Under An English Moon (13 page)

“You will see it soon enough, Phoebe, perhaps as soon as this evening if Mrs. Sinclair is not able to assist us.”

“Exactly what do you mean by ‘assist us?’” Phoebe asked with growing suspicion. “You’re not planning on leaving me there, are you?” She stopped walking and pulled against his hand, forcing him to stop as well. “Because I’m not going if you are. I’m staying with you.” She faced him with narrowed eyes.

“I cannot stay with you, Phoebe. It simply cannot be done. My plan is to ask Mrs. Sinclair to give you shelter. I will know better when I speak with her whether I shall attempt to tell her the truth or devise some other story, though at the moment, I can think of nothing plausible to explain your form of dress. It is my fervent hope that, since you share a common heritage, she will help us. But there is no possible excuse for me to stay, not when my own home is just next door.”

“Reggie! Please don’t leave me there. Can’t I stay in your stables or something?” Phoebe knew she was being unreasonable, but she couldn’t bear to be parted from him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Phoebe, dearest, please try to understand. Of course, I would take you to my home if I could, and I am not afraid to make the attempt, nor would anyone in my home deny you shelter. But I do not wish to subject you to the possibility of my father’s ill graces or my stepmother’s censure. Mrs. Sinclair has always been kindness itself, and I believe your reception at her house will serve you better.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Stables indeed! Although I might find myself sleeping in the stables tonight.”

He tugged at her hand gently, and she allowed him to pull her farther down the road. Phoebe didn’t mind meeting the American woman, Mrs. Sinclair, but she really had no intention of staying in a strange house somewhere in Georgian England—not if Reggie wasn’t staying with her.

In fact, she knew within an hour of meeting Reggie that she never wanted to be further from him than the next room. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with him, and she wished with all her heart that she could stay with him forever. She glanced up at the moon and kept her mouth shut—just in case Reggie had other wishes. Though she hoped he didn’t.

Twenty minutes later, they approached another gate, this one a little less ostentations than the lions. No animal perched on top of the stone pillars that stood about six feel high. She wasn’t quite sure what the gates were for. She hadn’t seen any fences to keep anything in or out. Perhaps they were just a statement or even a marker. “Make a left when you reach the stone lions and you’ve arrived.”

They turned into the entrance and walked down a well-maintained path flanked by trees. She couldn’t tell what kind they were in the dark.

“I have never walked down this path but always ridden across the estate or taken a carriage here with my father and brother. How odd it feels.”

Phoebe dragged her feet, unwilling to face what might come. Maybe this Mrs. Sinclair would boot them out of the door. That would be nice, Phoebe thought. Well, embarrassing, but preferable to Reggie leaving her.

“Come, Phoebe. You will like Mrs. Sinclair. I do not know how she will receive us unannounced at this hour, but I trust she will be kind. I have never known her to be otherwise.”

“I’m sure she’s a fine person.”

“Ah! Then you lag because you are worried about my imminent departure.”

Phoebe gulped. Not departure. If he only went to the neighboring estate, it wasn’t really a departure, was it?

“Yeah, but don’t you think we should stay together? What if you accidentally travel forward in time again...and I’m not there? What then?” Hah! She was right. They needed to stay together.

“I think we must wish for the same thing to effect the time travel, and at the moment, I do not believe we share the same wishes. I wish for your safety and comfort, and you wish to sleep in a stable. I do not fear that I will travel in time.”

“What about me? What if I wished hard enough and I returned? But you didn’t know it. And then you would look for me, and you’d be worried when you couldn’t find me.”

Reggie paused to look at her. Before he could speak, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him against her. She looped a hand around his head and brought his mouth to hers. Startled at first, he wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss with warmth. Phoebe clung to him, her knees weak.

“That was just in case we get separated,” she murmured against his mouth. “I don’t want you to forget me.”

Reggie lifted his head and studied her face. “I could never forget you, Phoebe, not if I lived for another two hundred years. We will not be parted, I promise.” He bent to kiss her again then dropped his hands from her waist. “With the exception of your lodging arrangements.” He grinned.

“You’d better promise,” Phoebe muttered.

They turned and headed farther down the path. The trees opened up and moonlight shone on a huge house—just like one of the English country mansions one always saw in magazines.

“Wow!” Phoebe exclaimed.

“This is Ashton House,” Reggie said. “Come, there is nothing for it but to knock on the front door. I think I will settle you on a bench in the garden until I am certain Mrs. Sinclair is at home and will receive us. I do not know what she will make of my garments.” He looked down at his jeans.

They approached the house. Phoebe knew nothing about architecture, but she thought the house resembled one of those fabulous mansions one saw used for the movies based on I.C. Moon’s books—at least three stories, seemingly hundreds of windows and numerous chimneys. As they neared, she noted thick, lush ivy growing up the sides of stone walls. Several windows on the third floor showed flickering lights, but in general the house seemed dark and shut down for the night. Lamps on either side of the main entrance glowed softly, a bit like nightlights. She wondered what time it was. Having foregone a watch in lieu of the clock on her cell phone, she had no idea how late it might be.

Apparently knowing his way around, Reggie veered off from the front of the house and led Phoebe along a path around the left side of the house that ended in a garden of some sort. Luckily, the moon gave them enough light to see several benches scattered throughout. He seated her on one of them.

“Do not be afraid. I know it is dark, but there is nothing here to harm you.” He looked up. “The moon will watch over you.”

“Fine job it’s done so far,” Phoebe mumbled. She resisted letting go of his hand, ashamed of her fear—the fear of somehow losing him. She lived in New York City. She wasn’t afraid of a quiet English garden at night.

“It has brought us together,” he murmured. He brought her hand to his lips. “I shall return as soon as possible.”

He strode away toward the front of the house, and Phoebe, too keyed up to sit still, jumped up to survey the house and gardens. Moonlight reflected off several of the darkened windows on the side of the house. The sound of a fountain tinkled nearby. Although she couldn’t see the colors of the flowers bordering the path, the alluringly sweet smell of flowers filled the air. Spring had arrived in England, it seemed.

She couldn’t say she was exactly
surprised
to find that time travel was possible—not since finding Reggie on her apartment floor—but she had no earthly idea that it would ever happen to her. It made sense, of course. If one could travel forward in time then one should be able to travel back in time. And weren’t so many romance novels written about that very thing? It was just that, as far as she knew, time travel had not been proven to be possible. So, why should it happen to her? Or to Reggie?

Phoebe imagined a scenario where she returned to New York City, announced her discovery and experiences, and wrote a best-selling book followed by rounds of talk shows and public appearances. She would buy an English mansion—maybe one like Ashton House—with her newfound wealth. The image of curiosity seekers and tourists knocking on her door by the busloads and asking her to tell her story in person threw a kink into the rosy future—as did the Reggie’s absence in her scenario.

Where would he be? In the past? Lost in the future? And wouldn’t he be subject of intense media scrutiny a la movie star? His life would be horrible. No wonder she couldn’t imagine him in the scenario.

That was if anyone believed her anyway.

She paced the path restlessly, listening intently for Reggie’s return. Time travel to the past was one thing—frightening, surreal, even seemingly impossible—but time travel to the past without Reggie’s presence was unimaginable.

Footsteps approached. Phoebe turned in their direction and steeled herself for the unknown, remaining silent in case it wasn’t Reggie.

Reggie appeared out of the darkness.

“Forgive me for leaving you here, Phoebe.” He took her hands in his. “Much of the house was abed, but Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair were not, and they await you in the library.”

“Oh, geez, Reggie. Isn’t there some other way? In the library? Like
Mrs. Plum
and
Colonel Mustard
?”

“There are no persons here by that name. The Sinclairs have no guests at the moment. I understand your fears, truly I do, but this is the best possible course of action at the moment. Mrs. Sinclair is most anxious to meet you, a fellow American.”

Phoebe had forgotten that Miss Crockwell/now Mrs. Sinclair was an American. She relaxed—a tiny bit.

“I still wish you could stay with me,” she said.

“Of course he’s going to stay the night, aren’t you, Reggie? You can’t just leave her here with strangers,” Mrs. Sinclair said from the darkness behind them.

Chapter Nine

Reggie and Phoebe swung around at the unexpected voice.

“Mrs. Sinclair! I thought we were to meet you in the library. William! You too?”

William followed his wife, carrying a lantern that he held aloft. Both were fully dressed, having only just retired for the night, as they had reported.

“Reggie, surely you know that your message of bringing an unfortunate young woman from America to stay for an indefinite period was not conducive to Mrs. Sinclair waiting patiently in the library, nor is your unusual manner of clothing. To my wife’s credit, she did stand there for a full minute before rushing out of the door behind you.”

“Hi, I’m Mattie,” Mrs. Sinclair said with a shocking lack of formality. Reggie eyed Mattie Sinclair as if she had gone mad. He had hoped for recognition from a fellow compatriot, but was astounded to see Mattie clasp Phoebe’s hands in her own as if they were indeed friends of long acquaintanceship.

“Phoebe,” his own dear one said on a whisper. He moved closer to her as if to protect her.

“Wow, are you a sight for sore eyes!” Mattie said.

Reggie looked from one woman to the other in confusion. What the deuce was occurring? Was he the only one not to understand? He turned to William.

“Nothing is amiss,” William said quietly. “All is well.”

“Mrs. Sinclair? Mattie?” Phoebe whispered in a voice of confusion. “Are you like me? Did you travel...?”

“Let’s get you inside,” Mattie urged. “It’s cool here in the garden.” She took Phoebe’s hand in her own. “Come on, Reggie. Stay close. She’s going to need you.”

Reggie could do nothing but attempt a reassuring smile as Phoebe threw him a concerned look over her shoulder. William clapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him toward the house.

“You can have no idea what a happy occasion this is for my wife, Reggie. All will be made clear to you very soon.”

They entered the house, and John, the Sinclair’s footman, closed the door behind them.

“Thank you, John. If you could just bring us some tea to the library, that will it for tonight,” Mattie said as she escorted Phoebe toward the library. Reggie did not think he had ever been in the library of Ashton House before, and he surveyed the lovely room, paneled in dark wood with the requisite number of books on shelves lining the walls. A settee of royal blue and matching gilt-edged chairs faced the hearth.

Mattie settled Phoebe onto the settee and seated herself beside Phoebe.

“Would you care for something stronger than tea, Reggie?” William asked.

“Yes, thank you.” He took the glass of port William offered.

“And you, Miss Warner? Tea or something stronger?”

“I think you should stick to tea at the moment, Phoebe,” Mattie counseled. “You’re going to need to keep a clear head for now.”

“Tea,” Phoebe said in a small voice. She stared at Mattie then allowed her gaze to sweep the room to encompass William and himself. Reggie could not begin to fathom what was afoot. Americans seemed such an informal lot. He had always admired Mattie’s lack of ceremony, but had never known the extent of her familiarity until now—perhaps because she had often much been in William’s company.

“Gosh, do you know what this means, William?” Mattie asked as she gazed at Phoebe.

“I can only begin to imagine, my love. But I do believe that Miss Warner and Reggie would appreciate some explanation as well.”

“I’m just waiting for John to come and go, and here he is!”

John entered with a tea service and set it on a mahogany table in front of the settee.

“Thank you, John. See you in the morning,” Mattie said. The footman bowed and left the room, and she poured out several cups of tea. Reggie waited impatiently. That which had begun as a plea for help had evolved into a puzzling mystery to which only Mattie and William now held the answers. He did not like to think what might have happened had he attempted to take Phoebe to his father’s house first, and he thanked his lucky stars—or the moon—that he had chosen to seek Mrs. Mattie Sinclair’s assistance.

“Well, I don’t know where to start,” Mattie said with a broad smile as she studied Phoebe’s bewildered face. “Reggie, you’d probably better take a seat.”

Reggie complied, all eagerness to hear Mattie’s words. She addressed herself first to Phoebe.

“I’m Mattie Crockwell...Mattie Sinclair now, and I’m like you, Phoebe—a time traveler.” Mattie’s eyes swung toward Reggie. “And I guess like you too now, Reggie, if those jeans of yours are anything to go by.”