Nicholas choked on his champagne when Jaci entered the Wildwood ballroom. Her hair, pulled back from her face into little ringlets, capped the proud tilt of her head and exposed her slender throat. She had chosen the blue velvet after all, and it set off her coloring to perfection.
He didn’t know who had designed the dress, but it broke every rule of fashion. Soft velvet hugged her curves, the draped material cascading down her back while leaving most of it bare. The only acknowledgment to propriety was a bow in place of a bustle and the long train which was standard on women’s evening attire.
Now, he quizzed her as they danced. “While I personally applaud your choice of style, doesn’t your dress somewhat inhibit your movement?” To test his theory, he danced her into a graceful turn, his own steps sure; his hold tightening when he felt her miss a step.
She leaned into him, her soft breasts brushing against his chest. He whispered into her soft, blonde curls, “On second thought, perhaps the style has more merit than first appears.”
She recovered her step, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “It’s not the dress at all, though I thank you for noticing. I happen to have two left feet when it comes to dancing.” She chattered gaily. “As for the dress, the only concession to style I would allow is the train, though why it’s necessary is beyond me. All I’ve done the entire night is carry it around by this little loop.” She wiggled her wrist, and his gaze moved from the soft circle of velvet on her wrist up her gloved arm to a practically bare shoulder. A shoulder he longed to caress with his lips.
“You do have good taste, Nicholas, for I like the blue velvet you chose.” She paused then added, “It’s very soft against my skin.”
This time, it was Nicholas who missed a step. Jaci, however, looked at him with such wide-eyed innocence, he thought he must have misunderstood. But then she smiled, and her lips taunted him and her gaze seduced him as surely as her dress had when she first stepped into the room.
At times like this, he questioned her appearance at Wildwood. She didn’t dress or act like any woman of his acquaintance. Her outspoken attitude put her in a class by herself. He knew nothing about her, and the Pinkerton man checking her background still had no leads. Perhaps he should be more hesitant, but somehow from the moment she had appeared with her soft southern drawl and wide eyes, he had been captivated.
The music’s tempo increased, and although she appeared hesitant over the intricate steps, she laughed brightly as he turned her round and round again.
“You are like no other lady I have ever known.”
Her smile deepened. “Perhaps I’m simply a scandalous woman.”
Normally, he held his own in any conversation, but the sexual bantering with Jaci taxed his logic to the extreme, not to mention his libido. “Perhaps I should keep you behind locked doors to make sure tongues don’t wag.”
She shook her head and clicked her tongue. Her eyes glittered in merriment. “Whatever would your fiancée think, having a kept woman in your house?”
He scowled. “I don’t have a fiancée, officially, but if I did, perhaps I would choose to keep the woman, and not the fiancée.”
Her eyes widened at his pronouncement and he was pleased to see he had shocked her. Damn, but he wanted to tell her; wanted to get it out in the open and finished. “Listen, Jaci, we must talk. There are things—”
“Good evening, Miss Eastman; Nicholas.”
Nicholas turned to the sound of Thomas’s voice and inwardly groaned to see that he had Lycinda on his arm.
“Since the music has ended and another dance about to begin, I thought I would request the pleasure of Miss Eastman’s company. Do you mind?”
Though Thomas asked the question, Nicholas knew there was but one response. “Of course not.”
He handed Jaci over with a bow and circled Lycinda’s waist as the music began. Unfortunate timing, for the orchestra played another slow tune, which meant he would have to make conversation. He opened his mouth to comment on her appearance, but she never gave him the chance.
“Really, Nicholas, I don’t say much about how you handle things,” Lycinda stated as soon as the music began, “at least not yet.”
“But?” He knew there was more.
“It’s not at all proper for a governess to attend a party of this sort. It’s simply not done.”
“Why not? Amanda is present as well. I didn’t realize new social rules were in play, Lycinda, but since this is my home, I don’t believe it concerns anyone else.” His tone had an edge of steel which caused Lycinda to lower her gaze. He hoped that would be the end of it. She had never questioned him before, and he didn’t like having to defend his actions.
When she glanced at him again, the demure look was back, and for some reason, that made him edgy. He understood why at her next comment.
“Papa thinks spring would be a good time for a wedding — before your sale and all the races, you know.”
Nicholas had a mental flash of Mason Edwardson counting the prize money as each race was won and then keeping it all while he sat by and watched. Or worse, that something would happen to Nicholas and the greedy bastard would take over Wildwood on behalf of Lycinda, his grieving daughter. Both pictures were too horrid to contemplate.
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that,” he stated.
“Yes?” Her voice held a note of hopefulness
He surveyed all the neighbors, friends and acquaintances who had come to his home for a festive party. He winked at Amanda, who enthusiastically waved from Thomas’s side as he danced her around the floor. His gaze found Jaci, talking to George Eastman and sipping a crystal glass of punch. She laughed at something the man said and Nicholas’s gut twisted.
Lycinda lightly tapped his shoulder, reminding him of her presence. “You were saying, Nicholas?”
“I think it’s something we’d best leave for discussion until after the holidays.” Appropriately, the music ended at that precise moment and he was excused from explaining further.
He escorted Lycinda to the edge of the dance floor, leaving her with her father. As he made his way across the room, pausing often to visit with friends, he inconspicuously looked for Jaci. Before he reached her, he saw her eyes widen and face turn ashen at something George Eastman said. She bit her lip as she gathered her skirts and turned away, hurrying out the wide door to the foyer.
Nicholas cut behind the enormous Christmas tree, bumping into a servant with a laden tray before making his way out the furthest exit. Once out of the ballroom, he turned this way and that trying to locate her. “Did you see which way Miss Eastman went?” He questioned a servant.
The young woman shrugged, and Nicholas took off down the hall. He’d have to do it the hard way and search room to room.
* * *
Jaci paced back and forth in the dark library, unable to focus on anything. Stopping before the small secretary in one corner, she tried to strike a match to light the lamp, but her hands shook far too hard. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms trying to get warm. No fire had been lit in this room since the festivities were to be held in the ballroom and adjoining dining room.
She quit pacing and took a steadying breath, closing her eyes. The door remained slightly ajar, but the music muted the many conversations from across the giant foyer.
Oh, God, what had she done? She couldn’t believe it when Thomas had introduced her to the famous, or soon-to-be famous, young George Eastman. In every photography course she had taken, his name had continually cropped up, being synonymous with Eastman Kodak.
They spoke of photography, and their identical last names, but she had found it an extremely taxing situation. She wanted to talk about high speed film and developing processes that he hadn’t invented yet. She finally settled for asking questions but giving little information away for fear she might tell too much. In the course of their conversation, he mentioned a wife and baby daughter.
“I’d love to meet them some day,” Jaci had responded politely.
“Alas, my wife doesn’t socialize anymore; not since poor Richelle’s death.” A shadow had crossed his face, as a fist suddenly squeezed the life out of Jaci’s heart.
“I’m...I’m sorry. Your daughter; her name was Richelle?” At his nod, she had swallowed, praying the answer to her next question would not give credence to the terror she had felt welling up inside. “When did she die?”
“This past October fourteenth.”
Oh, dear God. She had squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before excusing herself to dash out of the ballroom.
Now, as she stood in the library, which was cold and silent as a tomb, she wondered how it had happened. It didn’t make any sense at all, yet it made every sense in the world. Richelle Eastman had died on the exact day Jaci had been thrown through time.
“What are you doing here in the dark?” Nicholas’ voice made her turn to where his shadow loomed across the floor when light spilled from the doorway.
“Nicholas.” She ran to him, flinging herself at his solid bulk, knowing he would help her understand what had happened. He was, after all, a very rational man, not given to imagination and fantasy.
“Whoa, wait a moment. I can’t see a thing.” He kept her tucked in the crook of his arm as he led her over to the secretary. With one hand, he expertly struck a match and lit the lamp — the lamp she couldn’t light earlier.
He turned her around, ducking his head to see her more clearly. “I saw you speaking with George Eastman. What did he say that upset you so?”
She gave him a watery smile, not sure if she wanted to share her thoughts with him now. After all, since he didn’t believe she came from a different time, how was she to explain?
“George’s baby daughter died in October, on the exact same day I appeared at Wildwood. And it’s all my fault.”
“What? That’s nonsense,” he chided. “You didn’t even know his baby. What was her name?”
Jaci looked at him in anguish. “Richelle. She had the same name as me.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “There are more than two people in this world with Eastman as a last name.”
“Jaci Richelle Eastman,” she countered, tears welling up despite her efforts to blink them away.
Nicholas had moved away from her during the course of their conversation, and now he stood, arms crossed and legs braced, in the center of the room. He had swung the door shut when he had entered the library and the only illumination was from the lamp. Shadows played off his high cheekbones and broad shoulders, and she thought again about the fluke which had landed her literally at his feet.
If her assumption about George Eastman’s daughter was true — that one person died when another passed through time — then she couldn’t continue hoping to ever return to her own time. Not if it meant someone else had to die.
Looking at the man across the room, she didn’t think she would mind staying at Wildwood, if she had him by her side. As though her thoughts were transparent, he smiled at her and crooked his finger.
Without hesitation, she moved into his arms. Instead of kissing her senseless, which she would have preferred over thinking too much, he simply held her. She laid her head against his chest to hear the steady beat of his heart. His arms securely pinned her to him.
“Sweet, sweet Jaci. Why must you try so hard to explain everything? Life is full of unusual coincidences. Is it not enough that you are here, with me, at Wildwood? Do you have to dissect every word a person says, every action taken, trying to discover hidden motives? You’re simply overwrought with the emotion of the party and all.” He patted her back and she knew that although his tone was gentle and loving, he didn’t understand.
At that moment, she almost saw things from his point of view. The cold reality of her own life had left little room for faith. She had questioned actions, and with good cause, knowing some of the deviants living in Texas. But here in 1874, words were taken at face value, and as he had pointed out to her on numerous occasions, words were taken as truth.
He tilted her chin up. “Will you return to the party?”
“I must see to Amanda.”
“Amanda has already been taken up to bed; exhausted, I might add.” His humor touched Jaci’s heart.
“It would be best if I retire, too.” She couldn’t bear his kindness. She knew her eyes were probably red from crying, and the thought of conversing with anyone else at this point was beyond reason for her.
“I’m afraid I’m not as lucky as you. As host, I won’t see my bed until the last guest has gone. It is probably fortunate I don’t decide to do this more than once a year.” He let her go and moved to extinguish the lamp.
He walked her to the bottom of the stairs where she told him good night. She had stepped onto the first stair when his hand at her elbow stopped her.
“Soon, Jaci, very soon. Will you allow me a little more time?” She didn’t know to what he referred, but his voice begged her for this moment.
“It seems I have nothing but time, Nicholas. I don’t suppose it will hurt to grant you some. Good night.” She didn’t wait for a response but walked up the stairs and down the hall to her room, the orchestra music fading behind her.
She had never felt so alone in all her life. Even when her parents had died, she had Mandy and her friends to see her through difficulties. Here at Wildwood, there was no one. Oh, Nicholas had given her a job, and she had a roof over her head, but she couldn’t talk to anyone about her problem because no one understood. All her training and experience, all her hard fought independence and self-esteem meant nothing in this century.
He was probably downstairs right now, dancing Lycinda around the floor, smiling and laughing, while Jaci cried inside. Why did she feel jealous? It wasn’t as though she had any claim to the handsome man.
Her stomach rolled and her head pounded with conflicting and mismatched thoughts and emotions. She rushed behind the privacy screen and dropped to her knees, retching into the chamber pot. She hated herself for being weak; hated this century for all the inconveniences like the lack of modern plumbing and having to wear so many clothes that her stomach ached by the end of the day.
She sobbed as she tore at her clothes, wanting to be shed of anything that reminded her she didn’t belong here, even as she secretly wished she did belong. She longed for the right to fight for Nicholas and show him how she felt.
She had teased him tonight; bantered with him on a sexual plane which men and women used in courting. He had responded, too, as she knew he would. Yet, as always, he held something back. He spoke of patience and desire in the same breath, which only confused her.
Stripped naked, she crawled into her bed, pulling the coverlet under her chin and feeling miserably sorry for herself. The practical, down to earth side of her that always ruled kept saying to make the best of her situation. There was little she could do about getting back to her own world.
Battling that practical side, however, was a new emotional core and it had created a different ache and need inside. For years, she had kept her emotions buried deep, for she didn’t want to experience again the hurt or pain she had felt at her parents’ deaths. Now, she knew her emotions hadn’t departed, but she wondered if she really wanted them functioning again.
During most of her adult life, she had held to the convention that if she couldn’t photograph something, it didn’t exist. That maxim had kept her from feeling disappointment when her various romantic flings had fallen by the wayside; when boyfriends had disappeared and stopped calling. She kept telling herself love didn’t exist. Now, even as she repeated the mantra, she recognized it for what it was — an attempt at self-preservation.
Her mother had loved her husband and her children. But Jaci’s father hadn’t loved them; he had merely tolerated them. In the end, her mother’s love hadn’t been enough to stop him from drinking, or from driving the car off a cliff. At that time, when she was eighteen, Jaci had sworn an oath not to love because it meant being dependent on another human being for happiness and in the end, like her mother, she would only be hurt. It had taken a trip to another century for her to realize she needed love and acceptance in her life. She needed to be pampered and held and cared for, instead of always being the one to do the caring. And now that she realized it, the ache was all the more real to know that she couldn’t have any of it.
* * *
The Wildwood Ball had been the first in what began an entire stream of holiday parties. Because of the distance into town, Amanda and Jaci didn’t accompany Nicholas, and many times, he didn’t return until the next day.
She knew without being told that propriety dictated his moves in town and it wouldn’t have been proper for him to take her. Besides, she was certain he kept Lycinda Edwardson company during those long, cold nights in the city.
Today, however, he had informed her at breakfast that she would accompany him into town to finish whatever shopping she had for Christmas, and to help him with his. Now, bundled up in wool and covered with fur lap robes with warming bricks at her feet, she silently sat across from him. The carriage wheels crunched on the snow as the driver kept the horses trotting at a good clip.
It had surprised her that the snow didn’t stop the activity around Wildwood. For some reason, she had assumed everything would come to a stand-still without snow removal equipment. Such was not the case, and the number of trips into town by Nicholas and his people had created a fairly packed road. Of course, there were other residences further west, and some closer to the city than Wildwood. All had access to the same main road.
She studied the man across from her as he gazed out the windows. He looked tired. Each time he blinked, his eyes drooped a little more. She smiled. Some things never changed, regardless in which century you lived. Too many parties apparently were taking their toll.
“Why don’t you live in Philadelphia, as Mr. Edwardson suggested, and leave the horse training to your managers? It would be educationally advantageous for Amanda, and so much more convenient for your business.” She blushed when she realized how her comment must sound.
He turned his gaze from the passing scenery back to her and his eyes twinkled with laughter. Even so, the creases on his handsome face were deep, and she longed to soothe them away. “It is only during this hectic time of the year that the ride becomes interminable; and some of that is of my own making. Besides, I wouldn’t choose to live in such a crowded metropolis, nor would I subject Amanda to that rabble as she grows up.”
Crowded; rabble? Jaci almost laughed outright. What in heaven’s name would he think of Philly in the twenty-first century?
The carriage came to a stop in town. Nicholas hesitated when she requested he drop her off alone.
“I’m only going to the few shops along this street,” she pointed, “and they’re right across from the City Tavern. I’ll meet you there at noon. Besides, I have things to buy which I don’t need you to see.”
“Still, a lady shouldn’t parade around town unescorted.”
“It’s broad daylight, Nicholas.” She stepped out of the carriage and lifted the hood of her cloak. “I’ll see you in an hour.” Stepping up on the boardwalk, she waited until the carriage rolled out of sight.
Actually, she didn’t have any shopping to do, but enjoyed strolling down the sidewalk, peeking in the windows. Since it wasn’t her responsibility to maintain supplies at the estate, she rarely came into town. Life at Wildwood was pretty self-contained. Given the fact all the employees also lived right there, it was rare when she considered herself alone.
She enjoyed the company of the employees, Amanda and Nicholas, but every once in a while, she craved solitude. As a freelance photographer, she’d go to work alone, listen to the radio station she chose, and many times spend the entire day by herself. And that was just fine; most of the time. So, even though walking down the streets in 1874 Philadelphia might not qualify for being alone, it was as close as she could get for now.
* * *
Later, as she and Nicholas finished their meal of the most delicious chicken pie Jaci had ever tasted, Gustav Dentzel entered City Tavern. Nicholas waved him over to join them for a mug of hot cider.
“You remember Miss Eastman?” Nicholas asked by way of reintroducing her.
“Guten Tag, Nicholas, und die schönes Fraülein mit goldene Haare.” He nodded and smiled at her.
“Hello. I’m sorry, but I don’t speak German.”
Nicholas interpreted. “He said good day to me and the woman with noodles for brains.”
Her mouth dropped open, her gaze shifting between the men. Mr. Dentzel looked somewhat confused, but Nicholas began to laugh.
“I must learn to speak the English better,” Mr. Dentzel stammered. “I do not think young Nicholas told you truth.”
It occurred to her that Nicholas was teasing, which was a surprise, given his propensity to be rather somber. She patted the older man’s hand, knowing that what she was about to say would have Nicholas guessing at her background again.
“That’s quite alright, Mr. Dentzel. There is a story from Kansas where a scarecrow had only straw for brains, and the Wizard still granted him a wish.”
As she expected, Nicholas immediately snatched the bait. “What scarecrow? I thought you said you came from Dallas?”
She casually sipped her cider, remarking to the wood carver how good it tasted on a cold day. When she glanced over at Nicholas, she merely batted her eyes and gave him a slight smile. Noodles for brains — I think not.
* * *
Nicholas promised Gustav that he would stop by presently to pick up Amanda’s chest, so it was a surprise when the carriage stopped before a stately home on the other side of town.
“Don’t we have to stop at Mr. Dentzel’s?” She questioned as he handed her down from the carriage.
“I promised some friends that I would make an appearance at a recital this afternoon. Since misery loves company, I brought you along.” He grinned at her and Jaci knew she had been had.
“You’re very good at this game, you know.” She issued the back-handed compliment as they walked up the steps.
“Ah, but it pleases me to know that you are learning. Very fast comeback at the Tavern; very fast.” He chuckled and she shook her head, his infectious humor seeping into her.
Jaci actually enjoyed the afternoon. Nancy Schaffer was a wonderful hostess, and spent considerable time introducing Jaci to everyone as “a dear friend”, instead of “the governess”, or worse yet, “Nicholas’s employee.” She wasn’t sure what Nancy knew about her relationship at Wildwood, but she appreciated her tact.
Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, she realized Nicholas wasn’t in the room. When she asked about him, Nancy waved away her concern.
“I have no doubt several of the men have disappeared, either to another room for some cards, or out of the house entirely. I’m sure my own dear Michael would have done the same, if he weren’t already at court.”
She continued, “As much as I would like to instill some culture into this backward city in which we live, it appears I have little luck in that direction. You must, however, have Nicholas take you to the Academy of Music, our opera house. They do the most delightful performances.” Nancy left her to visit with other guests, and Jaci contented herself to wander around the room admiring the art.
Later, she stood by the parlor window, staring out at the lengthening shadows. Nicholas still hadn’t appeared to claim her when Mrs. Schaffer returned from seeing the last of her guests out the door.
“It was a marvelous recital.” Jaci felt she should make conversation.
“Come, dear, sit by the fire. Yes, Jenny does have a wonderful voice. She wants to study music next year, but I’m afraid her father may try to marry her off.” The older woman gestured to a seat by the fire, giving a small silver bell a ring.
While she ordered tea from the maid, Jaci studied her host a little closer. She was soft spoken and unassuming. Her sparkling eyes seemed to know more than she was telling. Jaci had grown accustom to the clothes and the speech of this period, but still felt awkward at times, and hoped she hadn’t given away some hint that she didn’t belong.
“Who won the election — Reagan or Carter?”
“Reagan, by a landslide,” Jaci responded automatically, then gasped. Her gaze darted around the room, her heart pounded, as though police would suddenly appear out of the woodwork to arrest her for being a fraud. “Dear God, you know. How?” A hundred questions raced through her mind as the other woman sat there and smiled.
“Mrs. Schaffer?”
“Please, call me Nancy.”
“Nancy, it is so good to have someone to talk to; to be myself, if only for a few minutes, without saying something untowards. But, how did you know I was from...later?” She finished in a whisper after a maid poured tea.
Nancy sipped her tea before answering. Jaci’s hands were shaking too badly to pick up the porcelain cup.
“You have that panicky look. I still remember it, even though it’s been ten years or more. And, you walk as though you have on Levi’s.”
It suddenly dawned on Jaci that if Nancy knew she was from another century, then Nancy, herself, must be a time traveler.
“Why?” The single word spoke volumes.
“It’s my understanding from others with whom I’ve spoken, that, while it doesn’t have to be catastrophic, there is always a reason for us to be here.”
“Us? You mean there are others?”
She smiled. “A few. You see, it seems there is a need for some to cross time to find that one person with whom they belong.”
Jaci thought of Nicholas; his arrogant manner and chauvinistic attitude, and the fact that he was to marry. He couldn’t possibly be the reason she had come back. She voiced her opinion.
“Your reason may not be apparent yet, but there will be one,” Nancy Schaffer assured her.
Jaci said, “Perhaps I was sent to help prevent a war or something. I’m not at all good at history. I—”
“We are definitely not here to change history, except on a very personal level. Did you know you’ll have a chance to return to your own time?”
Jaci’s stomach lurched. “Did you?”
Nancy’s smile was radiant this time. “Oh, yes, but by that time, Michael was so attached to me, I couldn’t possibly leave him.” Her eyes revealed her love, and when Jaci turned, she found Michael Schaffer just entering the room.
She knew her time was limited. “What can I do? How will I know?” She wanted to know when she would go back, the sooner the better, before she fell too deep to get out.
Nancy lowered her voice. “It’s not something we can speak of openly. You will know. I wish you luck. Perhaps I will see you again, after we return from England.”
Their privacy was gone as Michael Schaffer stopped at his wife’s side. He nodded slightly at Jaci, then immediately turned to his wife, his gaze softening. Nancy stood and glided into his embrace with no thought to any other presence in the room.
“Did it go well in court?” she asked as she smoothed his suit collar down.
“No. It looks as though we’ll lose, so we’ll have to appeal.”
“And the brief; how is it coming?”
“Slow.” As he spoke, his hand dropped casually to her waist to draw her closer.
“Is Frederick the only one working on it?”
“Yes, well—” He cleared his throat and Jaci wondered if it were some secret he didn’t dare discuss in front of her.
“Oh, dear. “ As though just recalling her presence, Nancy turned. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
Michael was a lawyer, Jaci realized from their conversation. As Nancy formally introduced them, she thought she would dislike having him for an adversary in a court of law. He was about Nicholas’s size, but he had a presence about him that intimidated her. Formidable was the word that came to mind. Thick brows bunched over piercing blue eyes as he acknowledged his wife’s introduction, and Jaci felt he saw right through her fraudulent shell.
His face transformed, however, when his gaze went back to Nancy, and Jaci felt their love as a tangible presence in the room. She had never been interested in photographing people, but this once she wished she had her camera to try to capture their essence.
She turned, anxious to leave. She wasn’t the least comfortable intruding on the intimacy they shared. Besides, she needed time to digest the recent discoveries Nancy had shared with her.
Fortunately, Nicholas entered the room at that moment, carrying her wrap. She looked at him with different eyes. Was he the reason she had traversed time? Nicholas, the most self-sufficient, independent, and responsible person she had ever met? Somehow she doubted it.
Michael and Nancy Schaffer walked them to the door, wishing them a happy holiday, and promising to visit Wildwood when they returned from England, which was Michael’s original home.
Jaci felt a moment of panic. After all, she had only learned she was not alone in this complicated world, and now Nancy was leaving. She squeezed the other woman’s offered hand and whispered, “Call me.”
* * *
“Call me?” Michael repeated as the carriage rolled out of sight. He bent his gray head to kiss his darling wife’s ear. “Don’t tell me she’s one, too?”
“I’m afraid so,” Nancy sighed.
“Does Nicholas know about her problem?”
“Not yet.”
“I’d better warn him. I doubt he has the same agreeable disposition as I do to handle it.” Michael pulled his wife back into the house and shut the door.
“Yes, as I recall, you handled things quite well. You only carried on about it for two months. And no, you will not tell Nicholas that Jaci’s a time traveler, though I doubt he’d believe you, anyway. You know it’s something they have to work out themselves. Besides, I’m not so sure she wants to stay.”
She turned in Michael’s arms and kissed his chin. “I’m very thankful I met you before my window in time appeared again. I can only hope that Jaci will come to understand her reason for being here before she loses the chance to be happy; and to be loved.”
* * *
“Call me? Whatever does that mean?” Nicholas echoed Michael’s words as they rode away in the carriage.
Jaci felt a strange elation over discovering she wasn’t alone any more, but she thanked the lack of lighting in the carriage so he couldn’t clearly see her face. “Isn’t that what you say to someone when you want to visit? You know, calling cards and all that sort of thing?”
He sighed; the same sound of resignation he used every time she said something unbelievable. “I suppose one might say that, although it is more proper to issue a written invitation.” He paused before adding. “You do have a strange way of speaking.”
She shrugged, already lost in thought. She went over every single word she and Nancy had shared; looking for some hint that would tell her when she would return to Dallas. She contemplated the handsome man sitting across from her in the carriage. She clutched her hands, hot and sweaty inside her gloves. Did she even want to return to Dallas?