Shades of the Past Page 5

  “Well, not often exactly, but I know him,” Stephen admitted, caught a little off guard by the sudden reference to Miles.

  “Have a care, for he can’t be trusted,” Blair warned.

  Stephen gave an uneasy grin. “He speaks highly of you, too,” he replied.

  “I’m sure he does.”

  Marianna smiled at Laura, and then turned to her brother. “Blair, I think Lady Tangwood is right, Mrs. Reynolds is everything you could wish for in a chaperone for me,” she declared.

  Blair raised an eyebrow. “And how can you decide that when you’ve barely been introduced?”

  “I just know. She’ll be perfect to accompany me around London for the Season, and to help me until the awful day.” The oblique reference to her marriage indicated obvious dislike.

  “That will do,” Blair reproved. “Marianna, you are not to be disparaging. Until this New Year you’d been content enough to like the prospect of being Countess of Sivintree. I don’t know why you’ve changed your mind, because you won’t tell me, and I am not prepared to break a legally binding contract without undeniable reason.”

  Laura saw how surreptitiously Marianna glanced at Stephen, who kept his eyes upon something in the middle distance. Marianna hesitated, and for a moment Laura thought she was about to blurt the truth. So did Stephen, who looked faint, but he need not have worried, for Blair’s incorrigible sister underwent a lightning change of mood. Her lips formed an ‘o’ of realization. “Good heavens, we’ll be leaving for London in two weeks, or thereabouts! I had quite overlooked how time has been flying. I’ve been so excited about the ball that everything else has taken second place.”

  Blair was discouraging. “Marianna, now is hardly the time or the place for such a conversation.”

  Laura felt acutely embarrassed, rightly guessing that it wasn’t the time because she was present. Had Miles made a monumental miscalculation after all? Would Blair, as she herself suspected, reject her precisely because she looked like Celina? Her secret feelings were mixed. Part of her longed for Miles’ plan to fail, but at the same time she ached to get closer to the fascinating Sir Blair Deveril, whom she found so irresistibly exciting.

  Marianna seemed to sense her brother’s real reason as well. “Oh, Blair, it isn’t fair, you know. It’s hardly Mrs. Reynolds’ fault that—”

  “That’s enough, Marianna!”

  But she carried on. “It’s my birthday, Blair, so you must grant me one wish.”

  He drew a long breath, not caring to draw further attention to their small group. “I’ll compromise. If Mrs. Reynolds presents herself here at noon tomorrow, I’ll interview her properly. Will that do?”

  Marianna hesitated, but then gave in. “Oh, I suppose so.”

  Laura couldn’t help but be conscious of his resentment. He didn’t want to have anything to do with his sister’s prospective chaperone. Nor, in all honesty, could said prospective chaperone blame him.

  Marianna’s youth didn’t prevent her from eventually realizing it was time to leave well alone, so having achieved part of what she wanted, and as a waltz was announced, she deftly changed the subject again. “I believe you have claimed this dance, Mr. Woodville?” she prompted.

  Stephen smiled and offered her his arm, and as they stepped onto the rapidly filling floor, Blair gave Laura a faint smile. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Reynolds?” he asked reluctantly, for not to have suggested such a thing would indeed have looked odd to any onlooker.

  Somehow she managed to smile and accept, for she could hardly decline. “Thank you, sir.”

  He set her glass aside, and as his fingers closed over hers, their gloves might not have been, for it was as if their skin touched. She moved in a dream as he led her onto the floor and put a hand to her waist. The waltz began. The music was sweet and rhythmic, seductive almost, and she felt weightless as they moved around the floor. The ballroom passed in a blur, and she could hear her heart thumping. He affected her far more than was comfortable, for she hadn’t foreseen exactly how attractive she’d find him. It was glaringly clear now, however. She found Sir Blair Deveril more sensually stimulating than any man she’d known before.

  Oh, God, she’d never experienced such a charge of electricity that her whole body seemed alive with latent emotions. The thought of making love with him was almost intoxicating. Her breasts felt taut and excited, and there was an aching deep inside her. It was desire, urgent and uncompromising, but when she looked into his dark gaze, she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. How easy it would be to move a little closer and stretch up to put her lips to his…

  Beyond the music she could still hear the whispering. Once or twice she thought she heard Celina’s name again, and knew everyone was thinking exactly what Sir Miles Lowestoft wished them to think—that Sir Blair Deveril had found his wife again.

  When the orchestra played the final chord and she sank into a curtsy, Blair’s gloved fingers suddenly tightened almost roughly over hers. Startled, she looked up at him. “Sir?”

  “Mrs. Reynolds, I will be blunt with you. You are definitely not my choice as my sister’s chaperone.”

  She straightened, and drew her hand away from his. “It would be hard not to realize that, sir.”

  He went on. “But since Lady Tangwood speaks so highly of you, and Marianna has set her heart on it, I still wish you to come here tomorrow. You have my word that I will interview you fairly.”

  “I’m sure you will, sir.”

  “Are you staying at the King’s Head in Cirencester?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll send my carriage at two. Is that convenient?”

  “Yes.”

  He conducted her to an empty sofa at the side of the floor, bowed, and then walked away. She sat there in embarrassment, conscious that she, not Marianna, was the ball’s center of attention. It wasn’t an agreeable feeling, especially for the part of her that was modern Laura, and it wasn’t long before she got up to hurry up from the ballroom to the open doors at the top of the main staircase. Please let me return to my own time!

  She rushed through the doorway, and to her unutterable relief found herself back in the quiet darkness of her hotel bedroom. The doors vanished from the wall behind her, and she heard the January rain dashing on the modern window.

  Chapter Five

  Sleep didn’t come easily to Laura after that. The night’s incredible events kept going around in her head, and she was still wide awake when the hotel began the new day.

  After crossing her fingers that Alun would not be as badly injured as was feared, she lay looking up at the powder-blue canopy. Could she still pretend it was all the result of an overactive imagination? Possibly. She might have daydreamed what happened in the green room. She could have recalled the scenes in the mirror and over the field gate from some explicit movie or other. Her thoughts might conceivably have wandered in Cirencester, and she might even have read a romantic novel with a chapter about a ball. But what about the engraving, which was definitely real? She’d seen the original Deveril House from the field gate before coming upon the engraving. How?

  Still striving to be commonsensical and rational, she supposed it was possible she’d seen the engraving somewhere before, but even if she had, would she really subconsciously recall it in such intricate detail? She thought not. A photographic memory was not one of her attributes; in fact, she had trouble enough learning her lines, let alone absorbing every particular of a complicated old engraving!

  Whatever the truth of it all, there was no sign of the doors to the past now, or even a tiny clue that they’d ever existed. Her thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Fitzgerald’s discreet tap at the door. “Are you awake, Laura dear?”

  Laura sat up. “Yes, please come in,” she called, praying the new day had brought good news from France.

  Her prayer seemed answered when Jenny’s mother entered smiling, and looking relieved. “I forgot to ask if you wanted morning tea, so I’ve brought you a cup anyway. I hope
that’s all right?”

  The smile was reassuring. “It’s great, thank you. Have you heard anything from Jenny?”

  Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded as she put the tea down. “Yes, and it’s good news. Alun’s injuries aren’t so serious after all, and he’ll be permitted to leave the hospital to travel home in a week, maybe less.”

  “Oh, I’m so pleased to hear it.” Laura breathed out gladly.

  “The thing is, my husband is coming home in a day or so, but Jenny, understandably, wants to stay with Alun, which means you’ll still have to fend for yourself.”

  “I don’t mind, provided you don’t.”

  “My dear, it’s a pleasure, and at least the weather’s being kind today.”

  Laura saw bright sunlight around the bedroom curtains. It was indeed a beautiful day out there.

  Mrs. Fitzgerald went to the bedroom door. “Anyway, I won’t disturb you anymore. Enjoy the tea. Just pop down to the dining room when you’re ready. We do gargantuan breakfasts, mind, so be warned. Bye for now.”

  Alone again, Laura picked up the tea with a smile. Thank heaven Alun would be all right.

  About an hour later, wearing jeans and a favorite ruby chenille sweater, her hair brushed loose, she went down to breakfast. On the way she studied the engraving again.

  The receptionist smiled. “Good morning. Miss Reynolds.”

  “Good morning.” Laura glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the internal layout of the original house?”

  The woman came closer. “Well, I only know a little. For instance, the present main staircase didn’t exist when the house was built. There was another staircase leading up from a second hall here, where the dining room is now,” She put a beautifully manicured fingernail on the engraving.

  “Oh?” Laura’s mind raced, for the dining room was below her bedroom at the end of the present building. When she’d gone back in time last night, she and Stephen had just come up the original staircase and were waiting in line at the entrance to the ballroom.

  The receptionist went on, “I’m told the original grand staircase certainly deserved the title. It led up to a sort of huge landing, from where one got to the main rooms, including the then drawing room, the library, and a grand ballroom. If you want to find out more about the old house, Mr. Harcourt’s the one to ask. He told me everything I’ve just told you.”

  Laura decided she would, for Gulliver Harcourt appeared to be the local oracle. “Is there a plan of the original house?” she asked suddenly, thinking there must be for anyone to have knowledge of the internal layout.

  “I don’t think so,” the receptionist replied.

  “Then how does Mr. Harcourt know what it was like inside?”

  The woman’s lips parted. “That’s a point. I’m afraid I really haven’t a clue. You must ask him.”

  Laura went into the dining room, where the chimes of an impressive grandfather clock drifted pleasantly on the warm air. She selected a table by a window that enjoyed the same view as her apartment on the floor above, but it was the interior of the room that interested her. She tried to picture exactly where the original staircase had been. The wall paneling seemed not to have been tampered with since first put up, and so did the ceiling plasterwork. Was Gulliver Harcourt wrong?

  After a while she looked out of the window instead. The Cotswold scenery was bathed in sunshine, and she couldn’t help thinking it was a world away from London. And another world again from the heartbreak of Kyle McKenna.

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but there’s a letter for you.” It was the receptionist.

  Startled, Laura dragged herself away from the view to stare at the New York postmark. “Thank you,” she said, and smiled up at the women, who smiled back and then returned to her desk.

  The letter was from Kyle, and had been redirected yesterday from the London apartment, where the janitor had the hotel address. Why would Kyle write to her after their acrimonious parting? Don’t tell me he’s disputing ownership of something or other! With a sigh, she opened it.

  Hi, there, honey. I know your first impulse will probably be to tear this up and jump on the bits, but if you’ll give me a chance to explain, maybe things could get better between us.

  Get better? Hell would freeze over first, she thought.

  I guess I treated you real bad, and deserve not to be given another chance, but I just can’t get you out of my head. I screwed up by seeing someone on the side, but I was a fool. It wasn’t until I lost you so completely that I realized what a huge mistake I’d made. God, you don’t do things by half, do you? Not only did you leave New York, you left the States as well! It’s taken me all this time to persuade Josie to give me your London address. I guess you can say she’s a very loyal friend; she certainly all but spat in my eye when I turned up at her door.

  Laura sighed, wishing Josie had held out.

  Anyway, you must be wondering where all this is leading. The truth is, I miss you, honey, and I want you back, so, like they say in all the best scripts, I’m going to drop everything to follow you, I’m not needed on-set for a month now—my character’s been sent to Alaska to look for his long-lost twin brother, would you believe! That makes two brothers, a half-sister, two stepsisters, three lovechildren and a fairy godfather since the show began! As I was saying, I have a month off, so I’m using the break to visit England and get you back. So expect me soon, and you’d better believe I won’t leave until you give me another chance.

  I guess what I’m saying is that I love you, Laura. I can’t get you out of my system, and if you knew what an Oscar-winning performance I put in to get your address out of Josie, you’d know I was telling the truth.

  I know you’ll probably hate getting this letter, and that if you knew when I was coming, you’d be out of town for the day, so I’m not giving any dates. Just give me a chance to redeem myself. I adore you. Kyle.

  Laura was bemused. Never in a million years had she expected anything like this. Not only an abject apology, but a wealth of groveling too!

  Slowly she refolded the letter. Kyle meant what he said, he’d just turn up at her door, so she had to give the matter some thought between now and then. To begin with, did she still want him? She’d spent the past months trying to forget Kyle McKenna, and now he was trying to barge his way back into her life.

  With a sigh, she pushed the letter into her jeans pocket. She wished Jenny were here, for it would be good to discuss the pros and cons of Kyle with a girlfriend. Pros and cons? There shouldn’t be any pros!

  With Freudian expressiveness, she speared a sausage with her fork. She was on vacation, and Kyle McKenna could go to the devil right now. Besides, last night she’d been with a man so shatteringly exciting that he left Kyle in the shade! A man she’d like to see again, in spite of his coolness when they’d parted after the waltz. In the space of a heartbeat Kyle ceased to exist, and she decided that after breakfast she’d go back to the gate by the bridge. Just in case there might be another adventure...

  As she drove out of the hotel grounds a little later, she had to slam on the brakes to avoid an elderly man in a motorized wheelchair, who turned in from the steep lodge corner right in front of her. His sudden appearance sent her heart into her mouth,

  The little vehicle wobbled to a standstill, and he smiled apologetically. He had rosy cheeks, bright blue eyes, thick white eyebrows, and a bushy beard that covered the lower half of his face, so she couldn’t help thinking what a great Santa Claus he’d make.

  She leaned out. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t see you!”

  “It was my fault, I should have looked first.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “There’s no harm done.”

  As he trundled on along the hotel drive, his wheelchair motor whirring busily, she realized he must be Gulliver Harcourt, unless there was another man in such a wheelchair in the neighborhood. Oh, well, now wasn’t the time to talk. She’d leave it for later.

&
nbsp; She was pleased to remember the tortuous route back down to the little bridge, and the gate beyond. This time she was sure to park well out of the way of tractors. Everything looked much better in sunlight, but then she’d seen it on a bright day in May, hadn’t she? She smiled to herself. The stream sparkled coldly and the elder bushes were leafless, but nearby catkins seemed very golden as they trembled against the clear blue sky. Even the rattle of the ash keys seemed more pleasant. But would anything happen today?

  The gate was open this time, and she heard a tractor on the breeze. Shading her eyes, she saw it working a field further on. She was sure it was the same farmer she’d encountered last night. There were fresh tractor marks in the mud and she glanced behind to be certain her car wasn’t in the way of anything. Then, crossing her fingers, she approached the gateway, but as she reached it the view didn’t change. She could still see the hotel and hear the tractor.

  Deeply disappointed, she started to walk away. Clearly there wasn’t to be a close encounter this time, but then she hesitated. Maybe she’d give it one last try. She’d had to be partly over the gate last night, so maybe she had to actually go into the field. Turning again, she stepped through into the field, and with a jolt found herself where she wanted to be.

  It was warm, sunny May again, and the original Deveril House spread grandly across its hillside again. She was Regency Laura, and in the lane behind her waited the carriage Blair had sent to convey her from the King’s Head. She’d just asked the coachman to halt while she plucked up courage for the imminent interview. She needed all her composure because she felt there was little chance of being engaged. No matter what Marianna said, Blair Deveril didn’t want to be constantly confronted with his wife’s ghost. The beloved shade, as Stephen was occasionally wont to privately describe Celina.

  Wondering what lay in store, Laura smoothed her skirts nervously and then glanced down at her clothes. Today she wore a lilac velvet spencer over a plain white lawn gown, and her straw bonnet had wide purple ribbons. Regency Laura knew that the finer points of the clothes had been modish in about 1813, but nevertheless she was pleased with them. Sir Miles Lowestoft might be a monster, but he was a monster with good taste in fashion, although her false wedding ring was an unpleasant reminder that his good taste did not extend beyond clothes.