Divine (26 page)

“Sebastian—”

He held out a staying hand, giving his head a sad shake.

“No, I understand. You have a life here and you want to stay. To be with James and his new wife, to continue your relationship with Shatner . . . To be with someone you view as more than just a
brother
.” He imbued the last word with
such
irony. He took a deep breath. “I am sure, however, you appreciate that this cannot be my life. I need to marry within the next few weeks. I am an earl and have tremendous responsibilities, a position within the government. Being part of something so much larger than myself . . . It is a worthy goal for my life.”

“Sebastian, I am so sorry—”

“My dear, it is for the best. This battle weary soldier knows when to lift the flag of surrender. A clean break, as it were.”

Swallowing, he grasped her hand and bowed, elegant and proper, over her knuckles.

But before releasing her hand, he raised it to his lips. Pressed a hot, scalding kiss on her fingers.

The shock of his warm mouth—Georgiana nearly gasped.

“Adieu, Miss Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight.”

With a smile, he released her hand and turned for the hallway and the stairs leading to the cellar.

Stunned, Georgiana felt her mouth move. But no words came. She watched him disappear down, and then her entire body came to life.

“Sebastian—” she cried, running across the kitchen, skittering down the steep cellar stairs.

Only to run into his solid chest in the darkness.

The portal pulsed and hummed in the dim light.

But it was closed.

For now, there would be no return.

For either of them.

Chapter 16

S
ebastian followed Georgiana up the stairs and into the same strange room they had just left.

After his theatrically dramatic exit too.

It just figured.

He couldn’t escape Georgiana Knight so easily.

Some diabolical god must find perverse joy in his misery, tethering him to her like this.

“Sebastian, I am so sorry,” she murmured, turning to face him. “Obviously, I never meant for things to go like this. Look, take off your coat and boots. Be comfortable. I’m going to change my clothes, order Chinese takeaway and make us some tea. Then we can talk, okay?”

“Okay?”

She froze.

“It means . . . all right. Everything will be all right.” She gave him a smile. Too bright, forced. “You’ll see. Some low mein and a pot of Earl Grey will make everything better. Trust me.”

“I haven’t a clue what such things are . . .” He swallowed, still fighting a strange combination of hysteria and terror and loss.

“Tea. Tea and food.” She gave that small smile again.

Walking over to the large table, she picked up the palm-size rectangular object and started touching its surface again, staring at it intently.

The afternoon sun poured through the window behind her, setting her edges aglow. Her hair hung loose down her back, rippling waves of silk, golden in the light.

So desperately like the first time he had seen her.

The irony was nearly suffocating.

Now what was he to do? Watch her be wooed by D’Avery? Pretend he was
happy
for her in this new life?

How could everything have changed so quickly?

She glanced up at him.

“Smart phone.” She indicated the object she held and then turned her attention back to it.

He nodded, even though it made no sense.

Smart phone? What did
that
mean? It didn’t look particularly stylish to him. It was an unremarkable silver rectangle.

Perhaps it was meant ironically?

He was still staring at her.

“Ordering takeaway,” she explained, not looking up. As if that helped him understand.

It didn’t.

“Can I do something?” he asked.

“Oh—no. Just make yourself comfortable and—”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t phrase that right. I feel as if I might lose my mind at any moment.” His jaw clenched. “Please give me something I
can
do. Some
limited
nineteenth century task?”

She stared at him for a second, her mouth an ‘O’ of surprise. And then nodded.

“A fire,” she said, gesturing toward the large fireplace. “A fire would be lovely. There should be wood in the box to the left there. Matches are on the mantle. They’re the long sticks in the tall box. You can strike them against the stones to create an instant flame. No tinder box needed.”

She smiled too brightly again and walked toward the stairs.

“You’ll see. Everything will be okay,” she repeated. They must say that word a lot in 2013—
okay
.

She left, skirts swishing up the stairs.

He glanced around the room and then, with a sigh, shrugged out of his coat, folding it carefully over the back of one of the table chairs.

Next, he untied his cravat. And then slowly unwound its long length. Deliberately, carefully.

Unraveling himself with each sweep around his neck.

All his hopes. Every wish gone.

Would he ever be put back together?

He placed his neckcloth on top of his coat but opted to leave on his waistcoat. Walking over to the sofa, he sat and contemplated his boots.

Taking them off without the assistance of a valet was tricky at best. Besides, taking off his boots felt like he was surrendering to this century. To the thought of settling in for a long stay.

Something with which he was not
okay
.

The boots stayed on. For now.

Taking a deep breath, he set about doing what he
could
: build a fire.

He stacked kindling, followed by a few larger pieces. And then the—what had she called them—matches? Long and thin, they were coated in a red substance on one end. Selecting one, he scraped the tip along the flagstones lining the fireplace, jumping when it flared to life with a hiss.

Impressive.

Five minutes later, he had the fire roaring. Satisfied, he sat back on his heels, watching the wood crackle. An island of comfort in this strange new world.

For nearly a decade, Georgiana had been his lodestar, the one brilliant shining guiding force by which he steered all his dreams.

That impossible possibility.

But now . . .

It felt as if his life had been a house of cards. A collapsed illusion.

A loud buzzing sound emerged from the front of the house.

“I’ll get it,” Georgiana called, her feet pounding down the steps.

The front door opened, and he heard the murmur of voices. And then Georgiana sailed into the kitchen, a bag clutched in her hand, staring at the rectangular smart phone thing.

He instantly stood, as any gentleman should when a lady entered the room.

Not that she noticed, as she was still intent on her ‘smart phone.’

But she had changed her clothes . . .

Sebastian sucked in his breath with a hiss.

Her hair tumbled down her back, now combed and loosely curled. She wore a foamy-green skirt that skimmed the ground but hugged her body more tightly than would have been considered proper in 1813. On top, she wore the same type of simple, unadorned white shirt that Shatner had, clinging to her slender form. Without buttons, how did one put on a shirt that tight? Over it all, she had a gray jacket-ish, wrap-ish thing that hung loosely to her hips.

Her feet were bare, toes peeping cheekily out from under the hem of her skirt.

It was all hard to describe. Simple and yet impossibly alluring.

Georgiana walked around the counter and lifted a handle on the spigot, causing water to instantly gush out into the basin. Blinking in surprise, Sebastian watched as she picked up what looked to be a shiny tea kettle off the counter and filled it with water. Then she set it down on a round circular object. A light at the base of the kettle lit up.

Odd.

She turned around and saw him staring.

“Everything will seem incredibly different until you get used to it,” she said, apologetically. “The twenty-first century is a place of tremendous contradictions. Nearly magical machines and amazing freedom mixed with a complete lack of social niceties and decorum. James fits right in.” She gave a soft laugh as she grabbed two oversized tea cups from the cabinet.

“And you?” He had to ask the question.

She shrugged and pulled a yellow box labeled ‘Earl Grey Tea’ out of a drawer.

“I don’t know.” A pause. “James is here. And I do love so much about the twenty-first century. Women are freer. We can do everything a man can do: hold a job, vote, attend university, travel alone, hold political office and so on. I never realized how few my choices were in the past.”

She reached into a drawer and pulled out a large bag labeled ‘sugar.’ Surely a bag of sugar that large would be an extravagant luxury. Or was it?

Georgiana continued. “Aside from marriage, what options does a well-bred lady have in nineteenth century Britain? Respectable work is limited to being a governess or companion. If she is very lucky, she might have an independence, like I received from my grandmother. But any woman who marries, instantly becomes her husband’s property. She isn’t even seen as a separate
person
under British law. Just an appendage of her husband.”

He walked around the sofa and into the kitchen. “Any gentleman would always consider his wife’s feelings—”

Georgiana waived her hand. “Of course. But problems arise because there are no social systems in place when men
don’t
behave as they ought. A man can beat his wife and children for no reason whatsoever, as long as he does not use a stick larger than his thumb. But were he to beat a stranger in the same manner, he could be held liable before the law. How absurd is that?”

All the air sucked out of his lungs. He knew what she said was truth, but still—

“Is this what you think of me? That I would do such a thing?”

She blinked. “No—no, of course not. But to live in a time where my children would be subject to such laws and social mores . . . Where death from easily treatable diseases is common . . . It’s hard to get used to the idea again, I guess.”

Her eyes pools of blue, her smile so very wide. She was still his Georgiana.

But
not
.

She had taken his neat little world, shaken it around in a box labeled
Nuance
and then dumped the pieces out into a morass of confusion and complexity.

Her gaze turned concerned. He couldn’t decide if the pity in her eyes comforted or alarmed him.

The light popped off on the kettle, and Georgiana dropped a couple mesh bags into it.

Tea.

“Come,” she said, taking his arm and directing him back to the sofa in front of the fire. “Sit. We’ll enjoy the wonderful fire you have built, and I will tell you my entire tale while we eat some lovely Chinese takeaway.”

A few minutes later, she had him situated on the sofa, holding a fork and box (box!) of food with a cup of steaming tea on a small table at his elbow.

She curled up on the sofa next to him, twisting her body to face his, tucking her knees underneath her and slumping. The diaphanous material of her skirt stretched and pulled, covering all of her except her bare toes, which peeped out at him, like the pink noses of so many mice.

It was not at all ladylike.

But it suited her, this new Georgiana, and had the ease of much practice. She had obviously sat just like that many times.

He inspected his food. Chinese takeaway. It was noodles with vegetables and smelled of soy. He perked up. He liked soy sauce and curries in general. Not everything was so different it seemed.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was lovely, just as promised.

“So, where is James?” Sebastian asked.

“He and Emme are in Bali. Or are they on to Fiji now?”

“Fiji?” Sebastian thought through everything he knew. “That is . . .”

“It’s an island country in the middle of the South Pacific. Pretty much on the opposite side of the planet from here.” She lifted up the smart phone and touched it. Again. “I messaged him, but it will still be an hour or two before sunrise there, and he won’t call until he wakes up. But I am sure James will want to talk—”

“Wait. You can send him messages? Talk to him? I don’t—”

“Smart phone.” She held up the object in question.

What was so remarkable about that silly rectangular box?

“Yes, you seem ridiculously attached to it. Does it ever leave your person?”

Georgiana laughed. “Stop! Now you’re sounding like James. Honestly, it’s worth living in 2013 just to have one of these.”

He held out his hand, motioning for her to give it over.

With a wide smile, she set her box of takeaway down and slid next to him. Tucking her shoulder against his. Her body a ball of warmth at his side.

“Look,” she said and touched the phone. It lit up with words and images. “Emme swears the history of all civilization has had the creation of this one device as its end game.”

A half hour later, Sebastian reluctantly had to agree. The device was miraculous. It could order you food, tell you the weather days in advance and play weeks worth of music. Remarkable.