The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (18 page)

Perry stared at his older brother, his jaw clenched and his teeth bared. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

“I wasn’t sure the severance of Westcreek from the titled properties would be accepted by the House of Lords. I was only notified a few months ago of the sanction, and this has been my first opportunity to see it through. As you did not know about it, I decided it wasn’t a pressing issue, but the time has come now. Westcreek is yours.”

“And if I refuse?” Perry drawled.

“You will not,” Gideon answered definitively, then knocked on the door to alert the solicitor.

Perry seethed at his brother’s heavy-handedness as the solicitor completed the documents.

As they walked out to the street, Perry turned to Gideon and held out his hand. Gideon ignored it, pulling his brother into a rough embrace and clapping him on the back.

“You earned that title, as you earned your place in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Now, not another word,” Gideon said as he pushed him into the carriage.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Perry answered with a crooked grin.

They continued their rounds, finalizing accounts no longer needed and bringing others current, leaving Gideon with no task to occupy his brain but to think of Francine.

Meggie carefully rolled her sister from one side to the other, singing to her, smoothing what was left of her hair, making sure her bandages did not dry. She talked about her work at Eildon Hill, about His Grace and how he was planning to change the manor and the gardens. She spoke of the extended gathering that he had planned for the end of summer and how they would need extra help. She explained to her sister how she thought maybe Mrs. Weston would hire Lilly then, because she would surely be able.

Meggie fussed over her as she told her about Francine. She told her about how she’d lost her the other night and feared for her job, and how the master’s horses, which also killed a hound in the chaos, had injured Francine and how she was still unable to talk. At this Lilly seemed to struggle through her unconsciousness. Her hand shot out and grasped at Meggie, who screamed.

Dr. Walcott stormed through the door. “Meggie?”

“Oh, Dr. Walcott, quick, she is waking!”

Dr. Walcott walked to her side, looking at Lilly.

“Calm down, Lilly, everything will be fine,” he said. “Meggie, the laudanum.”

Lilly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. She clenched her eyes, and a tear squeezed out onto her cheek.

Meggie blotted it away quickly before the salt of the tear caused pain in her sister’s wounds.

Lilly looked up into Meggie’s eyes. “The man, he was—” She cringed. “He was horrible,” she cried, her voice breaking.

“Please, Lilly, not now. Rest a bit, please,” Meggie begged, sitting carefully at the edge of the bed.

Lilly shook her head, wincing again. “No. Listen, please. He said things. He was angry with his betrothed. She ran from him, through the wood. He said—” She gasped, clutching at Meggie’s hand.

“Please, Lilly, stop,” she pleaded, her eyes welling up with tears as she watched her sister struggling.

Lilly shook her head again as she looked into Meggie’s eyes. “He said even his hounds could not retrieve her,” she whispered.

Meggie’s hand flew to her mouth. “No!” she cried.

Lilly wept silently.

“No, it cannot be the same man,” Meggie said.

The doctor looked from Lilly to Meggie.

“I’ll send a messenger to His Grace immediately,” Dr. Walcott said.

Meggie could only nod as he strode from the room. Lilly turned her head into the pillow, falling into a restless sleep.

Francine walked in the gardens. She knew that Roxleigh had told her specifically not to return alone, but she chose to ignore his admonishment because she needed to feel close to him. She was drawn to where they’d spoken. She walked slowly through the rose arbor, gently stroking the white buds, remembering how they had glowed that night in the moonlight.

She smiled. There was no way to retrace her footsteps; she’d been running headlong in the darkness and today she was strolling lucidly, the garden bright and warm with a gentle breeze. She inspected the hedgerows: their perfect vertical faces of lush green foliage, growing up from thick twisting roots.

Delicate flowers were also woven throughout the hedge—on one wall pink, the next yellow or blue, then back to pink. She followed the walls of pink petals to what she thought was a dead end. Then, turning around, she followed another hedge to the end of the row. She rounded the corner and found herself in the center of the maze, staring into the cool, blue pool at the base of the fountain.

She sat at the edge and pushed her slippers off. Surely now, alone in the middle of the maze, she could dare to put her feet in the water. She smiled and swung her legs over the side, lifting her skirts to keep them from getting wet.

She kicked her feet out, remembering the summers she’d spent with her mom at Congress pool. It’s where she’d learned to swim and, when older, she’d joined the swim team. The smell of remembered chlorine and cut grass filled her senses, bringing her back to her former, future life.

When her parents were killed in the accident, she’d lost everything. She was unceremoniously dumped in one foster home, then another, and yet another. It was the last home where she’d met Ava, the girl who taught her to sign.

Ava had always striven for acceptance from her peers in any way she could because of her disability. She hadn’t grown up with a decent role model. The two girls looked to each other as adolescents forging their way through middle and high school, trying to either join the popular crowd or stay off their radar, but always,
always
watching.

It seemed to them that the only way into the elite circle was to have a popular boyfriend, and the way to get a boyfriend was to sleep with someone. Although Ava became quite successful in her quest, Francine never did. She rode on Ava’s deflowered skirt-tails, pretending she knew about sex and was willing to participate, but still a virgin and terrified they would find out. She’d wished there was a way to just get rid of her virginity; for her it was like the scarlet letter.
Virgin
, she signed, though no one was in the maze.

The way she felt back in high school had persisted long after. She was never one of the cool kids, never belonged. She thought of Roxleigh—he was definitely in the clique, but not because he wanted to be. He was quiet and brooding, the one everyone was afraid to cut out of the group.  

Francine shook off the memories and stood in the fountain, walking around the base as she held her skirts. Her skin pricked as she thought about the circumstances. Her mind wanted to panic, but her body felt content. She’d never felt at peace in her own skin before. She was always unnerved—prepared to be moved.

The nature of foster care was so unsettling that she’d become accustomed to the
feeling
of being unsettled. No matter that she’d been thrown into a different culture and time, she was starting to feel more comfortable here than she had anywhere since losing her parents. Between the man she barely knew who somehow provided an overwhelming sense of security, and the servant woman who was more of a mother than any of her too-busy foster mothers had been, Francine felt safe. Finally, safe.

Francine jumped, nearly toppling into the fountain at the sound of a human roar that traveled over the tops of the hedgerows. She closed her eyes.
Please don’t be Gideon, please don’t be Gideon
. Stepping out of the fountain, she slid her damp feet back into her slippers as her heart raced. Turning in the direction of the voice, she breathed slowly to calm the heart that rattled painfully against the inside of her ribs. She listened and heard more admonishing curses. She walked to one of the entrances leading back into the maze, creeping cautiously toward the sound.

“Blast it all!” Amberly Shaw yelled as he walked into yet another dead end. He was generally quite astute when it came to navigating new places, even other mazes he’d found himself in, but this one was different. It wasn’t patterned from an easily recognizable geometric shape; in fact, the hedgerows held no real pattern within the perimeter whatsoever.

“Insanity!” he cursed, turning about once again to retrace his steps. He leaned back, turning his face toward the waning sun. The hedgerows loomed high above, leaving no chance for him to climb his way out. He couldn’t even logically fathom how the groundskeeper managed them so beautifully.

He had to find a way through or be stuck here until Roxleigh returned; and if he was found here, the duke would surely lose all confidence in him, having been bested by fancy shrubbery. He let out a deep-throated yell as he stumbled into yet another dead end. He went to lean against the hedge wall but was pricked, sending him back upright.

He’d only decided to examine the maze in the gardens as part of the estate mapping he’d been hired to complete, and now he realized the duke’s concerns were more than valid. He felt as though he might explode, more from embarrassment than anything. He couldn’t imagine trying to explain his way out of this predicament. Of course, that was supposing he found his way
out
to begin with. He’d thought it would be an interesting challenge and the day was perfect for a long walk in the garden, but now the delicate petals peeking out from the hedgerow mocked him, as did the thorns hidden behind the mask of green leaves. It was in that moment he determined that the best course of action was to level the site. He was sure the duke wouldn’t mind.

He cornered again to find another dead end and, turning back, came face to face with what he believed could only be an angel. Her gown was long and full with delicate detailing covering the bodice—the sort of gown which would definitely inhibit any kind of cleaning, scrubbing, or cooking required of a maid. “Who are you?” he asked.

The girl looked at him without a word, her eyes wide and unblinking.

This was decidedly not her duke.
Her duke
—what made her think that?
Gideon—no, Roxleigh. This was not Roxleigh. Definitely not Roxleigh.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

This man wore chocolate brown trousers that were pulled snug to his boots and a light blue shirt and dark blue waistcoat with a brown jacket. She thought about how even Roxleigh’s attire seemed severe in comparison. This man was traditionally attractive, though currently a bit disheveled, his dark blond hair sun-streaked and a bit unkempt, some of the curls falling over his forehead. She noticed his eyes, such a light blue they looked almost grey, ringed with a deeper blue halo. They were honest and trusting, and she smiled.

He spoke again, rousing her from the analysis. “Pardon, miss,” he said. He straightened his jacket and swept his unruly curls back in place. He seemed flustered. “Uh, begging your pardon, miss, I am Amberly Shaw. I’m here to map the gardens and manor for the Duke of Roxleigh. I wasn’t aware there were any other guests here in the maze, or at the manor, for that matter.”

She didn’t reply; instead, she patted her throat gently with one hand and lifted her other in a fist, circling it over her heart and mouthing
I’m sorry
.

A hint of amazement flashed in his eyes, and he responded with a sign of his own.

She examined his gestures, similar to what she knew but too fast for her to keep up with.

She gently touched his hands to still them, but he drew back at the contact.

Francine shook her head and tried to explain. Slowly she signed that she could hear, she just couldn’t speak.

He nodded. “I apologize, miss. I assumed you were deaf.”

She smiled and spelled her name. But he didn’t understand. She realized the alphabet had to be different. She turned and stood next to him, using her finger to spell her name on her palm.

“Miss Francine?” he asked, and she nodded. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Francine. Are you a guest?”

She nodded again, still smiling. She pointed to him and then motioned with both hands, as though she were holding something between them, and then let it fall.

“Am I lost?” he asked. He considered his response. He could admit defeat and be rescued by a woman, or he could feign intelligence only to have her discover his idiocy for herself soon enough. He chuckled. “Yes, quite. I am quite lost,” he said, looking down and kicking the toe of his boot in the grass.