“I think I would choose Montgomery’s luscious French over Stephen’s deep pockets any day,” Peaches said, fanning herself vigorously. “It’s too bad you can’t take him back to Seattle and introduce him to your gazillion first dates. I think you’d really enjoy that.”
Pippa imagined she would. She looked at her rather unsteady hands for a minute or two, then at her sisters one by one. “This might count as a second date, wouldn’t you say? If he weren’t already hooked up with someone else? Or does this put him in total loser territory because he’s here with me and not with Miss Mouse?”
“He’s not married to her,” Tess said reasonably. “He could change his mind, you know.”
“Or he could have just come for a tour of the castle,” Pippa said grimly.
“Get real,” Peaches said with a laugh. She looked at Tess. “Did he look like he was here for a tour?”
“Absolutely not,” Tess said, “though I will admit to being vastly relieved just the same that I hadn’t trashed his hall. I have the feeling he’s going to be checking the closets before it’s all over.” She looked at Pippa. “Go put on your jammies and go to bed. You look shell-shocked.”
“A man just traveled over seven hundred fifty years to bring me a lousy pair of shoes,” Pippa said shortly. “Of
course
I looked shell-shocked!”
Her sisters only exchanged a look. It was the same look they’d been exchanging for as long as Pippa could remember, a look that usually involved twinnish secrets and plots she couldn’t possibly fathom. It was trouble, pure and simple.
But since she was already in deep trouble, she ignored it and headed for the bathroom before she had to either sit down or fall there. Her knees were just not equal to the events of the morning.
He had come.
She took a deep breath. She would brush her teeth, put on something borrowed from Peaches whose clothes she liked better than Tess’s, then see if she couldn’t just let events unfold the way they would. She didn’t sense any karmic tentacles reaching for her, so maybe she could just relax and enjoy the coming days, however many they were.
And she would try not to think about the fact that a man she could no longer deny she loved had come eight hundred years to make sure she wasn’t running around barefooted.
Cinderella would have approved.
Chapter 23
M
ontgomery
paced uneasily before the fire in the great hall and wondered not only about what might startle him next, but if he had the stomach to find out. He had leapt through that time gate with all the confidence of a man who had decided what his heart wanted and was going to let nothing stand in his way of having it.
Unfortunately for him, the Future had turned out to be a bit more intimidating than he’d expected it to be.
The changes in how man conducted his life weren’t beyond his ability to make sense of, but they had indeed been remarkable. The lights had been astonishing, and he’d found the improvements made in garderobe mechanics to be quite useful. Electricity, something he’d required Stephen to explain to him the night before at great length, had seemed a most marvelous tool he would regret not having the use of in the past, as would be the luxurious bed he’d slept on and the blade he’d used to shave with that morn. He suspected that those were only the beginning of the marvels he would be faced with.
Marvels a Future gel would have to leave behind if she consented to go live in the past.
If he had been made of lesser stuff, he might have thought twice about even speaking of his heart’s desire. But he hadn’t come across centuries into a world of wonders simply to remain silent.
He supposed his first task was to overcome his astonishment at everything he saw so he looked less like an unsophisticated village brat. Perhaps he would spend the day simply attempting to grow accustomed to Pippa’s world and cease trying to commit it all to memory so he would know what improvements to make in his own time—which Stephen had warned him against doing. Montgomery could see the wisdom in that, though he could certainly bring to mind several odd things about Wyckham that seemed much less odd now that he’d seen their likeness several centuries in the future.
Stephen had been gracious enough to make a loan of several items of clothing that Montgomery had happily donned. There was no sense in not fitting in whilst he could. He had promised Stephen to return the favor should his nephew ever find himself lingering in the thirteenth century, something Stephen seemed to consider with horror.
Obviously, the man needed a bit more time in the lists to stiffen his spine.
Unfortunately that happy moment was not to be that day. Stephen had acquired entrance to some sort of display of things that he was sure would interest Pippa and their travels required them to have an early start. The thought of traveling to London during the course of a single morning, much less a single day, had left Montgomery shaking his head, but what did he know of modern wagons? Perhaps the horses were fed and tended so well that they ran on wings.
He took the opportunity to look at his hall. He understood now that expression of disbelief Pippa had worn so often that first handful of days, as if she dreamed what she was seeing. He hadn’t ever doubted Sedgwick’s potential, should he have ever managed to rid it of its unsavory personalities, but to see it adorned with lovely tapestries and full of clean air instead of smoke from clogged flues was a marvel indeed.
He heard a heavy footstep and turned around to find Stephen walking toward him. He had decided early on the evening before that whilst Stephen seemed to be quite protective of Pippa and her sisters, he was limiting himself to brotherly feelings. He would therefore live another day.
“Good morning, my lord,” Stephen said, stopping in front of him and bowing.
“You needn’t do that,” Montgomery said, feeling slightly amused by the deference. “You are older than I am, I daresay.”
“I’m ingratiating myself in order to have a lesson or two in swordplay.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d need it here in the Future, but I’ll humor you. Perhaps tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to interrupt our journey toward London today—”
He looked up at the sound of other light footsteps running across the hall, sure it was Pippa. It was indeed, though he was shocked to find she had arrived half dressed. He clapped a hand over Stephen’s eyes and gaped at his would-be love. Never mind that she was dressed as he was, in jeans and a tunic-like shirt. Those clothes left her so exposed, she might as well have been wearing nothing at all.
She stopped short. “What’s wrong?”
He gestured at her clothes, then decided that perhaps he should set the example and avert his gaze as well. He looked up at the ceiling. “Saints, woman, go back up and put on something . . . well, something
more
.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re wearing jeans!”
“So are you.”
“I am a man.”
Stephen might have laughed. Montgomery wasn’t certain, but he was certain ’twas never too soon to teach the man a few manners. He lifted his hand from Stephen’s eyes and glared at him.
“Look at her and you’ll die by my hand.”
“I’ve already seen—”
Montgomery reached for his sword only to realize he’d left it above in Stephen’s chamber. He scowled at his nephew. “I don’t need a sword to kill you.”
“I imagine you don’t,” Stephen said faintly. He smiled briefly at Pippa, then very wisely began to study the tapestries lining the walls near the fireplace. “I’ll humor you, my lord, though I will point out that this is the least of the things you’ll see today.” He shot Pippa a brief look. “I told you it was a mistake to take him to London.”
“I don’t want to leave him behind,” Pippa said firmly, “and I’m not going to waste your very expensive tickets. He’ll be fine.”
“Pippa, my dear, it’s the twenty-first century,” Stephen warned. “I’m only saying he won’t like what he sees.”
Montgomery opened his mouth to state that he would be the judge of what he did and did not care for, but Pippa took his arm and pulled on him before he could. He shot Stephen a warning look, then allowed Pippa to lead him across the hall and out the front door. She stopped in the middle of the very clean courtyard and looked up at him.
“Things are different in my time.”
“So I see!” He drew his hand over his eyes. “And I’ve seen too much already this day.”
“Would it make you feel better if I put on a long coat to cover up what you’ve already seen too much of?”
She was laughing at him, he could tell that much. “I’m not sure anything would help at this point,” he muttered. He considered, then looked down at her. “I don’t like to admit weakness, but I might be a bit, ah—”
“Overwhelmed?” she offered.
“Overwhelmed by my ability to manage difficult things, perhaps,” he said, knowing he sounded exactly like his eldest brother but somehow unable to help himself. He cleared his throat. “I fear I’m losing my wits.”
“I understand, completely,” she said. “You know, I don’t have a sword, but I do know my century. I’ll keep you safe. If you’ll let me.”
He took a deep breath, then reached out and pulled her carefully into his arms. He rested his cheek lightly against her hair. “ ’Tis a grievous blow to my pride, but since you’re the one wielding the sword, I suppose I’ll endure it. Now, tell me again where specifically are we going on this journey of Stephen’s?”
“To a fashion show in London. We’ll watch women walk up and down a raised sort of path showing off the clothes a designer has created to sell to others.”
“I would rather see yours, of course,” he said, “but I’ll come today because I don’t want to leave you unprotected in London.” He paused, then attempted to tread carefully, because he didn’t want to make her look foolish. “Though I don’t see how we’ll manage to return home tonight. ’Tis too far.”
She pulled back and looked at him seriously. “That’s something we need to talk about. We’re going drive in a car. It’s a wagon that requires no horses. We’ll be to London very quickly—or not, depending on the traffic. It’s Friday, so apparently it could be a real nightmare.”
Montgomery wished heartily that he’d had a peek at that manuscript Nicholas was rumored to have in his trunk of secrets, the manuscript that detailed all manner of Future marvels. He could have at least been familiar with the sight of a few of the things he had already been subjected to, such as the shower and jeans and the Aga stove that delivered such lovely, hot repasts, though he supposed no manuscript could ever have prepared him for the reality he now faced.
“Do you want to come look at the car?” she asked.
He would have preferred to remain in his courtyard with her in his arms given that she was the reason he had leapt through that shimmer in the air, but he supposed he might do well to be prepared for the journey. He nodded slowly, for he knew he must.
She smiled, pulled away, then took his hand. “You did leave all your blades upstairs, didn’t you?”
“What difference does that make?”
“You’ll see.”
The saints preserve him, he feared he just might.
Eight
hours later, he was still trying without much success to pick his jaw up off the floor. The journey to London had seemed like something from a dream. The surrounding countryside had been a blur and the number of other cars on the road had made him claustrophobic. He had sat in the front of the car with Stephen, trying not to look as unnerved as he had been.
He couldn’t say he’d been any happier when they’d stopped in London. He felt as if he had truly been dropped into another world. The city had been full of souls in his day as well, but now that number seemed quite manageable compared to what he’d seen that afternoon. He hadn’t minded what the men had been wearing for the most part, but the women had terrified him. He didn’t consider himself particularly weak- stomached and he was certainly not unused to the mores and complexities of court life, but modern London . . .
It was enough to make a man of a medieval vintage suspect he should never have left his village green.
Now, he was sitting in an Italian restaurant hoping that the food that would soon come from the kitchens might be something he would recognize. He looked about himself and tried to make a list of things he cared for and didn’t, but it was difficult. The noise in the tavern was excessive, the music unfamiliar, and someone on the other side of a low partition was smoking something that made him ill. He turned to listen to Stephen, Tess, and Peaches discussing the clothing they’d seen that afternoon, clothing that made what the sisters were wearing look fit for a nunnery. The trio had said more than once that Pippa’s designs were far superior. Though he hadn’t had the chance to see for himself, he imagined they had it aright.
In fact, as he had sat next to Pippa during the production, he’d come to several conclusions, the most momentous of which had been that despite her fierce declarations that she intended to conquer the world of fashion, he couldn’t imagine her happy in that world. The severe women—bags of bones, really—who had been wearing the clothing, the hard-edged men and women who had designed that clothing—nay, he couldn’t see Pippa associating with them for the rest of her life.
He could however see her holding court in a fashionable chamber with tapestries lining the walls and the floors so she wouldn’t be chilled as highborn women came to her so she could drape them in exquisite fabrics and give them the same fairy tale she’d given to him. He supposed it was a rare thing to have an opinionated Future lass leave a medieval sort of lad feeling as if he were a noble prince, a prince who would have gone to any length to make that princess his, but she had certainly done it.
He glanced her way to find her watching him with a very small smile on her face. He smiled in return. “How are you?” he asked.