Time After Time (16 page)

I grinned, my anxiety beginning to dissolve. ‘I’m game if you are?’

I loved carnival rides. The scarier they were, the better. I didn’t suffer any motion sickness, and I loved the rush of adrenaline that made my pulse quicken. Gran used to take me to amusement parks, but neither she nor Meredith would ever go on the rides, so I would go alone. Even Beth and Laura, both of whom I went with when I got older, tended to stay away from the crazier rides, preferring the bumper cars or the tamer roller-coasters.

Strapping myself in beside Marcus, my skin tingled. I hoped he had a strong constitution, but guessed—no, somehow,
knew
—that he did. That even though Marcus was a typical teenage boy with no weird hang-ups—unlike me—he had the fortitude of someone older and wiser.

Because, like me, he’d been here before.

The ride started to move slowly, and Marcus squeezed my hand. I smiled back at him before glancing at the crowd disappearing below.

My heart stilled as my eyes locked with grey eyes. Eyes that shined an unnatural silver in the bright sunlight, a tear-shaped pupil dominating them.

Jerking back in my seat, I blinked, my heart leaping to my throat. The ride picked up pace and the crowd blurred into a kaleidoscope of colours. But I was sure it had been him.

It’s not possible
, I thought.
He’s a figment of my imagination; he exists only in my dreams
.

The cool air whipped against my face as my body was flung in different directions by the insane ride. Gripping my harness tightly, I suddenly felt very, very afraid. And my fear had nothing to do with the ride. I was sure it had been
him
I’d seen looking up at me. Staring at me with those cold eyes. I would know them anywhere.

But it’s not possible for him to step out of my dreams
.

I glanced at Marcus, dread creeping inside me, settling in my bones. Hadn’t Marcus crossed over from dreams to life? Didn’t he exist only in my imagination, in my night-time world? So it made perfect sense that
he
, who was larger than life, could cross over too.
Nothing
was impossible for
him
.

‘Wow, that was awesome!’ Marcus cried as the ride came to a halt. He pulled off his harness and turned to me, his face glowing and his hair gorgeously messed.

I managed a small smile but didn’t meet his eyes. Desperately, I scanned the crowd.

He
was gone.

‘Abbie? You okay? You look a bit ill,’ Marcus said as I climbed off. He had to steady me as I made my way down the stairs. ‘You aren’t going to be sick are you?’

I took one last sweeping look around the crowd but saw no trace of him.
I must have imagined it
, I told myself.
My mind is so preoccupied knowing he’s coming for Penelope that I imagined I saw him here
. It was a plausible explanation, but I still didn’t feel eased.

And it didn’t explain the page torn from my journal.

Swallowing hard against the bile curdling in my stomach, I forced myself to grin up at Marcus. ‘Sick? Are you crazy? That was awesome! I could eat ten chili dogs right now and still not feel sick.’

‘Really? Hungry?’

‘Starved.’

He grabbed my hand. ‘C’mon then, little pixie girl, let’s eat.’

1806

Things could not have gone better, Penelope decided once it was all said and done.

Heath had approached her father the very next morning asking for her hand in marriage. After a brief deliberation, in which Gerald Broadhurst sought to confirm his daughter’s feelings were reciprocated, he gave his consent. News was sent to the occupants of Broadhurst Manor informing them of the impending nuptials.

Penelope led Heath up to the attic of the parsonage, anxious to show him her art. She only wished she had something better and more profound than the general landscapes depicting Broadhurst. But Heath took his time perusing each one, his words overflowing with praise.

‘You love Broadhurst very much,’ he commented.

‘Yes,’ Penelope acknowledged. ‘I feel at one with the land around here.’ Blushing, she looked down at her fingers knotted together. ‘That must sound silly. But I’ve never known anywhere else. I’ve never even been to London.’

‘Really?’ he asked, surprised. ‘You have never ventured from Broadhurst?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve never had any need. Georgina has visited London many times. She often talks about the grand social life, and the concerts, plays, balls and gatherings she’s been lucky enough to attend. I expect she will marry one day and move there.’

Heath watched her carefully. ‘Will it pain
you
overly much to leave it?’

‘Oh,’ Penelope gasped, blinking at him. She’d never given the possibility any thought, but it made sense, of course. Heath was a student at Cambridge, and they would be expected to reside there once they wed.
Can I leave Broadhurst?
she wondered for the first time.
Can I leave my father?

‘Penelope?’ Heath whispered, his voice full of worry as he watched her reaction.

She smiled reassuringly at him. Her feelings for Broadhurst were strong indeed, but her feelings for Heath were stronger. There was no question. ‘Of course. Wherever you go, I go.’

Stepping closer, he hesitated for a moment. His eyes searched hers, as if trying to fathom whether she spoke truth, before he lowered his head, locking his lips to hers. Penelope closed her eyes and let herself be devoured by Heath’s sweet kiss, revelling in the smell and taste of him. He tasted a little like fire, she mused, if fire had a taste.

‘I love you, Penelope,’ he whispered hotly against her lips, ‘and I cannot wait to make you my wife.’

‘I feel the same,’ she replied, feeling his warmth wrap around her like gentle wings.

Smiling, he stepped back and glanced around the room, his fingers knotted with hers. ‘So, this is where you hide yourself?’

‘I wouldn’t call it hiding, but yes, this is where I escape to paint.’

‘What type of birds are those?’ he asked, gesturing to a half-finished painting that sat atop a shelf.

‘Hummingbirds,’ she told him. ‘They mean timelessness.’

He nodded thoughtfully, staring at the painting. ‘Have you done no portraits at all? Of people, I mean, not of birds.’

Penelope smiled hesitantly before going to her trunk and retrieving a folder. Opening it, she showed him the sketches and drawings she’d done of him since that first day.

‘Is this how you see me?’ he asked quietly.

She glanced at the portraits, although she knew them well enough. His face, the strong contours of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes, and the curve of his smile, all captured on paper. ‘Yes.’

He seemed to be considering the pictures, and Penelope wished she could read his mind. Was he pleased with them? Was he displeased? Whatever he felt, he was keeping it close to his heart. She wished she’d spent more time over the years on portraits, rather than landscapes. Maybe then the sketches of him would be better.

What she didn’t show him was the other folder, the one that held her drawings of the rider sat astride his large, powerful horse, gazing down the hill towards her. The ones of him half-concealed by the forest’s shadows as he gazed up at her in the attic.

Thinking about him, she shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ Heath observed.

‘A little.’

‘It must get very cold up here.’

‘The window lets in quite a bit of light,’ she said, ‘and we get a strong afternoon sun.’

Heath wandered over to the window and looked down at the small graveyard below before he gazed out towards the forest. In his hands he still held the folder, but he didn’t look at the pictures again.

Joining him, Penelope gazed out the window, something she hadn’t done since spying the stranger on the edge of the forest. But with Heath she felt braver, as if, with him by her side, she could face whatever lurked there.

‘I never noticed the cemetery before,’ he commented.

‘It’s hidden behind the church,’ she explained. ‘My mother is there.’

‘Really? Is her grave that big one there, with the angel?’ He gestured to the seraph.

‘No, over there with the flowers.’ She pointed in the opposite direction. She always made sure her mother had fresh flowers.

A movement at the edge of the forest caught Penelope’s eye, and her gaze anxiously flicked to it. There, half-hidden behind a thick tree trunk, was the stranger. Her breath caught in her throat.

She’d expected to see him, his presence overdue.

He was only slightly visible, difficult to see in the distance, but Penelope felt as if he might as well be standing in front of her; the sensations were the same. Her skin prickled and a strange coldness crept into her bones, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

She opened her mouth to say something to Heath, to point the man out, wanting confirmation that he was real and not some dark figment of her imagination. But when she tugged on him, Heath misunderstood her motives and pulled her sharply into his arms, knocking the air from her lungs before covering her mouth with his.

Stunned, Penelope looked out the window, beyond Heath and his warm, tender kiss, towards the stranger, who had stepped out from the cover of the trees and was glaring up at them.

Then she closed her eyes and lost herself in the kiss.

Georgina decided to turn the prearranged picnic into an engagement party for Heath and Penelope.

The food was laid out on trestle tables under the weeping willows at the bottom of the garden, near the bordering forest. Blankets and small chairs were spread on the lawn. The sun shone brightly in the sky, not a cloud in sight.

Mrs Priscopp arrived,
her Anne
strolling behind as they joined the party.

‘She does not look pleased,’ Ellen murmured in Penelope’s ear. ‘You know she invited her horrible niece for the sole purpose of ingratiating her to Heath,’ she peered askance at Penelope, ‘but of course, she’s too late now.’

‘I’m sure that isn’t the only reason Anne’s visiting,’ Penelope replied, although she wasn’t sure of anything. Anne was a pushy girl, one Penelope found arrogant and flirtatious. Her confidence and sultriness with men suggested that Anne wasn’t as innocent as a well-brought-up young lady should be.

But Penelope wasn’t worried on that regard. She knew Heath to be utterly and totally in love with her. Both Anne and Mrs Priscopp were going to be bitterly disappointed when their pursuits brought them nothing.

She glanced over at Heath, who was deep in conversation with Harry, who in turn looked utterly bored.
Poor Harry
. He would much prefer to be in London or back at Cambridge, but their engagement had extended his visit. Penelope smiled. A picnic on the lawn was probably
not
how Harry wanted to spend his time.

‘Well!’ declared Mrs Priscopp, pouncing on Penelope. ‘I believe congratulations are in order, Miss Penelope.’

Penelope smiled demurely at the elder woman, and her gaze swept past to acknowledge Anne. Anne was very beautiful, with thick, golden curls framing a pretty, heart-shaped face. Deep-set hazel eyes, etched with pale shadows, peered out from beneath dark lashes and finely arched brows. Her lips were thin and small, the Cupid’s bow peculiarly pronounced, but she rarely smiled; it was almost as if the effort pained her.

‘Congratulations, Penelope,’ Anne said, her voice flat and emotionless.

‘Thank you,’ she replied, smiling warmly at Anne, who blinked back benignly, ‘and how nice to see you again, Anne. Will you be visiting Broadhurst long?’

‘I believe so. My parents have gone abroad and Aunt Mary is to chaperone me in their absence,’ she explained. ‘And I’ve grown bored of London. I’m looking forward to renewing my friendships here at Broadhurst, and making new ones as well.’ Her gaze wandered to where Heath still conversed with Harry. Penelope bristled. Surely Anne wouldn’t think of prostrating herself before Heath, knowing he was betrothed? She had never considered the girl to be
that
bold.

‘You certainly have amazed us all, my dear Penelope,’ Mrs Priscopp began. ‘I thought it was Miss Georgina that had secured Mr Lockwood’s affections! Never in a million years would I dream it was you! How sly you are, stealing him away before I had a chance to introduce him to our Anne.’

Penelope smiled tightly. ‘Sometimes these things can’t be predicted, Mrs Priscopp, nor anticipated.’

‘Well, you must have acted exceedingly fast, my dear. But I suppose I understand your actions, although I’m sure your dear mother would never have approved of such behaviour. However, one must do what one must when they have the beautiful Miss Georgina, and of course, my Anne, to compete with for any gentleman’s affections. There are many ways to secure a husband.’

Penelope blinked at Mrs Priscopp’s thinly veiled slur. To suggest she’d done something improper, and for the simple purpose of gaining a husband! To insult her by implying she wasn’t attractive enough to secure the attention of someone like Heath Lockwood without resorting to…

Fisting her hands, Penelope struggled with the urge to issue a sharp retort to the sour, old woman. A hundred sharp, cutting rejoinders flooded her mind, and she had to bite her tongue to stop them from issuing forth.

She bit so hard that the sweet, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Heath, appearing miraculously by her side. ‘Good day, Mrs Priscopp.’ He nodded politely at her and Anne before turning his dark, glowing eyes on Penelope, who trembled with fury.

Penelope marvelled at the way he had managed to appear right when she needed him.

‘Mrs Priscopp was suggesting I had behaved in an improper fashion in order to gain your affection,’ Penelope ground out. ‘She thought perhaps
that
might have been how I secured our betrothal, being not half as beautiful as Georgina or
her Anne
.’

Penelope surprised even herself by the vicious, potent statement and noted the stunned expressions on the faces of those who had overheard. It was as if, for a brief moment, she’d forgotten her manners.