As You Wish (26 page)

An expressionless manservant entered the room and splashed a dollop of red wine into his lordship’s glass.  He waited for the old man to sample the vintage and nod his approval before pouring for the rest of the table.  When finished, he lifted one eyebrow to his employer.

“Have you taken care of that little task I assigned you, Warner?” the marquess asked.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Very good.”  Lord Solebury watched him leave the room, then looked at David.  “I’ve had Warner gather up your personal papers.  You should find your birth certificate, passport and such in your room when you retire.”

David shot a wide-eyed look at Lady Isabella, who frowned, then gave him a slight nod.

“Thank you, sir,” he said to the marquess.  He lifted his glass and took a sip, eyes focused on the wine.

His lordship glanced at his sister, as if waiting for her to challenge him.  She turned her attention to buttering her roll, and he looked back to David.  “Mrs. Pickford is searching through the attic for the trunks containing your clothes.  Of course, she’ll need to launder them before you can wear them again.  No doubt they smell of camphor.”

Leah downed a gulp of wine.  How far could this game go?  The longer she and David stayed at Solebury House, the more complicated the situation got.  She slid a peek at him, but he kept staring into his glass, giving no clue whether or not he also wanted to escape.  He probably didn’t.  The modern-day Traymores served him as a sort of anchor in unexplored waters--but how stable an anchor? 

The marquess took a sip from his glass and set the drink down to wobble on the table.  “I also spoke with my solicitor today.  He’s drawing up a new will for me.”

Lady Isabella gasped.  “What?”

He glared at her.  “Obviously, Davy has to be reinstated as my heir.  And I warn you I won’t tolerate any arguments about this, Isabella.”

She bit her lip.  “Arguing with you is the last thing I want to do, Jon, but I cannot simply stand by while you hand over your estate and title to an imposter.”

“Davy is not an imposter!”

“He is, Jon.”  She leaned forward to put a hand on his arm, but he pulled away.  “I realize these two young people seem nice enough, but I reviewed more of the family records last night, and I know they’ve assumed false names from our history.  I can’t imagine how they heard family stories that I myself can barely remember--perhaps Mr. Traymore is indeed a distant relation of ours.  But he’s definitely not your son, and this young woman is certainly not Leah Cantrell.”

As Leah and David sat speechless, the marquess’s respiration quickened and his pale eyes bulged.  “Isabella, why are you doing this?  Have you lost your wits?”

Her ladyship drew in a shaking breath.  “Jon, dear, forgive me, but I must ask you to think back to the story of the sixth marquess.  Do you remember the name of the girl who disappeared with his son?  It was Leah Cantrell.  I knew the name sounded familiar as soon as we met this young woman, but I couldn’t place it until I reread the marchioness’s journal.  I’m certain these two mean to swindle you.”

His lordship’s small body now rocked with each breath.  Leah debated whether she should run and get a servant to call an ambulance.  As for Lady Isabella’s accusations, she couldn’t imagine how to answer them.  David’s silence showed he had no idea, either.

Lord Solebury held up a trembling finger.  “You yourself have pointed out what a shocking amount of debt this estate has amassed, Isabella.  I am, quite frankly, ashamed to leave the boy a legacy that may well never prove anything but a burden.  Under such circumstances, what could anyone hope to gain by posing as my heir?”

His sister hesitated, again swallowing.  “I have a few suspicions.”

David got up.  “Pardon me, but while I can assure your ladyship that Miss Cantrell and I mean no ill to you or your brother, I fear that only our departure will conclusively demonstrate our goodwill.  Leah, love, come with me.”

“No!”  The marquess slammed his fist on the table, rattling the crystal stemware.  “You will not leave me again, son.  Isabella, see what you’ve--oh!”

Lord Solebury clutched at his chest.  His sister sprang up, her chair skidding backward to crash on the floor.  She rushed to her brother’s side, shouting, “Warner!  Mrs. Pickford!  Anyone, come quickly!”

The servants appeared at the door immediately--probably having had their ears pressed to the other side.

“Call an ambulance,” Leah said, rising and moving aside so David could stoop between her and the marquess.

“No, ring up Dr. Allen,” her ladyship directed.  “He’ll be here sooner.  And fetch his lordship’s medication.”

The housekeeper and the man who’d poured the wine ran off, leaving behind only the freckled girl who had woken Leah.  Once again, the maid was fidgeting and wringing her hands.

“Find his lordship’s chair, Mavis,” Lady Isabella commanded, and the girl rushed out the door.

“Forgive me, my lord.”  David took the marquess’s hand between both of his.  “Please believe I had no thought of upsetting you.  You must try to calm yourself now, or your illness will only worsen.”

Lord Solebury’s head drooped, and he didn’t respond.

The door burst open again, and the older female servant bustled in.  “Here are his lordship’s pills, ma’am.”  She had already opened the bottle and held out a handful of glistening capsules.

Lady Isabella snatched one and placed it under her brother’s tongue.  She took a goblet of water from the table and held it near his bluish lips.

“Try to drink some of this, dear.”

After a few seconds, his breathing calmed and he took a sip from the glass.

His sister picked up a napkin and dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead.  “I’m sorry, Jon.  I’m so sorry.  I overstepped my bounds.  Of course, David will stay here.  I’ll make no more objections.  Your affairs are your own concern.”

The marquess closed his eyes and sat back, breathing deeply but more easily.  His medication had helped quickly.  After a few more breaths, he opened his eyes and looked at David.  “I apologize . . . I shall be myself again shortly.  I hope your aunt hasn’t upset you too much, my boy.  She’s an old woman and has strange ideas.  You must try to forgive her.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said.  He met Lady Isabella’s gaze before looking back to Lord Solebury.  “She has your best interests at heart, as well she should.”

“Yes, yes, I know she does.”  He reached out and patted his sister’s hand.  “No harm done, Isabella.  I’ll be fine.  And Davy will be staying--won’t you, my boy?”

“Of course.”

Leah’s jaw dropped, but she clamped her mouth shut again.  Naturally, they would have to stay.  Lord Solebury’s health wouldn’t withstand any further stress right now.  They would have to figure out a way to disillusion him as gently as possible.  It wouldn’t be an easy job.

“Mavis is bringing your chair around, Jonathan.”  Lady Isabella’s lower lip still quivered.  “Would you like to wait for Dr. Allen in your bedroom?”

“Might as well.  I’ve not much of an appetite now.  Have a tray sent to me later, Mrs. Pickford, won’t you?”

The housekeeper nodded.  The door opened, held by Mavis while the man called Warner rolled a wheelchair into the room.  He and David helped his lordship into the seat.

Lady Isabella arranged a blanket on his lap and took her place behind the chair.  She addressed David and Leah without  expression.  “I shall see my brother to his room and take my dinner with him.  There’s no need for you two to interrupt your meal.  Jonathan will be fine now.  He has these little attacks once in awhile.  He always recovers swiftly.”

She steered the chair toward the door, again held open by the maid.

“You will let us know what the doctor says?” David called after them as they moved into the hall.

Isabella looked back, eyes narrowed, then nodded.  Leaning down to her brother, she said, “Excuse me a moment, Jon.  I want to fetch my wine.”

She retraced her steps, letting the door to swing closed behind her.  Retrieving her glass, she gave David and Leah a hard stare.  “You’re not going to find anything, you know.”

They exchanged puzzled glances.

Lady Isabella sniffed.  “Don’t you think each generation before you has already examined every inch of this place?  Jon and I did so ourselves--when we were children.  When we grew a little older, we came to see our gullibility.  If only you two would use your heads, you would see yours, as well.  Enjoy your meal.”

She swept through the door, letting it bang shut.

David looked at Leah.  “Do you suppose she suffers from a milder version of her brother’s senility?”

“She must.  What else could explain that last warning?”  Unsteady on her feet, Leah sat down and sipped her wine.  “She seemed sensible up till now, but our showing up must have added a lot of stress to her life.  And reading about us in Phoebe’s diary must have been strange for her.  Maybe, subconsciously, she suspects who we really are.  That would be enough to drive anyone to the brink of a breakdown.”

He swirled his wine, watching the miniature whirlpool in his glass.  “I hope we haven’t done too much harm here.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have accepted their invitation to dinner yesterday.  I let my curiosity overtake my common sense.”

“No, David, don’t question your decision.”  She scooted her chair closer to his and put her arm around his shoulders.  “I think it was more than curiosity that kept you at Solebury House.  The Traymores are your closest family--and, from what we’ve seen, you’re theirs.  Maybe they need you.  Maybe they’re part of the reason you’ve been brought to this century.”

He looked up at her, and his frown began to melt.  “Do you truly believe so?”

“I think it’s very possible.”

He smiled slightly, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers.  “What a pity that Lady Isabella and the marquess must spend their golden years watching their home and their heritage crumble.  If there is anything at all I can do to help them, I certainly will.”

“Of course you will.  If there’s any way to help, I know you’ll find it.”

But what can he do?
she thought.  Saving an estate like Solebury would take a fortune.  A wave of sadness washed over her, and she tried to hold it off by leaning forward and kissing him.  His lips were warm and tasted faintly of Bordeaux.

The bang of the door opening made them jump apart as the manservant returned with two steaming covered trays.  “Your dinner, madam, sir.  Pardon the delay.”

Reluctantly, Leah sat up in her chair and picked up her napkin.  Warner set down her food and uncovered the plate, but she stared ahead without seeing.  David would have enough trouble learning how to support himself in these times, let alone rescuing his relatives.

She sighed.  Life in the nineteenth century had seemed difficult.  Who would have thought that returning to her own time could possibly complicate things more?

At least she and David were together.  She only wished she knew for sure that time wouldn’t steal him away from her again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

David stood at the window, watching the orange streaks of dawn warm into gold.  The sunlight formed halos around the highest oak leaves, and rays penetrated the treetops to glitter in dewdrops on the lawn.  Beauty spanned before him, and beauty lay sleeping behind him--so why must ugliness teem inside of him?

His conscience had woken him early and pulled him out of bed, away from the impossible luxury of Leah’s body.  Her soft breathing still beckoned him, but he didn’t dare look back and permit the gentle rise and fall of her breasts to captivate him.  He wouldn’t allow her complexion to entrance him--or her hair, magnificently strewn over the sheets, to beguile him.

He had no right.

No matter what the century, it couldn’t be right for him to

share her bed.  He should have had to earn that privilege.  Before even presuming to court her, he should have made his fortune, so he’d be able to support her in a proper manner.  Then he should have gained her father’s approval, rather than throwing himself in the way of the man’s wishes for his daughter.  And, of course, he and Leah should have taken marriage vows before all their friends and family.  Nothing was as it should be, and under such circumstances, he couldn’t believe she was his.

He didn’t believe it.

Linen rustled behind him, and the antique bed creaked.  Tiny hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end, but still he didn’t look back.

“David?  David, come back to bed.”

He froze, but he could feel his body pulling toward her.  Almost involuntarily, he turned, and she gave him a sleepy smile.  He had to go to her, though he swore not to let himself slip back between the sheets.  Instead, he perched on the edge of the mattress--even that felt wrong--and took up her hand.  Just touching her fingers made his own tingle.

He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, then let her fingers slide free.  “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”  She bolstered herself up on one elbow, her hair spilling over her bare shoulders.  “Come here and give me a kiss.”

He hesitated only a second, then leaned forward to kiss her lips.  Her brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”  She sat up, pulling the covers around her shoulders like a cape.  The makeshift neckline plunged deep  between her breasts, revealing an expanse of flesh he shouldn’t have been entitled to see.

He turned away, picking up a box of modern disposable handkerchiefs from the nightstand.  Absently, he fingered the soft, sheer paper--so much softer than cloth.  “I am . . . rather preoccupied.”

“Couldn’t you sleep?  It’s not even six-thirty.”  She put a hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, nearly shuddering under her touch.  “Have you been worrying about the marquess and Lady Isabella?”

“Yes.”  He latched onto the excuse rather than admitting his real fears--fears he knew she didn’t share, having been born and bred in this strange world.  Besides, the explanation she’d provided for him held some truth; he had thought about his relatives’ dilemma as well as his own.  Unfortunately, he knew how to address neither.