Belmary House Book Two (11 page)

“Do you think this means Wodge will leave you alone now?” she asked, finally finding a possible silver lining.

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “He has no reason to come after me anymore. He’s not reasonable though, that’s the problem. And he doesn’t need the portals to travel. Up until a few years ago, I think he only traveled using the one in Wales, or sometimes the one in Castle on Hill, but now I think he’s mastered one of the spells the witches use. I’d love to know his reasoning behind that, since as long as I’ve known of him, all he does is try and eradicate witchcraft off the face of the earth. I suppose it doesn’t count if it’s furthering his goals.”

“The mark of a psycho, whackadoo logic.”

Ashford smiled almost against his will. “Matilda, I swear I only understand one in five of the things you say, but I do love the way you speak.”

His unconscious smile bolstered her confidence. “We need to find one of those witches who can use a spell,” she said, suddenly glomming onto what he’d said earlier.

His smile melted. “Yes, we still need to get you home.”

She stiffened, as that wasn’t what she meant. She’d been thinking of Emma, and anyone else left over after the house got destroyed, or even just a reason for him to keep doing what he clearly needed to do, but it seemed he was still determined to send her back.

The journey caught up with her all at once and she was too tired to argue, merely nodding and trying not to show how hurt she was that sending her home was always on the forefront of his mind. Especially when she was right on the cusp of being sure she wanted to stay.

“I don’t know how to get in contact with one,” he admitted. “They sometimes cross my path in my travels, but I’m not close with any.” He rubbed his face and started to say something, then shook his head. “Ah, never mind that. It’s been too long.”

She didn’t bother trying to get him to explain, needing all her energy to keep from hitting him or crying. He must have noticed something was off about her and he pulled her to his chest.

“Don’t worry about any of it now, my dear,” he said. “We’ll get a good night’s sleep before setting off again. He stroked her arm and placed a gentle kiss on her brow.

She leaned into him, not understanding how he could be so caring and sweet, and still want to send her home. Had he already reconciled it in his mind that they were nothing but the equivalent of a summer fling? At first, she’d been fine with that, but every day he burrowed deeper and deeper into her heart. The resulting hole might never be filled if he was wrenched away from her. She held on tighter, knowing she should let go, but unable to.

***

Ashford rolled out of bed and pulled the covers more securely around Matilda, careful not to wake her after the fitful time she’d had falling asleep. He couldn’t sleep at all and didn’t want to risk disturbing her rest, so finally gave up trying to lie still, and crept away to the small room behind the library where he kept important papers he didn’t like to look at.

Having to deal with everyday life usually put him to sleep in a hurry, so he shuffled through his accounts, finding them in perfect order thanks to his remarkable staff, then flipped through his date book. Seeing the events he was supposed to go to, but would end up missing, put him in a worse mood than when he started, and that was plenty bad. So, this was his life now. As soon as he told Serena the awful truth of what she was up against, he’d … what?

Stay in Albus and run the estate? He’d run it into the ground. Come back here and squire Matilda on his endless and useless society rounds as second earl to Ashford and Happenham? He’d already succeeded in shredding her reputation, she’d have a very bad go of it, and would end up hating him. Retire to the Happenham estate and put up with his bitter aunt and hapless cousins? To quote his Matilda, hell no.

He shook his head at himself for thinking of her as his. He did so want her to be, but what did he have to offer her? He couldn’t keep his promise to return her to her home and family, and if his remaining options here seemed grim to him, how could they appeal to someone from a more exciting time?

He’d seen the eager look on her face when Adkins had hounded her for information. She’d wanted to speak of it, clearly missed her old life, and like a brute, he’d put a stop to it, unable to accept that he couldn’t give her what she most wanted, which had to be to return.

He thought it funny that most of the women in this time considered him a catch, but he didn’t want a single one of them. Matilda didn’t seem overly impressed with his wealth, or at all concerned about status. That was all he had, now that he was stripped of his ability to traverse time. He felt as helpless as when he’d been forced to concede to Kostya and leave him behind in order to keep Matilda safe. As helpless as when he’d realized that Camilla was beyond saving.

If he failed one more person, he didn’t know how he could go on, but if he somehow succeeded in getting Matilda back, his future looked even more bleak without her. Utterly exhausted from the last weeks, he knew he still wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, not even with the warm comfort of Matilda sleeping sweetly beside him.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, only to be overcome with images of his sister when they were young. That carefree girl had been gone long before she ran away to France, but he still missed the comrade who’d been a part of his life since three minutes after he was born, who knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

There hadn’t been time to beg Kostya’s forgiveness for what he’d spared him having to do, and offered a prayer for Camilla. Her deeds had been indefensible, but all he could bring himself to recall was the bright, fiery child that he ran with, up and down the hills of their home. He hadn’t felt that free in nearly fifteen years now, and had given up hope of ever feeling so again.

He touched the spot between his brows that Matilda pressed to get him to quit frowning and wished he could go to her, the only other person who knew him quite the same, and still miraculously loved him. It was with her that he felt the closest to pure happiness.

He stayed in his chair, hoping morning would come quickly so he could renew his restless pace and be able to push his futile thoughts aside once more.

Dexter took a deep breath, glanced apologetically at Emma, then swung open the door, preparing for the worst. He deserved whatever he got, and the weeks of avoiding Tilly’s family came crashing down on him in an avalanche of guilt.

Still, he couldn’t help but be glad to see Tilly’s American granny when she burst in on him and slapped him across his shoulders with her handbag. Their shared English grandmother had died when they were too young to remember her, and his Egyptian granny was strict and formidable, and he had to force himself to visit her out of obligation. But when Tilly’s gran wasn’t pummeling him, she was one of his favorite people in the world.

Helen Barlow finally stopped beating him and pulled him into a hug, telling him he’d grown another foot, even though he’d been the same height since he was eighteen and she well knew it. Her kind round face, impeccably made up even after a transcontinental flight, returned to its angry state as soon as she let him go, and he got a safe distance away in case she started swinging again.

“Start talking, young man,” she said, finally noticing Emma.

Dexter hurried to introduce her, fully aware Helen knew what was going on due to the early hour and the fact that he still wore only his robe. “I’m really sorry, Gran, let me change.”

He fled the room before she could tell him to sit his ass down and start explaining what had happened to Tilly, and kept an ear open to anything Emma might say while he jerked on his clothes, all while trying to figure out what to tell her.

When he returned to the front room, he found Emma making coffee, probably to keep from having to say anything.

“Sit your ass down, Dex, and tell me what happened. And don’t give me any baloney about Tibet. Tilly couldn’t meditate for ten minutes, let alone a month, and you know it. So, what’s going on? Why doesn’t she respond to me or her mother?”

Dexter looked at the door as if expecting Tilly’s mum to also burst through it. “She didn’t come with you?” he asked, thinking he couldn’t possibly explain twice.

Her face fell and he realized that through her bluster, she was terrified. He glanced at Emma, who shook her head at him, having already much more astutely figured that out. It was like getting punched in the gut to deceive this woman who always treated him like another grandchild whenever he visited them in America.

“She’s got four girls in state pageants, two wedding parties— did you know she was approached by someone in Los Angeles for possibly doing costumes for a movie?” Helen flapped her hands. “She can barely work she’s so worried, but what can she do? They can’t afford to lose all that business.”

“Tilly’s mum designs posh gowns,” he explained to Emma, causing Helen to reach across and turn his chin back in her direction.

“Focus and tell me what’s going on. Just seeing you tells me Tilly must be okay, or how could you be so calm? But why won’t she return our calls?”

“It’s going to be rather hard to accept,” Emma said, when he found he didn’t know where to begin. “The same thing that happened to her, happened to me. As far as we know, and really we have no reason to believe otherwise, she’s fine. Just not here.”

Helen gaped at Emma as if she was from another planet, and he sighed at her terrible explanation. He recalled the shoddy job she’d done of explaining it to him as well, but it wasn’t as if he was doing any better, and it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to explain.

“She’s gone to another time,” he blurted. “Emma here’s from the future.”

Helen stood up, looking like she might start swinging her purse again. “I’ve never known you to be so flippant. If you’re not going to—”

“Mrs. Barlow, please, he’s telling the truth.”

Emma moved over and took her hand, gently pulling her back onto the couch. It was a testament to how frightened and upset she was that she allowed her to do it.

“The house we both work in is cursed, or something. Like I warned, it’s difficult to accept. But I came here from ten years ahead and Tilly was sent back.”

“Sent back? In time? When? She’s alone?”

She still didn’t look like she believed them, but Dex was glad to see she was at least putting on an outward show of going along with them and not fleeing for the authorities.

“We’re not completely sure, maybe sometime in the Regency era, but the previous owner of the house should be with her. We’re almost positive she’s not alone.”

“Oh my goodness, my poor Tilly,” she moaned. “Do your parents know about this?” she demanded.

“Of course not,” he said.

For one thing, they never would have allowed him to keep such a thing a secret, and they wouldn’t have gone on their vacation, either. They’d be puttering around trying to find answers along with him and Emma, but he felt certain they’d be more of a hindrance than a help.

She sat quietly for a long time, looking smaller and older than he’d ever noticed before. He didn’t feel he had any right to try and comfort her, but put his arm around her anyway.

“I’m really sorry, Gran, but I thought she’d be back by now.”

“She’s definitely coming back?” she asked, voice breaking.

“Definitely,” Emma answered firmly, close to sounding angry. Dexter looked at her, shocked at her tone, and her face was set in hard, determined lines. “It’s just a matter of time. We’ll both get back.”

He was a little stunned, even through everything, that she could be so adamant about getting back after the night they’d spent together. He immediately told himself to stop being an idiot. She had a child. Of course Emma’s daughter would trump any superficial relationship they developed while trying to deal with it all. He could never expect her to give that up for him. His brain fully accepted that, but his stupid heart felt the sting of her words, dreading the time she would leave.

He realized Emma and Helen were talking quietly to each other while he’d been selfishly agonizing over his doomed love life. He watched Emma showing his gran her cellphone and the picture of Dahlia.

Dexter felt a pang that they couldn’t share each other’s lives. His mother would have loved having a child Dahlia’s age to take to museums and plays, and Helen was wonderful with children of all ages. Even though he was only twenty-five and technically too young to be a father, even a stepfather, to an eleven year old, he thought he would have done a bang up job of it. He would have enjoyed it. He found he couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat when Helen turned to him and asked him what she could do to help.

“We’ve tried to find answers on our own but haven’t come up with anything,” Emma finally answered for him. “It seems all any of us can do is wait.”

Dexter patted her hand and tried to catch Emma’s eye, but she kept her eyes cast down at the picture on her phone. He hated the childish feeling of unfairness that he had, that the woman he loved and who was so perfect for him would disappear from his life if she got her utmost wish. You were supposed to want your beloved to get what they wanted, what they needed, and the fact that he didn’t made his heart hurt more than he thought possible.

Tilly clung to the edge of the seat to keep from bouncing in her impatience. They were so close to the estate, she wanted to fling open the door, roll out of the lumbering carriage and run screaming over the hills to get there faster.