Under An English Moon (12 page)

Phoebe rose to answer the door and pay the delivery boy. She took the pizza to the kitchen and set slices on plates. Reggie stood and followed her.

What had Reggie been about to say? Whatever it was, he seemed to have forgotten about it as he inspected the pizza with interest.

“Let’s eat in the living room and watch the lights of the city. Ambience and all that,” she said with a nervous chuckle. What she really wanted was the softer—and more concealing—lighting of the living room. She didn’t want Reggie to see the look in her eyes—a look of adoration she didn’t think she could hide under the bright white overhead lights of the kitchen.

“Ambience,” Reggie replied. “We shall have a picnic in the living room.”

They retook their seats.

“Oh, do you need silverware?” Phoebe asked. “We just usually pick it up with our fingers and eat it, but some people do cut it and use a fork.”

“Like so?” Reggie said as he bit into the end of it.

“That’s it,” Phoebe laughed. She joined him, thinking that the previously lackluster pizza suddenly had taken on the best flavor in the world.

They ate with occasional snippets of conversation relating to the pizza. Phoebe delighted in watching Reggie study each section before he bit into it. At first, he tried to set the plate on the table and eat over it, and then after watching her, he lifted his plate and held it near his chest and below his chin. She suspected he’d never eaten so casually, and she wondered what his idea of a picnic really was. Tables? Linen? Crystal stemware?

“How was it?” she asked as she swallowed her last bite and set her plate aside.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I shall instruct our cook prepare something similar upon my return.”

Phoebe smiled faintly and rose to take the plates to the kitchen. She rinsed them off and set them in the dishwasher. Of course, there was no way Reggie could know how painful that was for her to hear—that she couldn’t bear the thought of his return, of never seeing him again. Her very own, real-live historical Georgian gentleman.

She took a deep breath and returned to the living room. Reggie stood at the open window with his hands clasped behind his back, and she came to stand beside him. The lights of the city seemed to twinkle especially bright tonight.

“I misspoke again, Phoebe, did I not? It is as if my words regarding a possible return to my own time cause you pain.”

Phoebe sighed as she looked at the windows of the building opposite. Why lie? It was disingenuous.

“I’ll admit...it does hurt my feelings when you talk about returning, and yet, of course, you want to go home. So would I! I don’t mean to be childish, Reggie. It’s just... You just got here, and I haven’t gotten to know you very well yet. It’s stupid, I know.”

“Not stupid, Phoebe. And you
do
know me well, as well as anyone with perhaps the exception of my brother. In the short time since my arrival, we have exchanged many confidences—you and I. You
do
know me well.” He sighed. “I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Phoebe, and it is not as if I dwell upon my return...or possible return. I think I say these things without forethought.”

Reggie, his eyes still on the view outside the window, reached for her hand, and Phoebe melted at his touch.

“The moon rides high and round in the sky yet again, though it cannot still be considered full,” Reggie murmured.

Phoebe followed his eyes.

“I wish I could go with you when you return, Reggie,” she murmured.

“And I most fervently wish you could return with me as well, Phoebe.”

The moon shimmered, and Phoebe felt herself falling. She clung to Reggie’s hand to break her fall, and he reached for her. Darkness descended, and she couldn’t see anymore.

Chapter Eight

Phoebe sneezed and opened her eyes in the darkness. Groggy, she had the oddest impression that her face was planted in some sort of grass and dirt. Living in an apartment in the city, she hadn’t smelled grass for a long time. She really needed to vacuum the carpet.

She lifted her head to the sound of leaves rustling overhead, as if she lay under or near a tree.
What?

Phoebe scrambled to her knees, barely noticing how cool the night air was. Where was she? Not her apartment, that was for sure. The moon cast a gray light around her, and she spotted Reggie to her left. She grabbed what she thought was his arm and shook it. He appeared to be lying on his stomach, his face turned toward her.

“Reggie! Reggie! Wake up!”

A bleating sound in the distance startled her. What was that? She shook Reggie again, even more urgently.

“Reggie? Are you all right? Are you hurt? Oh, please tell me you’re not hurt,” she muttered. She leaned over him and ran her hands over his body for obvious injury, but she wouldn’t have known what to look for anyway.

Another bleating sound broke through the quiet, this time at a lower pitch, almost human like. She jumped at the nearby sound, a shiver running up her spine.

“Is anyone there?” she called out.

“Sheep,” Reggie said as he rolled over onto his back. “It is the sound of sheep.”

“You’re awake!” Phoebe cried. She touched his face for reassurance, and he covered her hand with his own and kissed it.

“Yes, I am awake, Miss Warner. Who could not be with your hands upon them in such a familiar fashion?” A faint gleam of white teeth accompanied his grin.

“Are you well, Phoebe? Not injured?” Reggie raised himself to a sitting position and stood, pulling Phoebe up beside him. He peered at her face.

“I’m okay,” she said.

He nodded and turned to look around. She followed his head.

The moon glowed on the landscape, revealing they stood on the edge of a dirt road of some sort, flanked by small hedges. The road seemed to run between fields or pastures. Several sheep repeated their bleating as if to greet them. They stood near a large tree, the source of the sound of leaves rustling in the occasional breeze.

“I am home,” Reggie said quietly. He took Phoebe’s hand in his and turned to look at her. “We are in England.”

“But when?” Phoebe asked. “What happened? How did we get here?”

“We both wished...at the same moment.”

“And we wished for the same thing,” Phoebe said quietly.

“Yes, I believe we did.”

“But the moon wasn’t full, was it? Can’t it only be full one night?”

“It would seem not. It appeared to be full.”

“I’ve got to remember to look up the phases of the moon,” Phoebe murmured. She reached for his hand and looked around again. “Well, now what?”

“We stand at the very spot where I traveled forward in time. My horse does not await me, and I hope he returned to the stables. It is but a walk of several miles to my father’s house. I could hasten to the estate to procure a carriage, but I do not like to leave you alone in the dark.”

“I can walk. But Reggie, what if we haven’t arrived back in your time? What if we ended up in the sixteenth century or even in my time, but in England?”

“It is not what we wished for, but if that does occur, I shall appeal to either my ancestor or my family’s descendents for assistance. All will turn out well, Phoebe, do not fear.” He grinned, and Phoebe thought she saw a new confidence in him. Of course! He was probably home.

“Shall we?” Reggie gallantly bowed and held out his arm to Phoebe. She took it and they set off down the road. “Take care with the ruts. They are as they were when I left, dried after the spring rains. The road will smooth out as we near Hamilton Place.”

Phoebe, feeling as if she were hanging onto him, slid her hand down to his.

“Do you mind?” she asked. “It’s easier to hold your hand as we walk along the road.”

“Not at all,” Reggie said. “I have become quite attached to this form of perambulation.”

“So, where exactly are we, Reggie?”

“We’re in the county of Bedfordshire in eastern England. This is the road leading from Hamilton Place to Wellston, the local village, where one can catch the post to London. The road upon which we now walk is part of my father’s estate which extends all the way to the village.”

“How far did you say it was to your father’s house? And why do you call it your father’s house? Isn’t it your house as well?”

“Several miles. No, it is my father’s house while he is master there. It is my
home
but not
my
house. Is it not that way in America?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Not really. Kids usually call where they live ‘my house,’ as in ‘let’s go to my house to play.’ At least they do now. I don’t know how they did things in America in 1827.”

Phoebe tightened her grip, clinging to the strength in his hand, hoping it would sustain her in the coming hours or even days. If they
had
traveled back to his time, she didn’t know how long she was going to be here. She supposed she could just stop Reggie and insist he join her in wishing her back to her time—if that were the way this time travel thing was working—but she didn’t want to let go of him yet. And she didn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet.

“What’s going to happen when we get to your house, Reggie?” Phoebe’s voice sounded small, and she felt very child-like at the moment. Dependent. Frightened, but she didn’t want him to know how scared she was. Life in the early nineteenth century was considerably different than in the twenty-first century, especially for a woman, and for all the I.C. Moon books she’d read, she had no idea what that life in the era was really like. Not really.

Reggie tightened his hand. “I have given that some thought, Phoebe. I am not decided as to whether we should knock on the front door and reveal all, or whether I should devise some other story to explain your presence,
and
my absence, although when I left, I did state that they should not expect to see me again. If Sebastian returned to the stables, as I most fervently hope that he did, then my father may have sent some men to look for me, fearing me to be lying in a ditch somewhere, fallen from my horse, perhaps injured.”

“You’re not really going to tell them the truth, are you? Look, no one believes in this time travel thing in my time, and that’s a couple hundred years into the future when we can fly into space and walk on the moon.”

“Walk on the moon?” Reggie asked.

Phoebe looked up at the moon, wishing she hadn’t said something. How to explain that? She tried briefly but ended up confusing Reggie.

“So, you are saying that although man can walk upon the moon, they cannot live there?”

Phoebe nodded. “Which doesn’t help us figure out what we’re going to do when we get to your house. Or at least what
I’m
going to do.”

Reggie paused and turned to look at her. “You sound frightened, dearest.”

Phoebe almost melted at the endearment. She nodded.

“I
am
frightened. Just as I imagine you must have been.”

He raised a hand to her cheek, and she covered it with her own.

“I will not let any harm come to you, Phoebe, you have my word. As you cared for me, I shall care for you.”

“I know you will. I trust you.”

For a moment, Phoebe thought he was going to kiss her, but instead, he took her into his arms. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt a tremor in his body, and he lifted his head and spoke with a shaky laugh.

“I seek only to reassure you, Miss Warner, not to press myself upon you when you are vulnerable.”

“Either way,” Phoebe murmured, pressing her face against his chest, warming to the thudding beat of his heart. “I wish we could stay this way forever.”

“I might echo your words but for the still bright moon overhead. I cannot imagine the course of our lives attached to each other in perpetuity in this position. How might we eat? Dressing could be a most arduous task.”

Phoebe chuckled. “You’re right. I’d better be careful what I wish for.”

“I know what my wishes are,” Reggie said, “but I will keep silent lest they be opposite yours.” He was silent for a moment, and Phoebe remained silent, savoring the moment.

“Come! I have thought of another scheme,” Reggie said. “If you can mange, we shall make our way to the neighboring estate to seek out the aid of Mrs. Matilda Sinclair. She is the American I spoke of, and she is more likely to accept the presence of a strange young woman from America than my father or my stepmother would do. I bitterly regret now that I failed to purchase my own lodgings, my own estate, but it did not seem necessary as I was a bachelor.”

“Sinclair? That’s where I work,” Phoebe mused.

“Yes, I know. It is not an uncommon name, I believe.” He took her hand again and started walking.

“So, this is the lady you had the crush on, huh?”

Reggie didn’t speak for a moment, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. She needed to stop harping on that.

“Yes, this is the young lady for whom I developed an infatuation at one time. It seems a long time ago now, and my interests lie elsewhere.”

Phoebe grinned. She thought that was Georgian-era speak for “You’re the one I like now.” At least she hoped it was.

“Mine, too,” she said with a squeeze of his hand.

Reggie returned her smile. “I am glad of it.”

They walked on down the road with Reggie helping her sidestep some of the deepest ruts and apologizing that his father had not yet sent men out to attend to the road.

“I shall speak to him about it. No doubt he does not know the condition of the road as he has not traveled away from home lately. We approach the gates to Hamilton Place now.”

Phoebe looked toward where Reggie pointed. Two stone pillars topped by lions sitting on their haunches flanked iron gates.

“Well, that’s impressive.”

“A folly of the fourth earl in the eighteenth century. My father is not fond of them, but feels he must preserve them for his descendents.”

“That would be you,” Phoebe chuckled. “Do you like them?”

“They bother me not at all. I am fond of ostentation. Were I not, I could not live at Hamilton Place. It is a very ornate manor”

They passed the gates and kept walking. Phoebe craned her neck to peer down the entrance, but could see very little other than another long road.