Love Lost in Time (Victorian Time-Travel) (3 page)

“You may.”

“The inn is having a costume dinner party on Friday, and my friends and I need to find costumes. Do you know of any stores where we can find vintage clothing?”

His frown returned just as the light left his eyes. “I’m afraid I do not. I’m not familiar with the shops around this area.”

“Rats.” She shrugged. “Well, I’ll keep asking around. I can’t wait to dress up as a woman from that time period.”

His gaze slid over her as if he wasn’t ashamed of being so bold. Perhaps he wasn’t a gentleman after all. “I think you would have made a lovely
lady.”

She giggled and stepped away. Even though she thought he might be flirting, it was still fun to talk with him. His age didn’t matter, either.
But she didn’t like him appearing as if he was going to keel over and die at any moment.

Halle waved. “See you around, Mr. Merrick.”

“Yes, you shall see me.”

* * * *

Andrew watched the lovely woman hurry to her friends. He knew he’d met her before, or at least seen her, yet she stated this was her first time in this area. Perhaps she reminded him of someone back home.

He shook his head.
Back home.
He was home for pity’s sake! Somehow he’d entered another world—alive, yet not quite alive, as if he lived in a dream. And what a strange dream. Never could he have imagined such odd things. For the first time since entering this
world
, he finally found a face that looked familiar. How could he? From what he’d discovered since coming here, he was a long way from being home even though he stood in front of his family’s manor.

Rubbing his forehead, he tried pushing the memories aside. It had been nigh thirty days since he’d left his world and the people trying to kill his family. To make things worse, each day he remained in this God-forsaken place, he
grew sicker. When he peered in the mirror every morning, he didn’t look like a man of nine and twenty. Whatever was causing his poor health, also made him look older.

Andrew picked up the bag of dirt and threw it over his shoulder. Immediately, he winced. The wound
from the musket ball he’d received a month ago still bothered him from time to time. Apparently, the wound was worse than he’d first thought.

Trying to ignore the soreness, he proceeded on his way to the tree. He’d been tending that area since he arrived. Of course, his father had mentioned the tree before he died, which led Andrew to believe the treasure was buried somewhere around here. Why couldn’t he find it? Then again, was it worth his efforts now? The treasure was probably long gone.

All these years later, the story about his past had expanded into nothing but lies. The people who ran Buckland Manor hadn’t a clue as to what really happened the night the mob attacked his family.

Andrew knelt by the tree, his knees cracking. It appalled him to think
this was happening to his body. It must have something to do with traveling through time. If only he could return to his life—return to his family and save them from their horrid death.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Andrew would die here in this other world without anyone who cared. Never had he felt more alone.

Stretching his back, he glanced across the yard. Miss Chapman and her friends were still strolling through his mother’s gardens. Of course they wouldn’t be his mother’s gardens now. Still, it pleased him to watch the young woman as she talked and laughed with her friends. It wasn’t the style of clothes she wore that caught his interest—he wasn’t quite so shocked by the bold fashions anymore—but it was the way they fit her body so well. Most people in this world
wore ridiculous clothing…the most immodest he’d ever seen. Miss Chapman’s style wasn’t as bad. It was just the way they clung to her curves that made him take a second—and third—look. Even the way she wore her hair was different than most other women. Her light brown curls hung down her back and over her shoulders, and when the sun hit it just right, her hair shined with golden tones.

Sadly, he chuckled. In his younger days—even if it was a month ago—he would have wanted to make her acquaintance and perhaps get to know her intimately. Miss Chapman was just the type of woman he sought. But not to marry. He’d felt he needed more time to grow, yet now as he looked back, he should have followed his father’s wishes and settled down like his brother, Edward.

Unfortunately, Andrew’s rogue days were over. And so were his healthy days. We became so weak at times, and even his hair was thinning too fast. Soon different parts of his body would fall off at the rate he was aging in this new world. Groaning, he rubbed his forehead.
Lord, just kill me now!

Andrew returned to his digging and replanting. Although the sun still shone, the brisk wind had cooled England’s temperature considerably. But even the wind couldn’t remove the be
ads of sweat from his forehead.

Once he finished, he left the tree and wandered toward the secluded pond out back. Harrington Manor had been his home since he was born, and he had so many fond memories. The times—and name of the manor—might have changed, but the memories were alive, as if they’d happened not too long ago, which in
his reality they had.

The pond stood empty of tourists. Lately this place had been filled with sightseers, and Andrew never found a moment’s peace to wallow in his own thoughts...and misery. Thankfully, today was different.
The weather had been abnormally warm for England at this time, so he stripped off his shirt to splash a little water on his chest. He wished he could dress in what he used to wear instead of these odd contraptions that made him feel as if he traipsed around half-naked. He knelt beside the water and sprayed his chest, neck and shoulders.

Cupping his hands, he let them fill with liquid before pouring it over his head. Chills ran over him
from the coolness of the water’s temperature, but he still sighed with pleasure. The cool water stroked his hot skin, calming his displeasure. The bushes beside him rustled mere seconds before female giggles erupted. He jumped and swung toward his intruders.

Miss Chapman and her female friend stumbled out of the brush. When their attention landed on him, their laughter stopped. Their eyes widened, and the friend slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was Miss Chapman who he enjoyed watching because her mouth hung open.

“Oh, my—” she gasped.

He
recognized that look. True, he hadn’t witnessed it for at least a month, but Miss Chapman’s gaze slid over his torso in interest. Now he realized how much he’d missed seeing a woman react in such a way.

“Mr. Merrick, forgive us for...” She cleared her throat. “For interrupting...um...”

“My bath?” he finished for her.

“Well, I suppose you could call it that.”

He chuckled and slowly picked up his flannel shirt to slip his arms inside. “No reason to apologize. I was just enjoying the cool water before returning to work.”

Once he buttoned his shirt, he ran his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it back on his head. He glanced at Miss Chapman’s friend who still looked as if her eyes would bulge out of their sockets. He smiled and met Miss Chapman’s startled gaze again. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Miss Chapman blinked and pulled her shoulders back. “Of course. Forgive me for not thinking.” She touched her friend’s arm. “Mr. Merrick, this is my friend from college, Samantha Beck.”

He bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Beck.”

The blonde woman’s grin widened. “Likewise, I’m sure.”

He swept his hand in front of him, motioning toward the water. “The pond is yours now, my lovely ladies, but please take care.
Even though the day is quite warm for December, the water is still cool. I would hate for you to become sick and catch your deaths.”

As he walked away, muffled giggles floated in the air and he couldn’t stop the grin stretching across his face.

Chapter Two

“Oh, my…goodness!” Samantha giggled. “Did you see his chest?”

Nodding slowly, Halle watched
Drew Merrick walk away. “Yes, I did. Why does his face look old, but his chest looks like it came from a young guy who just left the gym?”

“I have no idea.”

Halle waved her hand and turned away from him. “So maybe men from England are built better than American men.”

“Could be.” Samantha glanced back and gave a low whistle. “I don’t usually find men old enough to be my father interesting, either.”

“He’s not
that
old. In fact, when I talked to him earlier today, I thought he was younger. His eyes certainly don’t appear old.” Halle nudged her friend’s arm. “Besides, there is nothing wrong with older men. If I remember correctly, the last time we watched a Colin Firth movie, you were drooling all over your popcorn.”

Samantha snorted a laugh. “Okay, so Firth is different.”

“And Antonio Banderas…and Sean Connery…and Harrison Ford...and—”

“Enough already. I get your point,” Samantha snipped and folded her arms smartly. “So some older men are very good looking.”

“Well, I’m not here to pick up men.” Samantha shot a curious stare toward Halle, so she quickly continued, “Although I do want to fall in love someday, it won’t be here in England. First and foremost, I need to find out what happened to my father. While I’m doing that, I would like to learn more about history and live my dream—if only for a week. Mr. Merrick is a nice man who acts like a true gentleman, and I’m happy to have made friends with him. That’s all. End of subject. I’m
not
going to drool after him the whole time we’re here. You may continue to do so, but I won’t be a participant.”

Samantha lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine.” She glanced around the glade. “By the way...where is Colin?”

Halle rolled her eyes. “I think he came on this trip to pick up women. He wandered away from us when he saw a pretty woman by the birdbath.”

Samantha snickered. “He’s such a flirt.”

Throwing back her head, Halle laughed hard. “If we were in Victorian times, he would have been considered a rake.”

“Ohhh, and Victorian women loved rakes, even though they pretended not to.” Sam laughed. “Let’s call him a rake while we’re here. I think it will be fun.”

“Yes, it will.” Halle hooked her hand around Samantha’s elbow. “Come on, let’s find someplace to eat lunch. I’m starved.”

Samantha nodded.
“We’ll call a taxi and have him take us into town. Maybe there we’ll find a clothing shop for our costumes, too.”

“I hope so. I can’t wait to dress up and live out my fantasy of being in the Victorian era.”

* * * *

Halle shuffled along with the other guests for their tour through Buckland Manor the next
evening. She couldn’t remember being this happy before. Living with her mother who moved from one boyfriend to the other without ever making any real commitments had made Halle one unsettled little girl. Even now that she was older, Halle felt as if she didn’t have a home. Sometimes she’d caught her mom drunk, her mother rambled about their sad life and blamed Halle’s deadbeat father. If only he had been a responsible man. If only he had paid her child support. If only... Halle rolled her eyes. The
if only
’s were just crutches, in her opinion.

Once Halle graduated from
high school she was tired of being the pathetic child without a father and a mother who was rarely happy. Halle had decided if she wanted anything out of life, she would be the one to work for it and get it, which is why she worked two part-time jobs so she could put herself through college. When her mother died, Halle was determined to find happiness. That was when she tracked her father down here in England and started writing him.

Now, being in this ancient manor and seeing all the wonderful memorabilia, made her happier than she could remember. Of course, she tried to keep her cheerful mood even when the few people she’d asked about her father had told her they didn’t know him. They had never heard of Will Chapman. Yet, her father had written to her from this very place. He even said he’d worked here.
How could no one know him?

Nigel led the guests down a long hallway into an even longer room. Portraits of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, starting from the very first owners of the manor. As the group moved from one picture to the other, Nigel told a brief story of that person. Halle clicked the camera on her cell phone, storing up the pictures to study them later.

“Here are the portraits of the Duke and Duchess of Harrington. The duke had a happy life but it ended tragically.”

Halle snapped her head up, suddenly not caring about her phone. With the words ‘tragically’ she figured a great story would soon follow.

Nigel moved to the next portrait of a handsome man, perhaps in his early thirties. Light brown hair, square jaw, and wide shoulders. “This is the duke’s oldest son, Edward Merrick, Marquis of Brimhall. On the evening of his wedding, an angry mob burst into the manor and killed the family. Only the bride and Lord Brimhall’s sister, Lady Georgiana, survived…but barely. Lady Georgiana was not in her right mind after the attack.”

He moved to the next painting. The similarities between this
likeness and that of Edward Merrick were remarkable, but this man had darker hair and a more handsome face. Halle was struck by his stunning features…surprisingly so.

And
why did he look familiar?

She quickly snapped a couple more pictures with her cell phone, wishing she’d been back in his time and
had met this man.

“The murderer,” Nigel continued, “was said to be this man right here.” He arched a critical eyebrow, pointing
to the second man’s portrait. “The younger brother, Lord Andrew Merrick.”

She held in a gasp. No! It couldn’t be. He didn’t look like someone who could do such a terrible thing. True, he wore an expression that described him as being a little arrogant, but that didn’t make him a killer.
Or did it? Was she allowing the man’s good looks to distort her thinking? That wasn’t usually like her.

Halle squeezed through a few people, drawing nearer to the painting.

“Lord Andrew flaunted his mistress around in public and greatly embarrassed the family.” Nigel’s story-telling soon became nothing but mumbling and she refused to listen anymore. Strange to think how familiarity pricked her conscience the longer she studied the portrait. Why would she think she’d met this man before? She didn’t believe in reincarnation, so she didn’t think she’d lived in the past with him, but there was something about the man’s eyes that made her believe they’d met.

In my dreams, maybe?
It would definitely have to be since she’d never met anyone this remarkably handsome in her life.

The crowd pushed her forward, even though she wanted to stay and gaze at
the portrait. Maybe she would return later to stare at him for as long as she wanted, and daydream about finding a man like him here in her time.

They walked into the dining room and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She could
envision the Victorian people entertaining here. If she allowed her mind to slip back in time, she could put herself in their shoes easily. She’d be on the arm of that handsome man, Lord Andrew, of course—as long as he wasn’t the murderer.

“And this is where
the duke and duchess had their dinner parties.”

Halle pulled herself from the dreamy thoughts and clicked a couple of pictures on her cell phone as she wandered through the enormous room. Gingerly, she r
an her fingers across the wooden high back chairs. These were indeed antique, but she couldn’t quite date them. She highly doubted they were the original chairs the duke and duchess sat their wealthy bottoms on, mainly because they probably perished in the house fire. From her research and knowledge of the era, she calculated these particular chairs to be made in the early 1900’s.

The tour guide moved to the adjoining room, what looked to be one of the many drawing rooms on the first floor. Another heavily decorated room with furniture that appeared to be from
the early 1900’s. She rolled her eyes. Buckland Manor needed to hire her to redecorate these rooms with more authentic-looking pieces.

“This was the room where the family gathered that fateful night,” Nigel conti
nued the unbelievable tale. “This place has been remodeled since then, of course, but thankfully there was no major damage from the fire.” He pointed to the window facing west. “It was at this very window where a large rock came through with a death threat written on a piece of paper wrapped around it. Within minutes, the mob attacked, setting fire to most of the rooms on the ground floor. As I’d mentioned, the Merrick family perished that night, except for the daughter, Lady Georgiana, but because of her injuries she died a few years later. Lord Brimhall’s widow lived in the house for three years, but then had to sell the estate when her finances became depleted.”

Halle shook her head. That didn’t sound right. Quickly, she raised her hand and asked, “Why did Edward’s wife
remain in the house? Wouldn’t the property have passed to someone in Edward’s family line?”

Nigel gave her a dark, bewildered look. He shrugged. “I think she stayed in the house to be
Lady Georgiana’s companion. They were now sisters by marriage, and it is said they were inseparable after their harrowing ordeal.”

Halle nodded, accepting his answer.

A guest amongst their group raised a hand. “Did they ever find out why the mob attacked?”

“Rumors have it,” Nigel said, “that it was the second brother, Lord
Andrew, who was the mastermind in all of this. He had paid these men to attack the manor.”

From behind Halle, she heard a deep, irritated grumble. She glanced over her shoulder. The man she’d talked to outside
—Drew Merrick—stood just inside the door. Lines of anger marred his sickly face, making his mouth tight as he glared at the tour guide.

“Why would the second son want to kill his family?” another guest from the small crowd asked, and H
alle rested her attention back on the tour guide.

“Once again,” Nigel continued, “the rumors indicate that the second son was
out of favor with his parents. He was rebellious and caused problems, coveting his brother’s title and all that went with it.”

Halle frowned.
Not another story about a younger brother coveting a title. Yet, there was something in the back of her mind telling her this story couldn’t possibly be right. If the younger brother was the so-called
mastermind,
then why had he died as well?

She took another glance at Drew who seemed to have the same disagreement as she. His hands bunched by his side, and his chest rose and fell quickly. Not only did he appear angry, but saddened as if he’d experienced a great loss in his life as well.

She turned back to Nigel. What was it about this tale that didn’t ring true? Sure, she didn’t know these people, but usually second sons of the aristocracy didn’t murder their
whole
family.

Waving, she tried to get the guide’s attention again. When Nigel met her gaze, she voiced her opinion. “Why would they suspect Lord
Andrew? I know in their time they didn’t have forensic science like we do that helps solve murders, but just because he was rebellious and flaunted his mistress, doesn’t mean he’s the killer. Was there any real proof that he killed his family?”

“
I’m afraid I don’t know. The story I’m relating is the one that’s been connected to this manor for years.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” She shrugged. “I have a major in history, and from what I studied about the Victorian era, the second sons could receive large inheritances and even lands as long as they’re not entailed.
Was this the case with Lord Andrew? I mean, if his family was wealthy—” She motioned toward the lovely furnishings in the room— “As we can see they were, I’m sure Lord Andrew was given a grand inheritance. Usually second sons worked as well—in the Foreign Offices or such—making a pretty good living. I don’t believe Lord Andrew was the desperate second son your intriguing tale makes him out to be. And another thing that doesn’t ring true…if Lord Andrew was the mastermind behind all of this, why did he die in the attack? If he planned all of this, wouldn’t he have planned his own escape instead of getting killed?”

“Well…
um, I don’t know…” Nigel exploded into a fit of coughs and quickly retrieved a small pill box from his pocket, snatched a white pill, and tossed it in his mouth. He took several deep breaths, and then met her gaze again. “My apologies. But as I was saying, your questions have merit, however, I can only tell you what has been told to me.” He straightened and pointed to the next room. “Now let’s continue…”

She rolled her eyes as she hesitated
from following the group to the next room. Perhaps she shouldn’t get so upset, but how could she not? All of her life she’d been about truth, justice, and the American way. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in America any longer and things were vastly different, especially in the Victorian era.