Toil and Trouble (32 page)

Pelham returned into the dining room.

“Will you consider my proposal?” Rand asked.

I nodded and marveled at the ring on my finger as it gleamed, representing a life of happiness—the life I’d always wanted. Damn it all, for one moment I’d pretend this could really be. Just for one moment. “Yes, of course.”

Rand held out his arm and I ran my hand over the fine material of his sleeve, allowing him to escort me into the dining room. Yes, I’d pretend that Rand and I really could be a couple. That Christmas was truly a time for miracles.

Silver linens covered the table, where a huge centerpiece of red roses, oranges dotted with cloves and pine boughs dominated. Tall red tapers illuminated the great length of the table which contrasted with the snow plastering the window sills outside and the fire crackling in the hearth inside. It was a Christmas scene to end all Christmases, bar none. I sat opposite Rand, beside Christine, who seemed to be studying us intently. Once she caught sight of the ring on my finger, her grin grew exponentially. She picked up my hand and inspected it, suddenly addressing her brother.

“It seems congratulations are in order,” she began while displaying my hand in the air for Pelham to see.

Surprise was his only expression and he thumped Rand heartily on the back, his smile beaming. “Balfour! You are a sly fox after all.” He hugged Rand, eyeing me. “You will have the loveliest bride in the all the shires, old man.”

Rand regarded me and nodded, his eyes deep pools of chocolate brown. “I am quite aware, Pel, I am quite aware.”

One of the Georges interrupted my moment when he flew through the kitchen doors carrying a silver tureen, his brother at his heels with two serving trays. They laid them before us and George * * *2 announced, “for your first course, brown Windsor soup, potato croquettes, baked cod’s heads and Negus.”

I just shook my head. What was it with the Victorian proclivity toward just eating animal heads? All the excitement precluded me from having an appetite. So, tonight, maybe I would be the perfect Victorian lady.

“What is Negus?” I whispered, leaning over to Christine.

“Goodness, do you not drink Negus in California at Christmas?”

“No.”

She nodded and held her glass for George * * *1 to fill. “It is a mulled wine, mixed with the flavors of Christmas—cinnamon, clove and nutmeg. Then it is mulled before the fire.”

“Oh,” I said, comparing it to the
Glühwein
. I shrugged while watching the Georges serve our first course, Pelham lifted his glass of Negus in toast and we all followed suit.

“To another year of success. To the people I love most. To the future joy of both Balfour and Miss Wilkins. Cheers!”

“
Prost
!” Christine announced and took a sip of her mulled wine, glancing at me to see what I thought of it. I swallowed and couldn’t say it was half bad—definitely Christmassy. I nodded my approval and she seemed satisfied.

Our second course consisted of roast goose and
bratwürste
with
sauerkrau
t. I picked at the food on my plate but had no desire to eat anything. And this time, it had nothing to do with my suffocating corset. I was reeling inside with new emotions I couldn’t control. This might prove to be the toughest thing I’d ever have to do—pry myself from the man I loved to return to my own time. Even though I felt sure Rand would survive our separation, it didn’t soothe my anxiety. The Rand of my own time wouldn’t know he’d been bonded to me. And, furthermore, when he did find out, how would he react?

The Georges appeared again, removing our plates from the table only to return with an assortment of what appeared to be desserts.

“For your third course: plum pudding, Bird’s custard, Furmity and mince pies,” one of them announced. I’d grown tired of trying to decide which George was which, preferring to just refer to them as the two Georges.

“And the
Bratäpfel,
George?” Christine asked.

“Coming momentarily, Miss Pelham.”

Before I even had the chance to ask, Christine leaned into me and explained: “It is a baked apple stuffed with marzipan, nuts and red current jam.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I said with a fake smile. I was too preoccupied by the fact that this might be the last time I ever saw Christine, Pelham (alive) and my Rand again.

“I do love a good pud,” Pelham announced and encouraged one of the Georges to add a bit more of the Christmas pudding to his plate, something which looked like a dark brown circular block with a few raisins and currants trying to escape. The sprig of holly at the top did nothing to make the pudding appear any more appetizing.

After everyone enjoyed the holiday desserts, with the exception of me, our plates were cleared again and Christine clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Shall I retrieve the Christmas crackers?” she asked.

Pelham nodded and she hurried to the Christmas tree, her skirts swooshing this way and that. She returned with a box from which she handed each of us a wrapped cylindrical little gift, maybe twelve inches long. Each cracker was adorned by a small paper crafted Christmas tree. I watched Pelham and Rand hold the cracker between each of their hands and copied them.

“Go!” Christine announced and we each pulled our Christmas crackers until they exploded with a small bang and the smell of gunpowder lay in the air. What surprised me were the few gifts that landed on the table after the crackers snapped. I unwrapped a crown and realized everyone was already crowning themselves. Not to be outdone, I unfolded the gold paper crown and fashioned it atop my head. Then I noticed a small slip of paper similar to what you’d find in a fortune cookie.

“What is red, white and black all over?” Christine read, holding the cracker paper in her hands. We all shook our heads and a smile radiated across her pretty face. “Father Christmas after he has slid down the chimney!”

Suddenly the major event of the evening prodded me out of enjoying myself, and I remembered that I hadn’t let Rand know what was going to happen this evening. More than anything, I had to convince him sending me back to my own time was not up for debate.

Rand?

He glanced at me and there was such love in his eyes, I felt myself choking on a sob.

Rand, Mercedes is meeting us tonight, before midnight with Mathilda.

The smile on his face dropped.
Why?

So we can attempt the spell to send us back.

Jolie…

I clenched my eyes shut and focused on my shaking hands.
Please, Rand. You must accept this. It is as it has to be.

You have already decided then?
His eyes revealed anger and hurt.

I want nothing more than to stay with you and be your wife but it isn’t a possibility, Rand. I love you with all my heart but I must leave. I’m so sorry.

He finished his mulled wine, refusing to look at me.

“Shall we retire to the drawing room to watch the snow fall?” Pelham asked, observing both our wan expressions.

I smiled and stood up. “Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

“And shall we sing carols?” Christine suggested.

I nodded. “That sounds even better.”

She disappeared into the drawing room and began playing “Away in a Manger” for her first sing-along.

Before I could follow Pelham into the drawing room, Rand grabbed my hand and whisked me aside, closing the dining room doors for privacy.

“Jolie, please tell me you have thought this through thoroughly.”

I nodded. “There is no way around it.”

“Does my love for you mean nothing?”

I shook my head, biting my lip as tears welled in my eyes. I stared at the floor then clenched my eyes shut, hoping to control my emotions. But, I failed. I opened my eyes as a stream of tears escaped, rolling freely down my cheeks. Rand wiped my cheeks with his fingers and blotted the tears away.

“I feel your agony,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” I whispered. “But, I can’t stay with you. I have to return.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but pulled me into the warmth of his embrace and held me as I cried, kissing the top of my head. “I understand,” he said finally.

I felt a suffocating weight lift from within me and realized I was channeling Rand’s feelings. He had let go and was going to allow me to do what I had to do. He supported me and honored my decision even though he didn’t entirely understand it.

“Promise me something, Jolie,” he started.

I pulled away from him and noted the glassiness of his eyes. “Anything,” I whispered.

“You must make the me of your time understand our connection. We are meant to be together, I know it as clearly as I know my own name.”

I nodded. “I will do my best. I will tell you everything that happened here, now.”

He smiled before kissing me. His lips were so soft and warm. I closed my eyes and relished the feel and taste of him before returning to the drawing room. Even though Christine and Pelham had no idea I would soon be leaving, I had to see them once more, thank them for their hospitality and tell them how grateful I was. I knew I would see Pelham again, as my ghostly friend of Pelham Manor, but this would be a final goodbye to Christine and the thought wrenched my heart.

* * *

At ten minutes to midnight, Rand and I awaited Mercedes and Mathilda at the junction of the largest elm and willow trees on the property. I was impervious to the freezing night air as I was cocooned in Rand’s embrace. Not able to fight my tears, they fell freely.

“I see them,” I whispered, observing Mathilda and Mercedes’ colorful auras as they shone through the skeletal outlines of the trees. I wondered why Mercedes wasn’t covering hers which radiated in a rainbow.

Rand tightened his grip on me and held me closer. As we watched them advance, the sinking feeling in my stomach increased. What if the spell didn’t work? What if I could never get back? That very thought that had plagued me only days before, I now welcomed. But, one thought I didn’t welcome was the concern that Gwynn’s blade might kill me.

“Do not think those thoughts,” Rand said and I realized I should have been blocking my feelings. It wasn’t right for him to know my private worries, not when there would be nothing he could do about them.

“Jolie, Rand,” Mercedes said, greeting us.

“Ms. Berg,” Rand started.

Mercedes smiled and said, “Please, call me Mercedes.” She glanced around, observing the scenery, while she placed her hands on her hips. Nodding, she faced us again and held out her arms, just as a giant sword appeared. It was the same sword I’d seen her use to create her magical circle when last we’d met.

I watched her perform what seemed like the same ritual, outlining a giant circle in the dirt around all four of us. She called to the different directions again, and to the elements of the earth, using fire and water in her incantation. Then she turned to face us.

“Please join hands.” We did as we were told. I reached for Rand’s hand while Mathilda took my other hand.

“Wait,” Rand started. “How can I be certain Jolie will not be in danger?”

I gulped, wondering this question myself.

“There is no guarantee,” Mercedes started.

“Then I will not agree to this,” Rand said, dropping Mercedes’ hand.

“Rand,” I started.

“Allow me,” Mathilda said and pulled him aside. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but Rand’s mouth was tight and his body language showed reluctance to accept whatever it was Mathilda was telling him. He finally heaved a sigh and nodded. Whatever Mathilda had told him, had worked. He returned to our circle, looking weary—as though he were supporting the weight of the world.

“This will require complete focus and projection,” Mercedes resumed. “Rand and Mathilda, the force of the spell will come from you both. Rand, you must channel Jolie’s magic through your bond.”

And that was when I realized this whole bonding scenario was necessary for the magic to work properly, as Rand never would have been strong enough to perform it alone. It disagreed with me like a bad taste in my mouth and made me feel more like a pawn in the Underworld than I ever had before. Was our love true, real? Or was it just the means to power this charm? It certainly felt real…

Mercedes faced me angrily. “Never doubt the bond, Jolie. It is not something I could have fabricated. It is whole, pure and cannot be manufactured.”

I swallowed hard and nodded, silently happy to hear it.

“Focus,” Mathilda said softly. “This will require a great deal of energy and power.”

I closed my eyes and tightened my grip on their hands.

“Imagine a portal opening in your mind’s eye,” Mercedes said, her voice sounding melodic in the still night air. “Direct all your power into that portal, allow it to open and remain open.”

Everyone became quiet as we imagined the portal opening, creating a passageway into my own time. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and saw Mercedes’ frown.

“It is not working,” she said, eyeing each one of us. “You must put all your energy into making that portal real enough that you could touch it. The spell will not work if we cannot fully commit our intentions into it.”