“Yes, thank you,” Nicholas Montfort replied to Mrs. Marks’s question. “I would appreciate some dinner. Airline food is not especially satisfying.”
“As I have explained to you, Mr. Montfort,” Crampton said, “we were told that you would not arrive until Tuesday at the earliest. Marlowe House is, however, prepared in expectation of your coming.”
“I cleaned and aired Lady Augusta’s rooms myself,” Nell said, contributing her part to Crampton’s assurances. “There’s even clean towels in the bathroom.”
“Thank you,” Nicholas Montfort said again. From his position on the topmost step he gazed upon the little group below him, his eyes gleaming with amusement when they lit on Hettie with her brandy glass still in hand, on Nell’s flushed, eager face, and on Mrs. Marks, who in her excitement had forgotten to remove her gold paper crown. Only Crampton really looked like a proper servant, and even his cheeks were a bit more pink than usual, thanks to several glasses of good brandy.
“I am afraid I have interrupted your holiday celebrations,” Nicholas Montfort said.
“Not at all,” Crampton responded. “We have finished with our dinner. Mrs. Marks will be delighted to prepare a meal for you.”
“Hmm.” Nicholas Montfort’s eyes were once again fixed on the glass in Hettie’s hand. Carol half expected him to demand to know exactly whose brandy the girl was drinking. Then he turned his attention to Carol. “I assume you are my late aunt’s former companion. Miss Simmons, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.” Carol was amazed to discover she could still speak, for she remained in a state of shock at the sudden appearance of the man whom she had loved in both the past and the future but had never expected to encounter in the present. Lady Augusta had not bothered to warn her of this unexpected development.
“Perhaps you will join me in the dining room while I eat, Miss Simmons,” Nicholas Montfort continued. “Before I speak with the solicitors there are a few questions I would like to have answered about my aunt’s last weeks.”
“Of course.” Carol met the green eyes directly. Deep inside her a glorious excitement was building, a sense of unlimited possibilities. This man’s presence at Marlowe House was Lady Augusta’s doing. Carol was certain of it. Therefore, his arrival must be connected in some way to the changes she was expected to make in both the present and the future.
“Did you take dictation for my aunt?” The question was a little abrupt, but Carol was not offended.
“Occasionally,” she said, adding, “I am probably not as proficient at shorthand as you might want.”
“I will only require you to take a few notes,” he said, his eyes still on hers. “Find your notepad and some pencils and meet me in the dining room in thirty minutes. Now, Crampton, if you will see to my baggage, I would like a bath before I eat. Mrs. Marks, I will expect my dinner in one hour.”
He was gone, Crampton following him. Mrs. Marks moved toward the stove, muttering to herself about possible menus using the leftover roast turkey.
“Who made him king of the hill?” asked Hettie, still gaping at the door through which Nicholas Montfort had left the kitchen.
“You put down that brandy glass, girl, and come and help me,” Mrs. Marks ordered. “He may not have a title before his name, but I know a nobleman when I see one. Mr. Montfort will expect the very best service and the best food I can prepare.”
“First,” said Nicholas Montfort, watching Carol scribble hasty notes on her pad, “there will be two more guests arriving late on Monday afternoon. Have the servants prepare rooms for them.”
“Right.” Carol put down her pencil to take a sip of tea while her companion applied himself to a plate heaped high with creatively transformed, reheated roast turkey and vegetables. “Will one of the guests be Mrs. Montfort, and if so, shall I tell Nell to make up the room next to Lady Augusta’s bedchamber? I believe it is in suitable condition. Nell takes very good care of all the rooms.”
“There is no Mrs. Montfort. I am divorced.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She was not sorry at all. She feared her heart would have broken if he had said he was married.
“Don’t be. I’m not,” he responded to her politely insincere remark. “It was best for both of us. We never matched well together. Something was always—always disjointed between us.” He stopped, fixing her with an inscrutable look. “Now, why the devil should I feel compelled to tell you such a thing, when I never discuss personal matters with my employees?”
“I am not exactly your employee,” Carol said. “I worked for your aunt.”
“May I assume that you know Aunt Augusta’s solicitors?” he asked, turning his attention to a list in his own handwriting which he had put next to his plate for easy reference.
“Yes. She used to send me to their offices carrying sealed messages she did not want to discuss over the telephone.”
“That sounds like Aunt Augusta. She never trusted anyone that I knew of. Do you think she trusted you?”
“Not at first,” Carol said. “But recently, yes, she put great faith in me. I hope I never disappoint her.”
“Why do you say that? Did she leave some particular instructions with you?” His glance was sharp. “It is my understanding that she left little or nothing to the people who worked for her.”
“Not in her will, no.” Carol took a deep breath, preparing to state facts that were not true in any legal sense, but which she knew to be Lady Augusta’s deepest desires. “Mr. Montfort, I do think she meant to do much more for her servants. She did understand how difficult their lives would be if they were turned out of their positions. Crampton and Mrs. Marks are too old to find new employment, and Nell and Hettie are not especially well educated. Hettie, in particular, can barely read. They are not likely to find good jobs elsewhere. Then there is St. Fiacre’s—”
“Are you .telling me that my aunt was fond of these people?” he said, interrupting. “I find such a claim difficult to believe.”
“How well did you know your aunt, Mr. Montfort?” Carol demanded. “I have worked for her for nearly six years. During that time, I do not recall any contact between you.”
“Because there was none. Her estate was left to me only because I am her sole remaining relative. Now let me ask you, Miss Simmons— how well did you know my aunt?” When Carol, trying to decide how much she should tell him, did not respond at once, he went on. “You did not know her at all. Oh, you may have seen her every day for six years. You may have done her bidding, perhaps even to her satisfaction, though I doubt if she would have told you so if you had. Lady Augusta Marlowe did not make friends of her employees, nor was she ever generous to them. Do not attempt to convince me that her character was otherwise, or I shall begin to suspect you of some unscrupulous intentions in spite of your security clearance. She did have a security check done on you, did she not? I would expect it of her.”
“Yes, she did, but she wasn’t as suspicious as you think. At least, not—not—”
“Not at the end, when her mind was failing?” he suggested, frowning at her.
“How dare you imply that I tried to influence a senile old woman? That is what you are saying, isn’t it?” Carol felt like crying. How could this man look so much like the Nicholas and the Nik she knew and loved, and yet be as cold and suspicious as Lady Augusta at her worst? “Your aunt and I understood each other. As for you, I think you don’t care about anything but her estate. If you cared about her, you would have made an effort to see her once in a while.”
“She would not have allowed me to enter the house. Did she never tell you the scandalous tale of her quarrel with my mother?”
“Perhaps you ought to explain that business to me.” Carol was rapidly growing annoyed with him. “All I know about the great Marlowe family feud is that Lady Augusta and her sister once got into a major fight and stopped speaking to each other. Then your mother married and went off to Hong Kong, and the two sisters never made up their quarrel and never saw each other again.”
“Those are the basic facts,” Nicholas Montfort agreed.
“Why did they fight?” Carol asked, speaking more softly now in hope of coaxing him to tell her all about it. “I don’t know why I feel the way I do about this, but it seems to me to be vitally important that I should know what caused the quarrel between your mother and your aunt. Perhaps then I could better understand what motivated Lady Augusta.”
“I remember her, you know.” Nicholas Mont-fort’s face softened with a smile. “We all lived in this house when I was a little boy. In those days, my grandfather was still alive. When my father died, Grandfather insisted my mother should return home, to stay with him and Aunt Augusta. She was older than my mother. I was missing my father and she was remarkably patient with me.”
“I know Lady Augusta never married,” Carol prompted gently.
“She had a beau. That’s what she called him. He had been a dashing pilot in the Royal Air Force during the war. Afterward, he went into his family’s business. He came here to lunch one day, shortly after we arrived. He took one look at my mother and promptly forgot all about Aunt Augusta. There was a bit of a dustup about it,” Nicholas added dryly, “and a battle royal when my mother decided to follow him to Hong Kong and marry him there.”
“I can imagine.” Carol let out a long breath. “So that’s why the two sisters never spoke again. If Lady Augusta’s heart was broken by her own sister’s actions, it would explain why she became such a crusty, suspicious old spinster. I can’t blame your mother, though, not if she loved your stepfather.”
“She did. And he loved her. I have seldom seen two people so happy together. He died a week after she did, and I truly believe his death was caused by a broken heart. He just did not want to go on without her.”
“Did you go to Hong Kong with your mother?” Carol asked, to change the fascinating subject a little without entirely leaving it.
“Not immediately,” he said. “I went to school here in England. Afterward, I started in the London office of my stepfather’s business. Later, I went out east to work directly with him, as his partner. I took full control of the company on his death. Now, with Hong Kong scheduled to be returned to the Chinese in just a few years, I have been considering moving our headquarters back to England.”
“You could live in the old family homestead.”
The suggestion elicited an amused chuckle from him. “You have a peculiar effect on me, Miss Simmons. I seldom talk so much. Or perhaps it is the result of returning to this house and finding myself quartered in rooms that were my grandfather’s when I was last here. On the other hand, it could be no more than jet lag that is making me so talkative.”
“You haven’t said anything very shocking, and I won’t repeat a word of it,” Carol murmured. She was acutely conscious of the warm, quiet room with its candlelight and gleaming silver and crystal. Nicholas was seated at the head of the long, mahogany table, and she was at his right with the silver tea service in front of her.
“Is that a decanter of port I see on the sideboard?” he asked. “Would you care for a glass, Miss Simmons?”
“Thank you.” Carol did not usually drink port, but she would seize any excuse to remain with him like this for a little longer. She noted with pleasure the easy grace with which he rose to lift the decanter of wine off the sideboard. The way he moved had not changed from either the past or the future.
Nor was there any change in her heart in regard to him, whether he called himself Nicholas Marlowe the Earl of Montfort, or Nik the leader of a band of rebels, or plain Mr. Nicholas Montfort. She had been steadily falling deeper and deeper in love with the same man under wildly different circumstances. Now here he was, in her own time, and her love for him meant nothing at all, because he did not know her. Carol considered her extraordinary situation for only a moment before she became aware of a slight nudging sensation within her mind.
No, Lady Augusta, she thought in response to the sensation, I won’t forget what I have to do.
“This is the third time you’ve done that.” Nicholas set a stemmed crystal glass of port down in front of her. “First you look desperately sad, as if your heart were broken, then you smile as if you have just remembered a wonderful secret.”
“Perhaps I have, and perhaps I ought to reveal at least part of it to you,” she murmured. Raising her eyes to his she said in a crisper voice, “You won’t be able to do any business tomorrow because it is Sunday—or on Monday, either, because Boxing Day has been postponed until then. You can’t meet with Lady Augusta’s solicitors or make any official decisions about her estate until Tuesday at the earliest. In the meantime, I would like to show you a few things. Call them my secrets if you like. Will you go to church with me tomorrow?”
“Church?” He laughed. “I haven’t been to church for years, but yes, if you like, I will go with you. It is the season for churchgoing, after all.”
She told him the time of the service and then she rose, using the late hour and his long journey as an excuse to end the evening. The nudging in her mind was growing stronger, urging her to leave the dining room before she was actually ready to do so. As a result of this peculiar sensation she hoped— indeed, she prayed—that Lady Augusta would be waiting for her in her bedroom when she got there, because she wanted an explanation for the events of the last few hours.
Her room was empty. Only the scent of paperwhite narcissus greeted her. Carol looked around, unable to believe she was alone. Surely Lady Augusta was present, even if Carol could not see her.
“Am I right, then?” Carol asked the air. “Have you sent Nicholas Montfort to Marlowe House at this exact time because you want him to help me change the future?” Having received no response to these questions, Carol nonetheless continued speaking aloud to an empty room.
“Lady Augusta, are you going to provide some help, or do you expect me just to fumble around until I figure things out on my own? Come to think of it, that is what you let me do in the other times, isn’t it? You took me to the past and the future and gave me a few pointers for getting along in each, and then you disappeared and let me learn my lessons for myself. And in both of those times you did nothing to stop me from falling in love. Can it be that loving Nicholas and Nik was part of your overall design for me?
“In case you don’t know it yet, Lady Augusta,” Carol went on, “just in case you can’t read my mind, I ought to tell you that tomorrow I am going to introduce Nicholas Montfort to the people at St. Fiacre’s Bountiful Board, and I am going to try to convince him to make a large donation out of your estate.”
There was no need for an introduction. Nicholas already knew Lucius Kincaid.
“We went to school together,” Nicholas said to Carol as soon as he saw the rector march in behind the choir and take his place at the altar. “What is he doing in a place like this?”
“I plan to show you what he’s doing, right after the service,” Carol whispered in reply. A short time later she noted with great interest the startled look on Lucius Kincaid’s face when he saw Nicholas kneeling beside her at the altar rail, and then the happy grin he tried to keep under control as he went about his priestly duties. Even more interesting was the way in which the two men greeted each other after the service was over. Laughing, pounding each other on the back, they utterly destroyed all of Carol’s preconceptions about Englishmen being reserved.
“I never thought to see you here,” Lucius Kincaid cried. “Has the Far East lost its glamour? Are you home to stay?”
“I am considering taking up permanent residence in London,” Nicholas responded in a mock serious tone totally unlike his usual voice. “Yes. Harrumph. The matter requires serious, not to say, lengthy, thought.”
“I had forgotten how well you do that. You have just heard a perfect imitation of Old Foggy, our tutor at Oxford,” Lucius Kincaid informed his wife and Carol, who were both watching this display of schoolboy comradeship in stunned disbelief.
“Lucius, my dear,” said Mrs. Kincaid, “we ought to be in the hall at this very minute. People are waiting for us.”
“Come with us, Nicholas.” The Reverend Mr. Kincaid gave his old friend a hearty shove on one shoulder to direct him into the churchyard and thence to the back entrance of the parish hall. Carol and the rector’s wife followed them. Inside the hall the Sunday morning edition of St. Fiacre’s Bountiful Board was in full swing, with volunteers serving a breakfast of coffee, tea, or juice with sweet rolls.
“I wish it could be eggs and kippers and the occasional platter of bacon,” said the rector. “Unfortunately, this is the best we can afford, and I must say, we hear few complaints.”
“What, exactly, is this program?” Nicholas asked. The two men moved off, Lucius Kincaid talking rapidly as he explained the purpose of the Bountiful Board.
“Mr. Montfort seems to be a nice man,” Abigail Kincaid commented, watching carefully to see Carol’s reaction to her words.
“If he is your husband’s friend, then he must be a decent fellow,” Carol said as casually as she could manage. She was longing to tell Mrs. Kincaid all about her history with Nicholas Montfort, but she sensed that it was not yet the proper time to do so.
“Like Lucius, Mr. Montfort is apparently not without a sense of mischief.” Abigail Kincaid’s blue eyes were laughing. “By the way, Lucius has eaten at least half of that box of candy you gave me. He says he prefers the nuts and the tough, chewy ones.”
“Of course he does. I would expect nothing less.” Their eyes met. Suddenly, with an instinctive yet unspoken understanding of the mysterious connection between them, both women burst into laughter.
“Luc,” said Nicholas a short time later, “you cannot possibly continue this work on your own. You must agree to let me help.” Pulling out a checkbook, he began to write.
“My dear fellow, I did not bring you to this hall to solicit money from you,” cried Lucius Kincaid.
“No, you did not,” said Nicholas, smiling a little. “It was Miss Simmons who brought me to St. Fiacre’s, and I am grateful to her. Here you are. I believe I can also promise continuing support in the future.” He handed the check to his friend.
“Oh, I say!” Lucius Kincaid stared at the paper in his hand. “Nicholas, this is quite magnificent. Almost unbelievable, in fact.”
“Nonsense.” Nicholas’s hand rested on his friend’s shoulder for an instant. “You did me a good turn once. It is only fair for me to return the favor, and with interest, since it was so many years ago.
“Luc saved my life,” Nicholas told Mrs. Kincaid and Carol. “While we were at Oxford, he pulled me out of the river after a boating accident. Now, Luc, I do want something from you in return for this check. I would like you and Mrs. Kincaid to come to Marlowe House for dinner on Tuesday night. My assistant and his wife will be there, too. You do remember William Bascome?”
“Will? I wondered where he had gotten to. So, he has been working for you.” Lucius Kincaid grinned. “It will be a reunion of old school chums who have not seen each other for far too long.”
Later, walking back to Marlowe House from St. Fiacre’s, Carol filled Nicholas in on the Christmas Eve dinner at which she and the servants had assisted the Kincaids.
“Those good people are struggling to keep the Bountiful Board going,” she said. “I hope you can continue to help them.” When he did not answer, she was silent for a while before adding, “The church could use some restoration work, too.”
“A lot of restoration. I am capable of noticing such things on my own, Miss Simmons.” He spoke in a severe tone, but his eyes were dancing with green fire when he stopped to catch her shoulders and turn her around to face him directly. “I suppose you want me to restore Marlowe House to its former glory, too?” he teased.
“It would be lovely if you could. Such a beautiful old house should not be allowed to fall into ruin.”
“I have always been fond of the place. Perhaps I will keep it instead of selling it as I first planned to do.”
“I know Lady Augusta would be pleased to hear you say that.”
“Once again you pretend to know her thoughts and her wishes.” He looked distinctly skeptical.
“It is not pretense. I am telling you what I know about her.”
“Really?” From his amused expression Carol could not tell what he thought of her claims.
“Believe me or not, as you please,” she said. “It really doesn’t matter so long as you help Lucius Kincaid and also do something for the staff at Marlowe House.”
“Why, Miss Simmons?” he demanded. “Why is this so important to you? Is it because of something my aunt said or did? I am fairly good at reading character, and I think you are hiding something from me.”
He was still holding her by the shoulders and looking deep into her eyes. Carol gazed back at him, wishing she dared to move a step or two closer to him and lay her head upon his chest. The desire to feel his arms around her tore at her heart. But he was awaiting her response and she gave him the only one she could.
“I can’t get into this at the moment,” she said. “I don’t want you to imagine that I have lost my mind, which is what I am afraid will happen if I say too much before you know me well enough to believe my story. I promise, I will tell you when the time is right.”
“I thought at first that you might be a con artist, someone who was trying to get money for herself from my aunt’s estate, after having failed to convince her to write you into her will.” He continued to look at Carol as if he could read her very soul and he spoke as if he were talking to himself.
“I can’t blame you for thinking along those lines,” Carol said. “After all, you don’t know me. But Mr. Montfort, I assure you, I would not know how to begin to be dishonest.”
“You haven’t asked for anything for yourself,” he said. “It is all for other people. What is this mystery, then? What motivates you?” Still he did not remove his eyes from hers. Carol was only dimly aware of cars moving along the street and of people waking past them and glancing curiously at the couple who were gazing into each other’s eyes so intently.
Nicholas, her heart sang. Nik, Nicholas, Nik. My Love.
“Miss Simmons?” he prompted.
“Call it a spiritual renaissance,” she whispered.
“Yours, or my aunt’s?” he asked.
“Both,” she breathed. “Both of us have changed beyond recognition, beyond returning to what we once were.”
“You are real,” he said, his hands tightening and then loosening on her shoulders as if he wanted to reassure himself that his assessment of her was correct. “You are not a ghost, and something tells me that you are not an angel, either.”
“I am alive,” she responded. “As I have never been alive before.”
“You make it sound like a miracle.”
“It is,” she said. “Dear Mr. Montfort, it is a miracle. Now all I have to do is convince you of it.”
“Crampton said you wanted to see me.” Carol paused in the library doorway, looking around at the shelves crammed full of books, at the oriental rug on the floor and the polished desk. Nicholas raised his head from the papers he was working on. A pair of narrow reading glasses was perched on the end of his nose and his face was serious.
“Come in. I have a few more questions for you.” He waved a hand, indicating the chair placed directly across the desk from where he sat. “Tell me, Miss Simmons, what are your plans, now that your employer has died?”
“I don’t know,” Carol said. “I have been wondering what to do, but I haven’t decided yet.”
“You appear to be well acquainted with my aunt’s affairs. Would you consider staying on to assist me here at Marlowe House?”
I would stay anywhere, do anything, to be with you. Acknowledging to herself her fear that he might not find her work acceptable, Carol was completely honest when she answered him aloud.
“I did act as Lady Augusta’s secretary when she needed one, but I must warn you, Mr. Montfort, I do not have much in the way of office skills. I can barely type, and if you were to show me a computer, I would probably run away from it.”
“You won’t need to type, or to file. That is not the kind of job I meant. Perhaps Joanna Bascome can teach you to use a computer, but it won’t be absolutely essential.” He leaned back in his chair, watching her every reaction to his next words. “Miss Simmons, I detect in you a remarkable sensitivity to the needs of others. Having made a large fortune, I now feel duty-bound to distribute at least part of it in ways designed to do the most good for people who could use some help in getting their lives onto the right path. Would you be interested in acting as my assistant?”
“Oh, yes. It’s exactly what I want to do. To make people happier, to improve their futures and thus, perhaps, to change the future world for everyone who comes after us—I can’t think of anything more wonderful. But Mr. Montfort, how can you make such a hasty decision? You don’t know anything about me. I might be an embezzler who will steal your entire fortune.” Carol stopped when Nicholas began to laugh. The carefree sound made her heart leap with pleasure.
“Miss Simmons, if Aunt Augusta hired you to work for her, I am certain she ordered a complete security check done on you. The results are probably in her solicitors’ office. Of course, I will have you checked out again, just for my own records, but for work of this kind I do prefer to trust my own judgment— and my judgment tells me that you are exactly the person I need.
“Now,” he went on, apparently assuming that she was already hired, “tell me what you know about Aunt Augusta’s servants.”
Quickly, Carol sketched the situation for him, pointing out Hettie’s illiteracy and the desperate need of both Hettie and Nell to find new jobs when their present ones were terminated.
“I don’t think either girl has much chance of getting a well-paying job,” she said, repeating essentially what Lady Augusta had revealed to her during their invisible excursion into the servants’ quarters. “Crampton and Mrs. Marks are slightly better off because they do have small pensions, but I don’t think they will be able to live very well after they retire.” She went on to tell of the offer Lucius Kincaid had made to Crampton, and Crampton’s sorrowful comment that he would have to refuse it. As she spoke, an idea took shape.
“Mr. Montfort, this morning you told Lucius Kincaid that you wanted to continue to help his efforts at St. Fiacre’s. The poor man is much too busy. Could you set up a fund to pay a supervisor for the Bountiful Board? Then Crampton would be able to take the position, possibly with Mrs. Marks as his assistant. If they were in charge of the soup kitchen, Mr. Kincaid would be free to concentrate on his pastoral duties. All three of them would be relieved of a great deal of stress, and thus they would all be much happier people.
“As an added benefit, Abigail Kincaid wouldn’t have to work so hard, either. At the moment, she is the one who does most of the planning for those meals. And, if you fund the Bountiful Board, perhaps the Kincaids wouldn’t feel obligated to put so much of their own money into feeding the poor and Abigail could occasionally buy something brand-new for herself or her children to wear.” Carol finished in a rush of excitement.
“This is exactly the kind of creative thinking I want to hear from you.” Nicholas sounded enthusiastic. “Miss Simmons, I do believe that you and I are going to make a very good team.”
Later, Carol, Nicholas, and Crampton inspected Marlowe House from its attic to the sub-basement. Crampton pointed out repair work that needed to be done, and Carol made notes.
“It’s such a shame the original house was divided into two,” Carol said. “The old Marlowe House was so lovely and spacious.”
“So it must have been.” Nicholas was looking at her as if he was wondering how she could possibly know what kind of house it originally was.
“I have heard rumors,” said Crampton, “that the lease on the house next door, which once was part of Marlowe House, will soon become available. The information might be pertinent to your future plans, Mr. Montfort.”
“Thank you, Crampton.” Nicholas looked thoughtful.
That Sunday afternoon and again on Monday morning, Carol put her limited typing skills to the test. Under Nicholas’s direction she made up a list of necessary repairs for the house, and then typed a proposal for a fund to aid St. Fiacre’s Bountiful Board.
“I believe Lady Augusta would want a portion of her estate to go into the fund,” Carol said to Nicholas.
“It will take quite a while to settle her estate,” Nicholas replied. “Therefore, we will begin with my money.”
“Could you set up the fund in her memory, then?” Carol asked.
“What a persistent woman you are, and how certain of what my aunt would have wanted. Very well, we shall call it the Lady Augusta Marlowe Memorial Trust Fund. Is that grand enough for you?”
“It sounds perfect. I know she will be pleased.”
“Wherever she may be,” Nicholas added in the dry tone she was coming to know well.
When Carol was finally freed of office duties she hurried down to the kitchen. She was afraid that Mrs. Marks, who could be temperamental, might be upset by the additional work involved in having three extra people living in the house after Nicholas’s associates arrived on Monday evening, and further annoyed by the festive meal for six that was scheduled for the following night. To Carol’s surprise, Mrs. Marks appeared to be energized by these challenges. In fact, she was in her glory, ordering Hettie around the kitchen until the poor girl was thoroughly confused, and driving Nell half mad by insisting that only the best china, silver, and crystal should be used but that every piece must be washed and polished first.
“I can see you have everything under control,” Carol said to the cook.
“It’s time this old house came to life again, if only for a little while,” Mrs. Marks responded. “Ill show Mr. Montfort some fireworks—culinary fireworks! I’m not ready for retirement just yet. Oh, we will have a grand feast tomorrow night. Hettie, where is that copper pan I wanted?”
William and Joanna Bascome were, as Carol expected, twentieth-century versions of the Bas and Jo whom she had known in the future. She recognized them at once, although like Nicholas, they did not know her. In Will Bascome, Carol also saw a resemblance to the Earl of Montfort’s butler who had unwillingly let her into the earl’s house on a December afternoon in the distant past.
I must remember to ask Lady Augusta about this, Carol thought. Does it always happen this way, with the same people coming together again and again over the centuries? If so, why was Penelope Hyde in love with Alwyn Simmons in the past and Pen with Al in the future, yet in this time, she is married to Lucius, who will one day be Luc? It’s very confusing.
To Carol’s delight, Will and Joanna Bascome were soon chatting with her as if they were all old friends. They enjoyed an early dinner and then the new arrivals retired, blaming the inevitable jet lag after their long trip from Hong Kong.
“By way of Majorca,” Joanna said. “We stopped to visit my parents, who are retired there, which is why we did not arrive with Nicholas.”
Some time later Carol mounted the steps from the kitchen, where she had been conferring with the servants on the schedule for the next day. Still smiling at Mrs. Marks’s bustling rejuvenation, she stepped into the main hall, then paused, listening. From the library at the back of the house came the strains of a well-remembered waltz. Carol hurried toward the sound.
Nicholas was sitting behind the desk, reading some papers. He had put on Lady Augusta’s stereo and was playing one of her old records. He glanced up as Carol came through the door.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, peering at her over the rims of his reading glasses.
Carol found his quizzical expression endearing. If only she dared to go to him, to put her arms around his shoulders, perhaps to sit on his lap and rest her head upon his broad chest. How wonderful it would be if he would hold her in the tender embrace for which she longed. Telling herself not to forget that so far as Nicholas Montfort was concerned they were still strangers, she responded to his question as coolly as she could with a hauntingly familiar tune filling her ears.
“No problem at all,” she said. “I heard the music and I couldn’t resist coming in here so I could hear it better. I love that waltz.”
“So do I. It is odd, because I usually prefer something more modern, but that old song has always had the power to move me. I don’t know why.” Tossing down the papers he had been reading, he rose and came around the desk to her. “Since you like it, too, would you care to dance to it, Miss Simmons?”
Carol could not protest that a library was a peculiar place in which to dance, for she knew better. When Nicholas Montfort held out his arms, she went into them like a weary traveler who has finally returned home. His strength, his graceful movements, the sparkle in his green eyes, the touch of his left hand clasping hers, the way his right hand on her waist guided her easily around the room, all raised images in her mind of past and future moments with him that blended together into a few exquisite minutes in the present. It seemed to Carol as if the very walls of the library held music and tender memories.
Carol was not sure whether Nicholas felt the same breathtaking pleasure in the dance that she did. They moved perfectly together, as she had known they would, but when the music stopped, Nicholas dropped his arms at once and stepped away from her.
“You must excuse me now,” he said. “I have several hours of work still to do. Thank you for a charming diversion at the end of a busy day and evening.” He kissed her hand lightly before he went to the door, to hold it open for her. There could be no question that Carol was being dismissed—politely and kindly, but dismissed all the same.
“Good night, Mr. Montfort.” Hiding her hurt and disappointment, Carol left the library and made her way upstairs to her own room, there to contemplate a dismaying question.
What would she do if, in this lifetime, Nicholas Montfort was not for her? If Penelope-Abigail-Pen was not with the same man in every period in which she lived, could the same fate befall Carol?
She knew the answers to those questions as if they were engraved upon her heart. She would always love Nicholas, but if he could not love her, then she would work with him for as long as he allowed her to and she would see to it that they helped as many people as possible. And she would always try to remember that in a future world—a different future world from the one she had known—she and the man she loved would be together. If in this lifetime she was not fated to know Nicholas’s passionate love, then she would earn his respect.
Nor would she be alone. She would have friends, the Kincaids, Nell and Hettie, Mrs. Marks and Crampton, the Bascomes if she were lucky—and perhaps even Nicholas’s friendship, too. It was not all she wanted, but it might have to be enough. Knowing there was more to come in another lifetime, she would learn to be content.
“This is the gift that Lady Augusta has given me,” Carol whispered, “and for it I shall be forever grateful. Forever. Thanks to her, I know that this life is not the end.”