Cora

The next day was completely unplanned for much of the time. This gave the newly forming couples an opportunity to take a walk, go shopping, or be otherwise engage in courting. May and Cora opted for sewing and reading in the morning room with Bethany until their—dates?—arrived.

At precisely one o’clock, the door to the morning room swung open, and the Cottrell’s butler announced, “Lord Saalfeld and Mr. McElroy to visit, my lady.”

Cora noticed May quickly dabbed her eyes and then stood.

“Might we collect the young ladies?” Mr. McElroy asked, bowing over Lady Cottrell’s hand.

“Of course. We’ve been expecting you.” Mrs. Cottrell looked toward May and Cora. “Have a lovely drive, girls.”

After the ladies tied on their bonnets, both couples descended the front steps toward a lovely black phaeton just outside. Cora couldn’t help but think that it looked a lot like a pram.

Lord Saalfeld sat beside May in the forward-facing seat while Mr. McElroy sat next to Cora on the aft-facing cushions. The open carriage allowed the sun to warm her arms. Cora considered that the weather in England was quite unlike the blue skies she grew up with in Texas. Days like today with clear and sunny skies were to be treasured here.

“You’ve certainly arranged a perfect day for a ride,” Cora said.

Mr. McElroy swallowed deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously up and down against the top of his necktie. “Well, we did our best. Aye, Saalfeld?”

Lord Saalfeld, however, wasn’t listening—his attention wholly on May. Cora watched with some surprise to see him extend himself at all. The bored lord persona was gone, and he looked—besotted. He turned toward May and spoke so low that Cora couldn’t hear the words. But by the smile May was failing to suppress, the pink glow to her cheeks, and the flirty glances she gave him, it appeared that May was enjoying the attention.

       Cora turned to Mr. McElroy. “I guess we’re on our own.”

       His face visibly paled. “The … um … property on our left belongs to my great-uncle. Um … when he … I mean, should he die … I stand to inherit. There are no other heirs.”

       “That’s wonderful. What will you do with the property?” Cora asked, wanting to keep the conversation going to allow May a small amount of privacy.

       “My uncle has begun my training. I suppose I will continue to do what he has done.”

       “Oh, and what is that?”

       “His investments are in the manufacturing of cotton fabrics.” Mr. McElroy glanced at Cora. She thought she saw fear in his eyes. “Our money is based in trade.” His voice sounded a little shaky when he added, “I hope that doesn’t offend you.”

Oh, goodness. It’s like he’s at a job interview. I don’t need to hear his resume like it’s an application for a marriage contract. Cora answered, “No, it doesn’t. I’m American—capitalism might be our national religion. I’d like to hear more about textiles.”

For the next thirty minutes, Mr. McElroy talked nonstop with growing confidence.

“The growth of the textile industry, particularly cotton production in the southern states of the colonies, has changed the potential of the industry … Or their factories in the north of England show particularly promise for long growth rewards … The power looms have greatly increased profits for … The economical cost of importing cotton from America is dependent on low labor costs, thus making it feasible to make the cloth we ship abroad … Not really the sort of think I’d expect you to worry your pretty head about.”

Cora strained to remain polite and silent. Did he not stop to think that his industry had long supported and exploited slave labor? She bit her tongue and reminded herself that this was a different time. And they were already on their way back to May’s house. It wouldn’t be long now.

As they neared the home, she said, “It sounds like a complex business interest for sure. England must have figured out a way to minimize the dangerous working conditions, child labor abuses, and even the appalling poverty of the workers receiving low wages for the long hours they work. Maybe next time, you can tell me about your solutions. America hasn’t figured that out yet. By the way, you are financially incentivizing slavery.”

Mr. McElroy’s mouth dropped open and shut several times. Perhaps he hadn’t knowledge of that, or it could be he saw nothing wrong with it. Maybe he believed a woman should not know about or speak of it. Whichever, he was out of the running for this bachelorette.

       From the corner of her eye, Cora noticed that the whispered conversation just across from her had gone silent but not because they were paying attention to her. The couple’s heads leaned slightly toward each other until the phaeton rumbled to a stop. When they said their goodbyes, Lord Saalfeld bowed deeply, and May’s curtsy matched it. Cora wondered at the full story they were hiding that made something as mundane as a bow sizzle between them.

The ladies entered May’s house, and the gentlemen left. Cora wondered if it would be an intrusion to ask May about the tears she’d been blotting that morning. On one hand, May hadn’t offered to confide in her. On the other hand, Cora considered her a dear friend.

“I noticed you were sad before we left this morning. Is there anything I can do?” Cora asked as the women ascended the stairs.

May shook her head but said, “Just before you arrived, I’d taken a ‘vacation.’ That’s what I tell Saalfeld whenever I go to my other century. I miss him. He misses me. I can’t give an explanation of what I’m doing, but he wants one. It’s the same every time.” May sighed. “I don’t always come back out in society the exact night I return because there’s a change in me for the time I’ve spent away, so I skip a month. He would notice if I were suddenly tanned or my hair were sun-bleached.” May stopped in the hallway outside Cora’s door. “I was thinking about it and about him. I was pretty emotional right then. I’m okay now. It was a very good day.”

Cora hugged her friend before she went into her room to change. She knew there was a lot more to that story, but she hoped May sensed her support and concern for her.

       The following morning after a cup of bitter chocolate—the taste was growing on her—and dry toast, she dressed for the day and made her way to the music room to practice. The dozen or so ladies still staying at the Cottrell’s had been bundled off to do some shopping, but Cora had awoken with a headache and begged off the trip. Of course her decision to play the piano for Simon had caused the headache in the first place. She kept telling herself, “Just Simon, not an audience,” but butterflies continued rioting in her stomach.

She spent an hour playing songs from heart before she committed to choosing one that was perfect for her private concert.

       Simon had attended events with music before, and Cora noticed him straining to hear the instruments. He often turned his right ear toward sounds but still had a look of irritation on his face. To anyone else, he might have just looked nervous, displeased, bored, or as if he were fidgeting. But she knew it must be frustrating for him to sit and only hear some of the notes. At balls, he strategically positioned himself near the musicians to be able to dance. He even admitted to her that he used to enjoy music, meaning he no longer did—but maybe he could again.

She had experienced it in a college class. The students inserted noise-cancelling plugs in their ears, then used conduction through their jawbones to hear. In the experiment, she held a stick between her teeth and then pressed the other end of the rod to the soundboard of a piano, much like Beethoven did. The music was softer but surprisingly sweet as it vibrated through her jawbone and into her ear.

       This could work. She didn’t want to subject Simon to another musical failure, but if it was possible …

Cora paced in the music room on shaky legs, back and forth across the red carpet—her performance anxiety in full swing. She found she couldn’t ignore the irrational thoughts plaguing her. What if she missed the notes? What if he hated it? What if he couldn’t hear it, and she failed him? Her mouth felt dry even as her body felt sweaty. She had to get a grip to make it through this.

She closed her eyes and chanted internally, “He’s not coming here to judge me. It isn’t helpful for me to judge myself a failure before I even start.” She took a cleansing breath between each repetition of the phrases. She could feel the squirmy feeling in her stomach easing. It was going to be all right. Or not.

Maybe if she worried about something else, it would help. Was this the right thing to do? In her own century, there would've been no decision to make. She would have simply invited Simon to come sit beside her at the piano. But in this century, what she was proposing would be a clandestine meeting. Under the best of circumstances, if they were caught, she would be asked to leave the house and no longer be a guest. Under the worst circumstances, she would be expected to marry Simon quickly.

She had decided it was worth the risk. If he could have music back in his life, she would do it.

       An hour later, at her request, Everett and Simon entered the music room.

       “I have a special request of each of you. Simon, I’ve prepared a private concert for you. And Everett, I wondered if you would guard the door. Although everyone seems to have gone shopping, I’d feel better knowing that no one will disrupt us.”

       Cora would have laughed out loud at their expressions—Simon’s full of curiosity and a bit of fear, and Everett’s of surprise quickly turning to mischief—had she not been so nervous that butterflies were rioting in her stomach.

       Everett was the first to recover from the odd request and saluted Cora then left, shutting the door behind him. Simon stood, rooted to his spot. It wasn’t often that Everett left Simon to make his own way, and Simon looked a little unsure about what to do.

       “Will you join me?” Cora asked, then turned back toward the piano, staring at the landscape of white and black keys that seemed to sway. She wouldn’t let this stop her. She looked straight into Simon’s eyes and motioned for him to sit beside her. With a huge grin, he sat to her left as if he would be turning pages. That was exactly what she needed. His expression hinted that he accepted her and trusted her. She could do this.

“I chose this piece because it uses so much of the keyboard. I thought you could tell me which parts you most enjoy and which parts are hard to hear.”

       Simon nodded curtly, obviously still uncomfortable with someone knowing his secret. Cora had hoped that he was confident enough in her to know she had considered this before extending the invitation. He was still sitting on the bench so that was something.

Cora’s left hand hovered above the ivories with her right above the ebonies. There was no easing into this piece—she would strike the keys quickly again and again with triplets on her right and a staccato beat with her left. She’d been this nervous to perform a piece of music before—many times before—and pushed the feeling down. The opening notes rang through the room, and she saw Simon's head gradually lean forward. He also turned his head slightly away from her, his right ear toward the keyboard.

The notes at the beginning played along the higher register. The rhythmic, almost prancing cadence of the left hand was much lower, especially toward the end of the short piece.

She noticed Simon lean forward more as the song continued until his forehead was nearly to the backboard, his eyes closed in concentration. When she finished the piece, she turned to him. Leaning close, she asked, “What could you hear?”

Simon motioned to the notes left of middle C. “These I hear clearly.” He motioned to the middle of the keyboard. “These are muted.” And when he pointed to the farthest right, the highest notes, he said, “I don't believe … I can’t … I … barely hear those … at all.” His eyes closed again, this time in resignation.

Cora recognized the longing in his voice, the desire to hear what once was his and was now denied him. She reached up to touch his cheek. His eyes snapped open, and his hand covered hers.

“Simon, I have a challenge for you.” She stood from the bench, her hand slipping from his, and walked to a simple oak chair near the window and lifted it. Immediately, Simon was next to her, taking the chair into his hands. “Please set the chair next to the piano.” She walked back and pointed to the floor. She hoped she didn’t sound as wooden as she felt. Combining her fear to perform with playing for someone she cared for deeply made her stiff. “Here. This chair is for you.” After Simon sat, Cora asked, “May I position your head?”

He nodded, and Cora, placing one hand on each side of his face, guided it to lean against the piano case. His eyes widened, but he allowed her to move him to the location she’d determined.

She liked the feel of his skin under hers. “Please rest your jaw here.” She tapped one finger against the piano case. “The soundboard connects here and amplifies the vibration.” She had one hand still on his face, reluctant to move it. This alone calmed her.

When she stepped back toward the bench, Simon raised his head. Cora commented, “I’d like to play the song again, but you have to promise that your jaw will not leave the casing until I’m finished.”

“I agree,” he answered, but there was questioning in his eyes. And his jaw had already left the wood.

“Please … ” Cora’s finger motioned him to place his jaw back against the case. “I hope you’ll be able to hear the higher notes better.”

The moment she began the fluttering melody of Chopin’s “Black Key Etude,” Simon's eyes widened with a bit of a startle, but she kept playing, and he stayed rigidly in position with an ever-widening smile on his face.

Deep emotions of excitement and gratitude swelled in her chest—it was working. When his eyes closed, she knew this was a profound experience for him. Near the end, one tear escaped his eye and rolled past his cheek before he swiped it away.

Cora’s hands rested on the keys as the final notes faded. Her consciousness slowly expanded beyond the meter and notes, beyond the vibration that had engulfed her. The world that had faded behind the melody and beyond where she sat with Simon became sharper and real again. Had he felt it? How music lifts you to another place?

A complete minute of silence passed between them. Cora could see Simon taking a deep breath and wondered if he needed a moment to collect his emotions. His voice was soft and somewhat broken when he asked, “Would you play it again—once more?”

Cora welcomed the chance to weave a cocoon around them. She leaned across the corner of the keyboard and laid her hand on top of Simon’s. “I will play it for you as many times as you wish.” She could barely whisper as her voice cracked on the simple words too.

Simon resettled against the piano as the opening notes rang out. After it was completed, Cora played another piece she knew by heart and watched the joy apparent on Simon’s face, the unshed tears in his eyes. She would not have been able to see the music sheets since her own eyes were also filling with tears. She didn’t want to stop, so she pulled music in front of her, wiped the tears away, and played three more songs.

When the last vibration ended Simon’s gaze moved to hers. He stood from his chair, and Cora stood from the bench. A smile creased Simon's face. “I have never had such a gift. Thank you, Cora.”

It seemed the right thing to do—Cora’s arms ached to hold him and share the happiness they both felt. She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around him. His arms likewise circled her. Her cheek pressed to his chest, and she felt his arms tighten.

Her hands were beneath his coat and pressing against his back. His pulse raced under her cheek. One of his arms held her closely while his other hand lightly caressed the side of her face, her ear, her neck.

“Cora,” he whispered.

Her body reacted to the one word with a blast of tingles. She found it difficult to breathe, not because of his hold but because of his touch. She had only imagined how it would feel, and now, the reality of it was like a dream.

When she looked at him, he placed one finger beneath her chin, lifting it slowly. His lips touched hers, not yet a kiss, just a touch, but she wanted more. She sighed. Her hands slipped around his neck, and he lifted her closer as she rose to her tiptoes to press her mouth firmly against his and threw herself into kissing him. His obvious passion matched her own. They kissed until they were both breathing heavily and looking flushed.

Simon leaned away and looked into Cora’s face. A smile grew. He pulled her in for a hug, giving her comfort and acceptance.

Cora relaxed in his arms and realized that the phobia of playing for someone was completely absent after the beginning moments of this recital. Choosing to give music to another person must counteract the phobia—that or the recent lip therapy completely erased any memory of it.

The door to the music room flew open. “Who was playing—ack! Your Grace?” Lady Radnor’s smile soured as she stood in the doorway, gaping at Simon and Cora, who both jumped back immediately. “Misalliance, that’s what this is. Oh, the shame. You were—”

Cora cut her off before she could finish. “You must be mistaken. I was simply leaving.” She nodded to Simon and brushed past Lady Radnor as she left.

Everett was jogging toward her with a scone in his hand before she reached the staircase. “I only left the door for a minute.”

All she said in passing was, “Nothing happened.” She continued up the stairs to her room and closed the door behind her, then sat heavily on the side of the bed. Had she changed his life? Damaged his reputation?

Cora debated missing afternoon tea but knew her absence would be akin to an admission of guilt or a license to gossip. At the appointed hour, she put on a smile and walked into the parlor. May greeted her at the door and led her to a seat to the right of her mother.

“How was your day, Cora?” Lady Cottrell asked, handing her a teacup.

“I practiced piano for most of the time, so it was wonderful.” Cora noticed Bethany’s eyes sparkle with curiosity at the reply. Instead of questioning her, Lady Cottrell nodded and nibbled on the cookie in her hand.

Cora heard Lady Radnor harrumph. Maybe she was hoping for public humiliation or at least an interrogation. Cora continued the dull conversation she had witnessed so often at these teas.

When everyone left to prepare for the evening, Cora hung back and approached Bethany and May. “I need to let you know what happened this afternoon.”

“I heard a bit from my lady’s maid, but I’d love to hear the whole story,” Bethany said as she closed the door.

The women sat together on the large davenport by the windows, and Cora told them about the private concert and the moment Lady Radnor entered. “I’m sorry if this causes problems. Will this reflect poorly on Simon or either of you?”

“No. Our status is above such a thing causing any social bruise. It might for you if you cared about society’s censure,” Bethany assured her.

A knock on the door ended the conversation. “Mr. Everett Hawley, my lady,” the butler announced.

Everett entered and greeted the women. “I know I’m interrupting, but I have a question for Cora.”

Lady Cottrell began walking toward the door. “I’ve promised to find Lord Cottrell.”

“Would you care to take a walk?” he asked Cora and May.

Both women rose and followed him.

Everett, Cora, and May walked down the stairs to the gravel drive surrounding the park in front of the house. Along the tree line was a bench where the three sat.

Everett lowered his voice. “I was hoping to talk with you about what happened earlier—with Simon.”

Cora nodded slowly. This was an odd request, and she didn’t understand why Everett would make it. Perhaps it wasn’t, though. Everett was Simon’s wingman. He’d made a commitment to protect his friend, and he was continuing that duty. “And?” she asked.

He looked down at his hands and folded them in front of him. “And I need to be assured that your waltz before the midnight supper wouldn’t be available for Simon.” He looked her in the eye. “May I request the supper dance?”

He was an amazing friend. It was true that Cora had no use for the rules of this time period. In her mind, it was impossible for her to be ruined. Everett was acting to preserve Simon’s reputation—not to be labeled as someone who would ruin a woman or use her badly. A soft understanding glanced through her thoughts.

She yearned to spare Simon any humiliation from society as well. She nodded in acceptance. “What do you suggest I do?”

Everett squared his shoulders. “If you would accept only one dance from Simon, and preferably a country dance, it would go a long way to silencing the rumors Lady Radnor is whispering about.”

“Of course.” Cora stood and was followed by May and Everett. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to this evening.”

May linked her arm with Cora’s. “We should leave to get ready.”

Having been bathed, dressed, coiffed, and dressed some more, Cora was pronounced acceptable to be seen by genteel company after the two-hour ordeal.

The ball was the final day of Lord and Lady Cottrell’s house party, and the guests would go their separate ways tomorrow. Cora and May had accepted the invitation to travel to Everett’s home for a week before returning to Aunt Nellie’s. A little bundle of sadness settled into Cora’s chest. She knew it wasn’t waiting to go back to her own time that caused the sorrow but because she would be leaving—Simon specifically. She wanted to make the most of the time she had left. She would only give him one dance as she’d promised Everett, but she could spend time with him without dancing.

The ball began shortly after a dinner with the houseguests. That had been two hours ago, and Cora had yet to see Simon. More people arrived every minute, none of them Simon. Wetheridge had already claimed one dance from May and Cora, but continued to hover around them. Most of the other men Cora had met during her stay had already danced with her as well. May continued to introduce Cora to new gentlemen as they arrived. They filled her dance card, leaving her with no time to stand along the wall. She had little time to miss Simon, but she did.

A waltz began playing signaling the midnight supper was next. Wetheridge appeared in front of Cora, and extended his hand confidently, “May I have this dance?”

“No … ” was all she was able to say before Everett appeared with his arm extended. “I believe this is my dance, Miss Rey,” he said, and then turned toward Wetheridge. “Sorry, cousin.”

Cora accepted Everett’s arm, leaving Wetheridge red-faced. She saw Simon out of the corner of her vision escorting Lucy to the dance floor. A quick thrill shot through her. Evening clothes accentuated every feature of the man, heightening her appreciation. He didn’t dress in extreme fashions or colors, but his traditional masculinity radiated from him like a pheromone.

“From the look on your face, I suppose you’ve noticed Simon’s arrival.” Everett turned her into dance position as the music started. As he leaned into the first step he said, “His mother and sisters stopped by on their way back from Bath to London and decided at the last minute to attend this ball.”

“His family is here?” Cora’s head swung to look around the room, but she realized she wouldn’t recognize them anyway. “Who are they?”

Everett turned her and replied. “Over my left shoulder. The older woman in green is the dowager duchess of Hertfordshire. Simon’s sisters are on either side of her.

“I had no idea they were coming. Simon didn’t say a thing.”

“He had no idea, either, until he received a note from his mother accusing him of accosting an American and shaming his family.” Everett leaned back and looked in Cora’s eyes. “He asked me to tell you that he will only offer you one dance this evening. Simon is in a tough spot and doesn’t want you to be as well.”

“I’m so sorry.” Then Cora quickly added, “Not for the private recital but for not realizing the full impact the situation would have on him.”

“I know Simon doesn’t regret the concert or your company.” Everett had taken a breath as if he had more to say, but instead, his mouth snapped shut and his eyes swept away from her.

“What are you not telling me?”

Everett seemed to debate momentarily and then spoke carefully. “Simon had a childhood that left him vulnerable. He was treated with indifference, if he was noticed at all. Most times when we took a break from school, he would come to my home instead of his own, and his parents preferred that.”

Cora remembered the lonely tone on occasions when Simon wrote or spoke about his family.

“He has a tender heart, though. They couldn’t take that from him. For all he’s been through, he guards it and rarely reveals it.” Everett deftly sidestepped another couple on the floor. “You, however, have pierced his armor. It’s as if he can’t hide himself from you.”

Cora vacillated between hope and despair at what she was hearing. She had only hoped that if she were ever to marry, it would be to someone who loved her as wholly as her parents had loved each other. That same hope was tarnished with a thick edge of gloom. Simon lived in a different century, literally dying before she was born. Her heart twisted, and she had to blink back tears that crested around her lids.

The song was nearly over. As the closing notes rang out, Everett gave a small bow and motioned them to move toward the supper prepared in the grand salon next door. He cleared his throat from strong emotion.

Cora was so glad Simon had such a friend.

He continued his tale. “Simon has never let himself dream that he could be loved for himself or have an affectionate wife and family of his own. He doesn’t think himself worthy. He hoped that his wealth or title would attract a woman who would help him fulfill his duty and not cuckold him before giving him an heir. You said that you came here to find a husband. If love is your aim for a marriage partner, I’ll give my blessing to your union with Simon should it come to that. If a love match isn’t something you can give him, please don’t include him in your hunt.”

His blunt words seemed to bounce around in Cora’s chest and soured her stomach. She would be gone in a couple of weeks. The closer she became to Simon, the more the separation would hurt them both. “Thank you, Everett.” Cora could barely push the words past the lump in her throat. “I understand.”

After seating Cora, Everett left to retrieve plates for them. She sat, head bent in contemplation. Did she see love in Simon? She had to admit that there were tailings of love sprinkled all through their interactions. Cora admired his determination to move forward in his life though she thought it might take incredible force and courage. She appreciated his intelligence and his loyalty. If it wasn’t love yet, it could easily become so.

Simon seated Lucy in the chair next to where Everett would be, making Simon three seats to the right of Cora. May took a seat near Cora before Lord Saalfeld left with Simon.

“Are you all right?” May leaned across the chair between them and pressed her hand to Cora’s shoulder. “Sorry, but you look terrible.”

“It’s nothing a little rest won’t cure.” Cora forced a weak smile. She noticed May looking at her, then at Simon and back again. “We’ll talk later,” Cora added.

The other gentlemen arrived with dinner plates, allowing Cora to turn her attention elsewhere. She wasn’t hungry. She pushed the food around her plate to approximate eating and was happy that she wasn’t required to hold a conversation. Everett had turned to Lucy, and May conversed with Lord Saalfeld. She didn’t see any movement from where Simon sat, but she didn’t really look that way, either.

At the end of the meal, Cora looked at May, who mouthed the word “Surprise,” as Lord Saalfeld lifted his glass toward Cora and spoke to those seated at the table. “Miss Cottrell tells me it is Miss Rey’s birthday.” The other guests raised their glasses as well. “To your health,” he said, tipping his glass toward her, followed by the same wish from the others around the table.

Except from Simon. Cora’s ears were attuned to his voice, a clear timbre through the muffled words around her. “To your happiness.”

“Thank you for the wishes.” Simon’s toast wasn’t so easy to dismiss. It made her wonder what would cause her happiness. She believed happiness was a choice. She’d had some big disappointments and sorrows in her life, and she chose to look for the good that came from them. Although her parents were taken from her too early, her mother much too early, she had memories and gifts from each of them that gave her joy.

Her mother had given Cora her face. Each day when she looked in the mirror, she could remember what her mother looked like. She had also given her the gift of books and the love of reading. Her father had given her music and an appreciation for learning and teaching. Much of the pleasure in her life came directly from them.

What of Simon? Just being around him or planning something special to do for him filled her with exhilaration that she’d never before experienced and that she felt she could never get enough of—it whispered of happily ever after.

When the dinner was finished, the guests began moving back to the ballroom.

Cora stepped up beside May and hugged her friend. “Thank you for wanting to lift my spirits, but it isn’t my birthday for several months.”

May replied, “That’s what made it a surprise. I thought you could use a little lift tonight.”

The two women walked arm in arm to the open doors near the terrace. “You don’t need to stay with me. Go enjoy your party.” Then with a wink, she added, “and Lord Saalfeld.”

“He’ll be playing cards for a while. It gives me a chance to ‘hang with you’ as my mother would say.” A cool breeze floated through the doors. Before May could say another word, a gentleman bowed toward her.

“Might I have this dance?”

Though her answer was slow, May accepted and was led into the dancing crowd.

Cora turned to look outside but heard, “Miss Rey, would you care to dance?” Wetheridge again stood before Cora.

It was just another piece of evidence that she would never make it as the star of a bachelorette series. She wasn’t interested in leading men on when she had no interest in their attention. Before answering, she looked around to make sure there was no one who would overhear. “No. It would be untruthful to show you any partiality. I wouldn’t want to give you or the guests here the wrong impression that I favor a suit from you. I don’t. Please don’t ask again.”

Wetheridge’s jaw clenched, and fire seemed to light his eyes. Without a word, he spun on his heel and exited through the open doors onto the veranda.

Cora fixed her gaze on the dancers before her, but directly across the room was Simon, his gaze on her. He stood next to his mother and one sister. He whispered something to his mom and stepped to leave them, his eyes never wavering from her own.

Her reasoning warred with her emotions. She wanted desperately to dance with him. She craved the riot of pleasure just to be held in his arms, to earn a word or a smile. Equally as much, though, she didn’t know what she really wanted. One dance wouldn’t hurt. No, in fact, it would be just the opposite—enough pleasure to muddle my judgment. She turned away from his gaze. Nothing should be determined at two in the morning anyway. I don’t even know what I need to consider. Until she did, she’d be more cautious.

Simon continued to move around the crowded edges, greeting a few people in passing.

Cora decided not to decide but instead determined the evening was at an end—for her. She walked as quickly as she could to the staircase and ascended. From the top, she glanced back and saw Simon standing several feet away from the bottom stair.

After Cora retreated to her room and changed into a nightrail, the window seat called to her more strongly than the quilt-topped bed. There was too much to think about to sleep. Crossing the room, she saw a letter sitting on the little desk by the door. She knew it must be from Simon. Could she face it now? She’d practically run from him moments ago. It must have been written and delivered for her to find upon returning from the ball. She picked it up and held it in front of her, deciding not to open it yet. She slid onto the bench under the window and gazed out.

Though there were thousands more visible stars in the sky, she marveled that the same constellations moved across this century in the same nightly dance. The waxing moon burned a bright hole through the black satin of the western sky. Her window faced the rear of the house, overlooking the rose garden. It’s the same and yet very different here.

Her mind knew what she should do, but her heart was confused. It was practical to return to her time and her work. Her chest squeezed painfully at leaving Simon behind. She’d never been so romantic as to believe that there was a one-and-only person to fall in love with. This situation was evidence to prove that. If she’d never transported back in time, she would have never met Simon, and her one chance at love would have been sequestered behind the folds of centuries past.

The letter in her hand now was part of the injustice. Cora fanned it back and forth. Nothing it held could be important to her. She pressed it to her lap and smoothed her hands over the top. She wouldn’t be here much longer. The thought made her eyes misty.

How could the universe play a trick like that on either of them? Cora shook her head. She couldn’t blame her meandering thoughts on logic. Still, her heart beat out an argument to it. What if there were a one and only, and this was how they were to meet? What if the contents of this letter helped her understand and make a decision?

She wondered if she would even fit into Simon’s world. Her logic jumped on that topic and rattled off unique experiences that seemed to fit. She grew up in a rural area with only her father for company most days, and her interests were vastly different than other girls she went to school with—played several instruments, rode horses competitively, hunted with her dad. Okay. There were a few things that definitely fit in this century.

The letter, weighing nearly nothing, rested heavily on her knee. She reached for it, knowing it was too late to believe that Simon was just a friend or a vacation fling. His words, his thoughts were important to her because he was. It was too late for her not to get her heart broken when she left but maybe not too late for him.

Cora slid her finger beneath the wafer of wax and broke the seal.

Dear Cora,

Everett, at my request, has conveyed to you about the untimely arrival and lingering of my family as a result of a few scandalous rumors, which I promise will not touch you.

With deep regard,

Simon

P.S. You must know I wouldn’t risk your reputation even for my own selfish desire to be with you this evening. I will only offer you one dance. Of course, when you read this, the evening will be at an end, but I want you to know the treasure your company is to me—the relief you offer me of being myself, to put away pretense. I dare to hope that I offer you some degree of pleasure in return. Please do not consider my inattention a lack of favor, for it is the contrary that drove my motivation tonight.

Cora blinked back tears before they could fall and leaned her head against the wall. She’d muddled this up well and good.