Moonlight Wishes In Time (8 page)

“I’m not crazy, Mr. Sinclair
. I’m not. I don’t know what happened. When I get up in the morning—if I’m not already awake—I’m supposed to go to work at the bank. It’s Thursday morning, September 17
th
.” When she told him the current year, she winced as his eyes widened and he jumped to his feet.

He stared down at her for a moment, and she tried to meet his eyes steadily.

“Surely, you jest once again, Miss Crockwell.”

She shook her head
.

He clasped his hands behind his back and swung away, to begin pacing in front of the hearth.

“So, you would have me believe that you have”—he paused and faced her for a moment with an incredulous look on his face—“come from the future?”

Mattie winced
. Did he have to make it sound so much like science fiction?

“Yes,” she whispered.

William stared at her again for a long moment before he resumed his pacing once again.

“And how do you believe you came to be in this time?” he asked in a carefully measured voice.

Mattie shrugged. “I don’t know. I have this favorite book, and I was reading it, and then I couldn’t sleep, and so I went outside. The moon…” She gestured skyward.

He stilled and turned to look at her once again, a crease between his brows
.

“Yes, the moon
. You mentioned that before. And what time was that exactly?”

“Around ten thirty at night
my time. I don’t know what time that would be here.” She shook her head with the ghost of a smile on her face. “Or even what year this is, frankly.”

A corner of William’s lips tilted.

“The year is 1825, Miss Crockwell.”

Matti
e nodded, unsurprised. She had suspected from the cut of his clothing that she’d landed somewhere in the Georgian or the Regency era. In fact, she was in the exact year in which her book was set.

“I imagined as much, Mr. Sinclair.”

William turned toward the fireplace, bracing one arm against the mantle and the other behind his back as he stared down into the hearth. Mattie watched his stiff back as if she could divine his thoughts from the rigidity of his spine. He certainly didn’t appear relaxed in any way.       

She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs, beginning a gentle rocking of which she was barely aware
. The heretofore romantic idea of traveling through time to meet the man of her dreams seemed suddenly a very foolish idea—one fraught with dire implications. Visions of ending her days in a cold stone building chained to the wall while she ranted that she worked in a bank and really didn’t belong there after all presented themselves as frightening possibilities.

She
watched William’s shoulders rise as if he took a deep breath. His back seemed to visibly relax, and he dropped his head. He turned to face her, keeping both hands behind him. While his eyes traveled over her childish posture, he made no mention of it.

“I believe something untoward has occurred here, Miss Crockwell, though I do not know what
. I must allow that I too wished on the moon, at exactly the same time as you—though, as with you, my desires were not met in quite the way that I had envisioned. But it is this fact that leads me to believe that between us, you and I have brought about some strange phenomenon which I cannot begin to comprehend.” He regarded her gravely. “The question is…what is to be done now, and how can we return you to your time?”

Mattie breathed a sigh of relief, images of a dark, foreboding insane asylum drifting away.

“I don’t have the faintest idea.”

William echoed her sigh as he took his seat once again, gazing at the hearth in an unfocused fashion.

“I think the answer may lie in the full moon upon which we both made our wishes,” he murmured, almost as if he talked to himself. “It will not be full again for thirty days.” He threw her a sideways look. “I am not quite sure what you wished for, and I beg leave to keep my desires private, but I cannot help wonder if they did not have a commonality which in some strange way brought us together.” He cleared his throat and reached for his tea. “Speculation, of course. We may never know.” He met her eyes briefly over the edge of his cup and looked away.

“So, are you suggesting that on the next full moon—in a month—we both make a wish for me to return?”

William set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of his stomach. He nodded.

“That is correct. At exactly ten-thirty
in the evening.”

Mattie rested her chin on top of her knees
. A month. Too long? Not long enough? She gazed at William with an inward sigh. Not long enough, she thought.

“Do you have any idea what I should do until then
? Is there somewhere—”

“You will stay here, of course
. I have had little time to form a plan, but I have some rudimentary thoughts. It would be disastrous should anyone discover that you have come from the future. We will have to acquaint my mother and sister with our…secret”—his lips twitched again—“so that they may assist us in finding you suitable clothing and a plausible story for your presence here in the house. My mother has scheduled several parties and at least one rout during the month.” He gave her a wry smile. “She wishes to see me married and is going to great lengths to achieve that end.”

Mattie’s heart dropped to her stomach
. Nowhere in her fantasies did her dream man marry someone else!

“I see,” she murmured
. “Well, I really don’t need to be much trouble. If there is a small room, maybe where the servants sleep? I could stay out of the way.” She offered him a helpful smile, though it wavered at the end.

“That is out of the question, Miss Crockwell
. I do not think you are a servant. If I may ask”—William hesitated—“what is your station? You mentioned you work in a bank. Do you assist your father, perhaps? Some male relative? I am not familiar with women in banking.”

“My station?” she repeated as her smile broadened
. “This is straight out of a Jane Austen novel, I swear. I really didn’t think people talked like that.” She pressed her wayward lips together at the narrowing of his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” S
he winced at the severity of his look. “Yes, my station. Well, I work for a living. No, my father doesn’t own the bank. I am just an employee there.”

“An employee,” he repeated thoughtfully
. “And your family? Are they landowners?”

“Well, my parents owned their home in Nebraska, but they both passed away several years ago
. They were older, and I was an only child.”

William brought his eyes together in a frown and inclined his head
.

“My condolences,
madam. I am afraid I have not heard of this…Nuhbrasska…but assume it is in America. And with whom do you reside at present?”

“I live by myself
…in an apartment.”

He quirked a surprised eyebrow
.

“Alone
? In your own apartments? Without a companion? How unusual!”

Mattie grinned
. William was definitely having a hard time wrapping his head around her lifestyle, and she didn’t blame him. She’d read enough Georgian- and Victorian-era literature—even the good stuff—to know that most young women did not live on their own, and certainly no women of the upper classes.

“No, William
. No companion. Just me.”

He shook his head.

“Perhaps we could avoid sharing that bit of information with my mother and sister. The former would be shocked, and the latter would no doubt pounce upon such a notion as an excellent idea.” He gave her a quick bow. “I certainly do not mean to impugn your customs.”

“Of course
.” Mattie nodded with a smile.

William
checked his watch once before stowing it away in his vest.

“Well, Miss Crockwell,” he said heavily
, “I think it is time I go to see my mother. We must enlist her aid if I am to keep you safe over the coming month.”

Mattie watched him rise, admiring the long
, lean lines of his legs and thrilling to the words “if I am to keep you safe.” She stood to follow him to the door. He turned before he opened the door, looking down into her upturned face.

“You would do well to finish your breakfast, Miss Crockwell
. You will need your strength, for my mother will surely wish to interview you at length, and much more rigorously than I.”

Mattie’s heart thumped with anxiety, and it must have shown in her face
. William softened his voice and regarded her kindly.

“Do not worry, Miss Crockwell
. You will remain here at the house under my protection. I am master here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair
. Good luck,” she murmured as he slipped through the door.

****

William tapped on his mother’s door and entered on hearing her response.

“Good morning, Mother
. How are you?”

Lucy Sinclair relaxed on a small
sapphire-blue velvet sofa sipping hot chocolate, a fetching lace cap perched on her blonde curls, a confection of white lace and pink satin covering her from neck to toe.

She looked at him in surprise and offered up her cheek for a kiss
. William obliged and straightened. He dropped down into a matching blue velvet wingback chair.

“What brings you here so early, William
? I would have thought you to be riding this morning. It looks to be a fine day.” His mother’s crystal blue eyes strayed toward the open window.

“I have a matter to discuss with you, Mother, and it cannot wait.”

His mother lifted a well-groomed eyebrow. “Indeed. Good news, perhaps? Did you meet someone last night after all?” She set her cup of chocolate down on a mahogany side table and eyed him with interest.

William, who had been staring at the floor, jerked his head up at her words
. He stared at her for a moment.

“One might say that
.” He could not help but smile. His mother seemed to have a sixth sense about many things, but had no inkling how close she was to the truth—and yet how far.

“And who is the fortunate young woman
?” She seemed almost to hold her breath, if one could ever witness her doing such a common thing. William hated to disappoint her, but disappoint her he must.

He jumped up restlessly
. “If you have no objections, Mother, I think Sylvie must be here. It would be foolish to discuss the same matter twice. With your permission, I shall call her in.”

“William
? Is something wrong?”

He had reached the door when he turned to see her staring at him with an expression of alarm
. He thought to allay her fears but realized he really could not.

“That remains to be seen,
madam.”

He strode across the hall in three steps and tapped on his sister’s door.

“Enter,” she called in a voice husky with sleep.

William opened the door to find the room in darkness, Sylvie still drowsing in bed
. He crossed the room to open the heavy velvet drapes, ignoring the subsequent protests.

“Out of bed, s
ister. I need you to come to Mother’s room.”

Sylvie shot up with a look of alarm matching his mother’s face
. “Is something wrong? Mother?”

“No, no
. She is fine. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with both of you, and it cannot wait for long.”

Sylvie slid nimbly out of bed and grabbed a shawl from a nearby chair while William waited at the door
. When she came within arm’s length, he ruffled her hair as he had done when they were younger. She tried to tousle his as well, but failed to reach his head, even on tiptoes.

“So, what is this important matter?” she mumbled through a yawn as he opened the door to allow her to precede him.

“You must wait until we reach Mother’s room. I feel I can only explain this once, therefore I wanted to speak to you both at the same time.”

Sylvie paused to stare at him
. “This sounds serious, brother. Need I be concerned?”

With a hand on his mother’s door, William cocked his head and gave her a small half
-smile.

“I am not sure, my dear
. Perhaps,” he murmured, his smile broadening despite his best intentions to remain grave. Interspersed with moments of gravity at the implication of Miss Crockwell’s presence were moments when he felt an unexpected giddiness. He supposed it was from lack of sleep.

They stepped into the room to see their mother seated on the settee in an alert manner.

“Good morning, Mother. What do you suppose our Will is about this morning?” Sylvie mumbled as she shuffled across the room, kissed her mother’s cheek and settled next to her in a corner of the settee.