sharp eye toward Mattie, who gave the older woman her best blank stare.

  “Would that upset you, Miss Crockwell?”

  “Me? Oh, no! I’m sure they would get along just fine,” Mattie said through her teeth.

  “I think they would suit as well, but I am not certain that William sees her as a potential wife.”

  “At the risk of sounding nosey, have you suggested it to him?”

  “I have not.” Mrs. Sinclair gave a short laugh. “William is headstrong. He will resist any suggestions I might make in the selection of a wife, and in fact, has already.”

  “Do you think Louisa wants to marry him?” Mattie seemed almost to relish the painful discussion in some sort of masochistic way.

  “I am not sure,” Mrs. Sinclair replied. “I thought so at one time, but since the arrival of Mr. Stephen Carver, I am not at all certain she would choose William.”

  Mattie relished Mrs. Sinclair’s response. Yes! Stephen! Mrs. Sinclair’s next words caught her off guard.

  “I fear the subject of a potential wife for William must be distressing for you, Miss Crockwell.”

  A hot tear spilled from Mattie’s right eye, and she wiped it away hastily.

  “No, no. As I told you, William and I don’t…” She tried again. “That is, there’s nothing…”

  “For your sake, Miss Crockwell, if and when you return to the future, I hope there is not.”

  Mattie fought against further tears as they returned to the house to find Lord Hamilton awaiting Mrs. Sinclair. His sons were engaged elsewhere, he mentioned, otherwise they would have accompanied him to visit Miss Sinclair and Miss Crockwell.

  Mattie pled another handy Georgian headache and retreated to the library to hold vigil until William returned. She knew she couldn’t exactly hang out in the room that reminded her of William for the next forty-eight hours until his return, but she determined to give it a good try. Sylvie went to pay a call on Louisa, unaccompanied by headachy Mattie.

  ****

  William found her there two days later eagerly anticipating his return. She’d heard the sound of a carriage, not an unusual sound in the busy lives of the social Mrs. and Miss Sinclair, and she hoped it was William.

  She smoothed her borrowed rose-colored muslin dress and listened to the sound of his voice greeting servants as he entered the house. Given the need to greet his mother and sister, she doubted he would come to the library any time soon, but she hoped he would make his way there eventually. If he didn’t come, she would have to peep out into the hall and appear to nonchalantly pass by when she heard his voice.

  The door burst open, startling her.

  “Miss Crockwell,” William exclaimed. “You are here, just as I imagined you.”

  Mattie, unsure of what he meant, jumped up.

  “William! It’s so good to see you.” She choked down the rush of emotion in her voice.

  He moved to her side to take her hands in his. Mattie hated the cold, clammy feel of her hands, but he didn’t grimace.

  “It is good to see you as well, Miss Crockwell,” William said. He continued holding her hands beyond what even she knew to be appropriate for the era. Maybe he really did have feelings for her, she thought. It hardly seemed likely, though. She was not one of the polished and elegant Georgian women he was used to.

  “How was your trip?” she asked.

  “Too long,” he answered. He ran his thumbs across the back of her hands before releasing her. Unsupported by legs suddenly gone weak, she sank down onto the edge of her chair.

  “Have you been well?” he asked as he moved to the side table to pour himself a drink. He offered her one, but she declined, remembering what the strong alcohol had done to her last time.

  “Yes. I’ve been reading a lot, spending a lot of time in your library. I hope you don’t mind,” Mattie said.

  “Not at all,” he said as he took a seat across from her. “I am happy to see you using it.”

  “Oh, good,” she murmured. She dropped her eyes from his searching gaze. What was he looking for in her expression? What was she showing? She pressed her lips together and lifted her head.

  “You just arrived. Have you seen your mother and Sylvie? I think they’re around.”

  “Are they?” he asked vaguely. He settled back into his chair and regarded her steadi
ly. She squirmed under his gaze. “I came first to the library to see if you were here.”

  “Oh!” she said. Her breathing felt shallow, and she tried to take a deep breath to steady her nerves without seeming to do so.

  Abruptly, William leaned forward again.

  “I am so pleased to see that you are still here, Miss Crockwell,” he said. “I feared the worst.”

  Mattie thought she’d die with joy at his words.

  “The worst?”

  “That you would be gone, back to your time. That we did not have the thirty days we—I—hoped for.”

  Mattie stared at him open mouthed. The man was saying whatever came to his mind, she thought, without the usual reticence of his society.

  “William,” she began, “I-I don’t know what to say. Your mother—”

  William set his drink down with a clatter, rose swiftly and pulled her up. She thought he was going to pull her into his arms, but he stopped short and held her hands.

  “Miss Crockwell! I have missed you. I hoped I could hold my tongue when I arrived, but I find myself groveling before you like some besotted youth.”

  “Oh, William,” Mattie breathed. “I really, really missed you too. And I promised myself I’d keep my mouth shut as well.”

  He kissed the back of her hands, and she thought she finally understood the full sense of the word “swoon,” as she was just about to do. For a Georgian man probably long gone in her time, his lips were remarkably warm. She wondered briefly if she were still dreaming. This couldn’t really be happening to her, could it?

  He raised his head and smiled warmly.

  “And what did my mother say?” he asked. “I trust she was gracious to you as I asked.”

  “She was, William,” Mattie reassured him. “She is. But she’s worried about you. About us.”

  He nodded.

  “She is correct to be worried. I am completely enamored of you.”

  “What?” Did he mean love? This fast? Mattie seriously doubted that. She knew she was in love, but she’d been in love with him for months—in a book.

  “William,” she said, attempting to reason with him, “Your mother thinks that if I manage to leave on the next full moon, you will try to leave with me.” She ignored the pounding in her ears. What possessed her to actually say that? Of course, he wasn’t coming with her. This wasn’t some fairy tale romance. This was real life! And her hero had a life here in the nineteenth century. She almost laughed at the words “real life.”