The Time Keeper (The Guardians of Time Book 1) (9 page)

The carriage turned off the road onto a long, winding driveway.  As it rounded the last bend, Seb got his first look at Seeworth Manor.

He sucked in an awed breath.  ‘Wow!’ he murmured under his breath.

Emilia had mentioned it was a mansion, but that hardly did it justice.  It was more like a palace.  Five stories high and at least three times the width of the White House at his best guess; it was dominated by a huge central turret, with two smaller turrets at either end.  Built in pale sandstone, it glowed almost golden in the light shed from what seemed to be thousands of lanterns lining every exterior surface.  His fingers itched for a pencil and sketching pad.

As they joined the queue of carriages approaching the exquisitely colonnaded portico, a sudden flurry of nerves hit Seb.  His palms dampened with a sheen of sweat and he swallowed hard.  High-pressure situations didn’t faze him; he was comfortable with peasant and soldier alike no matter what century he was in and warfare and intrigue merely presented a challenge to be overcome.  But high society and all its inherent subtleties intimidated the hell out of him.

He darted a sideways look at Emilia.  She appeared relaxed and a little excited.  Having her here made him all the more nervous.  He had no idea how to behave in formal social settings; his background wasn’t exactly conducive to developing good manners and social graces.  Emilia, on the other hand, had moved within Ithaca’s highest social circles her entire life and he didn’t want to let her down.  He stared broodingly out the carriage window, hoping somehow he’d pull a miracle off and not embarrass them both.

Emilia’s hand settled lightly on his forearm and his head whipped around to meet her eyes in surprise.

‘Cheer up, Sparky.  It’s going to be okay,’ she said reassuringly. 

‘That obvious, huh?’  His lips twisted in a grim smile.  He hated appearing weak in front of her.

Before she could answer the carriage drew to a halt and a footman swept open the door with a graceful bow.  ‘Welcome to Seeworth, my lord.’

‘Uh, thank you,’ he replied awkwardly.  He shot Emilia an incredulous look and practically jumped out of the carriage, much to the astonishment of the unprepared footman.  Belatedly remembering the role he was supposed to be playing, he turned and held his hand up to help Emilia out.  Her fingers, encased in silk gloves, slid across his palm, sending unexpected jolts of electricity through his body.  She descended the carriage steps with all the grace his exit had lacked and turned to smile at the footman, who gestured towards the wide steps leading up to the entrance of the House.

Emilia turned back to him with a dazzling smile and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.  His breath wheezed out and he felt his senses reel.  Catching himself gazing down at the top of her head with what he knew was more than brotherly affection, he snapped his head up. 
Get a grip
, he admonished himself.  They weren’t going to successfully pull off a brother and sister act if he kept looking at her like he wanted to devour her.  He gave himself a mental shake and led her sedately up the steps.

Chapter 10

An immaculately dressed butler stood at the head of the stairs leading down into the ballroom, intoning the names of the arrivals.

“Lord Angleton...

“Mister Durran of Cuthpate…

“Miss Eaton, Miss Anna Eaton and Miss Isobel Eaton…

“His Grace, the Duke of Salford and Her Grace, the Duchess of Salford…”

When Seb and Emilia drew level with the liveried servant, Seb murmured their names and they were duly announced.

“Mister Delcourt and Miss Delcourt of America, cousins to the Earl and Countess of Wexworth.”

A momentary hush fell over the assemblage and heads swivelled to the staircase as they descended.  Emilia’s knees quaked as she observed the hundreds of interested faces peering up at them.  She’d never liked being the centre of attention and this was about as bad as it could get.  She wondered if it was too late to change her mind and high tail it out of here. 

And then conversation erupted again.

As they descended the last few steps, Emilia glanced curiously around the room.  Chandeliers glittered down the length of the ballroom, casting a romantic light over the deep burgundy walls and gold filigree decorating the cornices and architraves.  The beauty of the ceiling mosaic, depicting the love story of Paris of Troy and Helen of Sparta from its tender beginning until its tragic end in the Trojan War, captivated her as her gaze travelled from one end of the room to the other.

When at last they reached the ballroom floor, a dozen or so men and women eager to meet the Americans who were distant relatives of one of the most influential families in England, immediately surrounded them.  Emilia stood beside Seb, feigning calmness, as they both attempted to field the many questions being asked of them. 

‘You just got off the boat, you say?  Was the journey very arduous?’ one gentleman asked.  ‘I’ve heard it’s a frightfully long way!’

‘It is long,’ Emilia confirmed.  ‘I struggled with seasickness at the beginning, but once I got used to the movement of the ship it was really quite peaceful.  Although I was extremely grateful to be on solid ground again.’

‘I didn’t know the Earl of Wexworth had American relatives,’ an older woman commented.  Emilia thought she was the Dowager Duchess of Albany, but she’d been introduced to so many people in the space of a few minutes she couldn’t be entirely sure.

‘Actually it’s the Countess we’re related to, through the French side of the family.  Our grandfather was the youngest son in a family of eight children.’  Knowing how much ladies of the ton loved a good scandal, Emilia leaned towards the Dowager conspiratorially.  ‘Even though he was the youngest, he was the son of a Count and still expected to make an advantageous marriage.  But he fell in love with a local village girl.  When he told his father he wished to marry the girl, his father flew into a rage of legendary proportions and forbid his son to see the girl again.’

The Dowager nodded sagely.  ‘That’s to be expected.’ 

‘To remove temptation, he arranged to have the girl sent away to a convent but his son got wind of the plan.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He snuck out of the manor in the dead of night and together he and the girl fled to Paris, where they boarded the first available ship.  The ship’s captain married them and when they landed in America they set out to make their fortune.  It was all very romantic.’

‘And quite scandalous, I dare say,’ the Dowager cackled gleefully.

‘Oh yes, my grandfather was disinherited, which didn’t bother him one bit.  Many years later, one of his brothers made contact with him and some form of familial accord was restored.  But Seb and I are the first of our family to leave America and we’re eager to investigate our family roots.’

Emilia was having a blast inventing a non-existent family history, but while she mingled and continued to embellish her stories, one part of her mind couldn’t quite believe she was standing in a room of such epic proportions, watching all these exquisitely dressed lords and ladies from a couple of centuries ago whirling, laughing and dancing past her. The curiosity and questions seemed to be endless, but so far their cover story was holding and the snippets she’d overheard of Seb’s conversations were consistent with her own stories.

A young man approached the group and bowed respectfully before Emilia.  He turned slightly and looked pointedly at Lord Burleton, who she had been conversing with.  A delightful older gentleman who had been widowed at a young age, he’d poured all his time and energy into his beloved country estate, before realising too late he should have married again.  It wasn’t difficult to imagine him sitting beside a roaring fire, polishing his guns and surrounded by the slightly disobedient but fiercely loyal hounds who were his only companions in his old age.

Lord Burleton nodded and cleared his throat.  ‘Miss Delcourt, may I present to you Lord Randolph, Marquis of Trentham.’

With his light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and aristocratic features, Lord Randolph was a handsome man.  Added to that, as Marquis he was the heir to a dukedom and Emilia had no doubt he was one of the most sought after bachelors in the room and possibly all of England.  She dropped into a curtsey, grateful she’d been practising for the last few days.  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, My Lord.’

‘The pleasure is all mine, Miss Delcourt.  You quite outshine every other woman in the room.’ 

Emilia heard a few gasps of outrage from some of the young women within hearing and groaned inwardly.  Tonight was about having fun and the last thing she needed was would-be Ladies Randolph snubbing her.  Then again, with the swarm of people still surrounding them, eager for an introduction, it was going to be some time before she managed to have any sort of fun, she thought ruefully.

‘You exaggerate, My Lord.  I have already observed with envy
many
others more beautiful than I.  But thank you, nonetheless, for the compliment.’  That ought to do it.

His eyes flickered with amused understanding and he extended his hand towards her.  ‘May I have this dance?’

Emilia looked apprehensively towards the dancers and breathed a sigh of relief.  It appeared to be a waltz.  When she’d come up with the idea of visiting a Regency Ball, she had failed to consider the complicated dances practised in this time, the vast majority of which she wouldn’t be able to pull off without a great deal of practice.  She could hardly wing a lively Cotillion.  The waltz, however, she could manage and it looked like she might get to start having that fun after all.

‘I’d be delighted.’  She placed her hand in his and allowed him to turn her towards the dance floor.  As she moved away from the group she glanced over her shoulder at Seb.  He looked a little panicked at being left alone, so Emilia quickly hissed over her shoulder, ‘Ask the men about hunting in England.’

He nodded his understanding and as Lord Randolph spun her into his arms, she watched Seb turn to Lord Burleton and ask him a question.  The gentleman gestured excitedly and launched into animated conversation.  Emilia smiled and returned her attention to her dance partner.

‘So tell me what it’s like to live in the wilds of America.  I’ve heard the land is full of savages and quite primitive.’

Emilia stared at him incredulously, but then realised that was probably the general opinion in England during this time.  She drew on all her knowledge of American history and proceeded to educate Lord Randolph on the realities of life in the very new United States of America.

*

Seb propped his shoulder against a conveniently placed marble pillar, crossed his arms over his chest and watched Emilia whirl her way around the dance floor.  Once some of the younger people had realised dancing styles were quite different in America – which Seb was pretty sure Emilia had made up – they had taken her under their wings and given her a crash course in Regency dancing. He’d used the same excuse to avoid dancing with any of the young ladies looking longingly in his direction.  He told himself it was good for his ego to have so many girls gazing hungrily at him, but the truth was it kind of gave him the creeps.

Emilia was in her element and had captivated a good half of the guests at the ball… particularly the stuffy English Lords with their perfect manners and high expectations.  They appeared to find this young American girl “refreshing”!  He had already been approached by several young Lords (and one who was old enough to be her grandfather!) sounding him out for permission to court her.  Court her!  He’d probably offended the first few when he’d laughed in their faces, but he wasn’t laughing any more and had started to inform anyone who asked that Emilia was currently spoken for by a young American with good prospects.  Who would have thought Justin’s presence in her life would prove advantageous?

At the beginning of the evening, he too had been a target for the scarily determined matchmaking matrons who, for some absurd reason, thought he was a good marriage prospect for their daughters.  Emilia had been right about that.  Initially oblivious to what was happening to him, she eventually noticed the wild look in his eyes and excused herself from the dance floor long enough to return to his side and find out what was going on.  She’d taken care of the problem in her own way by circulating a story that he’d gambled away their substantial fortune and was currently up to his eyeballs in debt.  That had gotten rid of most of the eager matrons, but a few who had large dowries to bestow upon their daughters had still pushed their cases.  So Emilia had whispered confidentially to one such mother that in his teenage years Seb had contracted a near fatal bout of milk sickness, rendering him infertile.  And that had taken care of that.

He had to give her credit; she was highly adaptable and entertainingly creative.  If she weren’t so damn fragile, she would be an excellent partner. 

He watched Lord Randolph approach her again and thrust himself away from the marble pillar.  For some reason he couldn’t stomach watching that particular one dancing with Emilia and for the first time he was grateful for all the rules and etiquette preventing Randolph’s hands from wandering where they shouldn’t.  And because of that, Seb couldn’t begrudge Emilia her fun.

Wandering towards the drawing room, he considered joining the cards game some of the older gentlemen were involved in but he didn’t like having Emilia out of sight for too long.  Instead he watched idly from the sidelines as a game of poker neared the conclusion of a round.  Lord Burleton was playing against several other men Seb had been introduced to whose names he couldn’t recall.  He was unfamiliar with British currency during this time but judging by the number of notes on the table, this was a serious game.

Emilia’s suggestion that he ask Burleton about hunting had been an inspired one.  The man was clearly a fanatic and Seb now knew more about shooting techniques and the best hunting spots in Derbyshire than he needed to know.  But he had to admit it had been fascinating learning how a skilled hunter overcame the limitations of range and accuracy inherent in rifles of this time.  Even though he couldn’t tell him about them, Seb knew Burleton would love to try the kinds of rifles Seb had used in the army… and still kept locked away safely in his apartment.

He wandered casually around the room so he could see Burleton’s hand.  He liked the older man and wasn’t above using a little magic to change a three to a King if it would help him win the game.  Burleton held an eight, nine, ten, Jack of Spades and King of Diamonds.  Seb watched in some trepidation as Burleton discarded the King, ready to intercede if necessary.  Without even a flicker of emotion, the other man picked up a fresh card – a seven of Spades.  A straight flush and a winning hand.

Seb turned away and ambled back towards the ballroom, in no particular hurry.  Burleton knew what he was doing and certainly didn’t need
his
help.  He dodged a pretty blonde who was making eyes at him.  Clearly she hadn’t heard the rumours yet.  She was swaying unsteadily and he glanced at the glass in her hand.  Or maybe she was too tipsy to care about the rumours.

Propping himself against the same pillar, he scanned the ballroom for Emilia’s laughing face.  Her energy was boundless and he expected to see her whirling around the floor in yet another frenetic Regency dance.  Not that he should be surprised.  With all the running and gym classes she did, she
should
be super fit.  He frowned and scanned the room again.  She wasn’t there.  And neither was Randolph, he realised with alarm.

Seb jerked upright, his face going pale.  Something wasn’t right; he could feel it in his bones.  There were two sets of French doors leading out onto a large curved balcony and he wove swiftly through the crowd of dancers towards the nearest doors, brushing past the people who tried to waylay him.  Maybe she’d just gone outside for some fresh air. 

He longed to run but didn’t want to draw any attention to himself.  Bursting through the doors, he surprised a couple talking intimately on one of the benches dotted around the balcony.  But there was no sign of Emilia.

It was his worst nightmare come to fruition.  As he sprinted the length of the balcony and launched himself down the steps into the garden, images of her lying hurt or worse yet, dead, cascaded through his mind.  Fear clenched his stomach.  If anything had happened to her…