Chapter Twelve

“Why do they stay so late? Should not they have left yesterday as so many of the others? Why do they hang about?”

Charlotte secretly agreed with Prue, but that wouldn’t help the girl deal with the pushy busybodies who wanted to know all the details of three nights ago. The viscount’s guests smelled a scandal and weren’t happy with the watered down, boring explanation they’d been given. Charlotte and Lady Tyndale had been forced to run interference for days. Luckily, the children’s activities were separate from the adults, so for the most part they’d been able to keep Prue away from the worst of it.

“They’ll be gone soon enough. Have a little patience.” Easier said than done. Charlotte peeked over the railing at the mess of people milling around in the entry. She wanted to get a broom or something and shoo them out the front door. It was only a little past noon though, so really not that late at all. The realization didn’t help.

Mrs. Sharple, one of Mrs. Crawford’s sycophants, peered up at the balcony. The light of recognition lit her eyes.

Charlotte whipped her head back out of sight.

“Oh, Miss Evans.” Mrs. Sharple trilled in her irritating high-pitched whine. “Do send dear little Miss Prudence down so we may say our goodbyes.”

Prue’s eyes bugged out of their sockets, and she whipped her head back and forth. “No, please. I don’t want to. She’ll pinch my cheeks.” Tears welled, threatening to spill over.

“I’m sorry, Prue. But I really think you ought to go down.” She cursed Miss Crawford ten ways to Sunday for making this necessary. “It’s the polite thing to do. And if you don’t, Mrs. Sharple is likely to make a scene.” The wretched woman had already spent half the morning continuing her mission of implying there was more to the story Charlotte had invented the other night. It wouldn’t take much to tip the woman into stating outright that James had compromised Miss Crawford. The truth was inconsequential when the possibility of seeing her friend’s daughter marry a title was on the line.

Prue sniffed. “Yes, Miss Evans.” She dashed at her tears, squared her shoulders, and took hold of Charlotte’s hand.

Pride warred with a desire to shield Prue from the coming confrontation. She kissed Prue on the forehead. “I’m proud of you, Prue.”

At her words, Prue stiffened her spine and squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

They made their way down the stairs with a whole host of guests scrutinizing their every step. Mrs. Sharple’s smile cracked like ice in warm water, but she held out her arms as if to take hold of Prue when they reached the hall.

Charlotte stepped forward to get in the way. She tipped her head in a gesture just shy of disrespect. “Leaving so soon, Mrs. Sharple? Miss Prudence was just saying how sorry she is to see the party come to an end.” She rested a hand on Prue’s shoulder. “Weren’t you, dear one?”

Prue smiled and curtsied. “Yes, Miss Evans. Have a safe trip home, Mrs. Sharple.”

Charlotte kept herself between Prue and Mrs. Sharple, though the older woman repeatedly tried to make her way to Prue’s side. But Charlotte could well remember how this game went. She’d attended any number of intimate social events in this time with her original family, and there had always been people trying to play up to her to get into her parents’ good graces. Such was the life of the daughter of an earl. As the daughter of a viscount, Prue would deal with much the same.

She had a hard time resisting the urge to laugh when Mrs. Sharple grit her teeth in obvious frustration.

“I’m sure you have many duties to attend to this morning, Miss Evans. I’d be happy to watch over dear Miss Prudence until your return.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Sharple. I am completely devoted to my charge. Why, I have come to love the dear child so much, I would positively ruin anyone who dared to hurt her. In any way.” She gave her most saccharine sweet smile, waited until the threat appeared to register in Mrs. Sharple’s flushed cheeks, and then said to Prue, “I believe your father wished to speak with you this morning. After how kind Miss Crawford was to you the other night, he knew you’d wish to bid her a very special adieu. Good day, Mrs. Sharple.”

She swept Prue before her and hightailed it out of the hall. Several people snickered discreetly into their handkerchiefs. She ignored Mrs. Sharple’s loud, “Why that little…”

Holding in her own mirth wasn’t easy. By the time she and Prue closed the library doors behind them, they’d had enough. They burst out laughing and sank onto the couch facing Prue’s mother’s portrait.

“I am pleased to see you both enjoying this morning. I can’t say as I’ve found anything remotely amusing today.” James plopped down on the couch next to Prue, who immediately relaxed into his embrace and rested her head against his chest.

“You should have been there, Father. Miss Evans…”

James raised his brows and gave Charlotte a piercing stare over Prue’s head as his daughter gave a blow by blow of her conversation with Mrs. Sharple.

Charlotte blushed as Prue called Mrs. Sharple a particularly vulgar word. She couldn’t recall ever using that phrase in front of Prue, but as her governess, it was her job to make sure she spoke like a lady rather than a smart-mouthed little hoyden. “Watch your language, Prue. Your father’s going to think he’s not getting his money’s worth out of me.”

Prue startled upright. “Oh, no, Father. Miss Evans is quite wonderful. Lady Catherine uses such colorful language all the time.” She mimicked the other girl’s manner, “ ‘I shall trounce that fool maid,’ or she’ll call the Pastor’s wife, who dared tell her not to take a loaf of bread meant for the poor, a mutton-headed harridan.”

James grimaced. “Lady Catherine said all of that, did she?”

Charlotte waited, curious to see how he’d handle this. She’d been having a hard time coming up with a socially acceptable way to tell Prue how to deal with the bullies of her world. She could well remember the tight line her mother used to tread between insulting someone who could do her social damage and allowing them to walk all over her. At only ten years old, she could clearly recall some of her peers’ attitudes of superiority.

“Lady Catherine Bellgrove is not someone on whom to model your language and certainly not your behavior.”

Short and sweet.

Prue relaxed her stiff posture. “I beg your pardon, Father. Miss Evans has told me so. I sometimes forget. My last governess always said the Bellgrove family was to be greatly admired.”

“Then Miss Evans is a definite improvement over your last governess. You must learn to look past a title and see the person. Our place in society lends itself to certain privileges yet does not make us better than those without. In fact, it very frequently makes us less as our peers deem themselves above common decency. I hope to never find you guilty of such behavior as is common among children such as Lady Catherine Bellgrove.”

“Yes, Father. We are very lucky to have Miss Evans. We want her to stay with us always, don’t we?”

Charlotte bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. Warmth spread through her chest. Prue certainly knew how to wrap her father, and her governess, around her little finger.

“Yes, indeed.”

James’s eyes gleamed in the light from the fire in the hearth. The warmth in his gaze let her know he appreciated Charlotte for more than her teaching skills. She shivered and glanced away.

“You should marry her. That way, she would never leave us.”

****

James cringed at Prudence’s declaration and Charlotte’s shocked, and less than pleased, expression.

He, on the other hand, wasn’t as displeased at the notion as he’d have thought. In fact, the idea warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Charlotte’s face turned red from the insistent cough his daughter’s announcement had set off. “Are you quite all right, Miss Evans?” he asked with concern.

Prudence pushed away from him toward her would-be mother. “Miss Evans?” She slid close and peered into Charlotte’s face.

Charlotte held up a hand and gasped out, “I’m fine. Give me a moment.” The coughing slowly eased. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and took a deep breath. She took Prudence’s hands in her lap. “Prue, I’m sorry, sweetie, but I can’t marry your father. And I can’t stay with you forever. We’ve talked about that.”

Did she mean that? Or was she saying what she thought he wanted to hear? He frowned. What did she mean, she couldn’t stay? “Are you going somewhere, Miss Evans?” His voice was colder than he intended, but she’d shocked him more than his daughter.

Her head jerked up. Her eyes wide. She licked her lips. “I, well, Prue won’t need me around forever. I know my position here is temporary.”

The idea did not sit well. He opened his mouth to demand a further explanation, but Prudence interrupted.

“But that was when you first arrived. Now that Father loves you, and you love him, we can be a family.”

The door burst open, and his mother dashed into the room.

“There you are, Prudence! Lady Atwater is about to leave, and she wished to say her goodbyes. Come along, dear. No need to come with me, Miss Evans. This proud Grandmama wishes to show off her darling granddaughter one more time. All the other guests have departed. I’m sure Tyndale can keep you company until I return.”

Prudence ran to her grandmother and then skipped out of the room with a huge smile.

The door shut with a bang that echoed the rapidly pounding beat of his heart. Love? Yes, he loved her. Did she love him as well? “What in the world have you been discussing with my daughter?” He brought his gaze around to find Charlotte staring at him, mouth hanging open, color high in her cheeks.

“What have I said to Prue? What have I—” Her words choked off.

Bloody hell. The color blossomed, her chest heaved, and her eyes bulged.

“I may have chosen my words poorly.” He gulped. Blast. He held out a hand to ward off the coming storm. “I was merely wondering how Prudence concluded that we are in love with one another.” The more he thought the word, the more he liked the sound of it. True, he had some concerns over society’s acceptance of his marriage to a governess, but he’d swear Charlotte came from a good family. Very likely peers.

Even if he were wrong, someone like Charlotte would certainly be a better mother to Prudence than some silly, scheming society chit like Miss Crawford.

“I discussed no such thing with her.” Charlotte sat ramrod straight, hands clenched tightly in her lap. She kept her chin averted, so all he could see was the rapid beating of the pulse in her neck. “Have you?”

“No. Of course not. However, my mother chose a most opportune moment to usher Prudence out of the room. Seems an odd coincidence. I would not put it past her to have been listening at the door.”

She finally faced him. “Huh. Yeah, your mum has been dropping hints that she’d consider the match a good one. I didn’t think she’d go so far as to mention it to Prue though.”

“She may not have. Prudence is an observant child.” Would she grasp his meaning?

Her hand stopped mid-motion as she attempted to tame an errant lock of hair. He completed the act for her, the soft, silky strands smooth against his fingertips. Her cool skin a contrast to the heat of the fire. He breathed in the delicate scent of cinnamon he associated with her.

“What, exactly, are you trying to say? That you love me? Or are you insinuating that I’m the one in love with you.”

Was she holding her breath? Waiting for his answer? “I rather hope her entire statement to be true.” She remained perfectly still. Didn’t even blink. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Life had been much easier with Harriet. He’d known her his entire life, her moods easy to ascertain and generally revolved around pleasing him. Charlotte was a different story. He had no idea what was going on in her mind as she stared at him.

Take a chance, or hedge his bets? He might never have such an opportunity again. He’d never been one to take the easy road.

He slid from the couch to perch before her on bended knee. “Miss Evans. Charlotte.” He placed a hand over hers, clenched tightly on her lap. “I have come to care for you, perhaps more than is wise. I fought against my growing affection to no avail. I believe we are well suited. What I don’t know about your background, I feel confident you will confide in me when you are ready.” He took a deep breath, stared deep into her crystal clear green eyes, and asked, “Will you marry me?”

****

Charlotte’s mind reeled. Marry him? Was he crazy?

How could he ask her such an outrageous question? She didn’t belong here. No matter her feelings for him, for Prue, for Lady Tyndale—she couldn’t stay. She choked back a sob at the sudden realization of exactly how much she did care for the entire Tyndale family.

A slight tilting of James’s lips indicated he expected a positive response to his proposal. She’d be crazy to turn him down. And he knew it. No matter how often it happened in romance novels, titled gentlemen didn’t regularly propose marriage to their daughters’ governesses.

Plus, he’d been deeply affected by his mother’s lack of pedigree. The fact he’d ask a lowly governess to marry him showed he must care for her greatly. Her heart twisted.

Everything she could possibly want was being dangled before her. Except—the timing was completely wrong. Like, two hundred years, wrong.

“I…” What was she supposed to say? What could she say? Her mouth dried as if wads of gauze were stuck to her tongue. Just as it always did after a particularly stressful patient. “I can’t.”

She ripped her hands from his clasp and jumped to her feet. She paced before the hearth, inhaling the woodsy scent that brought back memories of her childhood. The family hanging out around a blazing fire. She’d play the piano while Mother knit and Alex attempted to master her water colors. When Father and Gregory would often join them after reviewing estate matters, Father would listen to her playing and declare how talented she was with barely a wince, and ooh and ahh over Alex’s terrible painting. He’d been such a good liar. She’d never guessed what he planned on doing to them.

All those good memories were trashed when he sold her and Alex to the monster who almost killed them. If not for the time portal…

The portal. She couldn’t stay here. Eventually someone would figure out her connection to the Creswell family. If James was right about that shooting, someone had already figured it out. She should have considered the possibility herself a long time ago. She’d just gotten so caught up in life at the Tyndale estate.

And now this. She scrubbed her eyes, ruthlessly forcing back tears. Her heart was crying out for her to say yes to James. So tempting.

But she couldn’t. Even if this century wasn’t so dangerous to her, she had a life to return to. A career. A brother.

Steven must be insanely worried by now. She’d been gone almost two months. What must he be thinking? Was he searching for her, or had he given her up for lost?

“You can’t?” James stood, blocking her path, forcing her to a halt. “You said you weren’t married. Did you lie?”

“Married?” She laughed. “No. I’m not married. Who had the time?” Or the inclination. She’d broken up with Arthur not long before this crazy trip, but even though they’d discussed marriage, she hadn’t really believed it would ever happen. A part of her had known he wasn’t the guy for her.

A larger part of her knew that James was.

She was so screwed.

“Then why can you not marry me? Do you finally wish to tell me the story of how you came to be in such a sorry state the night we met?” He crossed his arms across his chest and stood still.

Tell him? Why not? He’d never believe her, and when he concluded she was out of her bloody mind, he’d regret his rash declaration of love. Maybe even kick her out of the house.

That would be fun. But maybe that would be the kick she needed to go explore the caves and find her way back to her real world.

“Fine. You want to know the truth? I’ll tell you.” She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out in a rush. “Part of a cave wall fell on me after I fled from a man intent on sending me through a time portal back from the twenty-first century to a past that I had escaped when I was ten. Unfortunately, my ill-advised gunshot aimed at scaring the men away from me, because I had absolutely no interest in returning to the eighteen hundreds, caused part of the cave we were in to collapse, and in running for my life, I fell through the very portal I intended to evade.”

James’s eyes had widened as she spoke, almost comical in his astonishment. She could just imagine the thoughts spinning around in his brain at the moment.

“Are you referring to the caves on the edge of my property? The inn is near that locale. Is that why you were there that night?”

“The caves.” Seriously? Not at all what she’d expected. “That’s what you want to know?” She shook her head. “ ‘Time portal’ or ‘twenty-first century’ don’t elicit any curiosity whatsoever?”

“The ridiculousness of those claims makes them unworthy of a response. An injury incurred in a cave that borders my property does. I know those caves well, having explored them as a child with my brother.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t have to worry about a liability suit, so what do you care?”

He bent to stoke the fire and added another log. “Tell me more about this cave-in. I personally have not been back to them since my father forbade my explorations.” At her raised eyebrows, he explained, “I became trapped in one when I was but eleven. It was two days before I was found. My parents experienced a great deal of anguish during that time. The caves can be dangerous, with several entrances, some of them interconnected and difficult to navigate.” He shrugged. “Despite not having explored them in quite some time, I don’t believe they have become a common area for strangers to visit. Why were you in there to begin with?”

She laid out her complete life story. She skipped over details about her birth parents, just stating that they’d had a falling out when she was ten. She told him a man intent on killing herself and Alex had trapped them in the caves, but they’d managed to escape through the portal. And how she’d believed Alex died only to discover just before she was forced back to this time that she had survived. She talked about Steven and how worried he must be. How close they’d always been and how with their parents’ death, they were all each other had. She needed James to understand why she couldn’t stay in this time. Why she had to get back. To her family. Her real family.

“I’m afraid the blow to your head was more severe than we guessed. It has addled your brain to a frightening degree.” He pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair. “I shall send someone for the doctor immediately. Perhaps there is something to be done to ease your suffering.”

The comforting scent of his freshly laundered cravat, mixed with a musky aroma that she’d come to associate with James, lulled her into a brief return hug. Until what he was saying penetrated the fog that always enveloped her brain when in his arms.

She shoved at his chest, sending herself back a step as even with her best effort he didn’t budge. “Suffering? Suffering? The only suffering I’m doing is being forced to listen to your condescending little ‘I’m here to help’ act.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down his nose at her. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt that this is the injury speaking.”

Ooh, her fists itched to punch his annoying face. Instead, she grabbed his hand. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you. Follow me.”

****

“Where are we going?” James winced at her tight grip. Her nails dug into the back of his hand. Was she doing that on purpose? She couldn’t have actually expected him to believe her story, could she? Unless he was right, and her brain had been addled by the cave-in.

Thank the lord all the guests had left. No one remained to witness the spectacle of Viscount Tyndale being dragged through the house by a governess.

Wrong. His mother hid her grin and gave him a jaunty wave as Charlotte dragged him past. He grimaced in response. This whole state of affairs was completely undignified.

But he didn’t put a stop to it. He let Charlotte lead him wherever she wanted. She’d attempt to prove her ridiculous time travel fantasy, and when she failed to do so, she’d have to conclude that all was not right in her mind. Then he would be free to summon the doctor and find out what care was possible in such a situation.

She paused at the steps to the attic.

“I hid everything up here.”

“Fine. I shall review this ‘proof’ of yours, but only if you promise me you’ll allow me to call the doctor should I still feel one is warranted.” He raised an eyebrow and refused to be moved by her tugging on his hand.

“Brilliant idea. Trust me. You’re not going to want to call anyone after you see what I have up here.” She dropped his hand and scurried up the steps.

He followed at a more dignified pace. When he reached the door, he peered inside the dimly lit area to see her making her way through a cloth covered pile of furniture in the far corner. He smiled at his mother’s old rocking chair, remembering the stories she used to spin for him late into the night when he couldn’t sleep.

Charlotte reached into the rafters near the wall and hauled out several rag-covered items. A covered bundle disappeared into a hidden pocket among her skirts, but a medium sized bag was held up in triumph.

He frowned. What was the point of dragging him up here if she planned on hiding something from him? The sack in her hand now held little interest compared to the object hidden in her pocket. If she thought to hide it from him permanently, she would be sadly mistaken. The idea that she hid these items up here all this time did not sit well with him.

She beckoned him to stand with her in the shaft of sunlight filtering through the window high up on the far wall. She wiped a hand across her cheek, leaving behind a streak of dust.

He restrained himself from brushing the smudge aside. He couldn’t imagine she had anything in that disreputable satchel of hers that might relieve his fears for her well-being. Yet he’d promised to look, so with a sigh he took what she held out to him.

“This is just what I had on me when I was forced through. Bastards had already taken my purse. They were trying to get me to strip out of my modern clothes when I got the drop on them.”

“Who tried to force you to disrobe?” he asked, not bothering to hide the outrage in his tone.

She laughed. “Of course that’s the part that pisses you off. Don’t mind the kidnapping, forcing me through a time portal, or anything else I’ve said. Get me naked, and all a sudden I’ve got your attention.”

He forced a grin, though the thought of what else might have happened that she wasn’t telling him plunged his mind into turmoil. “As it would any male of the species.”

She smiled and nodded to the satchel. “Go ahead. I’m looking forward to seeing your reaction.”

He upended the sack and poured the contents onto the nearest flat surface. A puff of dust rose around their faces. They both coughed and waved their arms to clear the air.

“You might want to have Mrs. Sterling clean it out up here. If Prue ever wants to go exploring, she shouldn’t dig around in all this dust with her asthma.”

He nodded, squinting through the remaining dust at the strange grouping of objects on the table. Breeches and a shirt, both of odd material and questionable fashion sense took up most of the space. Interesting though they were, his gaze was drawn to a bracelet of sorts with the smallest timepiece he’d ever seen.

“My watch.” She held it up for him to see more clearly. “Battery’s still going strong. Have you ever seen a clock this small? Your pocket watch is huge in comparison. And notice there’s no mechanism for winding it like you’d have on anything you own.”

He brushed off her comments. Interesting, yes. But not proof. “And yet timepieces are not uncommon. Who knows but some enterprising clock maker has developed just such a thing.”

She grunted. A most unbecoming sound for a young woman, but he fought the desire to laugh at her consternation. She’d been so sure he’d fall for her outlandish tale after such skimpy evidence. Ha.

“Fine. Ignore what’s right before your face. What about the clothes? Or the pocketknife?”

“Unusual, yes. However, my mother might be the correct one to ask about matters of fashion. I pay no mind to such things other than to select among the clothing my valet deems suitable for any given occasion.” The fabric was not something he was used to. The breeches were tough with strange metal bits sewn under a brass button. The shirt fabric was silky to the touch, and he caught a faint whiff of flowers as he set the blouse to one side to expose the other contents.

An oblong object that when unfolded, revealed a knife and several other tiny tools. What use any would be, he could not say, but he spent several minutes opening and closing the intriguing device.

He almost hated to disappoint her when he caught her hopeful stare. “This is all immensely interesting, my dear, but hardly enough to convince me that you are a traveler from another time.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I didn’t really want to show you this last one. It’s dangerous, and if I could have figured out a way to get rid of it where no one would ever find it, I would have.” She dug into her pocket and removed the object that had gained his curiosity when she initially hid it from view.

The weight, when she placed it in his hands, was surprising. He hadn’t expected such heft.

He unwrapped the bindings under her watchful gaze. Then stared in confusion.