Belmary House Book Two (2 page)

Every day he roamed the hallways and examined the fixtures, agreeing or disagreeing with things that were put forth to him. Bring in new chandeliers or restore the old ones? He didn’t give a rat’s behind, but he’d stand and think and hem and haw, then turn to Emma, who was always near, always staring at him as if he came straight from heaven, and ask her opinion. And the dear thing always had an opinion. She truly seemed to love the house, even though it was the very thing that had ripped her life out from under her. She was an odd one, that was certain.

He’d never had a pet, the criminal bastard who’d called himself his guardian had never let him so much as give scraps to a stray dog, but he began to think of Emma as something like a pet. He knew it was only a matter of time before he lifted his hex and let the portal start working properly again, and then he’d have no more use for her. As soon as Ashford came through and realized who was in charge, he could take care of him once and for all, effectively putting an end to a long and wicked line of witches.

Then of course, dear crackpot Emma would have to go as well, being tainted as she was by sorcery. He glanced outside his door to where her desk sat and watched her rub her eyes before blearily squinting at her computer screen.

“Not getting enough sleep?” he called out.

She jumped and shook her head. “Oh, no, just allergies. We unrolled a bunch of dusty carpets before you got here this morning.”

He smiled affectionately at her, rather liking that she was such a good liar. She was doing a fine job despite stalking her former self in the wee hours, and if she kept making those ill-advised visits, she would end up taking one unpleasant thing off his to-do list for him.

***

Emma went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. If her new boss could tell from the next room how tired she was, she needed to visibly perk up. She did some stretches while the coffee dripped and hunted around in the fridge for a snack. She found a bag of baby carrots and popped back up to find Dexter standing on the other side of the refrigerator door, smiling expectantly.

“What did I forget?” she asked, trying to hide her dismay. She didn’t think she had a meeting with anyone that day, but she hadn’t been sleeping much and sometimes she drifted off to another world. “Oh goodness, is the piano tuner coming today?”

Everything regarding the renovation of Belmary House moved along at lightning speed, due to Mr. Wodge’s seemingly limitless funding. Whenever something seemed impossible, he sighed and got on the phone with someone and the next thing she knew, people were scrambling around getting it done.

A lavish gala for investors was set for only a week away, to show a sneak peek of what the house would look like when it was opened up to tourists. She knew she should be panicking over something not going right, but she was so exhausted, and things were running so remarkably smoothly, she couldn’t make herself freak out too hard.

“Don’t you sleep at all anymore?” Dexter asked, tilting her chin up to inspect her face. “You can relax now, Emma. Ashford will certainly be able to come back for you now.”

She shrugged away from him and scowled, knowing she looked a mess. She thought with the house being saved from demolition, and her renewed chance of going home, she’d stop obsessing over her former self. She managed to go all of three days without driving out to Oxford to spy on them, but regardless of the fact that all was not lost anymore, she still missed her daughter.

It was impossible to stay away and she made the journey every night again, huddling in the shrubbery before the break of dawn, fighting the headaches. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she could somehow make things better than they were the first time around.

Why was it taking so long for Ashford to return? If it took another year she didn’t think she’d make it. The random, terrible pains and the longing to be with her child would swallow her up. She was afraid she would revert back to the insane idea of taking over her old life, which in her darkest moments not only made sense, but seemed the only way to save herself.

Every time she thought about how close she’d come to harming her old self, she nearly convulsed with self-loathing. But it wasn’t like that anymore. It wasn’t. She only wanted glimpses of Dahlia.

She and Dexter still checked the upstairs bedroom every day, hoping for messages from Ashford. They had hope now, and knew Ashford hadn’t forgotten her, and would also return Tilly as soon as he could.

But she had already been gone so long from her real life, she didn’t know what she’d have to return to. The only thing she knew for certain was right here, an hour’s drive away, and the line between which one of her was real continued to be blurry.

Dexter still looked at her with his caring brown eyes, and she tried to appear less prickly. He really was sweet, and had helped her so much during the terrible weeks when the house was on the chopping block and she thought she may never get back to her proper time. Ever since she’d rather foolishly kissed him in a moment of extreme distress and exhaustion she’d been trying to ease things back to a more professional level.

However, it was difficult because he was so damn sweet. And capable, handsome— she scowled at him again for being so good-looking— passionate about all the same things she was, and didn’t seem bothered that she had an eleven year old child. She felt the momentary dizziness she got sometimes when she confused her real life which was ten years in the future, and the time she was trapped in now, when Dahlia was only a baby.

Either way, Dexter seemed truly interested in her, and made it incredibly difficult to keep him at arm’s length. She almost laughed out loud, unable to think of anything more idiotic than letting her heart get entangled, when she might leave any day.

“Come on, Miss Saito,” he said, making her grimace.

She hadn’t meant them to regress that far. It had taken him months to call her Emma before. She nudged him with her elbow, finding it impossible to stay in a bad mood around him. He smiled and linked his arm with hers.

“It isn’t the piano tuners, that’s tomorrow. But you should see something.”

“A message from Ashford?” she asked in a rush.

He wilted and shook his head. “Sorry, still nothing. Way to take the wind out of my sails when I’m trying to impress you.”

She ducked her head in apology and followed him to the ballroom, which wouldn’t be completely ready for the investor’s costume ball for another three days. They were cutting it close, but with the dedicated team she had, and Mr. Wodge’s money, she felt confident.

Dexter led her to the middle of the spacious room, all of the furniture still covered with drop cloths. He had a secretive smirk on his face, but she couldn’t see anything different from when she’d poked her head in a few days before.

Unable to hide his grin any longer, he pointed to the ceiling, and when she looked up she could see what he was so excited about. The ceiling had been chipped white plaster, but now, as if by some miracle, it was covered with an elaborate Baroque scene.

She gaped and staggered back, craning her neck too far. She grabbed onto Dexter’s offered hand so she could take it all in without falling over. Warring angels shot arrows from storm clouds across the ballroom ceiling, taking out a host of retreating humans, all in glorious, full color detail.

“Rather bloodthirsty for a ballroom, isn’t it?” she marveled, feeling tears well in her eyes at such a remarkable discovery. “How did it get uncovered so completely in such a short time?” She spied a ladder in the corner and ran to climb it to better inspect the paint. “Such a beautiful job, too.”

“Well, Wodge’s exorbitant pay rates of course. It’s not actually done yet, but it will be by the funding gala.”

Emma wrinkled her nose at him and glanced at the doorway to make sure no one had heard him. “Dexter, you should show some respect. He’s our boss after all. He saved the house.”

He frowned back at her, having had a go at her once or twice for supposedly kissing Mr. Wodge’s arse, but she thought she was acting appropriately and Dexter was the one who need to step up his game. It was clear to anyone that he didn’t like Mr. Wodge, and she was afraid he might get let go if he kept acting insolent. She needed him around, not least of all because he knew her burdensome secret, but because he was an amazing researcher and historian.

He reached up to help her down from the ladder and she waffled for a moment, knowing she should ignore him and climb down like a normal adult, not jump into his arms like a silly school girl with a crush. Something about all the enraged angels above her head made her act impulsively though, and she rested her hands on his shoulders. He swung her down and took longer than necessary to let her go after her feet were on the floor.

He looked up, his hands still on her waist. “It is awfully gruesome, isn’t it?”

She laughed, gently easing away from him. “It’s the most delightfully hideous thing I’ve ever seen. This is such a surprise. How did everyone keep it a secret from me? I would have thought there would have been screaming when it got discovered.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Oh, there was screaming. Tears, dancing, all that. But you were out at the time, and once we got ourselves under control, we agreed to try and make it a surprise for you. Wodge— oh, fine,
Mr.
 Wodge made a load of calls and they’ve been working around the clock since.”

“Why don’t you like him, Dexter?” she asked, walking slowly with her head tilted back, trying to take in all the details.

“He’s strange. And I don’t mean his eccentric way of dressing, so don’t try the batty billionaire defense. He just seems off to me somehow. I know I should be grateful the house isn’t getting torn down, and I am, but he gives me the heebie jeebies.”

She glanced quickly at the door again, but they were still alone in the room. “Heebie jeebies, what a thing to say.”

“It’s something Tilly used to say,” he said, his voice low. “I wish we’d hear something from Ashford already. What can they possibly be doing? She is one hundred percent not cut out for life in the nineteenth century, and it’s been close to two months.”

The familiar heaviness of waiting settled over her and she nodded, her predicament once again ruining a nice moment. She looked up at the terrified and wounded people as they were being barraged by arrows and understood how they must feel. She knew it was time to concede the moment to Dexter, who was eaten up with worry for his cousin.

“I’m certain Tilly’s fine,” she said, patting his arm comfortingly. “Ashford wouldn’t let her into any dangerous situations.”

She was pleased her voice sounded reassuring, because she wasn’t at all sure about anything anymore, least of all anything to do with the absent Lord Ashford.

He looked devastated after her pep talk. “God, Emma, I’m sorry to be such a worrywart. I know how hard the waiting is for you.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said. “I’m fine. And Tilly’s probably somewhere in this house right now, doing needlework or reading. The portal will open again, we just need to be patient.”

She smiled, showing Dex the side of her he needed to see, and wished she could take her own advice.

Tilly whacked the head off the fish, reveling in the satisfying thunk of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board until she noticed how close she’d come to chopping off her finger. She needed to pay attention or she would find out the hard way what constituted healthcare in this century. She set down the big chopping knife and picked up a smaller one, beginning the gross but mind clearing task of gutting their supper.

Every time Tilly closed her eyes she saw that pale hand sticking out from between the pews of the church Camilla had turned into her hideout. And the smell … She took a deep breath and quickly coughed, getting a hearty whiff of the massacred fish in front of her. Anything was better than the terrible rot in the church.

When they’d left Rouleney, the only other people still in residence were also about to leave, fleeing in fear of the monster who had taken over. She hoped and prayed they’d made it out safely, and that no one traveled through it until … she shuddered. While she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Camilla to have free run of the village, she got cold sweats whenever she thought about going back. As much as she wanted Kostya to hurry and arrive, she longed to stay hidden in this cottage, safe from Camilla’s blindly staring creature.

She realized with disappointment that she’d made a mess of the fish. She wasn’t skilled enough yet to clean them without paying attention. She’d hoped to fry up some pretty filets but now it looked like she’d be making stew.

They were trying to keep a low profile, so save for one girl who came in and cleaned every morning, they were living without servants. It was something she was accustomed to, having lived an average American life, but poor Ashford could barely do a thing for himself.

She found it endearing for the most part and enjoyed playing at being an old-fashioned housewife, helping to tie his cravat, though poorly, pull off his boots at night, and cook. He went with her to haggle with the shopkeepers, teaching her helpful French phrases and showing a surprising knack for getting bargains.

She sighed deeply as she slid the fish chunks into a big pot, and thought for the hundredth time that if things weren’t so terrible, they’d be perfect. She knew she was in the worst state of denial she’d ever been in, but letting her thoughts linger too long on what they would have to once again face, threw her into upheaval.