Chapter Ten
Rachel wondered privately if she should start thinking of the estate agent as Phelps or Mr. Phelps, but she remembered Mary called him Roger. She blinked at the handsome and kind, if somewhat formal, man and determined she was going to get him to call her Rachel...just because.
Roger settled her in a chair near one end of the table, across from Mary and next to St. John, before taking the seat next to her.
Footmen came in immediately with a tureen of soup and other delicious-looking foods on beautiful silver platters. They dined off well-polished silver and gold-plated porcelain. Rachel didn’t get the sense that St. John and Mary lived lavishly so much as with the trappings of inherited luxuries that had been handed down through the family for generations. They did have a surfeit of servants though. As at Alton House, the footmen were all starting to look alike.
Once the main meal was served, St. John ushered the footmen out of the room. He turned to Rachel.
“May I explain the situation to Roger within the parameters, as we discussed?” St. John asked.
“Oh! I thought you had, you know, over drinks?”
“I did intend to do so but thought you might want to be present when I discuss your personal affairs.”
Rachel glanced at Mary and smiled. She had married a very principled man. What a treasure he was!
“Thank you. Yes, given your experience with Hickstrom, I’m sure you can explain things better than I could.”
Roger looked from St. John to Rachel to Mary with interest. He did not appear confused by their references though, and Rachel suspected he had already figured things out. His next words verified that he had.
“May I inquire as to whether Miss Hickstrom has appeared once again?” he asked with a faint smile.
“Indeed,” St. John said. “You understand perfectly.”
Roger glanced at Rachel. “I am agog to hear what the lady has set herself to now.”
“As you have no doubt surmised, Miss Hickstrom brought Miss Lee back through time. Miss Lee is from the twenty-first century...from the year...” St. John looked to Rachel.
“2018.”
“A year after me,” Mary said.
“2018,” St. John repeated.
“And to what end did Miss Hickstrom bring Miss Lee back through time? Is someone as equally cursed as you were, your lordship?”
“We have yet to determine that. I did not speak to Miss Hickstrom myself, but Mary and Miss Lee did.”
“No, I don’t think anyone is cursed like St. John was,” Mary said. She glanced at Rachel. “Well, maybe.”
“And Miss Lee was brought back in time to what end?” Roger asked again.
St. John glanced at Rachel.
“We are not able to say.”
“Miss Hickstrom did not explain her reasoning?”
“She did. Miss Lee prefers to keep her counsel on this.”
Roger nodded and avoided looked at Rachel. She sighed.
“It’s embarrassing,” she said with a grimace.
“Of course,” Roger said with a polite nod. “Miss Hickstrom is not known for anything less.”
Rachel glanced at Mary, who waggled her eyebrows with a smile. Withholding such a significant piece of information from Roger felt uncharitable and mean spirited, and Rachel decided to disclose—within limits.
“Okay, it’s not a big thing, but apparently the fairy godmother brought me back for someone who is lonely and kind of lovesick.”
Rachel heard a utensil drop into a bowl nearby and looked over at St. John. His hand was empty, his spoon in his bowl of soup.
“Lovesick?” he repeated, his dark eyes drawn together. “I am afraid I was not made aware of that particular malady.”
“I’m sorry,” Rachel murmured, looking around the table. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”
“You didn’t,” Mary said. “It’s okay!” She eyed St. John narrowly, and he drew in a deep breath and forced a smile.
“I apologize, Rachel,” he said. “I can offer no excuse for my boorish behavior.”
Rachel’s cheeks burned, and she looked down at her plate.
“Please continue,” St. John said.
“Well, that’s about it. Hickstrom thought I could help this person, and I can’t. She has the wrong girl, and I’m heading home on the next Hickstrom train!” Rachel’s embarrassment made her flippant, and she looked up at Mary, whose face drooped. “Don’t get me wrong—I loved meeting Mary,” she said to Roger, “but I have a business that I have to get back to.”
“You own a business?” Roger asked, as if to change the subject. “And what business is that?”
“A bookstore, antique books, first editions, stuff like that. Hickstrom called me a book peddler, and Lady Georgianna decided that I was little better than a gypsy in a caravan!”
Rachel meant to return the smile to Mary’s face, and she succeeded. Roger and St. John smiled as well.
“Yes, I can imagine that description did not sit well with Lady Georgianna,” St. John said. “She is very conscious of the family’s position in society.”
“May I assume that Miss Hickstrom gave you no warning, no time to make preparations, before she whisked you away to the nineteenth century?” Roger asked.
“No, it went very fast. I had no idea what was happening.”
“In my case, I found Hickstrom’s Book of Fairy Tales and fell asleep reading it, but this time Miss Hickstrom pushed Rachel to read from the book in her store,” Mary said.
“You were probably meant to find that book, Mary,” Rachel said.
“Yes, I was.”
Mary gave St. John a look of such intense love that Rachel blinked and looked away. She met Roger’s blue eyes. He glanced at the couple and back at her with an understanding smile.
“What are your plans, if I may ask, Miss Lee?”
“You really can call me Rachel, you know. I’m sure St. John wouldn’t mind.”
St. John tore his eyes away from his wife’s face.
“What is that?”
“You wouldn’t mind if Roger called me Rachel, would you?”
“Not at all. Roger is as close to me as a brother. We stand on no ceremony...as a rule.”
Roger’s face colored, and he gave Rachel a knowing smile. “Rachel,” he murmured.
“There! How easy is that! So you were asking about my plans.” Rachel paused and twisted her lips. “I don’t know. I’m at Hickstrom’s mercy. But I hope I can convince her that I’m not her girl so I can get back to my store. I have a great assistant, but I think she’s going to have to call the police about my disappearance at some point.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t do anything to cover myself when I managed to return to the nineteenth century,” Mary said. “I’m probably on a missing person list of some sort.”
“Return to the nineteenth century?” Rachel asked. “Did you go back home and then return?”
“I did. When I didn’t know what I wanted, when I couldn’t have what I wanted, that is.” Mary shot her husband an affectionate glance. “I asked Hickstrom to send me home, and she did. But no sooner did I vanish than I knew it was a mistake, that I wanted to be here. Imagine trying to find the book of fairy tales again! Fortunately, Hickstrom had sent me back a few days into the past, and I was able to find the book at the same garage sale.”
“So she will send someone back!” Rachel exclaimed.
“If she believes you really want to go back. Just be sure though. There are no guarantees that you can return.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rachel said suddenly. “You have been so nice to me, and all I do is whine about returning. But it’s the not having a choice that is frightening. If I had a choice, I could think about this differently. Well, no, that’s not entirely true. I have no intention of trying to make that poor man fall in love with me! I wouldn’t even know how to begin!”
“What poor man?” Roger asked, his voice surprisingly strident. He scanned the faces in the room. “To whom does she refer?”
St. John laughed, and Mary smiled. Rachel was startled to see the alarm on Roger’s normally congenial expression.
“Relax, Roger!” Rachel protested. “I’m not sure if I should take that as an insult or not! It’s not you! Hickstrom didn’t send me back here for you. I hear you’re a confirmed bachelor.”
Rachel regretted her last words. They seemed unnecessarily cruel.
“Yes, I am,” Roger said. “Marriage is not in my plans. I apologize at the vehemence of my response.”
“It is true, Roger. You are not the object of Miss Hickstrom’s latest ministrations,” St. John said, still chuckling. “Though I would not mind if she were to turn her attentions to you.”
“Please, your lordship! Do not jest about such things!” Roger’s face blanched, renewing St. John’s amusement.
“It’s Halwell,” Rachel finally confessed, appalled at the misery on Roger’s face. She wanted to run to a mirror to assure herself that she wasn’t the most hideous woman ever to walk the earth. To witness Roger’s horrified expression was to think so.
“The viscount?” Roger asked, glancing at St. John and Mary.
“Yes, the poor besotted, lovesick Viscount Halwell,” St. John said dryly.
“St. John,” Mary chided softly.
“Forgive me, my dear. The passage of time would benefit my outlook greatly.”
Roger glanced at Rachel and fell silent. Rachel put a hand to her burning cheeks.
St. John changed the conversation to more mundane matters involving the estate, and they finished eating without further discussion of lovelorn viscounts.
They returned to the drawing room for tea. Mary convinced St. John to read from a volume of Shakespeare’s comedies, and the evening ended with smiles all around. Roger departed, and Mary escorted Rachel back to her room. In Rachel’s absence, Sarah had laid out a lovely white cotton nightgown.
“I hope that’s comfortable,” Mary said. “The room feels warm enough to me, but I don’t know about you. Will you need a fire? I don’t really know how to light one yet, but I can get one of the maids to light it for you. I think they have bedpans they can heat up as well.”
“No, this feels fine,” Rachel said.
“Do you need help undressing? Do your stays lace in the back or the front? I can have one of the maids come back and help you with them, or I can do it myself. No problem.”
“No, it’s a simple dress, just the strings at the neckline. I’m not wearing stays though.”
“You’re not?” Mary eyed Rachel’s figure. “Well, good for you! If you can get away with not wearing them, that would be great!”
“Do you?” Rachel eyed Mary. “You don’t look like you are.”
Mary looked down at her dress. “Yes, I do. Otherwise, I’m just flopping all over the place in this dress. Without a bra, I just...” She paused, her cheeks bright with color. “I never thought I’d say this, honestly! But I need the support. Your figure is a little more slender than mine.”
“Are they comfortable?”
“They’re all right. I’ve gotten used to mine. Makes me sit up straight anyway!”
Rachel nodded.
“Okay, well, I’ll come back in the morning with some dresses, underthings, stays if you want to try them, slippers. You can keep wearing your athletic shoes if you want, but someone is going to notice eventually and ask you about the material.”
“That’s fine. I can wear other shoes.”
“Do you need anything else before I go?”
Rachel’s immediate thought was to say “a one-way ticket home,” but she knew how cruel that would sound.
“Is that...” She nodded toward a door that appeared no larger than a closet.
“Yes, have you used one yet?” Mary asked, scrunching her nose. “If there is one thing I hate about this time...”
“Yes, they have the same thing at Alton House, so I’m all set!”
“Okay, good night!” Mary said.
“Good night, Mary.”
Mary hesitated before turning for the door. “Everything is going to be all right, Rachel. I just know it.” She leaned in and gave Rachel a hug.
“I believe you,” Rachel said. “Night.”
Mary left, and Rachel undressed, used the commode, washed her face and hands and slipped into her nightdress. She crawled under the thick covers of the surprisingly soft bed and stared at the window, wondering what Halwell was doing. Was he sleeping? Awake? Angry with her? Hurt? Pining for Mary?
She couldn’t have known that Halwell pined indeed, but it wasn’t for Mary.