Chapter Nine
As the carriage moved away, Rachel looked out the window at Halwell standing on the front steps. His mother had remained behind in the house, and he stood alone, his hands clasped behind his back. His entire posture, from the slumped shoulders to the restricted hands, exuded an aura of loneliness or dejection, unhappiness certainly, and a knot formed in Rachel’s throat. She suspected the sight of Mary might have sent him into a tailspin of reminded loss.
“What did he say?” Mary asked.
“I’m not sure,” Rachel said. She didn’t want to repeat his words, if she had even heard him accurately. For some reason, she felt guilt, as if she should have stayed. But Halwell was in love with Mary...still. It really wouldn’t have troubled him too much if Rachel left. She didn’t think so, at any rate.
“I take it Miss Lee is then a product of Miss Hickstrom’s machinations once again,” St. John asked with a smile, the first Rachel had seen on his face.
The gesture lightened his face, giving it a warmth she hadn’t known he possessed. His eyes softened when he looked at his wife. They were very clearly in love.
“Yes, she is. The fairy godmother struck again.”
“And what does Miss Hickstrom want from Miss Lee?”
“She wants to help her find love.”
“I do not mean to presume, Miss Lee, and forgive my impertinence, but were you searching for such?”
Rachel almost laughed at the gravity of his words. His twinkling eyes belied his note.
“No, I wasn’t. I have a bookstore and a home. I’m a busy woman. I wasn’t looking for anything like that.”
“Miss Hickstrom has decided that Rachel and Halwell should fall in love.”
“Halwell!” St. John snapped. “Halwell?”
“Yes, Halwell,” Mary said, slipping her hand through her husband’s arm. “Don’t hold a grudge.”
“It is difficult not to. He certainly holds one.”
Mary sighed. “This isn’t about me. This is about Rachel and Halwell.”
“There is no ‘Rachel and Halwell,’” Rachel protested.
“Not according to Miss Hickstrom.”
“Did the fairy godmother curse someone this time?” St. John asked.
Rachel had no doubt he was not a fan of Miss Hickstrom’s, not if she imprisoned him in his castle for two years.
“Not exactly,” Mary said, “but according to her, Halwell will never fall in love and marry if he doesn’t fall in love with Rachel. He’ll be little more than his mother’s son forever.”
“His mother’s son,” St. John murmured. “It is not thought to be a bad thing to be a dutiful son, but I presume you mean he will always be under his mother’s thumb if he does not break free of her now...by pledging his heart to Miss Lee.”
“Well put, my dear! You are such a romantic!” Mary said teasingly.
Rachel watched them discussing her. She lifted her hand and waved.
“Ummm...hello? I’m right here!”
“I know!” Mary laughed. “I’m sorry. I told Rachel that she’ll have to work on Hickstrom to send her back if she truly doesn’t think she could fall in love with him.”
“Let us hope that Miss Hickstrom relents this time...for Miss Lee’s sake.”
“Rachel,” she said automatically.
St. John inclined his head regally. “Rachel.”
Rachel felt the horses stop.
“Hello there!” a man called. “Have you been for a drive at this late hour?”
A handsome man with blond hair and sideburns climbed up onto the carriage stairs, thrust his head into the window and blinked startled soft-blue eyes when he saw Rachel. He jumped back off the stairs.
“Forgive me, your lordship. I did not realize you had a guest,” he said from the road.
St. John laughed. “Miss Rachel Lee, this is my estate agent, Mr. Roger Phelps. Roger, Miss Lee will be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”
Roger, tall and slender, bowed.
“Miss Lee, a pleasure.”
“Hello, Mr. Phelps,” she said, feeling not at all threatened by the pleasant man.
“Please call me Roger. My father was Mr. Phelps, and none dared call him otherwise.”
St. John laughed again. “I remember very well! Do you join us for supper tonight, Roger?”
“I had planned to, but I think since you have a guest...” He looked uncertain.
“Miss Lee may be with us for some time, so if you wish to eat—and I know you enjoy your food—then you had better join us.”
St. John appeared to have a tart sense of humor. Rachel liked that about him.
“I would be happy to dine with you.”
“Good. Shall we take you up in the carriage?”
“No, I will lock the gate and walk down to the castle.” He pulled a pocket watch from his plain beige waistcoat. “Cook still has some time.”
“That she does,” St. John said.
The carriage drove on.
“Roger lives in the gatehouse just to the left of the gate as we entered,” Mary said. “You might have seen it as we passed. His father was estate agent before him, and now he is. He and St. John grew up together.”
“He seems very nice. Does his family live in the gatehouse with him? Or—wait. If he’s coming to dinner alone...”
“No, he’s not married,” Mary said. “I think he should be another of Hickstrom’s projects. He doesn’t get out much, doesn’t meet people and seems completely uninterested in getting married.”
“Like me.”
Mary grinned. “He does know about us though. He knows about Hickstrom, her curse on St. John, of course, and about me. We can safely tell him about you tonight.”
“Oh, no! Please don’t tell him that Hickstrom brought me back through time to marry some guy. How humiliating!”
“Well, to be honest, Roger would be embarrassed at that kind of discussion as well. He’s very nineteenth century that way. I’ve been working on St. John though.” Mary looked up at her husband with affection. “We’ll just tell Roger that Hickstrom brought you back through time. He won’t ask why, at least not in public. And St. John doesn’t have to tell him if you would rather he not.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Okay.”
“Of course, it must be as you wish, Rachel,” St. John replied more formally.
“Thank you,” she said. The carriage moved on down a wide lane, and Alvord Castle soon came into view. The gray stone castle loomed over the tallest trees in the surrounding parkland. Dominating the fanciful creation at the center was a square tower featuring four turrets topped by witches’ hats. Multiple additions must have been added over time, as the castle had that hodgepodge fantasy appearance to it. Rachel could almost imagine flags flying over the pointed witches’ hats theme-park style.
The carriage pulled up to the massive wooden double front doors, and several footmen came down a wide set of stone steps to open the carriage door. St. John descended first and helped Mary and then Rachel out of the carriage.
“Come on in,” Mary said, linking her hand into Rachel’s arm once again. “We’ll get you set up in a room, and then we can have dinner.”
She led Rachel into the house, where they were greeted by a tall, slender silver-haired woman in a lace cap and gray muslin dress. She curtsied as they entered the foyer. A footman moved about the foyer, lighting candles.
“Mrs. Green,” Mary said, “this is Miss Rachel Lee, a friend from America, and she is going to stay with us for a while. Rachel, this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Green.”
Mrs. Green curtsied again, and Rachel was just on her way to dipping into a responding curtsey when Mary tugged at her arm, keeping her upright. Of course, Rachel thought, Mrs. Green was the housekeeper. No curtseying to the servants. She didn’t care for the sound of her own thoughts though. Had she already become elitist? In the space of a carriage drive?
“I’m going to take Miss Lee up to the Rose Room, Mrs. Green. Mr. Phelps will join us for dinner as well.”
Mrs. Green nodded. “Very well, madam. I shall send a maid, Sarah, up with hot water. Will you take a candle with you? The room may be dark at this time of day.”
A footman rushed up with a candle in a saucer holder and gave it to Mary.
“Thank you.”
“I shall wash for dinner and await you in the drawing room then,” St. John said.
“See you in a bit!” Mary said, pulling Rachel up the ornate marble staircase to the floor above. She led her down a red-carpeted hall toward a door. Candle sconces lit the way.
“I know the castle probably seems overwhelming and maybe a little bit scary, but our room is just down the hall, if you ever need anything. Mrs. Green is a saint! I couldn’t manage without her. She took care of everything before I got here, and she still does.”
Mary opened the door and lifted her candle to shed light on the room. Upon entering, she moved about the room, lighting candles. Rachel followed her in and watched. Rose-patterned wallpaper enfolded the beautiful room in soft hues that were similarly reflected in the four-poster bed hangings, spread and furniture. A marble fireplace anchored one end of the room, opposite the bed. A blue and red carpet covered the floor, and mahogany furnishings finished the space.
“Mary! This is stunning!” Rachel breathed.
“Thank you,” Mary said, beaming. “This was the first room they put me in when I came to the castle. Not that I have much to do with the furnishings. They were already here, but I loved this room, and I hope you do too.”
“I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Well, I guess you could catalogue the library,” she said with a chuckle. “No, I’m kidding. Your dress is fine for dinner, but you’ll probably want some jammies, and I’ll need to get you some clothes. I think we’re about the same size, so you can wear some of my things till we can get a dressmaker to come to the castle to measure you.”
“Oh, you don’t need to go through all that, Mary. I can’t possibly be staying that long, especially now that I left Alton House.”
Mary grimaced. “It’s hard to tell with Hickstrom, Rachel. Let’s do it anyway. I need some dresses myself. We just got back from our honeymoon, and I didn’t have a whole lot of clothing before we went. St. John bought me a few things while we were gone.”
“That’s right! I should have remembered that! You’re a newlywed. There is no way you want a guest creeping around your castle when you just got married!” Rachel frowned. “I should have thought of that!”
“Pppfftt... Please. Of course you should stay here! Lady Georgianna wasn’t too happy to have you there, stealing her little boy, and I wasn’t about to leave you there! You know, what these people don’t get is that a woman owning her own shop in our time is a huge thing. It’s something to be proud of. But here in the nineteenth century, not only is it unheard of, it’s also considered less than... You know, the class system. That does drive me crazy here.”
“Though you are now in the upper class, the nobility, a countess.”
Mary chuckled. “Aim high, right?” She grinned. “I would have fallen in love with St. John if he’d been the gardener or the gatekeeper.”
“Like Roger Phelps? I did manage to see the gatehouse despite all the trees there. Cute little thing.”
“Little is the word, at least compared to this castle.”
A knock on the open door brought a small redheaded maid with a pitcher of steaming water. She curtsied when she saw the women and moved over to a dresser to fill the basin before setting the pitcher down. She pulled linen towels and soap out of the dresser drawer and laid them next to the basin.
“Will there be anything else, madam?” she asked with a curtsey.
Rachel refrained from attempting to curtsey with the maid.
“No, thank you, Sarah,” Mary said.
The maid left, and Mary followed her to the door. “I’ll let you wash up for now. I’ll come back and get you in about fifteen minutes for dinner. Luckily, being the lady of the house, dinner waits on me and my schedule.”
Rachel gasped.
“My clothes! My jeans and blouse! I left those at Alton House!”
“They’ll send them over. I still have my twenty-first century clothes too.” Mary nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Rachel washed her face and hands with the soap, similarly scented as that at Alton House, then she crossed over to a small dressing table and bent down to check her hair. As tidy as she could make it, she straightened and crossed over to the window. Her room faced the front drive, and she was just in time to see Roger Phelps walking toward the front door.
When the knock came on the door a few minutes later, Rachel was ready.
“Come in,” she called.
Mary entered, having changed into a lovely teal silk gown. She carried a length of ivory silk.
“Here,” she said, wrapping it around Rachel’s shoulders. “That will dress up your gown and ward off any chill you might feel. The castle can feel cold at times. You know, castles...”
“This is beautiful, Mary!” Rachel said, fingering the material of the shawl.
“It is, isn’t it? They have some really nice materials in the nineteenth century, that’s for sure. St. John bought that for me in Paris. Let’s go down and eat. St. John and Roger are in the drawing room, having a drink.”
Rachel followed Mary downstairs, feeling more relaxed than she had since her arrival to England, secure in the knowledge that at least two people knew she was a stranger to the nineteenth century. She remembered that the estate manager would probably be told who she was.
“Is St. John telling Roger about me now?”
Mary looked up at Rachel behind her on the stairs.
“Only that Hickstrom has been up to her antics again, not the specifics of who and why she thinks you or Halwell need her help.”
Mary continued. “St. John is in the drawing room. We usually gather in his study before dinner, but in your honor, he and Roger decided to up their game.”
“What? Not on my account!” Rachel said, half kidding, half serious. She really didn’t want anyone making a fuss of her, as if she were a willing guest.
“Well, St. John and I don’t really have a routine yet anyway. We got married very soon in a small ceremony after we fell in love and then went away for our honeymoon. The upcoming ball is our first major event...mine ever, and St. John’s in years and years, I think. We’re relying heavily on Mrs. Green to handle stuff. I wish I could consult with another lady like Lady Georgianna, but I think I won’t. Obviously!”
They crossed the foyer and entered another stunning room done in ivory and gold. Gold wallpaper and accents set off the ivory satin upholstery.
“Whoa!” Rachel breathed as they stepped in.
St. John and Roger, who had been sitting, set their drinks down and rose to bow. Rachel noted that they had both changed. St. John looked every inch the dashing aristocrat in black coattails, a silver waistcoat and black trousers. Roger also wore black, but with a dark-blue waistcoat. His clothing was simpler than St. John’s, probably as befitted a salaried working man.
“May I offer you a sherry?” St. John asked.
“No, thank you,” Rachel said. She’d never had sherry and wasn’t much for before-dinner drinks, or after-dinner drinks, for that matter. In fact, she hadn’t really gone anywhere that required drinks one way or the other.
“Shall we dine then?” St. John offered Mary his arm, and Rachel blushed when Roger offered his. She placed her hand on his arm and followed St. John and Mary out of the drawing room, down the hall and into a large dining room.
Rachel paused and stared at the massive gray stone vaulted room. An oak table that held at least thirty people ran half the length of the room. A stone fireplace flanked the opposite end. A settee in gold brocade upholstery and several matching chairs fronted the hearth. Gold-and-navy carpet covered that portion of the wood floor. Warm gold drapes framed myriad windows. What walls were windowless held framed portraits and landscapes.
“Is anything wrong, Miss Lee?” Roger asked, pausing with her.
“This room! It’s stunning.” Rachel kept using the word, but she couldn’t find one more apt.
“It is magnificent, is it not? The entire castle is. I am certain Lady St. John would be pleased to give you a tour at her leisure, Miss Lee.”
“Rachel,” she said automatically, stepping into the room with Roger.
“I am afraid it must be Miss Lee,” he said. “I am but the estate agent.”
“Oh! Well, in private? You can call me Rachel then.”
“No, Miss Lee. Not even then.”