The Goode Witch Matchmaker: Four Sweet Paranormal Romances (The Goode Witch Matchmaker Collection Book 1)

by Cate Lawley

  Common sense said that science would move forward. If he considered all that had been accomplished in his own lifetime, it was no surprise that the motorwagon of Elizabeth’s time—more than a hundred years after his own—was hardly recognizable. He only hoped that the scientists of this era had also resolved any ill effects traveling at such high speeds might have upon the body.

  Gooseflesh pimpled his arms at the thought of his internal organs sloshing about at high speed. But when he rubbed his bare arms, he was again reminded of the oddity of his attire. He touched the denim material of his trousers. Elizabeth had appeared in his time appropriately clothed, so it was reasonable to assume that his attire suited the period. No jacket, only an undershirt, workman's trousers—styles had certainly changed, unfavorably, by his estimation. The shoes, however, were comfortable. He balanced on his toes and then rocked back on his heels. Quite comfortable.

  The stillness of the house should have been immediately obvious—but he'd been distracted. He became suddenly and acutely aware of the silence and that he was in Elizabeth's home. Perhaps the initial shock of hurtling through time was wearing off.

  He looked around the parlor. There was an intimacy to standing here, now that he knew it was her parlor. He couldn't bring himself to venture further into the house and possibly violate her privacy. Since he couldn't leave the house and wouldn't invade her home further, he had one remaining choice: he would wait.

  Chapter 11

  Beth pulled into her driveway, put her car in park, and turned the radio off. Collecting her thoughts after a client appointment was part of her process. She usually took a few minutes to replay the appointment and mentally compile the main points of the meeting. Except today she couldn't focus on the bigger picture. Her attention span was shorter than normal, and a general sense of impatience—like she'd had two cups of coffee too many—made her fidgety.

  She smacked the side of the steering wheel in annoyance then gave up and headed into the house. As she pulled her keys out, she considered her bribe options. If she could just finish typing up her notes, drafting goals, and sending a follow-up email to her new client, then…a bubble bath? A glass of wine? Both. Definitely both. It was that kind of day. She turned the key in the lock, but there was no resistance and no corresponding click of the bolt sliding. She must have stared in confusion at the already unlocked door for several seconds—because it wasn't possible. She always locked her door.

  Only after she'd stepped into her entryway did it occur to her that maybe, if she was that certain she'd locked her door, she shouldn't have walked into the house. Maybe she should have stayed outside and called 9-1-1. She fumbled in her purse for her phone as she turned back to the door.

  "Elizabeth," a man's voice called.

  Beth froze. No one called her Elizabeth, not even her parents. "Oh." Surprise made her voice squeak. Because there was one person who called her Elizabeth. But that wasn't possible, because he was a dream. She turned.

  Tall, clean-shaven, wearing jeans and a fitted T-shirt, her mystery man was less than fifteen feet away and closing the gap.

  Two worlds collided. Or maybe the tilting floor and wobbly walls had something to do with whatever had created her hallucination. But then she had a moment of clarity, as if all the pieces of a complex puzzle suddenly snapped into place. "Edward."

  A wide smile spread across his face. "You remember." He stopped a few feet in front of her, looked down, and touched the neck of his shirt. "I have some understanding now of how uncomfortable you might have been when you arrived in my world."

  He was close enough to touch. Her hand hovered, halted midair as she reached out to touch his arm. He wasn't real. He was supposed to be a dream.

  Slowly, he reached out and grasped the tips of her fingers and gently squeezed. "I am real."

  Beth didn't feel relief that he'd proven himself a tangible presence rather than a figment of her imagination. She was too distracted by the feel of his hand on hers. Victorian men and women wore gloves. She'd never felt his hand touch her own. It was a silly little thing, but standing in her entryway, her fingers clasped by a man well over a hundred years old, that was the thought that kept her frozen in place.

  Chapter 12

  Beth couldn't seem to move, and she didn't know what to say. Edward…Stanbury. The name popped into her head. Edward Stanbury was here, in her hallway, in 2016.

  "Elizabeth?" Edward let go of her hand, but he ducked his head and tried to catch her gaze. "Beth?"

  He never called her Beth. She remembered that…and so much more. "How long have you been here?"

  "An hour, perhaps two." He pressed his lips together. "A lady across the way saw me when I opened the front door."

  Beth nodded. "It's confusing, appearing in an unknown place with no sense of time or location. I’m sure you wanted to check out everything." But even as she spoke, only part of her was engaged with the conversation. She couldn't move beyond the fact of his presence in her world. It took her several seconds to realize he was uncomfortable with having been seen in her home. "Oh! No, it's no problem—if my neighbors see you, I mean. That's fine. It's not a problem—in this time—it's fine." She shook her head. She was babbling, and she did not babble. She took a deep breath, counted to three as she exhaled, and then said, "Would you like a drink?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "If you'd like to join me in the kitchen, I can make tea." She should have a small quantity stashed in the back of a cupboard. Not like she'd had much interest in tea prior to…yesterday? The day before yesterday?

  Edward followed her through to the kitchen and took a seat. “I haven’t had tea in the kitchen since I was a little boy.” He watched while she prepared the tea, and asked, “Can I help?”.

  “No, it’ll be just a minute.” Beth took those few minutes of puttering around the kitchen to collect her thoughts.

  Edward was here in her house; she kept trying to wrap her mind around that fact. And then there was the question of her instant recall. It was as if his presence had triggered an unveiling of hidden memories. All of the conversations, the time spent together that she'd believed a dream, firmed, and the holes started to fill. While previously some parts had seemed real and others confusing and vague, now it was all vividly etched in her mind. As if Edward's presence in this world—in her world—made Edward himself real. "Completely, totally irrational."

  "I agree." Edward's voice startled her, and she turned abruptly to face him. He started to stand, but she shooed him back into his chair. Once he was seated again, he said, "My presence here, yours in my time, it is difficult to comprehend."

  As she prepared Edward's tea—one sugar and no milk—she realized that not only was she certain of his preference, she remembered preparing tea for him on several occasions. She handed him the cup. "How is it possible that my memories span several meetings, but two days ago, I didn't even know you existed?"

  "I've traveled into the future over a hundred years, witnessed the offspring of my era's motorwagon, seen a photograph that captures life, and I'm wearing clothing that appeared from the ether. My darling lady, our experiences lie well outside the bounds of any reality I have thus far experienced. Divine or mortal intervention? Chance?" Edward lifted the cup to his mouth and sipped. He seemed to be considering his next words. "Though I'm uncertain how this is all possible, I can't deny it's happening. And knowing you…I wouldn't have it otherwise."

  Beth wasn't a weepy type of person—not prone to rapidly shifting moods and usually quite practical—but Edward's words produced an unfamiliar and very sudden wash of emotion. Her breath hitched and caught in her throat. Bizarre as their experience was, Edward seemed to have no regrets. Well, she didn't either.

  Beth didn't have the right words to reply, so she let the moment pass. And besides, even if she might be falling for the man sitting across the table from her, there couldn't possibly be a future for them. She didn't know when he would suddenly fade away and return to the past. All she kn
ew for sure was that he would leave, because he didn't belong in 2016 any more than she belonged in 1899.

  She loosened her grip on the teacup clasped too tightly in her fingers and tried to think of something—anything—to say. "Would you like to take a walk?" As the question left her lips, she realized it was a great start. What better way for Edward to acclimate to the present than to view it in a low-pressure environment, with few critical or close observers on hand but the opportunity to watch the world go by? And her neighborhood was quiet. "We can stay in my neighborhood, and you can see the people, the cars—motorwagons are called cars—and what the world looks like in this little corner of 2016."

  Edward finished his tea and nodded. "That sounds lovely. It is unsettling not knowing what takes place outside these walls. I'm attired appropriately for such an outing?"

  Beth smiled. She remembered asking him the same question the first time they'd ventured out in public in his world. "Yes. However this time leaping works, there seems to be a hand with a practical touch at work." A thought occurred… “It’s much hotter here. With both the warm climate and a more casual social environment…Sometimes people don’t wear much. And that’s normal.”

  “I understand. I’ll be fine.”

  Beth gave him a worried look.

  “If I promise not to swoon at the sight of bare legs, will you stop worrying?” he asked.

  “Sorry.” But Beth couldn’t shake the thought that she’d have a hard time with some of the joggers’ attire in her neighborhood, if she were a Victorian.

  As she gathered up the dishes and placed them in the sink, she couldn't remember when she'd last felt this nervous or this shy. Her previous encounters with Edward had been different. She didn't remember her stomach fluttering—or her hands sweating. She remembered finding him attractive—and, surprisingly, he was even more so when viewed within the context of modern clothing and her kitchen—but her feelings before had been more detached. She just couldn't get over the fact that he was here. It was so incredibly real now.

  A touch on her elbow made her jump.

  "Sorry." The apology was accompanied by a crooked smile. "If you're uncomfortable—"

  "No! Ah, it's just, it's very different, having you here…in my home." When Beth saw his eyes start to narrow in what looked like consternation, she realized how that must sound. She gave him her best effort at a genuine smile. "I'm happy you're here—I just don't understand how or why. I know you didn't choose to land in my house, any more than I chose to land in your garden. But you're very welcome here, always."

  "I can't say it wasn't a surprise, albeit a pleasant one, to find myself in your time, in your home."

  Beth leaned a hip against the counter and looked at him. Really looked at him. "I worry about where this ends. About why it's happening. If there's some greater purpose that we're missing." And what she would do if she fell completely head over heels for him and then he faded away one day and just didn't come back. But that was an admission that was difficult enough to make silently. She couldn't bring herself to voice it, so she asked, "Don't you worry?"

  "But we don't have those answers—not yet. And until we do, I hope that you can enjoy the time we have. This last month has allowed me to rediscover the joy that can be found in each day, in simple activities, like picnics. In a sunny day spent in the company of a delightful companion." Edward's gaze drifted, as if his thoughts were suddenly far away. Several seconds later, his gaze again sharp, he said, "I'd forgotten that. And your generosity of spirit, your joy in life, helped me to remember."

  Beth blinked. Her joy in life. She didn’t see herself that way, but that was just fine that Edward did and she wasn’t about to contradict him.

  "Excellent advice—let’s enjoy the moment." Beth grabbed her house keys from the hook near the front door. As she walked through the door, she said over her shoulder, "And just a heads-up: you're in Texas. Sunny days aren't so scarce as in England. You're looking at a lot of joy if sunny days are the key."

  Edward tipped his head. "In fact, it's more about the company than the weather. But I look forward to many sunny days in good company."

  Beth couldn't help an answering grin.

  Chapter 13

  Edward closed the front door behind him and, reaching his hand out for Elizabeth's keys, asked, "May I?"

  She handed him a weighty key fob with at least half a dozen small keys attached. "It's the pink one."

  Sure enough, one of the odd shaped keys was pink, with a caricature of what he thought might be a cat. As he locked the front door, he couldn't help but admire the smooth slide of the sophisticated locking mechanism. He offered the keys to Elizabeth.

  "Actually, do you mind? I don't have any pockets."

  "No, of course not." Only after he'd agreed did Edward realize he wasn't entirely certain that he had pockets. After a quick and discreet inspection, he found that his pants were indeed equipped with pockets of sufficient size to hold the keys.

  "We'll just stay on the sidewalk. That should be safe enough."

  Edward scanned the area, looking for lurking dangers, but all he saw were tidy, well-maintained homes, one after the other. He nodded in acknowledgment of a passing man's casual, two-fingered wave. Wires hung from the man's ears, and he appeared to be wearing half of his underclothes and nothing else as he ran down the street—but Elizabeth appeared unconcerned—and not responding would be rude. "Is there some particular danger of which I should be aware?"

  Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. "No." The skin around her eyes crinkled with mirth. "You may be wearing different clothes, but you're exactly as I remember."

  "I'm not certain I understand the source of your amusement, but I hope it's a reflection of the positive impression I made upon you—in your dreams."

  "You're kind. You're considerate. But you're also so much more open-minded than I would have guessed someone from your era to be." She winced then bit her lip. "I'm sorry. The Victorians weren't known for being particularly forward-thinking about women…" She paused to gesture at her clothing, a rather finely tailored suit complete with jacket and trousers. "And a hop into the future has to be a shock, more so than a trip to the past. And yet…"

  Edward smiled politely at yet another running person and stepped to the side to allow room for the pram she was pushing. He could feel his eyes widening at the snugness of the woman's ensemble. How did the material fit so closely? She might as well be unclothed. He turned back to Elizabeth. "Apologies. You were saying?"

  A huge grin spread across her face. "I was saying that it's cool how well you're taking all of this."

  "Cool?"

  "Admirable. You don't seem worried about the changes that have taken place over the last hundred years."

  Edward wasn't sure how to respond, because in many ways it didn't seem all that different to him. "Faster, bigger, louder, but essentially—" As if on cue, a loud noise overhead interrupted him. He turned his head skyward. "Now that…that is different."

  "That's a helicopter. It's belongs to the police—a professional organization that handles law enforcement for the city."

  Edward swallowed a laugh. "We have police." He looked back up at the sky. "But we certainly don't have those."

  "Oh, sorry. I thought professional policing wasn't that old. I mean…" Elizabeth's nose and cheeks flushed a pale shade of pink.

  "I know what you mean." He watched the machine move through the sky until it was no more than a speck. "What's it called again?"

  "Helicopter."

  "Fascinating. But outside of the fact that man has conquered flight, much of what I've seen thus far is similar. Cleaner, bigger, louder—but more similar than, say, a hundred years prior to my own time." It may not seem like it to a woman from this age, but Edward lived in a time of innovation and change. He had only to open the daily paper to learn of some new advancement in industry or a scientific discovery. "At least my society has imagined the concept of a flying vehicle."

  "But it
's so different. Everything has changed." Her lips twisted. "You're looking for the elements that unite the times. Given the circumstances, that's pretty amazing. I can tell you, that wasn't my first reaction."

  Edward didn't see her point. They turned onto a slightly busier street with more motorwagon—car—traffic. "It's not so very different. Not what I've seen so far. Faster vehicles driving on the wrong side of the road, more sophisticated locks with smaller keys, different clothing." He paused as he considered the accuracy of that statement. "Less clothing. But neighbors still greet each other in the street, and transport still carries travelers through the city." He glanced up at the bluest sky he'd ever seen. "Or above it."

  "Well, I'm glad. There are some things that are more radically different, but we can chat about those before you run into them." Elizabeth shook her head. "You're just so much better at this than I was. And I had the comfort of a somewhat familiar past and the illusion of believing it all to be a dream." Tiny wrinkles appeared on her forehead. "At first."

  "I know this is no dream." He wanted to tell her that he'd never doubted, not when she'd faded into view the first time he'd met her and not when he'd appeared in her parlor. But he hesitated to be so blunt. "I don't know what's happening—but this is no dream."

  They were approaching an intersection with another residential street. From what he could tell, the community appeared to be laid out on a grid. He glanced at the street sign. A woman's name, both first and last. It seemed an odd choice for a residential neighborhood. "Why—" A shrill tone interrupted him.

  Elizabeth pulled out an object approximately the size of her hand. Apparently she had at least one pocket. Indecision briefly crossed her face then she touched the shiny surface of the item. The noise stopped. "Sorry. I'll explain in a minute."

  He nodded, though he wasn't certain what would be explained.