To him, she couldn’t have looked more beautiful.
He sloshed out of the water, offering her an unsteady smile that she failed to return. A trace of doubt flickered through his mind. What if she didn’t want him in her world?
She sat frozen as he approached, her gaze never straying from his face. Only when he stood directly in front of her, looking down into her eyes, did the set of her features melt. Her brows tilted upward and her lower lip quivered. He had to bite his own to keep from responding in kind.
At last, she leapt to her feet and threw her arms around him. She let out a sob and squeezed his body against hers, pressing her hands high on his back, low, then in the middle, perhaps testing his corporeality.
“You really are here,” she choked out. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
His throat tightened as he returned her embrace. “I thought the same.”
“Incredible.” She gazed into his eyes, shaking her head. “How did it happen? I know you tried to pull me out of the spring, but you didn’t fall in with me, did you? I’ve already been here for . . . oh, I don’t know--five minutes. It seemed like a lifetime.”
“I gave your guinea back to the spring.” He stroked her hair to calm her, swallowing his own emotions. “I wanted to come after you. I suppose I
wished
to come, after a fashion.
“
You
made a wish with the coin? I wonder . . . Check your pockets to see if you still have the guinea.”
He gave his pockets a quick patting. “Empty.”
“
You
are the original wisher! And you got your wish? You wished to come here?”
To be precise, he’d wished to be with her, but he nodded.
The interest in her expression dissolved into anguish. “Oh, David, I’m sorry. I know what it’s like being thrown into a world where you’re an outsider. And you’ll probably have even more problems adjusting to this time than I did with yours. There’s so much for you to learn. And the coin is gone now! What will you do if you can’t get back?”
He stared down at her hair. The prospect of living in a future world scarcely frightened him, as long as the world were
hers
. “I suppose I will do what I have always done. I have never quite belonged and perhaps never will, but I shall work hard to make a place for myself.”
“But life today is so complicated. There are nuclear weapons, biological weapons, HIV . . .” She looked up at him, her brow creasing. “Military horrors and insidious disease. Evils that could wipe out the human race.”
“We faced the same sort of evils in the nineteenth century,” he said. Though her distress showed she cared about him, her feelings must not have run deep, or she would not mention these abstract concerns. Of course he would have to adapt to this era. He knew he would have to acclimate himself to changes in speech and manners, but he had expected to do as much when he moved to America, anyway. There would be history to learn, but only two centuries’ worth--little in comparison to the span back to classical times. Clothing styles would have changed, and perhaps a better carriage spring had been invented or a quicker horse bred. He anticipated those differences with pleasure.
“But the evils of your time don’t seem quite
so
evil.” She bowed her head, clenching his shirt so tightly water squeezed between her fingers. “Oh, David, you shouldn’t have come.”
Her words hurt. He wanted her to be glad about his arrival --no,
more
than glad, overjoyed. But he reminded himself he would prove his worth to her. He had that chance now.
“I regret that my presence should distress you,” he said, keeping his manner stiff. “I assure you I will bide my time here usefully and, I hope, happily. I don’t ask for your guidance, though some counsel would naturally be helpful. I hope you will at least consent to maintaining our acquaintance.”
“Of course I will!” Once more, she embraced him. “Oh, David, you haven’t got a clue, have you?”
“A clue to what?” To life in the this new century? But he did have many clues, provided through his knowledge of her. If other people of this time shared her spirit, her independence and her fair-mindedness, he looked forward to living amongst them.
“Never mind.” She detached herself from him and bent to pick up a small satchel from the ground. She slipped the bag over one shoulder and stretched her other arm around his waist. “Come on. I think we’ve arrived back on the same afternoon I first came to the spring. If I’m right, we may still be able to catch the bus back to London. Our tour guide is pretty laid-back. I think he’ll let you hitch a ride.”
A hint of apprehension tingled through his body. Her confusing words represented only the first of a world of matters he would not comprehend. He inhaled deeply. The sooner he started, the sooner he would learn. “As you wish.”
Brambles and trees had overtaken the path to the drive, so they wove their way through the woods. As they emerged onto the drive, David saw that a wooden fence had been erected along the side, and the approach itself sported new gravel. No, not new. Like the splintered fence rail they stepped over, the white pebbles showed evidence of neglect. The stones had scattered into the wayside, and tufts of grass sprouted through in spots. Clearly, the present owner employed a groundskeeper far less proficient than his father’s man.
His father. He stopped, staring down at a rut in the ground. Until that moment, he hadn’t thought about Solebury and Phoebe being gone. They would be dead--no, he would not think of them as such! They were simply on the other side of the abyss he had crossed. Perhaps they were lost to him or perhaps one day he would find himself restored to their time. For now, he had to concentrate on more urgent matters.
A strange sound, somewhat akin to the rumble of thunder, drew his notice to an astounding sight at the end of the drive. Some sort of enclosed carriage, gleaming like a polished onyx, sped toward them . . . with no horses leading it! The conveyance glided closer and halted abruptly beside them.
He marveled as a window, fashioned in crystalline curved glass, slid into the side of the carriage toward the rear. An elderly man, his white hair long and unruly, stared at him with eyes nearly as wild as his coiffure.
“Good Lord! Son, is that you?” He shot a glance to someone seated beside him. “I swear, Isabella, it is Davy. I
knew
he hadn’t drowned. What have I said all these years? Not such a swimmer as he!”
Leah leaned close to David’s ear, whispering, “He must be the current marquess, and I think he’s mistaken you for his son. I saw the viscount’s portrait, and you do resemble him. If you remember, I also thought you were him when I first saw you.”
The current marquess? David studied the man’s features, but wizened skin obscured any resemblance he may once have borne to the Traymores of the nineteenth century. Could the man truly be their descendant--
his father’s descendant
?
A mature woman leaned in front of the man, her snowy hair pulled into a bun. On meeting David’s gaze, her eyebrows rose in high arches. As she examined his features, the arches sank and drew together. She scanned his wet person from head to toe, eyes narrowing.
“Good afternoon, sir, miss.” Her thin lips formed a rigid ruby line. “I gather you’ve met with a mishap of some sort, though I can’t imagine why you’ve been wandering the grounds in costume. May I inquire what business you have at Solebury House?”
“Isabella, it’s Davy! Don’t you recognize your own nephew?” The old gentleman tapped a cane on a divider separating him from another man in the front of the carriage. “Gerald, help me out of the car. I must see my son.”
David exchanged a look with Leah while the second man emerged. Dressed in an all-black costume marked by long trousers, Gerald moved with a certain efficiency that branded him a servant. He spared but a glance for the strangers, then moved to open the rear doors of the carriage.
“Davy, why are you drenched in water?” the old man asked as he struggled to quit the conveyance. He wore an ensemble similar to his coachman, except in a dull blue decorated with fine vertical stripes. On attaining his balance, he stopped, his pale gray eyes rounding. “Not the waters of the Mediterranean! Isabella, are we seeing an apparition? Lord help us! Do you see him as well?”
“I do, Jonathan, and he appears entirely earthbound to me.” The woman called Isabella joined them on the gravel, revealing spindly ankles beneath a flower-adorned dress cut to a brevity that startled David. She continued to observe him with fixed hazel eyes. “Sir, pray assure my brother you are not an apparition.”
He shook his head, happy to be able to assure his inquisitors
something
. “I am not.”
“Then you are alive. Praise be!” The old man began to shake alarmingly, prompting his sister and the servant to steady him by the elbows.
Isabella pursed her lips. “Jon, this young man cannot be your son. He does favor the boy, but his hair and eyes are both considerably darker. Besides, David would have celebrated his fortieth birthday this year. This gentleman can only be thirty at most.”
“But of course he is Davy.” He tried to slip away from his helpers, but they held him fast. “Tell your aunt, son. Her eyesight must be failing her.”
David glanced at Leah, but she only gave him a weak shrug. He turned back to the elderly man. “I fear you have mistaken me for another, sir. I am called David, but I am not the David you know. My name is David Traymore.”
“Exactly, boy. You are Viscount Traymore, and I am your father, Lord Solebury.” For the first time, the man’s wrinkled brow puckered. “Don’t you recognize me? Isabella, he must be suffering amnesia. That explains why he has made his way back to us only now, after all these years. Where have you been, Davy? Lost somewhere in the jungles of Africa, I daresay.”
“Mr. Traymore, do you have some form of identification with you?” the woman called Isabella asked.
Leah stepped forward. “I’m afraid he doesn’t, ma’am. Your brother is partly correct, you see. My friend here does have amnesia. He can’t remember anything but his name.”
“Does he also forget how to dress? And what about you?” Isabella’s gaze swept over Leah’s apparel. “Why are you wearing a costume--a wet one at that?”
She looked down as though she’d forgotten what she wore. “We, uh . . . we dressed like this for a historical tour of local houses. The guide believes that wearing period costumes adds to the experience. Unfortunately, we fell in your spring while walking the grounds. You see, I noticed your family had the same name as David and wondered if you were related. I thought if he’d been here before, seeing the estate again might jog his memory.”
“Or you thought you might fool an old man into believing his lost heir has returned.” Isabella lifted her chin to look down her nose at them. “Well, if you’re seeking to gain your fortune here, you’ve chosen poorly. The estate is rapidly nearing bankruptcy. Even if my brother were to mistake you for his son, you’d inherit nothing but debts.”
“Madam, indeed, you wrong us. I lay no claim to your brother’s estate.” David looked to the old gentleman. “I am sorry, sir, but I have not the honor of being your son. I most certainly am not the viscount.”
The marquess only stared, apparently unwilling to credit the truth. His sister eyed David as well, but her expression softened, her chin no longer jutting forth.
“We’d best be on our way, David,” Leah said. “We wouldn’t want to miss the tour bus.”
“One minute, miss.” Isabella scrutinized David’s eyes, the wrinkles between her eyebrows deepening. Her gaze slid down the length of his body and back to his face. “You do bear a resemblance to my nephew, Mr. Traymore. Do you remember anything at all about your family or your home?”
He swallowed, reluctant to lie but acknowledging he had no other recourse. “No, madam.”
“And has Solebury House ‘jogged your memory,’ as your friend here hoped?”
He paused, then shook his head.
“If you had claimed it did, I’d suspect you of trying to impersonate my nephew, and I’m still not certain you didn’t intend to.” She stepped around him, inspecting him from all angles. “You most assuredly are not my brother’s son, but the likeness is such that I daresay you could be a relative. I’d like you to have dinner with us. I think we can find some dry things for you to wear up at the house.”
Leah exchanged another glance with him, her eyes growing wide. She wet her lips and addressed Isabella. “Thank you, ma’am, but our bus will be leaving the parking lot any minute. We have to go.”
The marquess banged his cane on the ground. “No, Davy, I won’t let you leave again so soon. I don’t have another ten years left to wait for your return.”
His sister frowned and looked to David. “Sir, I’d like you to go over the family tree with me. Perhaps we can determine who you really are.”
Leah shifted from one foot to the other. “A friend of mine is waiting for us at the bus. She’s expecting us to return to London with her.”
Isabella raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any reason to believe Mr. Traymore may recover his memory more readily in London?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Then I must insist you come with me. If you truly want to help this young man, Miss . . . Miss--I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name. I, by the way, am Lady Isabella Traymore.”
“How do you do, my lady?” Leah curtsied. “My name is Leah Cantrell.”
“Leah Cantrell?” Her brow furrowed. “Why is your name so familiar? Do I know you, Miss Cantrell?”
“No, ma’am.”
Lady Isabella contemplated her for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m certain I’ve heard your name before, but I don’t recognize your face. In any case, I insist you stay for dinner. Take a later coach to London.”
“Really, my lady, we don’t want to trouble you.” Leah looked to David, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“I should like to join them,” he said. He had his apprehensions, but these strangers
were
his family, after all. What better place to begin his introduction to the twenty-first century? “I believe I may have much to learn here. Would it be too much trouble to delay our journey?”