Belmary House Book Six Read online

  “But you don’t feel any different?” she asked, disappointed. She could have used some reliable help. Owen was strong, but anything but reliable.

  He squeezed her arm impatiently. “Not like I’ve been struck by lightning or anything, nothing like that. But I feel calm.” He blushed. “Capable. Like when I’m out hunting and I know I won’t come home empty handed.”

  “Good. That’s good. All right. I’ll get started.”

  She smiled at him and he returned it warmly. She spread her herbs and confidently said the words, pricking her finger with the little knife from her bag. She leaned over and grabbed Owen’s hand, poking his finger before he knew what she was about to do. He barely squeaked and only sucked on his finger a little bit apprehensively.

  “It needs blood?” he asked.

  “All the good ones do,” she sighed. “Now hush and let me finish.”

  Moments later, the spot on the dusty floor boards where she’d sprinkled the herbs began to fade and swirl and she took a deep breath. Owen followed suit, either from nerves or because he thought he had to. It did feel a bit like being plunged into a pool of water and it was a habit of hers after doing the spell so many times. It wasn’t exactly pleasant but it was familiar.

  She knew they’d traveled when she heard a crash and opened her eyes to see Owen under a pile of boxes that had tumbled off a shelf that wasn’t there in their own time. She hurried to help him, but they were only full of linens so he wasn’t hurt, just befuddled. She realized this was the first time he’d gone through time since they were children.

  “Do you feel sick at all?” she asked, wiping some cobwebs off his shoulders.

  He shook his head and stood, hunched over even more since there were now baskets hanging from hooks on the ceiling. “I guess this room gets more use than they remember,” he groused.

  “I feel sick,” she admitted, holding her stomach.

  “From the spell?” He looked like he was ready to do something, and no matter how confident he felt with his newly bestowed powers from Lucy, she didn’t want him doing anything unless it was a real emergency.

  “No, from having to go look for my enraged father and possibly running into different versions of my parents that won’t even know me.”

  He nodded, relaxing somewhat. At least not ready to throw all manner of willy nilly healing spells her way. “My parents won’t even be married yet,” he said. “Nor will yours, actually. We need to stay well hidden. What if we mess something up for them?”

  “Please don’t,” she groaned, leaning over. “I can’t think about things like that.”

  “Sorry, but we need to be careful. What if we get the wrong Uncle Julian?”

  “If he grabs us and tries to throttle us, we’ll know we have the right one. And this is almost twenty years before when we came. The other one won’t look the same. And he’ll be wearing ridiculous clothes like you are now.” She was beginning to relax enough to make a joke at Owen’s expense and ruffled the lace cuffs hanging out of his richly adorned jacket sleeves.

  “They dressed like peacocks back then,” he said scornfully. She took him in, smiling broadly. He did look handsome, though. “Your gown is pretty, though. You do look like your mum.”

  She held out the heavy, pale green fabric, admiring the fine stitches. Her mother always took such care with everything she made. “She said this was the first gown she designed and helped to make when she first arrived in this time. This ball we’re going to see is where she thinks my father fell in love with her. But she said she was already in love with him. I’ve already heard stories like that, but it makes such a difference knowing she came from a different time. I don’t know why it should, but it does.”

  “I imagine she gave up a lot to be with him. My mum only had to move a few miles away to be with my dad and it seems like she was over here most of the time anyway. It’s odd she used to be friends with Lucy’s mum. Er, your aunt, I suppose.”

  No one spoke about her father’s twin sister. Ariana wondered if they’d ever get the whole story about that.

  “I’m wearing it because she hopes if my father sees me in it, he’ll remember what’s important and see reason,” she said, gently straightening some of the small, tidy ruffles. It was hopelessly out of style for her own liking, but it was a beautiful gown. “I think he should see reason when he sees I’m all right and tell him Nick didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Owen snorted. “He chickened out is more like. And the only thing your Da knows is that the scoundrel did kill you once. Or tried to.” He looked briefly confused but shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what really happened. Uncle Julian won’t want to leave anything to chance.”

  “What do we do if that’s the case?” She couldn’t let her father kill Nick. She didn’t think her family could recover from that.

  Owen didn’t look pleased and she suspected he secretly wanted Nick completely out of the picture. “If we have to, we’ll bash him over the head, truss him up, and take him back that way.” He snickered, then immediately sobered. “Let’s pray he sees reason.”

  “Let’s pray we’re not too late.” She gathered her courage and nodded toward the attic door. “I guess we’re stalling again. Let’s go see if there’s a party afoot and then look for him. I do hope mum’s right and this is when he came.”

  He took her hand and led the way down the spiral stairs, both of them keeping their heads low to avoid more cobwebs. As they got to the lower floors Ariana heard music drifting up from the direction of the big formal dining room that was used as a small ballroom whenever they had such parties at the Scotland estate.

  “Let’s go outside and look in from the terrace,” Owen suggested. “Less chance of us being seen.”

  It was a good idea so she followed. The somewhat stilted music got louder and she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone hit a wrong note on their violin, causing a painful squealing sound followed by a smattering of laughter from the revelers.

  “The village musicians were as bad back then as they are now,” she said, realizing they must have been the exact same musicians, just much younger. She knew them. In fact, she probably knew most of the people who were in there dancing, but they wouldn’t know her at all.

  Outside on the terrace they found a spot hidden behind an overgrown potted shrub where they could see inside.

  “There,” Owen said within seconds of getting settled in his spot. He pointed, his finger following a couple on the dance floor.

  Because it was dark outside and the ballroom was lit up spectacularly for the occasion, she could easily see inside. She was distracted by trying to pick out all the differences to the room she knew, trying to recognize the villagers’ younger selves. Finally, she settled on who Owen pointed at and gasped.

  Her mother and father. They danced almost scandalously close together and she could see how radiantly happy her mother looked. Her father looked somewhat befuddled, as if he really were falling in love right before her eyes. Her vision grew cloudy with tears but they were tears of happiness and wonder and she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

  “You could be twins,” Owen said.

  “She was so lovely,” Ariana said at the same moment, blushing at inadvertently giving herself a compliment. “It really is the same dress, just in better shape. And he’s even more of a peacock than you are.”

  She wished she could race into the crowd of dancers and throw her arms around them both. As if sensing the urge, Owen put his hand on her arm and they continued to watch in fascination. Aunt Serena appeared a few moments later, directing some servants who were laden with covered trays. Ariana had always thought petite, blonde Serena was beautiful, but this younger version of her beloved aunt took her breath away.

  “Da said mum used to be a real snob,” Owen said, smiling at the mother who didn’t know him yet. “But I think she’s just a bit shy and it came across like that.”

  Ariana nodded, ready to point out old Sir Macreavy w
ho was still remarkably old in this time, when she noticed her parents finished their dance and were heading toward the terrace.

  They ducked out of sight just in time as the young Tilly and Ashford strolled past, deep in what looked like serious conversation.

  “Should we follow them?” Owen asked when they were well out of hearing range.

  As much as she wanted to, it would serve no purpose. They’d already wasted valuable time gawking at everyone’s younger selves. “I didn’t see Nick, did you? He looks a lot like his brother Jeremy, just with lighter hair. More golden.”

  Owen made a gagging noise at her description. “I didn’t see Jeremy or anyone who looked like him.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Why not?” Owen asked.

  “Because Mum was positive he was here on this night. He’d been staying at the house. And if he’s not in the ballroom surrounded by witnesses who could keep him from getting killed…”

  “Right, then. We need to keep looking for either him or your father.”

  ***

  Ashford opened his eyes to find himself in the same corner of the rose garden. A sharp pain in his head and a roiling gut told him the spell had succeeded. It was much later than when he started and the sky was a brilliant blanket of stars. He’d gone to a different time. The spell he’d spent the last few desperate days hashing together had started from the one he’d used all those years ago when Matilda did her runner. It had made him so violently ill after several uses that he had almost died. After poring over the book he made some adjustments and hoped for the best.

  The way he currently felt led him to believe his changes hadn’t been optimal. But he’d gone to a different time, of that he was certain. If it was the right time, that was the question. He shakily got to his feet and tried to push down the rising nausea. It only took him a few steps out of the rose garden to see the house lit up and the front entry lined with carriages.

  Serena’s ridiculous welcome home party. He remembered it like it was yesterday and had chosen it after a great deal of deliberation. For one, it was a time he knew that he could easily find Nick, and it was also a fond memory for him. He was so full of helpless rage at failing his family that it seemed like poetic justice that he should fix everything on one of the happiest evenings of his life.

  On this night he had confessed all his secrets to Matilda and she hadn’t recoiled from him. They’d been an unstoppable team ever since and he wouldn’t let that crumble because he’d been weak all those years before. What came after that poetic justice took place? He refused to think about it. He was convinced this was the only way to keep his daughter safe once and for all.

  Instead of heading toward the house, he walked the long way around the back. The plan that he’d labored over for so long began and ended with go back and take care of Nick. Now that he was here, he still had to figure out how to get his target alone. He looked down at the clothes he was wearing, realizing too late that even if no one noticed his aged countenance and smattering of gray hair, his clothes would stand out. Especially on a night like this when everyone would be in their finest.

  Swearing to himself, he stumbled over a step he didn’t remember being there. The movement jostled his upset stomach and caused a fresh spike of pain to stab at his head. God, he hated feeling so weak. He couldn’t believe he actually missed his cursed portal. That at least had never made him so ill. But it had also never taken him to such a precisely chosen point in time, either, or allowed him to travel within his own lifetime. He knew he needed to act fast for fear of truly getting sick. He’d seen what encountering oneself in one’s own timeline had done on two separate occasions and didn’t wish to experience the same.

  As if fate despised him, he saw a young couple sitting on a bench not too far away, close together and deep in conversation. A pain sliced through his head that was so great it caused him to drop to his knees, feeling like it reverberated into his bones.

  He dragged himself further away until the pain subsided to the point he felt he could gain his feet again and took another peek. There was his foolish younger self trying to ruin everything with Matilda by telling her all his family’s dark secrets. He smiled through his pain. Despite everything he’d done wrong, Matilda had still loved him. Still did love him. He wiped away a tear, shocked to find he was very near sobbing. Once this was done and she found out, would that be the thing that finally drove her from him?

  It seemed cruel to have to choose between his wife and his daughter, both of whom he loved to the very fiber of his being. Matilda wouldn’t thank him, but she’d be glad he chose Ariana. Deep in her heart she’d be glad their child was safe. If she never spoke to him again, he’d find a way to live with it.

  He turned away from his former self and made his way on shaking legs to the ballroom terrace. If he could get eyes on Nick, perhaps he could call him over from behind a potted plant or stay in the shadows. Once Nick figured out the Ashford he was speaking to wasn’t the proper Ashford, it would be too late for that scoundrel. Ashford only hoped he was strong enough to drag the fiend somewhere far enough away where he could do what needed to be done without any unnecessary clatter.

  He patted the gun he had tucked away in his waistband. It was from a time close to Matilda’s own and had an ingenious attachment that kept it from sounding overly loud. He’d kept it hidden over the years, taking it out when Matilda and the children weren’t around to clean it. It had always been far more accurate than anything from his own day, which he hoped was still the case. He only had three bullets for the thing so hadn’t shot it since he still used the portal and was able to get more whenever he was in the proper time. Three would have to be enough.

  Ashford shook himself and looked up as the terrace door opened. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but had slipped into something like a fever dream he couldn’t remember. How long had he been sitting there staring off at nothing? Someone was coming out, perhaps many someones had come out and strolled right past him in his uncomfortable hiding spot.

  He sent up a silent prayer of thanks, although he knew no one from above would be helping him with this particular endeavor, when he saw the person leaving the ball was none other than his target.

  Nick hummed softly under his breath as he passed Ashford squatting behind an unruly cluster of potted plants. How Serena loved flowers. He knew Kostya despised them for whatever reason and had thought he would have torn them all out once Camilla was gone. He must keep them around for Serena.

  Ashford once again shook his head. Why was he thinking such inane things as if he were just figuring them out? He was from another time with a job to do, not the Ashford who wanted so desperately to kiss Matilda. His head wasn’t just throbbing with pain, it was full of unwieldy and confusing thoughts. He was too close. Too close to his younger self. It was already driving him mad.

  So get the job done and get away, he told himself, forcing his aching legs to rise and his heavy feet to follow Nick. As he kept a safe distance, he saw that Nick was heading toward his younger self and Matilda.

  “Bloody hell, you won’t interrupt us,” he muttered. Was the ground moving under him? He couldn’t decipher if the way he felt was a side effect of his untested spell or being so close to his other self. “Possibly both,” he said far too loudly. He clapped his hand over his mouth and ducked behind a tree. It was worse than being drunk and having a hangover combined.

  He stayed behind the tree, still keeping Nick in his sights. He had stopped and seemed to be staring across the garden at Matilda and him. Had the miscreant been spying on them the first time? Ashford shook his head, trying to clear the fog that had settled in between his ears. How could it have already happened if it was currently happening? He watched in fascination as his young self moved closer to Matilda, looking as serious as if the very world depended on what he was saying.

  He stifled a laugh. Now he really knew what was important. And he was wasting time. And definitely far too close to his other self
for comfort. Far past agonizing pain, actually. He shook his head again, groaning at the pain the movement caused. He needed to concentrate. Focus.

  Watching Nick watching them irritated him and the irritation brought forth the righteous rage he felt towards Nick. The man was a murderer. If not this moment, he would be. It had happened once and might very well be about to happen again in yet another time and Ashford decided he would be damned if he let it continue.

  The anger reminded him what he was there for and he moved away to wait. He knew that Nick didn’t interrupt them that night both so long ago and happening right now, so it stood to reason Nick would return to the house. It gave Ashford a small amount of satisfaction to know Nick would be disappointed that he didn’t get a chance to further try to worm his way into Matilda’s affections. Let him go to hell disappointed.

  Ashford bumped into a tree and stopped to get his bearings. He must have gone into another trance of sorts. Bloody hell but he should never be allowed to do magic again. He patted his gun once more. He wouldn’t need magic, not for this. The spot he’d inadvertently stumbled upon turned out to be a perfect hiding spot, hidden in the shadows but with a perfect view of anyone walking back from the gardens. He took out the gun and screwed on the cylinder that would dampen the noise. Between that and the ruckus of the party, Nick would be dead without anyone being the wiser. After that, Ashford didn’t have a clue. Go home, he supposed. Leave it to this lot to sort.

  “But I can’t do that to poor Serena,” he said sadly to the gun. “I suppose I better drag him off into the woods before I go.”

  His head throbbed and some small voice in the back of his head was trying to tell him something. “Did I just speak about dragging a man’s body away as if it was no different than a fallen tree branch?” The gun continued to not answer him, but now that he was a bit farther from his young self, he started feeling as if he was about to make a grave mistake.

  He settled himself against the tree and with the gun under his arm, he pressed his palms to his face. Concentrate. He had to concentrate. If only everything didn’t hurt so much. With his eyes covered he felt a bit calmer, a bit less like he was burning up from the inside out. He forced himself to think of the happiest moments of his life to ease the overwhelming anxiety that was slowly building to a force he feared would knock him out cold.