The City of Love: A Medieval Time Travel Romance (Eternity Rings Book 1)

by Paige Elwood

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn,” she said, unshed tears shining in her eyes. “I’m just very homesick. I’m grateful for all that you’ve done for me.”

  . “You are welcome, Sophie. I wish nothing more than for you to find your way home.”

  Sophie nodded, but her heart sank a little at his words. She wanted to go home, she desperately wanted to go home, but the idea that he actually wanted her to go disappointed her in a way she’d never experienced.

  Why was that a problem? Why wouldn’t he want her to go? Keeping her here was probably costing him a small fortune. She was just overreacting because she was tired. The emotional toll of time travel was exhausting, she thought, rubbing her eyes. It was like jetlag times a million.

  “We have here,” Edouard said, as he glanced at the Petellier mansion. He hesitated. “Would it be acceptable to you if I were to come tomorrow and we can go for a picnic?” His eager expression made her wonder why she’d thought him arrogant and self-assured.

  Sophie smiled, her eyes blurry with tiredness, but the warmth emanating from her ring that his nearness always provoked was beginning to be reflected by a similar warmth inside her. “I would like that very much.”

  He gently raised her hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and the odd sensation that always affected her when he touched her intensified. He gave her a smile and something inside her melted just a little.

  “Goodnight, Mademoiselle Sophie,” he said. Hearing him say her name caused her heart to flutter for some reason. Good heavens, what was happening to her? Of all the times and places to start to wonder if love might be real, this was the most inconvenient of them all. She had to get home.

  Sophie skipped dinner that evening, not feeling hungry after having tried so many different foods suggested by Edouard as they toured the ancient city. She was very tired, but when she retired to her bedroom she found that it was difficult to sleep with all of the thoughts buzzing around in her brain. Just thinking about Edouard brought a smile to her lips, unbidden.

  He had a way of surprising her with his generous nature just when she’d labelled him as spoiled and arrogant. Seeing his charitable work in the form of the hospital had shown her he was a kind and honorable man, even if he didn’t see it in himself. A peculiar tingling sensation remained, like an aftershock of Edouard’s touch. What caused that? She wondered. It was an actual, physical sensation. Not unpleasant. In fact, it was… nice… but she didn’t understand it at all. She wanted to keep feeling it, though.

  Chapter 20

  Edouard took the bridge across the Seine to the Ile de la Cite and the grounds of Notre Dame. Since the evening of the curse he’d been able to find a strange peace here. It was odd that the very site of his cursing should bring him comfort, but it always did. In fact, he felt a calling to this place, and his ring reacted each time Notre Dame was in sight with a mild warmth. It was noticeable, but nothing like the reaction his ring had to Sophie’s presence. He walked the gardens in solitude, admiring the late May blooms and manicured lawns.

  As he walked, the sun finished its nightly descent, and the stars stepped in to light the sky, the moon no more than a sliver in the inky darkness this evening. He took a seat on a bench and gazed upwards, towards the heavens, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers. Each star shone brightly, illuminating the sky with a soft glow. They were interesting things, stars. Like clouds, you could see them and could not deny their existence. Yet you couldn’t touch them, hold them, or own them. You couldn’t feel them. Love was somewhat the opposite, he pondered. It can’t be seen but it can be felt. It was intangible, like the stars and the clouds, like the heavens and destiny. Yet it existed, he knew this to be true.

  “You look lost in contemplation, my son,” a familiar voice said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “I was just enjoying the gardens, and the view of the stars,” Edouard said to Father Duprix.

  They had met often in the cathedral and its grounds since that dark night when the priest had rescued Edouard. They had struck up a friendship of a fashion, and Edouard often sought Father Duprix’s advice on matters. He hadn’t yet discussed Sophie with him and was nervous of what his godly friend would say of Edouard’s plan.

  “Shall we walk a while?” the father asked. “I am taking my evening walk and some company would be nice.”

  Edouard nodded, and they walked side by side in silence for a few moments, their feet crunching against small stones along the path. “The gardens are looking particularly beautiful tonight,” Edouard said, stopping to brush a hand across a flowering shrub with bright white blooms that almost seemed to be made of moonlight. The petals were delicate and soft against his hand, like Sophie’s skin when her hand was in his.

  “They are always beautiful in the late spring,” Father Duprix agreed, “yet I can see the beauty here even in mid-winter when the flowers are long gone. There is still a sense of life, and the knowledge that soon it will spring forth again.”

  “I suppose it is beautiful then,” Edouard said. “I don’t often see beyond what my eyes can show me.”

  “Then you will miss out on many of life’s pleasures,” the priest said. “I believe you can look harder. Use your heart to see as well as your eyes and the world becomes a much richer place.”

  “What my eyes show me is beauty enough. Like the cathedral.” He motioned upwards at the grand towers of Notre Dame, with its intricate architecture and ornately designed windows. “Few things are as beautiful.”

  “It’s true, the cathedral is beautiful, but it’s simply a reflection of God’s glory and grace. The best our inadequate human hands can build as an expression of worship. I cannot see His grace and glory, but I know its beauty far outweighs the structure of Notre Dame.”

  “Perhaps. I know of some things that can be felt but not seen, and still be beautiful.”

  “Which things do you speak of?” Father Duprix asked.

  “Faith. Love,” he added.

  “Ahh, love.” The priest nodded. “One of God’s finest gifts. And one that is particularly important to you. How is your search going?”

  Edouard paused before responding, collecting his thoughts and sorting them into an order that might make sense. Father Duprix waited patiently, and they continued to walk side by side through the gardens with the stars twinkling above them. Minutes later, Edouard began to speak, grateful for the priest’s patience.

  “I have found the woman I was searching for,” he began.

  “This is excellent news,” the priest said. “Have you used the power of the rings?”

  “I have,” he replied. “I believe that I may be feeling the beginnings of love for the girl, but I do not know how to be certain.”

  “You have the very great benefit of knowing you are destined to love each other,” the priest said. “And the help of the rings, so perhaps this should not trouble you so much. Most people do not have such tools at their disposal, and only their instincts to rely on.”

  “And instincts are sometimes wrong,” Edouard said.

  “Perhaps,” Father Duprix said. “Yet, maybe instincts themselves are never wrong, only our interpretation of what we are feeling. You have more certainty than most, so what troubles you so much?”

  “Am I worthy of love?” he asked.

  “Everybody is worthy. Not everybody is open enough, or recognizes their worth.”

  “I feel I may not be worthy of love. Especially her love.” Edouard inspected his fingernails.

  “What makes you feel this way?”

  “I deceived her to get her here, gave her the ring and brought her to this time against her will,” he confessed. It felt good to get the burden off his chest a little, telling a priest, but he still cringed waiting for the response from Father Duprix.

  “Then I see why you feel you may not deserve this love. It is yours anyway, regardless,” the priest said. “People make many mistakes, it is part of being human.
What makes us worthy or not worthy are not the mistakes we make, but how we rectify them.” He looked at Edouard with kindly eyes.

  “I don’t know how to rectify this. I must break the curse, but to do that I must keep her here against her will.” Edouard wished he had sought the priest’s counsel before his plan. Perhaps there would have been a way to avoid all of this. Yet he couldn’t think of a way to have done it any differently.

  “All of those things are already done. Your powers from the rings won’t allow you to go back and re-do this?” The priest asked.

  “No, they don’t work that way. I can only visit a particular moment in time once in reality. I may visit anywhere in my dreams and view events, but to change things or visit in person, I can only go once.” Edouard explained. “I have ruined my only chance with my deception, haven’t I?” He looked at his feet and kicked at some small stones by his toes.

  “Not necessarily. You still have time. Put things right,” the father said. “The truth is what matters most. Tell her how you feel, the mistake you made. Allow her the chance to forgive you.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Edouard asked.

  “Then you will know that you faced the consequences of your actions. Yet, perhaps you underestimate the power of real love, and its ability to allow forgiveness.”

  Father Duprix’s words filled Edouard with hope. He would tell her. She deserved to know, and she needed to have the chance to make her own decision. The question was when? She was already here, would it be so terrible to leave her in the dark just a day or two longer?

  He must be sure she was in love before telling her. If he did it too soon he would ruin both their chances at eternal love. He couldn’t keep deceiving her, but wasn’t robbing her of the option to give their love a chance just as cruel?

  He would wait. Just a while longer. It was better for both of that way. He said goodbye to Father Duprix and returned home with a heart that was lighter than when he arrived, but still troubled. Things would seem clearer after sleep, he thought.

  Chapter 21

  Sophie awoke early the next morning. Edouard was coming today, and they were going for a picnic, she remembered. Excitement filled her at the thought. Would he provide the food, she wondered, or was Sophie expected to bring it?

  He wouldn’t invite her for a picnic she had to make, surely. An idea occurred to her, and she dressed quickly, hurrying downstairs to the kitchen. None of the other ladies were awake, but Cook was busy working in the kitchen.

  “Mademoiselle Sophie, breakfast is not for another two hours,” he said when she entered.

  “It’s ok, Cook, I’m not hungry,” she said. “I was hoping you could help me make something for lunch.”

  “You want to cook. In my kitchen?” His eyes were like saucers. “Why? Ladies do not cook.”

  “I enjoy it, and I’ll need your help.” He didn’t look convinced. “Please,” she wheedled.

  Cook relented. “What is it?”

  “Barbecue chicken,” she said. “I want to make some to take on a picnic, and some for Madame Petellier and her daughters to eat at lunch. They told me they’d like to try it,”

  “I do not know this… barbecue chicken.” Cook’s brow creased.

  “If you have the things I need, I can show you how to make it,” she said. She hoped she remembered the ingredients correctly.

  “What do you need?” Cook asked.

  “Tomato sauce, mustard, honey, garlic, chili,” she said. She guessed they didn’t have hot sauce or Worcester sauce, so this would have to do.

  “I do not know chili,” Cook said.

  Sophie grimaced. “Let’s try it without,” she said.

  Cook brought her the ingredients, and she set to work cooking fresh tomatoes down into a sauce, gradually adding the other ingredients slowly and tasting as she went. Eventually, she hit what she thought was the closest she would get to a BBQ sauce. Cook tasted it, his nose wrinkling at first, but then he nodded in approval.

  “Strange… but I like it,” he said, licking the back on the spoon he’d dipped into the sauce to get the remnants off. “How did you say it? Bar-bee-cuue sauce?”

  Sophie nodded. “You cover the chicken in it and cook it.” Cook brought her some chicken and she covered it with sauce. “Could you let this sit and then cook it so it’s ready for lunch?” she asked.

  “Oui. A lady, cooking in my kitchen!” he said, shaking his head. “Now, shoo!” He playfully waved a kitchen cloth at her to get her out of the kitchen. “I have breakfast to prepare!”

  Sophie ate breakfast slowly, too excited to be hungry. She didn’t tell anyone that she’d prepared barbecue chicken for them, deciding to let it be a surprise. She hoped they liked it. She’d actually been surprised at the quality of the food she’d had since arriving. Perhaps not the gray-looking porridge at the inn, but everything else since had been quite delicious. She still felt nervous each mealtime, though, in case she was brought something unappetizing. Like a pig’s head, or some kind of offal.

  She hoped Edouard would arrive by lunchtime and not make her wait too long. She was actually looking forward to seeing him again, although she didn’t understand the feelings he provoked in her. The physical attraction she understood well enough, but the strange dichotomy of not fully trusting his assertion that he didn’t know how she got here jarred with her growing desire to spend more time with him.

  She found that she wanted to hear his stories and opinions, to see him smile. It was something she’d never really experienced, and it made her curious. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she’d stopped thinking of him only as arrogant. Now she found herself thinking of little ways to make him happy just as often as she thought about how she might get home.

  She passed the time walking the halls of the large house. The Petellier girls were all doing embroidery, and Sophie didn’t want to stay still, or learn how to do it. She was excited for the picnic and sitting down just made her fidget.

  She inspected the tapestries as she went, trying to piece together the story she thought they told. She couldn’t decide what the beginning of the story was. A dark-haired young man featured in all of them, and it showed him at various balls, in a church, on a hill somewhere, gazing out at the stars. There was a small section that she almost missed near the door to the garden, showing the young man sitting at a table and talking with two women. There wasn’t enough detail to make out faces, but the women seemed to be a little older.

  It was a strange collection of images, and Sophie was determined to solve the puzzle of the story at some point. She would bet that Delphine knew what the story was. Perhaps she should ask her when she was done embroidering.

  Cook called her into the kitchen before noon to give her a basket containing a small platter of the barbecue chicken covered over with a cloth. It smelled wonderful. She thanked Cook and went to the door to wait for Edouard. It was a beautiful, bright sunny day, but she was thankful for a slightly cool breeze. She didn’t know how she’d manage a hot summer in the heavy and restrictive clothing of the time. One more reason she must get home to her own time.

  Madame Petellier joined her waiting for Edouard. Sophie found this custom of having a chaperone very strange. She imagined having to be chaperoned in modern times, and a giggle escaped her as an image of Madame Petellier squashed onto a table for two as a third wheel at the local Italian restaurant. Her giggling fit alarmed Madame Petellier, who obviously thought she was having another outburst.

  “Are you well, Sophie?” she asked.

  “Yes, Madame, sorry, I just remembered something funny,” she explained. Madame Petellier shrugged and nodded in acceptance of the explanation offered.

  Her heart lifted as she saw Edouard’s carriage approach. She told herself it was simply the excitement of a day out. He climbed out and helped her in, followed by Madame Petellier. Sophie took the seat opposite him, holding the basket steady as the carriage turned and sped away from the mansion.

  Sophie wat
ched Edouard as he gazed out of the carriage, lost in thought. She wondered what might be going through his head. Did he think he was crazy for spending time with the obviously mentally unstable woman he’d found wandering the Quai in her nightwear? Was he regretting taking pity on her? She hoped not. You’re being silly, she thought to herself. He invited you on this picnic.

  Was it pity? She hoped that his motives were something more than that. She didn’t feel like the kind of woman who should be pitied. In her own time, she was young but self-assured and successful. Ok, so she didn’t have a great track record with men, but that wasn’t such a big deal. Or even that uncommon.

  Sophie turned and looked out the opposite side of the carriage, the lush green French countryside rolling past as they sped along the dirt road. Occasionally, the carriage hit a small rock in the road and the carriage would bump a little. The basket she was guarding nearly toppled off the seat twice, but she managed to save it.

  The weather was clear and bright, and she enjoyed watching the unspoiled countryside as they traveled. They passed a small village where children played and women stood in groups chatting. She wondered what their lives were like in those provincial areas, and she considered how different her experience might be if she’d woken up somewhere else and not met Edouard. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  After they’d been traveling for about twenty minutes, Edouard called for the carriage to halt. They got out, and he led Sophie and Madame Petellier across a small field and to a copse of trees next to a stream. Sunlight broke through the leaves of the trees, giving the grass below a dappled effect. He pulled two blankets from the basket he was carrying and laid them next to each other.

  “I will sit over here,” Madame Petellier said, indicating a spot underneath a tree further away. “I have some embroidery to do.”

  Edouard picked up one of the blankets and moved it to the spot that Madame Petellier had indicated. Sophie took a seat on the blanket that was left, setting her own basket down and admiring the beauty of her surroundings.