Moonlight Wishes In Time

by Bess McBride

  “But you cannot leave, Mattie,” he said as he pulled her hands against his chest. “I will do everything in my power to ensure that you do not leave me.”

  Mattie’s already weakened legs gave way, and she started to sag. William, his face showing alarm, pulled her into his arms.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” Mattie said in a muffled voice, her face pressed against his chest. “My legs are wobbly.”

  “I think mine are as well.” He chuckled as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

  Mattie resisted the urge to raise her face to his. If she did, she knew she would be lost. She feared she wouldn’t have the willpower to try to get back to her own time. She had no idea what William wanted from her. Surely he wasn’t suggesting marriage, was he? After only a few days? She wondered if he wasn’t just in love with the idea of being in love with a strange phenomenon—a woman from the future.

  “Mattie,” he whispered against her hair.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you look at me?”

  “Why?” she stalled. Her heart pounded. Surely, he could hear it, feel it against his chest.

  “Mattie,” he repeated. “Look at me.”

  Mattie raised her face. He cupped her face in an exquisitely gentle caress, and she closed her eyes against the intimate sincerity in his brown eyes.

  Warm lips touched her lips in a gentle kiss. She remembered the feel of his lips, and she thought she might drown in the sensation. His kiss was tender, with an undercurrent of passion that resonated in his body. A tremor ran between them, and William raised his head.

  “Mattie, Mattie,” he whispered. “What shall we do? What will the future hold for us?”

  She buried her face against his chest again.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said.

  “If you could, if you can, will you stay with me?”

  Vague images of the plague, inadequate medical care, infant mortality and a lifetime without running water bounced around in her mind.

  “I can’t—” she began when the door flew open.

  “William!” Sylvie almost shrieked. “Our mother follows!”

  William dropped his arms and took a step back from Mattie. She caught his look of pain and confusion before she turned to look toward the door.

  Sylvie entered the room, a shocked expression on her face, albeit with a slight lift of her lips. Mrs. Sinclair followed. Sylvie approached her brother and embraced him, and Mrs. Sinclair, her eyes darting between Mattie and William, offered her cheek for a kiss.

  “I wonder that you did not seek us out on your return, William,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Sylvie and I awaited you in the drawing room.”

  “Forgive me, Mother,” William said in a quiet voice. He gave Mattie one last puzzled look before he addressed his mother. His smile was forced. “I stepped into the library on arrival and found Miss Crockwell here.” He offered no further excuse.

  Mrs. Sinclair took a seat on a nearby chair, as did Sylvie. Mattie, wanting nothing more than to head for the hills, slid back down to her seat. She didn’t miss Mrs. Sinclair’s assessing look.

  “Sylvie, could you ring for tea, please?” Mrs. Sinclair said. Sylvie moved to pull the rope by the door and returned to her seat, a look of curiosity on her face as she looked from Mattie to William. Mattie smiled weakly, and Sylvie returned the smile. William moved to stand by the fireplace, one arm on the mantle in true Georgian fashion.

  “I hope your journey went well,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “You have arrived just in time for tonight’s festivities. Mrs. Covington desires to have a ball in honor of Louisa’s birthday, and she most expressly desired you to attend.”

  William allowed a sigh to escape his lips.

  “Another ball,” he murmured. “I suppose I must attend, if only for Louisa’s sake.”

  Mattie chewed on her lip. If only for Louisa’s sake. She kept her eyes lowered, focusing on his well-shined boots, avoiding his gaze. She couldn’t stay. Louisa and William belonged in this world. Not her. They would marry, have children, live to be…forty? Forty-five? Mattie swallowed hard. So young! William was already thirty, fairly old for a bachelor in his era. Would he be long lived? She fervently hoped so.

  Mattie tried to hold on, to stick it out, but she couldn’t. She rose, keeping her eyes on Mrs. Sinclair and Sylvie.

  “I’m so sorry. I have a headache. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t stay for tea.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Sinclair said. “Shall I send Jane to you? Perhaps a cold compress?”

  “Miss Crockwell, this is your third headache in as many days! Should we send for a physician, Mother?” Sylvie asked. Her look of concern almost made Mattie blurt out I don’t have a headache. I just need to get away. I’ve been hiding in the library, but now you’re all here! But she held her tongue and shook her head.

  “What is this about headaches? Have you been unwell, Miss Crockwell?” William asked, his voice unexpectedly gruff.

  “No, no,” she muttered as she dipped an awkward curtsy and hurried to the door. “I’m fine. Just a headache.” She escaped from the library, and instead of hurrying up the stairs to her room, took the back stairs down to the kitchen with the intention of making her way out to the garden, maybe even farther.

  She ran full tilt into Mrs. White, who steadied her. To her dismay, she broke down into tears and threw herself into the cook’s arms.

  “There, there now, miss. What’s this about?” the plump woman asked as she peered at Mattie’s face. “Tears? What are they doing to you upstairs? Come sit by the fire and have a cup of tea, miss. You’ll feel better.” She led Mattie to the chair by the fire, and bustled over to the stove to pour hot water from the kettle.

  Mattie held her cold hands out to the fire. Although it was only September, she felt cold, and the fire helped dispel some of her gloom. That, and the healthy dollop of sugar Mrs. White put in her tea. Certain she had hit an instant sugar high, she downed the cup. Mrs. White, who looked as if she were ready to sit and chat, rose to refill Mattie’s cup.

  “Thank you, Mrs. White. That tastes soooo good.”

  “A couple healthy teaspoons of sugar are certain to make everything right, miss. Now, tell me what’s brought you to such tears. Surely not Master William! I know that boy would never wish to bring a female to tears. Why, when his sister cried on the rare occasion that she scraped her knee or elbow in play, he was the first to administer to her wound and to dry her tears.”

  Mattie shook her head, the image of young William tending to his sister’s injuries warming her heart as the fire warmed her hands.

  “No, Mrs. White. He’s been very good to me.”

  “Is it the mistress? I cannot speak against her, mind. She may seem stern on occasion, but she is a kind woman.”

  Mattie shook her head again and cradled her hot cup. “No, not Mrs. Sinclair. Everyone has been just wonderful to me, Mrs. White.”

  “My poor girl. What brought on your tears then, your attempt to escape the house through the kitchen?”

  “So, you didn’t miss that, eh?” Mattie gave her a watery grin.

  “No, miss. Few people from upstairs come down to the kitchen for a chat and some tea. Master William is the only one.”

  “It’s complicated, Mrs. White. I don’t belong here. You knew I didn’t belong here the first night William found me. Nothing has changed.” Mattie looked toward the fire. “And I have to wait for the next full moon to go home.”

  “The next full moon. What nonsense is that?” the older woman asked.

  “Miss Crockwell refers to the tides, Mrs. White. The next full moon is when the tides will be advantageous and she can set sail back to America. As you heard, she is most anxious to return.” William had entered the kitchen quietly. Both Mattie and Mrs. White jumped at his voice.

  Mattie looked up, stricken by the distant look on his face.

  Mrs. White rose hastily. “Master William, you frightened us, sneaking in like that. Wou
ld you like some tea?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. White. If you do not mind, I shall take Miss Crockwell out to the garden for a spell. Miss Crockwell, if you please?” He bowed and held out an arm toward the door, leaving her in no doubt as to where she would be in the next few minutes.

  “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. White,” she said softly as she preceded William out the kitchen door.

  “I thought you had a headache,” he said quietly as he closed the door behind him. Mattie stood uncertainly.

  “Not really. I just had to get away.”

  “From me?” His voice was husky, and Mattie fought the urge to throw herself in his arms. She looked up toward the house, with its seemingly thousands of windows gazing down on them. William followed her eyes.

  “Come.” He tucked her hand in his and led her around the side of the house and toward a treed area she’d seen previously. Once they entered the protection of the trees, they slowed, and Mattie withdrew her hand.

  William stopped to face her.

  “Tell me your thoughts, Mattie. Please do not dissemble with me. I value your candor above all.”

  Mattie looked up at William’s beloved face. How could she leave him? How could she stay? She shook her head and dropped her eyes to pace.

  “William, I feel the same way about you as you say you do about me—”

  “Love?” he interrupted. He stood as still as a statue and watched her.

  She paused to look at him. “I think so. It’s so hard to think in those terms. We’ve only known each other a short while. But I’ve loved you for a long time.”

  William drew his brows together in confusion and opened his mouth to speak, but Mattie rushed in.

  “I know that doesn’t make sense. You see, I used to read romance novels. Still do,” she said with an embarrassed smile. She avoided looking at him. “And you were in them, William, only your name was Lord Ashton of Sinclair House, not Mr. Sinclair of Ashton House.”

  “Is this about a title, an earldom?” William’s voice took on a haughty note.

  “No, no, William, it’s not about that at all. The point is, you were in my story, no matter what the title, and I read the book every chance I could get for months, falling in love with you more and more every day. And then for some reason, I was transported here through time…to you.” She stopped pacing and looked at him. His face registered confusion. “I don’t know what it means, and I’m so grateful I got to meet you in person. So grateful.” She took a deep breath as he took a step toward her, and she thrust out a hand to stop him. “But I can’t stay here. I can’t!” Tears choked her voice. “This is almost two hundred years ago. So much has changed. I don’t even know if I can survive here.”

  Mattie cursed herself for sounding selfish and self-serving, but it was hard to describe the deprivation she would knowingly face in his time. What about children? Their health?

  William froze and locked his arms behind his back. She recognized his distant look. He was withdrawing from her, and rightly so. If she were to leave, she would rather leave him with distaste in his mouth than yearning and longing.

  “I see,” he said quietly. “So, it is your wish to return as soon as possible.”

  Mattie pressed her lips against a scream. “Yes.”

  “Then I shall trouble you with my addresses no longer, Miss Crockwell. Forgive me for taking advantage of your vulnerability. Following the ball tonight, I will remove to town once again and shall return the night before the next full moon. I feel certain my presence will be required to counteract this spell you and I have conjured between us—mistakenly, it would appear. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  He held out his arm without looking at her. “May I escort you back to the house?”

  “No,” she mumbled against trembling lips. “I’ll stay here awhile.”

  “But madam—” he protested with a look in her direction.

  “Just leave me here, William!” she snapped, unable to hold the tears back much longer.

  William stiffened, dropped his arm and strode toward the house, his back ramrod straight. Even as he walked away from her in anger, Mattie realized she had it within her power to run after him, tell him she loved him and would stay, and he would forgive her and tell her he loved her.

  But she stood her ground, tears pouring down her face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  An hour later, finally composed, Mattie slipped back in to the house through the kitchen. Mrs. White turned to see her enter, but Mattie gave her a wan smile and hurried through the kitchen without a word. She managed to get to her room without meeting anyone and threw herself onto the bed to contemplate the coming weeks.

  She couldn’t imagine staying in the house with William gone, and yet if he stayed, she couldn’t imagine seeing him daily while he treated her like a stranger. To see her staunchest ally and the closest person she had to a friend in this century turn from her would be devastating. She wanted nothing so much as to run away, but she had no choices, no money, nowhere to go.

  A soft tap on her door startled her, and she held her breath. William? She sat upright but remained silent.

  “Miss Crockwell?” Jane opened the door and peeked in. “Oh, you are awake!” She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. “Mr. Sinclair said he had seen you come in and that you appeared to go up to your room. Are you well, miss? You look so unhappy.” Her sympathetic gaze threatened to send Mattie over the edge again.

  Mattie rubbed her temples. “No, I’m fine, Jane, just some lovelorn stuff.” She gave the maid a quick grimace. “What’s going on downstairs?”

  “Dinner is being served. Mr. Sinclair wondered if you wished to join the family or whether you wished to have a tray sent to your room.”

  Mattie had already figured out in the past few days that “dinner” was a late lunch.

  “Oh gosh, Jane, I wish I could stay in here for the next three weeks or so. Do you think I could?” Mattie eyed the young maid with a wan grin.

  Jane bit her lips and wrung her hands, and Mattie took pity on her.

  “I’m sort of kidding, Jane. Kind of. Should I go downstairs?”

  “No, miss, not if you do not want to. It is quite appropriate to take a meal in your room. I’ll bring you a tray.” Jane turned to leave but paused at the door. “Miss Sylvie asked after you, and expressed her fervent desire that you attend the ball tonight, Miss Crockwell. Shall I bring some clothing by later?”

  Mattie dropped back down on her bed. “You’ve got to be kidding! Do I have to go, Jane?”

  “I think you must, miss.”

  Mattie lifted her head and eyed the maid with sympathy for having such a temperamental charge. “Thank you, Jane. I’ll see you when you return.”

  “Yes, miss.” Jane curtsied and left quietly. She returned in twenty minutes with a tray of bread, cheese, fruit and some tea, which she left on the table.

  Mattie rose after she left and shuffled over to the settee to pour herself a cup of tea. She sipped a cup of refreshing hot liquid and contemplated the room. Maybe life in the early 1800s wouldn’t be so bad if one were wealthy. Jane did most of the work—brought her food, prepared her bath, emptied the disgusting chamber pot, even dressed her. Maybe she could learn to live this way, if William ever consented to forgive her.

  As much as she’d loved her historical romance novels, nothing in them had prepared her for the realities of actually living in the nineteenth century. All well and fine for a gal born in the Georgian era, but how did a twenty-first-century woman give up the security of hospitals, over-the-counter female products, neonatal care, cell phones, the internet, anesthesia, a car, the right to vote, movie theaters, antibiotics, popcorn, pain relievers, chlorinated water, flushing toilets, e-mails, ATMs and lattes?

  A soft tap on the door caught her attention, and she called “Enter,” assuming it was Jane again.

  Sylvie slipped in and closed the door quietly. She eyed Mattie with a worried expression.


  “Mattie? Are you unwell again? I am concerned about you.” She laid a soft hand against Mattie’s forehead in a motherly gesture.

  Mattie patted her hand and smiled.

  “No, Sylvie, I feel fine. I’m so sorry to be such a cause of concern. I hoped that by hiding out in here, no one would notice me or worry about me.”

  “I have been so busy with my own concerns and appointments that I have not been able to speak with you as I wished, and you have been ill with your headaches. Was my mother severe with you the other day? I do apologize if she was.”

  “No, no, not at all. She’s just worried about William.” Mattie clamped her mouth shut. The less she said about that, the better. She didn’t want to add to Sylvie’s concerns, especially with a suggestion of William abandoning Sylvie, her mother and his estates. Of course, he couldn’t do that.

  “As we all are,” Sylvie said with a frown. “He is not himself. He has always been a bit of a dreamer, but he has seemed much more distracted than usual since your arrival.” She blushed. “You know he believes himself in love with you, do you not?”

  Mattie bit her lip but didn’t answer.

  “Well, of course he would, how could he not? You seem a very fine person, interesting, kind and perhaps a bit mysterious. I know my brother, Mattie. Once he sets his sights on something, he will not let go. He is the most determined man.” She took Mattie’s hand in hers. “Has he declared himself to you?”

  Mattie’s eyes shifted away from Sylvie’s perceptive blue ones. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Sylvie.”

  “Do you not?” Sylvie asked with a mischievous smile. “I think you must. Your face reveals all. Did you turn my poor brother down?” Sylvie shook her head. “I suppose that explains why he says he is away to town again for several weeks though he just returned. I suspected as much.”