Hawthorne Manor, true love blossoms

 

 

Devlin pressed his forehead to hers. “You take my breath away,” he murmured, cupping her face.

Sadie would have said the same to him but his kisses had left her more than breathless. She was speechless.

Devlin smiled. “Come on.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “We should get inside before we both freeze.”

Holding his hand, she followed him through the deep snow and up the stairs. Once they were under the cover of the balcony, she waited while Devlin grabbed up an armful of wood.

“Would you mind getting the door?” he asked, his arms loaded.

“Yes, sorry,” she mumbled, opening the door. “Let me help,” she said, turning to him.

“No, I have it,” he said. “Go on inside and get warm. I will be right there.”

“All right,” she said. The warmth of the house greeted her when she stepped through the doorway.

“Just put your cloak over the banister,” he instructed. “I will hang it up after it dries a bit,” he called to her over his shoulder while carrying the wood into the study.

Sadie removed her frozen cloak and draped it over the banister, adjusting it so it wouldn’t drip on the floor. Walking over to the mirror, she checked her appearance and tugged off her gloves. Her fingers felt frozen. Cupping her hands, she blew on them. Funny, while she was kissing Devlin she didn’t feel the cold at all. Looking at her reflection, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright. Lifting her fingers she touched her lips. “Best kiss ever.” Smiling, she hugged herself.

A pile of letters sat on a little silver tray on the table. She lifted one up. The word “Ravenhurst” scrawled across front with very lovely, very female handwriting. “Ravenhurst?” she said. “Where do I know that name from?” She turned it over. The postmark said December 22, 1887. “This can’t be right.” Glancing up, she caught her reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at her reminded her of someone, well not exactly someone, but something. Her image reminded her of the woman on the Currier and Ives tin.

“Would you like a Brandy?” asked Devlin, walking out to the foyer, removing his sodden coat and hat.

Dropping the envelope, she turned. An image of the man on the tin entered her mind as well. “What day is it?” she asked, feeling faint.

His brow creased. “It is Christmas.”

“Yes, yes, I know that but what is the date?”

“It is December 25^th.”

“No…” she swallowed hard, shaking her head. “What year is it?”

“It is eighteen eighty seven.”

“Oh my …oh…” She pressed her hands to her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“I think I am going to …” Her knees went out from under her.

“Good lord!” Devlin jumped forward and caught her in his arms before she hit the floor, but it didn’t matter, not really. She had already fainted.