Belmary House Book One Read online

  Everything was hand stitched, and perfectly at that. Her mother would have loved to see such a dress, and Tilly was so delighted to be wearing it that she almost forgot her dire predicament. Nora, the maid who’d been assigned to help her dress did a few more adjustments, needlessly straightening the shoulders and fluffing up the lace insert at her bosom.

  “It doesna look as if it wasna made for ye at all,” she said. “It fits ye quite nicely.”

  Tilly didn’t want to think about where the dress had come from at such short notice. That cad Ashford probably had a closet full of gowns from his mistresses, or all the other women he’d bumbled into the wrong time. She took a massive inhale, nearly billowing out of the top of the bodice, and the maid tucked the lace in a bit more securely.

  “Your accent sounds a bit like Lord Ashford’s,” Tilly said. His was much more refined, but definitely different from the London accent her cousin and Emma had. “I’m sorry, but I’m from the States and can’t place it.”

  Nora nodded vigorously. “Aye, we’re both from Scotland. Or rather, I guess, Lord Ashford lived there most of his childhood, until his father died and he had to take over down here. He goes back and forth, ye see, and I always wanted to see London, so last time he let me come to work down here.”

  Tilly felt like she hit the jackpot with the chatty Nora and tried to decide on her next question before the girl left.

  “Er, do you know what’s going on here?” she asked carefully.

  Nora turned red from the roots of her hair to her tidy starched uniform collar. “Dinna worry, ma’am, we’re all verra discreet.” She turned from red to purple and nearly dropped the brush she’d picked up. Taking a steadying breath, she began to brush Tilly’s hair, but was unable to meet her eye in the mirror. “And no one judges ye.”

  Tilly coughed, wondering what in the hell Ashford had told her. It certainly wasn’t the truth, however, which meant not everyone who worked in the house knew about his forays through time, though the valet Duncan seemed in on it.

  Duncan was much nicer than his shrunken apple head looks made him seem, and he’d tried to console her as he’d shown her to this room. While he hadn’t explained much more than Ashford had, he assured her she would get home. Eventually.

  She felt the swooping drop in her stomach as it struck her again. Three months, trapped in a different century, with people who thought God knew what of her. Well, she couldn’t ask Nora. She’d just have to bear it.

  “Lord Ashford lived in Scotland as a boy?” She closed her eyes and let Nora brush out her hair, hoping the open ended question would release a flood of information.

  “Aye. His mother and father didna get along, y’see. My mum and da both worked for the estate, so knew the Lady. She died when I was too young to remember her, God rest her. She was a great lady, verra kind, and was wealthy in her own right, just not lucky in love.”

  At Nora’s pause, Tilly opened her eyes to see she held out two different hairpins, seeming to want an opinion. Tilly pointed to the one in her left hand without a thought and widened her eyes for the girl to continue.

  “Well, since it wasna a marriage of love, they had the children and separated. All the land up there was hers.”

  “Children?” Tilly interrupted. “He has siblings? Is he the oldest?”

  Nora frowned slightly and Tilly wondered if these were things she ought to already know. Hmmph. If he wanted to go spreading stories about her, he should have let her in on it if he didn’t want her to mess it up.

  “He’s the oldest only by minutes, as he and his sister are twins.” She paused again, frowning even more intensely, as if wondering about something, but shook it off and continued. “Our Lord Ashford didna come to England until he was fifteen or so, and the old lord was verra sickly. I never met the man so canna say, but those that did know him …” She shrugged.

  “Not so kind?” Tilly guessed, wondering if there was more to the twin sister. She didn’t know how much she could press without having Nora completely clam up and stop trusting her, and as much as she wanted to know about Ashford, she thought it might be nice to have a friend while she was here.

  “Ah well, I dinna want to speak ill of the dead.” She smiled at Tilly in the mirror and flourished her hand around her hair, all neatly tucked back, with a few loose curls framing her face. “Your hair holds a curl quite well,” she said, clearly done gossiping.

  A sharp rap at the door and Lord Ashford’s voice cut through it.

  “Miss Jacobs, a word, if you will.”

  It wasn’t a question, but an imperious command, dousing the relaxed sense of curiosity she’d managed to hide behind for a few minutes. Her blood simmered. Oh, she had a word or two for him.

  Nora jumped and ran to the door, opening it at Tilly’s nod. She escaped, slithering past Ashford before he could take up the entire doorway. Tilly took a deep breath, ready to let him have it for abandoning her after dropping the bomb of being stuck in this time for three months, for telling who knew what monstrous tales about her to his servants, and for—

  The breath came out in a confused gust, nearly shaking free the carefully placed piece of lace. She clapped her hand to her chest and stared at him. Damn it, but he looked good. He’d changed his clothes and shaved, his unruly dark hair now combed neatly to frame his face. A snowy white cravat made his skin seem to glow with rugged health, and when her eyes meandered down, she gasped and jerked them back up to his face.

  Why were men’s clothes so form fitting in this time? It was distracting. Had she been angry about something a second ago? She couldn’t remember. His previous scowl had relaxed to something a little less stern, and his eyes widened solicitously when he saw her.

  “You look lovely,” he said. “The new gown suits you well.”

  Damn it, why did she have to be so forgiving? She struggled to remember that due to his screw up, she was stuck in a strange century for three months. But, for some bizarre reason, for a second she almost didn’t care. Had she lost her mind? Was that a side effect of the time travel? He took a few steps closer until he stood directly in front of her, looking concerned. His eyes were really the most remarkable color. Like storm clouds.

  She scrambled back. Storm clouds, indeed. She’d show him storm clouds. She opened her mouth to tell him what an idiot he was.

  “Thank you, it’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen,” came out instead.

  He raised an eyebrow and she could have punched herself.

  “It’s merely a day dress,” he said, one side of his lip quirking up. “And not even properly fitted to you. I shall arrange for a visit from the dressmaker straight away, so you can choose outfits to your own taste.”

  “Still, all the hand stitching and details. And this silk is so fine. Even the slip has the prettiest needlework.”

  His eyebrow flew higher at the mention of her underwear. She grimaced at her mistake and clamped her mouth shut to keep from admitting she couldn’t wait to see the dressmaker. The thought actually gave her goosebumps of anticipation. Maybe three months wouldn’t be so bad. Guilt washed over her, as she remembered Dexter, probably out of his mind with worry. And poor Emma, stuck in the wrong time as well.

  Ashford took another step toward her, his head tipped to the side. “I must admit I rarely get to your time, but don’t women just buy everything ready-made? You seem to know a thing or two about sewing.”

  She noticed he said women and not ladies, but dismissed it. It wasn’t as if things like that really mattered in her time, but if he’d been subtly insulting her, shouldn’t she be more outraged? Well, she certainly had plenty to be outraged about, that small thing was the least of it.

  “My mom designs and makes pageant dresses,” she explained, stepping backward again. “I’ve been helping her sew them since I was twelve. After my father passed away, it was our sole means of support, since, er, there was trouble with his insurance.”

  Why did she tell him all that? And, why did he look l
ike he cared at all? Her legs hit the seat of an armchair and she steadied herself to keep from falling backwards into it. She raised her chin and tried desperately to get some of her anger back, but he stopped advancing closer to her, and the look on his face was different. Softer, compassionate maybe? Nora had told her his own father died when he was a teenager, same as her, so maybe he felt a kinship.

  “Pageant dresses?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at her haughtily. His compassionate look was gone as if she’d only imagined it. “For the stage?”

  “Yeah, you know, beauty contests.” He shook his head and motioned for her to continue. “Maybe you don’t have them yet? Okay, so, a bunch of girls enter for a chance to win a sparkly crown and some money or other prizes. It’s mostly for fun, but it can help you get jobs, too. You need a very special gown if you’re serious about winning, and that’s where my mother comes in. She’s pretty famous on the pageant circuit, actually. My aunt was Miss Egypt way back in the day, and third runner up in Miss Universe. That’s how my mom found out how much people will spend, and started the business when I was a baby. So she could stay home with me.”

  “That’s fascinating,” he said, looking her over.

  She was embarrassed of her nervous, rambling tale, and her eyes flew to his. Normally when someone said something like ‘that’s fascinating’ to her, their voices dripped with sarcasm, but he actually looked interested. Something pinged inside her and she had to forcibly remind herself that this handsome buffoon had mistakenly trapped her in another time. No matter that he suddenly acted charming and interested in her, all while looking amazing in those crazy tight pants. Maybe she could just give in and enjoy her time here, since there was nothing else to be done about it. Maybe she could enjoy his company.

  But then he said, “Did you participate in these contests as well?”

  She imagined that the ability to be sarcastic just hadn’t developed enough yet to be fully recognizable. While he sounded sincere enough, there was no way he wasn’t teasing her, and the small thing that fluttered to life in her heart not a moment before, folded up its wings and died.

  She glanced around him to see her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were rosy from embarrassment, and her hair looked nice, thanks to Nora. Other than that, there was nothing special to comment about. She was strictly her mother’s assistant behind the scenes at every pageant she went to, all the contestants taller, tanner, and glossier than she could ever hope to be.

  “Very funny,” she said, remembering she needed to holler at him for causing her misfortune.

  No more getting distracted by pretty dresses, storm cloud eyes, and feigned interest in her life.

  “Did I say something amusing?” he asked, frowning at her so intently she felt the heat from her cheeks spreading like wildfire all the way down her neck. “Would you like a tour of the house before I have to leave for the ball?” She was grateful for the sudden change of subject and nodded, fanning her face as soon as he turned his back. “I’ll place you in Duncan’s care while I’m gone. He’ll make sure you get a meal, and send Nora back up to you to help you when you retire.”

  “What did you tell Nora, by the way? She seems to think she needs to be discreet about something other than the fact I’m from the distant future.”

  He stopped so abruptly she almost ran into him, and cleared his throat. “You’re my mistress,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s kind of what I figured. Is that all?”

  He turned around and faced her, with that infernal look on his face as if she were from another planet.

  “It isn’t actually all, but isn’t that enough? I thought you might be angry about it, but it’s the only thing I could think of that was believable. I’ve never had any of your lot stay with me before.”

  Her lot? She wondered with dismay how many others there were. “You’re not married are you? As long as I’m not a homewrecker, it’s probably not much different than what we call a girlfriend in my time.”

  “I am not married.”

  When he didn’t continue, she sighed impatiently. “What else then, if that’s not all?”

  “You’re a widow, as well.”

  “A widow? I’m only twenty-four.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to be a career mistress, so I made you a widow.”

  “I guess if a career mistress is like a prostitute, then fine. I’ll be a tragic young widow.”

  He smiled at her, and she nearly lost all feeling in her legs. It was the first smile she’d seen on him and it was glorious. His full lips turned up to reveal shiny white teeth and his eyes crinkled at the edges. It was like he was another person, one she actually wanted to hang out with. He liked making up stories, it seemed.

  “You’ve also just been cruelly dismissed by your previous benefactor, left all but penniless in the streets.”

  Dear God, it really never lasted long, the feeling that she might actually like this man. He was a monster. “And you saved me, I’m guessing?” she said, clenching her fists. How could she face Nora again?

  “My charity is well known amongst my servants.” He turned his back and continued down the hall.

  “Charity?” she sputtered, rushing to keep up with him as he tossed out instructions not to go into any of the rooms they passed. “I’ve had a job since I was twelve. I would never rely on a man for money.”

  “Would you rather I find you employment for the next three months? You’ll probably find the pay and the hours quite different from what you’re accustomed to.”

  He tossed another smile over his shoulder at her and she quickly looked away, not wanting to spend her forced vacation in a nineteenth century sweatshop. Destitute widowed mistress it was, then.

  The hall was completely different, with a long runner down the center of the highly polished floor. It was well lit with sconces at regular intervals, lighting up paintings of what looked like Italian scenery hanging on the panelled walls. Down the grand front stairs, he pointed vaguely in one direction and then the other, but didn’t offer to take her into any of the rooms on the ground floor, either.

  He finally opened a door to the library, the first room she was allowed to go into, and she turned in a circle to see all the books that lined every wall from floor to ceiling. There were leather chairs and a sofa under a large window, little tables in between them all, and a massive, dark desk near the back wall.

  He’d walked so fast, barely pointing things out to her, that she still didn’t know anything about the house, even after the tour.

  “You can spend time here whenever you like. Any questions?” he asked, looking quite pleased with himself. “If not, I should be getting on.” He started to leave her in the library.

  “Are you kidding me?” She grabbed his jacket sleeve, immediately dropping it when he turned his dark stare back on her. “I have a ton of questions. You can’t just leave me here.” He made what looked to be a supreme effort to be patient, and her anger, which she’d managed to tamp down in order to make the best of things, rose up again. “I mean, what in the hell happened? Why am I even here?”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched and he narrowed his eyes at her. “I mistook you for Miss Saito,” he said. “Terribly unfortunate and I do apologize.”

  She ignored the fact that he didn’t seem sorry at all. “No, I mean, how did it happen? You don’t act like it’s anything surprising, so that means you must do it all the time. So, how do you do it?”

  He took her arm, led her to the nearest chair and pushed her gently into it. He crouched down in front of her, eyes troubled, and waved his arm around.

  “It’s a curse,” he said. “A spell. In a word, it’s witchcraft. It’s a long story I will definitely explain to you further when I have more time, but I must get ready for the event tonight.”

  He rose, but she clamped both her hands onto his wrist, almost pulling him into her lap.

  “I’m lost in a different century because of you,” she said,
feeling the tears she’d been holding in for the last couple of hours about to flow. “And now I’m a pathetic widowed career mistress. How can you just drop something like a witch’s spell on me and then go off to some ball? Don’t you have a single feeling?” She stared hard at him, willing the tears not to fall, almost biting through her lip to keep from sobbing.

  He closed his eyes and dropped his chin, the same look of pain she’d momentarily glimpsed when they first arrived. “There’s someone I have to meet. He has information for me about— At any rate, he’s impatient to be on his way to his country home. It’s not something I can get in a letter. I must speak to him tonight or ride all the way to Scotland.”

  Before she could ask anything else, Duncan entered the room, not even blinking at seeing Lord Ashford kneeling before her as she clutched at him. She dropped his hand and leaned back in the chair.

  “Ah, good, I’ve found you. Miss Jacobs, there’s a meal waiting for you, if you’re hungry. Cook’s stew is the best in London, and there’s apple tart as well.”

  Ashford nodded seriously, standing up. “Her stew is unparalleled,” he agreed.

  Tilly was hungry, but more importantly, she was eaten up with curiosity. How could Ashford not manage to answer her questions? He’d replied, but she was more confused than ever. And witchcraft? If she hadn’t already got used to the idea of having been swept to 1814, the mention of witchcraft would have sent her over the deep end. As it was, all she wanted was more information. Information. She ignored Duncan and grabbed Ashford’s arm again.

  “Information about what? You said you had to talk to someone tonight. About what?”

  The two men exchanged a look, and Duncan hurried forward, probably to hustle her away from asking anymore questions. Surprisingly, Ashford stopped him with a flick of his free hand, then turned to look down at her.

  “My sister,” he said. “She’s gone missing. I need to find out what’s happened to her.”