Love By The Book (11 page)

I broke off reading. Bentford? That was only a short drive from here! I reread the information to be sure there wasn’t a mistake. But no, even the state was the same. I asked myself if it could really be so simple. Could the answers to all my questions lie so easily within reach? Immediately I began building a wild scheme in my head. I could drive Duke there, introduce him to Ms. Lace, and…And what? Ask Ms. Lace if she’d noticed any of the characters from her story turning up missing lately?

I shook my head at my ridiculous idea. Duke didn’t need Ms. Lace to tell him who he really was or wasn’t. I didn’t need to be told. Duke knew the truth about his own identity, and all I had to do was work up the courage to confront him so I could discover the answers for myself. And yet the plan continued to hang there, tickling at the back of my mind as I dug the pills out of my purse and jogged outside with them.

We didn’t stay long after that. My mother was tiring, even if she refused to admit it, and Lindsey was signaling us it was time to go. We helped my mom inside and planted her comfortably on the daybed again before saying our goodbyes. My sisters extracted a promise from me to visit again soon, and the invitation was extended to Duke as well. I privately suspected they had all enjoyed Duke’s company more than mine.

“Will Mom be all right?” I asked Lindsey as we walked to the door. I cast a glance back at my mother conversing with Kelsey in the other room. “I almost feel like I should stay.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Lindsey reassured. “Kelsey and Eric are spending the nights here until she gets back on her feet. And, of course, we’ll have big Eric in once he gets off work. He’s in and out of the house fixing this and that all the time anyway. It’s good having the family so close—” She bit off the sentence, and I knew she was remembering that I wasn’t close and that until today no one had ever seemed to mind my absence.

We made our hasty goodbyes on the front porch and then Duke and I were in the car again, making a second trip down the hazardous dirt lane. The afternoon was growing warm, and I rolled down a window despite the clouds of dust it allowed in. The air conditioner in the car didn’t seem to be working properly.

Once we were off the country roads and onto a decent highway, I said, “I still need to make one more stop. Actually, two, if it’s all right with you.”

He shrugged. “This is your excursion. I’m just along to change the tires and to keep you company.”

He actually was rather pleasant company, I reluctantly admitted to myself as we sped down the road. He had made what was usually an awkward visit with my family seem comfortable. He hadn’t divulged any secrets. Hadn’t asked hurtful questions or rubbed Lindsey’s temper the wrong way. In all, the trip could be considered a successful meet-the-family expedition. If only that was what it had really been. I thrust my frustrations aside. This wasn’t the time for regrets.

***

Our first stop—the Bentford post office—proved to be a success. I left Duke in the car as I stepped inside, pretending I had something to mail. If he noticed I was going in empty handed, he kept that observation to himself. The postal clerk was more helpful than I had dared hope. In a small town like Bentford it seemed everybody knew the famous local author, and it was a postman’s job to be acquainted with everyone’s address. I hid the scrap of paper on which the clerk had scribbled Ms. Lace’s address inside my purse as I stepped back out of the office and climbed into the car.

“Only one stop left,” I told Duke as I started the engine and backed out into the street. “We’re almost finished.” Although I had been speaking of my errands, my words hung in the air with an ominous note to them. Were
we
almost over? Was there any chance we could salvage our relationship after this or was I about to sound its final knell? It was no good pretending it didn’t matter to me. I was so accustomed to lying to myself that even I no longer believed my mental reassurances.

It was as if Duke was somehow following my line of thought for he suddenly said, “Would this be a good time for us to continue our conversation? I had intended to bide my time while you thought things over, but I confess my patience is straining its limits already.”

“What conversation did you have in mind?” I asked, stalling for time. Houses and trees passed by on either side in a blur as I navigated the unfamiliar streets of the small town. I found myself pressing harder on the gas pedal as if I might somehow reach our destination before we had time to delve any further into this discussion.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, eyeing me reproachfully. “Why do you always pretend not to know what I mean when you know more of my thoughts than anybody?”

“Do I?” I asked noncommittally, scanning the street signs we passed. Where was Pine Street?

“Yes, you know you do. You’re aware of my story from its beginning. It’s you and only you who know who I really am and where all this is going to end.”

“No, I don’t know!” I snapped, surprising myself by finally allowing my frustration to boil over. “I don’t know the ending yet, okay? I won’t know it until you stop confusing me with your riddles and say exactly what you mean.”

“You want me to speak plainly?” he asked, his voice thick with anger. It was the first time I had ever heard him sound near to such an emotion. “Then I will put it into words you cannot possibly fail to understand. I have dropped everything in my life—all I once cared about—and come rushing here to this time and place to meet you. I’ve given up my whole life to be with you. And now that I’ve forsaken so much and done all I know how to show you the kind of devotion I feel for you, I find I cannot be sure if you even want it. I know you don’t believe in me. That is the one point where you have never troubled yourself to disguise your feelings.”

When he stopped speaking a heavy silence descended. Out of nowhere, the sign for Pine Street leapt up before us. I turned onto the tree-lined lane dotted with red brick houses. I nudged the car up into the drive of the first home on the left and then killed the engine. Together, we sat in awkward silence.

At last I said quietly, “You’re wrong about me not believing in you. I did believe once for a very short while. But then I left my fantasy world and returned to reality. And when I looked at you in the light of the real world I saw that you were no longer a gallant hero leaping off the pages of a book but a calculating schemer, happy to slip into any sort of pretence to give stupid, unwary girls the illusion they’re looking for.”

He seemed taken aback by my accusation. “And what exactly is it that I’m supposed to be guilty of?” he finally asked in a stunned voice. “What terrible scheme do you accuse me of plotting and lying to achieve?”

It was a question that touched on my deeper frustrations because it was one I had been asking myself ever since my discussion with Carlita last night. “I haven’t exactly figured that out yet,” I snapped. “But whatever you’re up to, it’s evil. I’m sure of that much. So you can go back to the city streets or to the pages of that stupid book or wherever it is that you came from.”

And as simply as that, I did it. I cut him loose. I couldn’t look at him anymore. Leaping out of the car and slamming the door, I turned my back and jogged up the front walk. Ringing the doorbell on the front stoop, I could feel his eyes burning into me but I refused to look. Too impatient to wait, I rapped my knuckles against the fancy white door before me. A painted metal mailbox fastened to the side of the house had the name
V. Lace
etched across its face, so at least I didn’t have to worry I’d come to the wrong place.

Behind me, I heard the car door opening and then slamming. I didn’t know if Duke was getting out right here to abandon me or if he was just coming up to join me on the stoop. Probably the first. And that would be fine with me, I told myself. I didn’t want or need his company. Then why did something deep inside me begin to ache when I didn’t hear his tread coming up behind me on the walk? So what? I had told him to go, hadn’t I?

I bit my lip and banged harder on the front door. Just as I was beginning to think there was no one home, a blurred face appeared on the other side of the decorative glass in the upper half of the door. The handle turned, and slowly the door swung open. There, facing me, stood the woman who had started all of this. Virginia Lace.

Chapter 20

I didn’t know what the author of
Noble Hearts
should have looked like. Maybe striking and seductive like one of her own heroines, or possibly—after the odd things I had experienced reading that book—mysterious and witch-like. Ms. Lace, as it turned out, was none of those things.

She was a petite little woman who appeared to be near her early forties and wore her dark hair cut short in a cap of curls that looked more like a natural frizz than a professional perm. Her skin was pale in the way I had come to recognize as a mark of bookish people who spent all of their time indoors—in this woman’s case, probably glued to her writing desk. She was dressed in faded slacks and a button down striped sweater with an old stain across the front.

I immediately formed an impression of her as a woman too caught up in her craft to waste a spare moment worrying about what sort of impression she made on others. I realized I was staring a little rudely and had yet to give any explanation for why I was standing on this doorstep.

“Hello,” I said. “Are you Ms. Lace?” At least that was what I meant to say, but my throat had suddenly gone so dry I wasn’t sure how intelligibly the words had come out. Now that I was actually here meeting with this famous woman and preparing to discover the truth, I was so nervous the little speech I had been planning on the way over flew right out of my mind.

Ms. Lace peered at me through thick-lensed glasses. “I am Virginia Lace, yes.” There was the hint of a question in her words, and she was already casting a distracted glance back over her shoulder. I sensed I was keeping this busy woman away from some work that she could hardly tear herself from.

“You don’t know me,” I said. “But I was wondering if I might have a word with you. I won’t take up much of your time. I know how busy you must be with your writing.”

“Are you that high school girl wanting to do an interview for her school paper?” She swept me up and down with a look that clearly said she was skeptical of the idea of my being high school aged. “Or that crazy woman who wants to make my book into a play? Because I keep telling you you’ll have to take that up with my agent.”

“No, no. I’m none of those things. My name is Megan Hurst. I’m from the city but I was just…”
Just what? Just passing by and thought I’d stop in and ask if any of your characters have been popping out of your novels lately?
No matter how I put it, I was pretty sure the question would get the door slammed in my face. As it was, the woman was looking at me with an expression of forced patience, all the while inching a little further back as if preparing to shut the door at any moment.

Suddenly I remembered the book in my purse and was struck by an inspiration. Reaching into the front pocket of my purse, I whipped
Noble Hearts
out and held it up. “I’m a big fan of your work, and I was just wondering if I could ask you to sign a copy of one of your novels for me.”

Virginia Lace looked at once relieved and flattered. “Why certainly.” She began feeling around in her pockets. “Just let me find something to write with. A disgraceful writer I make, walking around without a pen on me.”

“It’s all right. I’ve got one,” I assured her, digging clumsily through my purse. “Here. Use mine.” As I offered my pen to the other woman, I was surprised to find my hand was trembling slightly. I wasn’t the only one to notice it.

Virginia Lace looked at me oddly. “Young lady, are you feeling all right? I’m not that formidable, am I?”

“No, not at all. It’s only that…” There was such comforting concern in the author’s dark eyes I abruptly found my courage. “It’s only that I sort of lied. I didn’t really come here to have my book signed.”

“Oh?” Ms. Lace looked at me suspiciously.

I rushed into my explanation before I could lose my nerve. “You see, Ms. Lace, some pretty strange things have been happening to me lately—ever since I read one of your books—or started to read one, I should say. I’m still not finished with it yet. Anyway, I guess that’s what I really hoped to get a chance to talk with you about.”

Virginia Lace’s response was not the one I would have expected. All traces of annoyance swiftly vanished from her face to be replaced by a new look—one of keen interest. She didn’t respond right away but glanced behind me, as if expecting to see someone else approaching. I turned to see what she was looking for, but except for my car the driveway remained empty. Even Duke was nowhere in sight.

“Did you come alone?” Ms. Lace asked me.

It seemed a strange question given the weird statement I had just made. “Uh, no. I had a friend with me but he’s, well, he’s gone now.”

“I see.” Ms. Lace’s gaze was unfathomable. I found myself deciding there was something unusual about the woman. Her knowing response was unnerving.

Now Ms. Lace was saying quietly, “I think you’d better come inside.” With no more invitation than that, she stepped back and held the door wide.

I entered cautiously, surprised to find I was suddenly wishing for Duke’s reassuring presence. Something about this Lace woman creeped me out a little. I could almost imagine I was being invited into the den of some maniacal killer from a horror film. I comforted myself with the thought I was a decently sized girl and could surely overpower a tiny little lady like Ms. Lace if the author did indeed pull a butcher’s knife or a sharpened pair of sewing scissors on me.

Despite the horrible visions in my head I looked around with interest as I moved through the entryway. The interior of the house was dark, filled with shadowy nooks lit only by low lamps, which fit in with my horror scenario. Ms. Lace was apparently not a fan of housekeeping, judging by the layers of clutter scattered over every available surface. The house didn’t seem dirty, just untidy.

“Follow me.” Ms. Lace gave me no more time to examine my surroundings.

She led the way down a short redwood hallway and into a small study. There was a modest fireplace at one side of the room. It was cleanly swept and looked like the sort of fireplace nobody ever used, but kept solely for its cozy appearance. A writing desk holding a computer stood in one corner of the room near a window. I gave the mounds of paper piled atop the desk and spilling onto the floor a brief glance before my attention was stolen away by the room’s unusual choice of decorating.

Ms. Lace’s tastes apparently ran to the medieval and the gaudy. Over the fireplace stood a pair of miniature knights in armor—one at either end of the mantel. At the center of the mantel was an old-fashioned pendulum clock that looked like it had existed since the beginning of time. It didn’t work now, but sat gathering dust like some valued museum piece too precious to be thrown out. A closer examination revealed carved wooden dragons spiraling up either side of the timepiece.

The walls of the room were covered by heavy velvet tapestries like something you’d expect to find in a fairytale castle. The floor was carpeted with thick, exotic looking rugs that clashed loudly with the room’s other furnishings. Looking around me, I had the sense I had just stepped into Virginia Lace’s private world. This was the place where the magic inside the author’s head sprang to life. Probably in this very room and at that very writing desk, the dashing duke of
Noble Hearts
had been born. I shivered.

There was a bay window in the far wall, looking out over Ms. Lace’s neatly landscaped backyard and this at least granted me a sense of normalcy. A window of escape, should I choose to take it, out of Ms. Lace’s strange, ancient world and back into the cheery light of a twenty-first century afternoon.

“Please, sit down,” Ms. Lace said, indicating an elaborately carved sofa along one wall. “Sofa” wasn’t really the right word for it. It was a Victorian style settee with thin cushions that provided little relief from the hard wooden frame. I could picture the Queen of England taking tea on such a couch.

“Now,” Ms. Lace said once we were seated, “can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”

“No, thank you,” I said quickly, feeling ridiculous for it but unable to quash a mental image of this strange little lady pouring rat poison from a jug into my cup of coffee.

There followed an uncomfortable silence during which I couldn’t help but be aware of Ms. Lace leaning forward, studying me intently. I was just about to begin to launch into my weird tale when Ms. Lace spoke first.

“You must tell me,” Virginia Lace said with an odd flicker in her deeply set eyes, “which one was it for you?”

I blinked. “Er, which
one
?”

“Yes. Which one of my heroes?”

“Oh.” I suddenly realized what she meant. “I’ve only read
Noble Hearts
so I’m sort of partial to the duke—”

“The duke?” Ms. Lace interrupted. There was an unnerving twinkle in her eye. “I’m glad. I don’t know you, but somehow I sense that you are right for each other.”

“Um, thanks. I’m sure we would be—if he were a real person.” That last part I added cautiously, watching the other woman’s face.

“If?” Virginia Lace asked with apparent amusement. “Is there any doubt of that? You at least must be a little persuaded, enough to have come here to find out the truth. They all come here eventually. I don’t mind, though. I rather like hearing their stories and finding out what my creations are like once love has brought them to life.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” I struggled to keep the conversation rational when inwardly my mind was reeling. Every time I thought I finally had a grip on reality, occurrences kept coming along to drive me into confusion again. “Are you telling me what I think you are?”

“I don’t know. What do you think I’m telling you?”

During the silent interval that followed I tried to get a grip on my thoughts. I’d had so many questions, but suddenly I realized they really all boiled down to one. Was he real? For the answer, I looked wide-eyed at Ms. Lace but the author merely raised her eyebrows significantly.

“I…don’t understand,” I murmured. This woman talked as if it were a perfectly ordinary occurrence for a character to leap out from between the pages of her novels and start walking around, interacting with live people.

“The important thing,” Ms. Lace was saying now, “is that you keep this to yourself. I tell all of my couples that. As long as you behave naturally there’s no reason why you shouldn’t live a perfectly long and happy life together. But calling attention to the happening produces publicity, and then we all look crazy.” She patted my knee reassuringly. “So, you and your duke enjoy your lives, and we’ll keep this little secret between the three of us. All right?”

I nodded, barely understanding what I was agreeing to. The room suddenly felt incredibly close and I was having trouble concentrating on the feel of the padded couch beneath me and the floorboards under my feet. I hoped that didn’t mean I was going to pass out. Desperate to find some piece of reality to cling to, I fastened my eyes on the bay window across the room. A pretty little row of peach trees grew outside beneath the golden rays of the sun. If I stared long enough at those trees rustling in the breeze surely everything else around me would remain stable and begin to make sense again.

What about the tag from the antique store? Why would he have that in his clothing unless…unless
…And suddenly it all made sense. Carlita. My friend had never believed in Duke, had never trusted him. From the beginning it was she who had done everything in her power to persuade me he was a phony, even inventing that horrible forty-eight hour game to prove her point. And when that had failed, she had stooped to more drastic measures.

It didn’t make me angry to think of it. I understood Carlita had thought she was acting for my own good as she went down to the hospital, acquired Duke’s clothes, and—probably disappointed to find them genuinely ancient—attached that antique store label to them. After that, it had been almost too easy for her to convince me I had let wishful thinking get the better of me. Doubtless, Carlita thought she was doing me a great favor.

With a rush my mind came back to the present. “I have to find him,” I said abruptly. “I said horrible things.”

You don’t believe, you don’t believe
. His words came back to haunt me now, echoing over and over in my mind. And I’d told him to go back to the pages of his book…What if he already had?

“Ms. Lace, I have to go.” I leaped to my feet. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t waste another second.”

“I understand,” Ms. Lace sympathized, rising with me. “I don’t expect we’ll meet again, but I hope everything works out for the two of you.”

I scarcely heard her. Outside, through the bay window, I caught a glimpse of a lone figure walking among peach trees in the backyard.

Ms. Lace followed my gaze. “Is that him?”

“Yes,” I murmured, relief sweeping over me. “Yes, that’s him, still here.”

“Mmm,” Ms. Lace said. “I made him handsomer than I realized.” She shook herself and gave a little laugh. “Go. I’m sure you two have lots of explaining to do and plenty of time for it. There’s a door letting onto the backyard here.” She indicated a narrow doorway at the end of the room.

“Thank you.” A warm feeling enveloped me. As easily as this, all my questions were being swept away. Well, not quite all of my questions. I suddenly remembered to ask, “Can you tell me what the initials D.C. mean? The ones engraved on his watch?”

Ms. Lace smiled. “Davenger Carlisle, or Duke of Carlisle, if you prefer. Either is apt.”

Davenger. Yes, it suited him. I came out of my happy daze long enough to remember my manners. “Would you like to meet him?”

“Tempting,” Virginia Lace said. “But no. I always find such encounters with my characters a little awkward. I prefer to bring them to life and then set them on their way to follow their own paths. You understand.”

“Of course. I’ll be going then.” I started to move out of the room, feeling as if I were walking on air. Pausing, however, I retraced my steps just long enough to kneel and remove my copy of
Noble Hearts
from my purse. “Here,” I said, setting the paperback on the arm of the settee. “I’d like to leave this with you.”