A Home for Helena (The Lady P Chronicles Book 2) (25 page)

T
reasuring Theresa

She's a country lady. He's a London swell. They have nothing in common. Or have they?

Treasuring Theresa
was a finalist in the 2013 EPIC Awards.

Originally published by Ellora's Cave in their Blush (sweet romance) line.

A
Twelfth Night Tale

A wounded soldier and the girl next door find peace and love amidst a backdrop of rural Christmas traditions.

Originally published by Ellora's Cave in their Blush (sweet romance) line.

I
always believed
my parents’ marriage was a love match, although Mama never said so, and Papa wasn’t the type to make such emotional declarations, at least not while we were around. He was a gruff man and rarely smiled, but his feelings showed in his eyes by the way they followed her around whenever they were together and how often he touched her hands or shoulder. Nor did I ever see him turn her away when she embraced him or kissed him on the lips, which she was wont to do. And three years ago after he left his earthly shell, my sisters and I thought Mama wouldn’t last out the year. She did, though, but she was never truly happy after that. She always seemed to be searching for something to give her life meaning.

But they did have their quarrels. Papa’s family were Tories, and Mama, when she found the time, secretly associated with the scandalous Devonshire set. He always pretended not to know, but now that I’m older, I feel pretty certain he did. He knew Mama wasn’t the sort of woman to be dictated to, but he couldn’t openly condone it either. For the most part, he trusted her to be discreet.

Except that one time. When I was thirteen, they had a dreadful row that went on for days, and then one day, my mother was gone. Papa put it around that she had gone to the country to recover from an illness, but we knew she hadn’t. He was beside himself with worry, interrogating us and all over her closest friends, even to the point of calling on the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Bessborough, Lady Holland, and Lady Melbourne (Mama’s Whig friends who, I later discovered, my father detested), in an attempt to discover her whereabouts. All to no avail. Finally, he just shut himself up in his study and refused to allow anyone inside except servants and numerous bottles of spirits.

A fortnight later, Mama returned and hugged us all, promising she would never leave us again, and she and Papa went upstairs to their rooms and resolved their differences. They were happier after that, but neither could be induced to tell us anything about their quarrel or where she had been during that time.

It wasn’t until two years later that I discovered her journal and learned the truth, shocking and unbelievable though it is. During those two weeks, Mama wrote that she had escaped two hundred years into the future to the twentieth century!

When confronted with the journal, she admitted it was true. Apparently, the newly-married William Wilberforce had acquainted Papa with the facts about Mama’s dealings with the immoral Devonshire set—nearly all of whom had children by other men than their husbands—and told him he’d best get his household in order before he, too, became a laughingstock. Papa had been so humiliated that he’d come home in a fit of temper and demanded that Mama cease all of her political activities and content herself with her role as wife and mother. When she refused—and he had to know she would—he threatened to banish her to the country until she agreed.

They quarreled for several days, and then one day she walked off and didn’t come back. In her diary, she wrote that she had found herself in an odd little shop on Gracechurch Street where a gypsy lady told fortunes and such. Mama confided in her, saying that she didn’t want to face anyone she knew until she had had a chance to consider her options and resolve what to do about her marriage.. The gypsy, who goes by the name of Madame Herne, offered to send her away into the future for a time, and Mama was desperate enough to accept, after being reassured that she could return when she wished to.

She never would tell me what happened during those two weeks, and she burned the journal after I confronted her with it so that nobody else would read it. Nor do I know what she told Papa. But he never questioned her behavior again, and I believe their marriage was stronger afterward. She had a locked drawer in her desk that she only opened when she was alone, and when we were ill she used to bring us smooth white pellets instead of the usual willow bark tea, and she adamantly refused to allow us to be bled for any reason. I once caught a glimpse of her in some scandalous nightrail that made Papa’s eyes light up when he saw her in it, and she later confessed that she had got it from some shop in the future called “Victoria’s Secret.”

She didn’t leave us again until after Papa’s death, and before she did, she made sure to tell my sisters and me beforehand. Philippa and Sarah didn’t believe her at first, and I think they are still a bit skeptical and disapproving, but they are both happily married society matrons now and can’t imagine why anyone would want to travel in time. I, on the other hand, have always been fascinated by the idea.

And now, on the eve of my marriage, I find myself longing to escape, at least until I can reflect clearly on my future. If I do not appear at St. George’s tomorrow, my future with Oliver will certainly be ended. But after what I overheard this evening, I comprehend that I cannot marry a man who only wants me to be a mother to his child, who likely still loves his deceased wife, my one-time best friend. Not even though I’ve loved him desperately my entire life and he may be my only chance of escaping spinsterhood.

The house is asleep, so I change into a traveling gown and pelisse, scoop up my jewelry and a stash of coins into a reticule, and hail a hackney to take me to Gracechurch Street. A bold move, but then, I am my mother’s daughter. And I’d sooner brave the unknown than the consequences of leaving my betrothed at the altar.