His and Hers Page 6

  "I myself frequently lose things." The girl nodded agreeably. "May I help?"

  Jane didn't answer for a minute, instead fingering her skirts. She could use all the help she could get, but how many people could she trust with knowledge of the stone, her one and only ticket home? "That's… um… very nice of you," she said, stalling for time. Then she looked Anne straight in the eyes, changing the subject "How old are you?"

  "Fifteen."

  An early teen who would, in the twenty-first century, be hanging out at the mall, counting the days until she could get a driver's license and flirting with clueless boys. But in this time period, she was likely already on the marriage market. She decided to go straight to the point. "Are you here for a husband?"

  Anne made a face. "I have proclaimed myself quite unready for such things." Her chin bobbed in defiance. "You, dear sister, are the one in need of a husband."

  In need of one? Not exactly. All she needed was a clean start, a roadmap for managing a calm, regular life. Jane rubbed a stalk of grass between her Fingers. "How did announcing yourself not ready to get married go over?" she asked.

  The girl shot her a quizzical look. "Our father, as well you know, is not of the same opinion."

  "But you're too young. You have forever to get married. After you figure out who you are." Not that Jane had that quite figured out yet at the age of twenty-six, but that wasn't the point. And when had she started sounding like her mother?

  "That is not what you said to him directly before we left for this place."

  A half-smile toward her sister. "Well, maybe it's what I think now."

  "Truly?"

  Her tentative smile turned into a full grin. "Truly."

  "Miss Bellingham may not make it so."

  Ah, yes. The pen-wielder. "Does she have someone in mind for you, do you think?"

  She made another face, this time the one of a petulant ten-year-old. "I can only hope she does not. I would far better concern myself with"—she stopped, tipping her face to the sky—"other pursuits." A mischievous grin spread across her face.

  An enraged cry broke through the quiet. "Anne Gertrude Ellingson!"

  Anne scrambled to her feet "That will be Aunt Hathaway."

  "Answer me at once!" The voice drew closer.

  "What's going on?" asked Jane.

  An unmistakable gleam appeared in her sister's eyes, along with another giggle, barely contained this time. "A question best left unasked." And then she took off running, in the opposite direction from the voice.

  Jane watched the teenaged figure grow smaller, feet flying beneath her long skirts, until she disappeared around the side of a building. Slowly, Jane climbed to her feet, awaiting the arrival of her aunt, whose face had turned alarming shades of red.

  "That girl!" she huffed. "Where is she?"

  "Not here."

  Mrs. Hathaway's eyes all but disappeared in her furious face. "It is beyond belief. This time, she has gone too far. Really she has." She pulled in great gulps of air, dropping her head and pressing her hands to her knees in a very unladylike stance for the 1800s.

  This time? "What did she do?"

  "She has put salt. Salt in the puddings." The horror of the deed was etched on the woman's forehead-Jane drew her brows together, trying to understand. "That doesn't sound too bad—"

  Mrs. Hathaway's palms rose heavenward. "How can you say such a thing? When our hosts find out, as they are very likely doing even now as we speak, whatever will they think of us?" One hand closed into a fist. "I must find that Anne. I myself told my brother, your father, that she should not be allowed to accompany us here, but he insisted."

  "He was hoping she would find a husband, even though she's way too young."

  Mrs. Hathaway drew herself up straight and made a humph sound. "There is entirely too much questioning of your parents' wisdom that goes on in that household, I always say. Too much entirely." She put a handkerchief to her nose and gave a loud sniff.

  So she could question her brother, but Jane, his own daughter, strange as that sounded, could not. "Do you have children, Mrs. Hathaway?"

  "You well know that your uncle and I were never so blessed." Her attention turned back to the situation at hand. "Although at this very moment, I find myself quite glad of it."

  Now hold on. Accidents happen and this one might not even have been Anne's. A familiar feeling of injustice tightened in Jane's stomach. "How do you know Anne was anywhere near the kitchen? Maybe the cook picked up the wrong ingredient."

  "Such insolence," her aunt bristled, dragging the last word into many syllables. "Anne was making herself a decided nuisance in the kitchen, babbling on to Cook as though she had been brought up with neither manners nor sense." Her eyes darted in one direction and then the next. "Now that we have stood here conversing to no good result, she is likely far from my reach. I shall remove myself to the house, with the hope that our hosts will be so kind as to overlook an indiscretion by a very silly girl." She turned with a flounce. "With no ill effects cast upon her older sister."

  Jane remembered the mischievous gleam in her sister's eye. Anne had known exactly why Mrs. Hathaway was calling for her. So much for the unjustly accused. "As you said, Mr. Dempsey is a gentleman," Jane called after her. "A gentleman wouldn't hold something like this against a fifteen-year-old girl."

  No response. Jane watched the bouncing cap grow smaller, not sure she believed what she'd just said. Red wine on a wedding dress was bad, really bad, but it was an accident. Salt in the pudding was sabotage.

  Big difference.

  Jane had been at her search for only another few minutes when she felt the stiffening of her spine and lift of her chin that signaled Mary Bellingham was about to take the storyline for another spin. She'd barely had time to wonder where her feet would land next when she found out.

  She stood outside the entrance to Afton House on what looked to be a warm afternoon, with a gentle breeze tickling her hair and an open parasol in her hand, shading her from the sun. Beside her, James Dempsey smiled and offered his arm. "Miss Ellingson, I am so pleased you agreed to accompany me on a stroll around the gardens. It is little enough time we have had to talk."

  "Your gardens look to be very pleasant, sir," she heard herself say. She took his arm, laying only the tips of her fingers on his coat. "And the sun makes its appearance so in-frequently, I find my spirits are quite raised by the sight."

  He gave a small chuckle. "I would claim to have arranged for its presence today, but fear you would not believe me."

  "Indeed not." There was good-natured reproof in her tone.

  They walked several feet in silence, Jane hoping Mary would let her drop her gaze to the ground to continue the search for the stone. She didn't. Apparently, Jane was to keep her chin up in this scene, with frequent adoring glances in James's direction. So instead, she drank in the smell of sun-drenched flowers, grass and… eew… something else. Horses. And what horses left behind.

  "Are you enjoying your stay, Miss Ellingson?"

  Could this author not write anything else? Afton House was not a hotel, taking a guest survey. A compliment on her dress, which, by the way, was a beautiful shade of mint green, would be a great conversation-starter, or maybe he could ask her a question about her interests. She hoped she was allowed to have some. "I am very much enjoying it," she said. "My family was most pleased by the invitation to visit Afton House."

  "Pity your father could not come. And your mother."

  "Yes. But my father's business occupies most of his time and my mother's health is so fragile, the doctor would not allow her to make the journey."

  "But your aunt, Mrs. Hathaway, has come and your sister, who is an enchanting child."

  Really? The salt incident was forgiven? Or maybe Mary Bellingham didn't know anything about it…

  "And you, Miss Ellingson. You are here." He stopped and turned to her, gazing into her eyes. This was the part where, she was sure, she was supposed to fall madly in love with hi
m or at least in serious like.

  She dropped her hand from his arm. Waiting.

  He reached down and lifted it to his lips, landing a soft kiss on her glove. "Miss Ellingson. Or, may I call you Jane?" His smile had a certain cockiness to it, an understanding that he would not be denied, that no one could turn him down for anything.

  "Of course, Mr. Dempsey," she murmured. Mr. Dempsey? Did the first name thing only go one way?

  "And you must call me James," he pronounced. "I will have it no other way."

  "Then I shall call you…James." At this rate, it would take them three years to get to the first kiss. Wait. Was that—? Mary! Pay attention and get that piece of bread out of his teeth.

  He turned and began to walk again, tucking her hand firmly into the crook of his arm. Must be what happened in this culture when you moved to calling each other by first names.

  "My mother had these flowers planted," he said with a sweep of his hand. "They were her favorites. In the first days of her illness, before she became confined to her bed, I used to take her strolling by them once a day. 'Please, James,' she would say to me. 'So that I may breathe their scent. So that it may be the last thing I think of before sleep overtakes me."

  Sleep in the every-night sense or the forever sense? The thought of James walking his dying mother by her flowers didn't do a lot for Jane, romantically speaking. She supposed it might be intended to make her appreciate his compassionate side, but really, he took his mother for a walk once a day? It wasn't a lot to ask, since he didn't seem to occupy his day with a whole lot else.

  But instead, she said, "It was very kind of you, sir. If I had planted these beautiful flowers, I should also long to be near them. And to walk by them guided by a strong and willing arm." She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

  "Why, Miss Elling—No. Jane." There was a teasing note to his tone. "You blush. Fearing that you have made too bold a remark. When, in fact, you honor me with your observation."

  "It is good of you, sir." She glided on, the heat fading from her cheeks. If it took years to get to the first kiss, when would Mary let them sleep together? Would she have to tell James how "kind" he was as he undressed her? Because if her character blushed at being bold enough to mention his strong arm, things weren't looking good in the area of unbridled passion.

  After a few more moments of silence, he said, "It was good of Mr. Hathaway to suggest an introduction to your family. He and my father have known each other some time now."

  "My uncle is a gentleman with many business acquaintances, in London and beyond."

  "Now Jane, do not trifle with me. He has not arranged for other introductions, has he? If so, you must confess it at once."

  Her head turned to him in a flash. "No, sir!" Then she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the repeat performance of a twinkle in his eye. He really did have nice eyes, with sort of a we're-both-in-on-this-joke way of looking at her. "You tease me." Her chin lifted.

  He stopped, placing both of his hands on her arms and turning her to him. "Jane."

  She felt her intake of breath. This was it. The moment when James would kiss her. When she would feel what it was like to be someone a man coveted, wanted for his own. To be doing things the right way, for once. To have the prospect of a happily-ever-after life dangling straight in front of her. For the raking.

  To deserve it. For once.

  "James," she answered, in a whisper so faint, the name barely escaped her lips.

  He was holding her hands now, pressing them hard with his own. What, exactly, was the thing with gloves? Her hands couldn't be trusted in the outdoor air on their own?

  She let her breath escape, gazing intently at James. She hoped, really hoped, that Mary had done something about the bread in his teeth, but he didn't have his mouth open so that she could see. Here she was, waiting for her happily-ever-after in a dress frothing with lace, of the kind that a nineteenth-century Cinderella might wear. All she needed now was the coach and the four white horses. Wait. Were there four, or six? Anyway. She had the coach. And the horses. If only they were white. That would be so great for riding off into the distance, clip-clopping along in a romantic fairy tale.

  Leaving behind everything in her life that hadn't worked right. For this, a guarantee at a problem-free life, where no one would know her as the one who had spilled copy machine toner all over herself the day of her first, and only, date with Kevin the dentist. Anyone who has ever put natural finish makeup over the semipermanent black smudges of toner would sympathize with the oddly tinged hue that had scared Kevin into making up a patient's emergency. It was as though she'd put eyeliner everywhere but her eyes.

  Only she would do something like that But now life seemed so simple. All she had to do was let someone else write her lines, her actions. No one, ever, would consciously have the toner debacle happen.

  Back to James. There went his hand, up to her face, gently caressing it with his knuckles. He had nice hands. Slender, aristocratic fingers. He probably folded his clothes right away when he took them off. No heaps of pants, shirt and socks for James.

  Any time now, she should feel… something. But while she was waiting to feel it, why exactly did this guy get to make a move on her out in the open when, according to her calculations, they'd met only a couple of days ago and this was Victorian England?

  "I realize that I take liberty here, Jane," he breathed.

  His breath smelled like lamb. Must have had it for lunch.

  "Yet," he continued, "I confess that I feel a certain—"

  A familiar voice cut through James's words. "Enjoying an afternoon stroll?"

  She jumped without moving an inch, the sudden whirlpool in her stomach having nothing at all to do with Mary's pen.

  Curran.

  Chapter 6

  James abruptly dropped his hand and Jane whirled toward Curran, her face flaming. He stood with his head to one side, one eyebrow raised in question. "Well?"

  "What we choose to do with an afternoon is of no concern to you," said James. He refused to move or look at Curran, instead staring at a point in the distance.

  Jane's knees sagged with relief at the sight of Curran. She had no idea why, since she really only wanted to smack the sarcasm right off his face. Not that she actually would, but she could think about doing it. That look on his face made her feel as though she were doing something wrong instead of patiently delivering the lines Mary Bellingham wrote for her. The woman was uniting here, scratching that pen into paper until her fingers curled into a ball. Jane respected that. Really she did. "Please forgive me," she murmured. "I must return to—"

  "Stay here, Jane," James instructed. "This coward has nothing to do with you or me."

  "Coward, is it?" Curran asked, upper lip curling into a sneer.

  "You heard me, sir."

  "We will see about that," Curran thundered. "You and I shall—" The last word choked off abruptly, hanging in the air among the three of them. He tried again, this time brandishing a fist. "Shall—" The fist raised, above his head. Then it dropped to his side.

  James blinked.

  Jane stared.

  A bird twittered in the distance as Jane felt the invisible hand release its grip. Her shoulders dropped.

  "Blast it all," muttered Curran.

  "What's going on?" Jane ventured.

  James raised a finger, signaling for silence.

  A moment later, Jane's chin and shoulders lifted.

  "We shall see about that," Curran again thundered, fist in the air.

  It stayed in the air, while James, Jane and Curran himself looked at it. Another pause. Curran had an extremely masculine fist, Jane observed. Strong, thickish fingers that looked as though they'd pack one hell of a punch.

  "We shall see about that," Curran shouted. This time, no fist. Instead, he took a step toward James. "You would be wise to watch yourself," he growled, "at every hour of the day and night. For I, sir, will not rest. And neither shall you."

  "Gent
lemen, please," Jane heard herself plead. Please what? Stop behaving like dogs circling each other?

  They ignored her. "I should sooner hand over my entire estate," James said, fingers sweeping grandly to one side, "than to honor your ridiculous threats with reply." He turned to her. "Jane. Come. The gardens smell of something foul."

  Jane, come? What was she, a dog ? A pause and then the hold on her released.

  James and Curran glared at each other for a moment and moved apart, Curran raking his hand through his hair. Jane's eyes darted to James, who had drawn his brows together. Whether in concentration or distress, she couldn't tell.

  Curran's palms shot upward. He clenched his fists and turned on his heel. "I would warn him of a plan? To be watching?" Curran demanded of no one in particular as he strode away, boots tearing into the dirt. "I am no such fool." More muttered words were lost on the breeze as Jane gave up her impulse to follow him and turned back to James.

  He repeated the sweeping gesture with his hand. Once. Twice. Watching his hand with what appeared to be bewilderment. At last, he looked up. "Effort, Jane," he said with a shake of his head. "It is all I ask of you."

  Her jaw dropped. Then she recovered herself enough to say, "She writes everything I—We—"

  "And we must assist her. Don't you understand?" His hands closed on her arms. "She struggles so."

  She struggles? Has she been dropped into the plot of a book, almost two centuries in the past? No. Didn't think so.

  James chucked her gently under the chin. "It does not come as easily to her as to her brother."

  Her brother. She and Mary might have something in common. Everything came easily to Jane's brother. He had written the textbook on hogging all the really good genes before the younger sister came along. It was the only explanation for one superperfect child and one… well, Jane. From the same parents. "Tell me about Mary. What is she like?" she asked James.

  "Come." He motioned with one hand and began walking in the direction of the house.