Belmary House Book One (26 page)

“Whatever are you wearing?”

She flashed open her robe, causing his eyes to widen and his cheeks to flame red. She felt a little bad, but his modesty was beyond adorable to her. Even though the shorts came halfway down her thighs and the top covered as much as a baggy modern t-shirt, she knew he considered her as good as naked.

“The seamstress gave me the fabric and I made them to sleep in. It’s more comfortable to me than a shift, and it feels weird to sleep naked in someone else’s house.”

“Christ, Miss Jacobs.”

She giggled and moved behind the screen to get dressed.

“Why are we going into the village?” she asked, peeking around the edge to see his back resolutely turned away. She smiled to herself, feeling a strange tugging in her heart. Goodness, she really liked him.

“I have to pay my respects to someone,” he said.

“Have I met them?” she asked. “I visited around a lot with Serena while you were gone. We brought jam and flowers to the elderly and played with everyone’s babies. It was kind of like she was running for office or something.”

Ashford laughed. “Sounds right.” After a moment he answered her original question in a much more sober tone. “But, no, you wouldn’t have met this person. Do you need me to call Nora for you?”

“Nope, I’m just about done. If you can do a couple buttons for me, we can be on our way.”

She came around the screen with a swish of skirts and dropped into a deep curtsy, ridiculously happy that he’d woken her up and wanted to spend the day with her.

He looked like he barely refrained from rolling his eyes, and did up the top buttons she couldn’t reach. Maybe it was leftover remnants from her dream, but as he brushed her hair over her shoulder, his fingers seemed to linger longer than they had to at the nape of her neck. The moment he was finished, she whirled around to face him, her breasts brushing against his chest before he took a flustered step back. She grabbed his lapels, blushing when he looked alarmed.

“I thought you were going to fall backwards,” she said, inching closer.

She honestly didn’t want to be a brazen, twenty-first century hussy, but it was as if he was magnetized and she was a helpless scrap of iron, constantly finding herself drawn to him.

“You do seem to put me off balance, Miss Jacobs,” he said, taking a smooth step backwards.

Her hands dropped to her sides and she huffed. So, it was back to Miss Jacobs, was it? There was no use in calling him on it, the infuriating man would do what he wanted.

“Can I grab a quick bite before we leave?” she asked, pressing her hand to her stomach to keep it from growling.

One of her favorite aspects of early nineteenth century Scotland was the big breakfast they put out every morning. As much as she yearned to get out with Ashford, she regretted the thought of missing it.

He shook his head once again, and pointed to a basket. “I packed a bit of everything. We can eat in one of my favorite spots if you don’t mind sitting outside?”

She couldn’t hide her delighted smile, sure her cheeks were glowing. “Sitting outside is one of my favorite hobbies,” she said.

He bit his lip at her weak joke, and looked at her pityingly for a long time before holding out his arm.

“Mine as well,” he said, completely straight faced.

“I like walking outside, too,” she continued.

“Enough, Matilda,” he said, pulling her toward the door.

She ducked her head and followed him, glowing even more at the renewed use of her first name.

The walk to the village was uneventful, and the breakfast picnic was over too soon. Ashford didn’t actually rush her, but she could see how eager he was to do whatever he had to do, so she hurriedly scarfed the scone and sausages so they could be on their way again. They left the basket and blanket behind, and she wondered if a servant would pick it up later, or if Ashford just didn’t care, he was now so singlemindedly absorbed in his mission. He wasn’t the most relaxed of people to begin with, but the closer they got to the village, the tenser he got.

He passed the shops on the high street without looking left or right. Several people nodded or bowed to him, and he barely acknowledged them. Tilly smiled apologetically as she tagged along a step behind him, unable to keep up with his now frantic pace. Ashford stopped abruptly when they came to the church, and looked up at its tall spire with a resigned, almost sick look on his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking his arm.

He nodded and led her to a crumbling stone bench under a shady tree.

“Remember when I told you about my sister’s—” he flinched and stared at her with despair. “Her lover?”

Tilly nodded and waited for him to continue, but he merely kicked at the grassy spots on the ground.

“They went to Edinburgh?” she gently prodded after long moments passed.

Whatever he’d been so fired up to do before they reached the church, he seemed to dread it now. She wasn’t sure where his story was leading them, but she listened with concern. His voice had a tightness she’d never heard before.

“A month before Camilla disappeared, that young man died from an illness. She could do so many things …” he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I saw her make a rose bloom from a bud in a matter of seconds. She could change the color of a gemstone, and make things cold or hot. But she couldn’t heal like our mother could. She couldn’t save Lucy, nor could she save the lad.”

Tilly digested the news that the boyfriend had died. She knew Ashford was riddled with shame that his sister had left her husband and lived openly with her lover, but she could only feel compassion for poor Camilla. How devastated she must have been by her daughter’s death, only to lose another loved one shortly after.

“She was desperate to get our family’s book back when he was ill. She was certain the answer was in one of those old spells she couldn’t remember. She begged me to approach them— there was no way she could do it herself.”

“Because of Kostya?”

He nodded without looking at her. “Matilda, you honestly can’t imagine how foul those people are. Kostya would willingly die before returning to them. There was no way I could reopen a line of communication, not after what we went through to free Kostya in the first place. I don’t think Camilla ever forgave me for not trying to get the book back.”

“Oh, Julian,” she sighed, and took his hand. She scooted closer, only wanting to lessen the pain he was so clearly feeling, as he relived the memories. “That’s awful, it really is. But people get sick and sometimes they don’t get better.” She swallowed hard, fighting tears, wishing she could have such a balanced outlook in her own life. “It’s a shame he was young, but it would have been worse to interfere if the means were …” she trailed off, not wanting to offend him, coming as he did from a long line of witches.

“Unsavory,” he finished ruefully. “Wrong. Evil. Take your pick.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He stood up, pulling her with him. “You’ve no need to be sorry. You’ve been remarkably helpful throughout this.”

“How?” she asked, perplexed.

She could have sworn he found her a nuisance at worst, a mild distraction from his bad moods at best.

He shrugged, leaning down to look closely into her eyes. “Perhaps you’re a bit magical yourself.” She gaped at him and his stark features relaxed into a smile. “Perhaps you’re just exceptionally kind to put up with my nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” she argued, thinking how admirably he managed the crappy hand life had dealt him. She herself would have given up long ago.

“There, you see. That’s a kind answer, thank you,” he said stubbornly. “Now, I must pay my respects. Come along and let me lean on you if need be.”

They picked their way along a wildflower scattered path behind the church, then up a gentle incline to a low walled cemetery. He stood at the gate perusing the old and new tombstones and Tilly perused him, feeling the tension that came off him in almost palpable waves. He didn’t seem to know exactly where he was going and they wound through the stones until he came upon a modest, smooth rectangle, clearly a new one.

Tilly read the names and dates to herself as Ashford stood stiffly in front of it, and knew without being told that it was Camilla’s paramour. He’d been a year younger than herself when he’d died and she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mild summer weather. Ashford had said it was an illness, and there was no reason for her to think anything sinister might have happened to the unwitting young man, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t got mixed up with Ashford’s sister, he might still be home and well on his family’s farm. She felt guilty at the thought and dismissed it as jitters from Ashford’s mood and being in a cemetery. She’d never been good at dealing with death.

“I knew he couldn’t have been right,” he muttered, then turned to her. “I almost believed Jeremy when he told me—”

Footsteps behind them cut off his sentence and he turned, beginning to bow in greeting, but the appearance of the older man who approached them stopped him. His face froze and he took a step in front of Tilly. Confused at what threat this slightly bent and sad looking man held, she leaned around to see if she recognized him. His tired, lined face turned almost vicious with anger, making her recoil back behind Ashford. She’d never seen him in the village, nor visited his home with Serena. Ashford looked embarrassed and ducked his head at the man.

“I apologize. We’ll be on our way.” He began to pull Tilly toward the gate but the man stopped him in his tracks with a hissing noise.

“How can ye come here? How can ye pretend to mourn my lad?” The old man’s eyes were filled with tears, but his mouth was twisted with rage. “Your wicked sister stole him from us. D’ye know she didna even let us see his body after he passed on? My wife canna go an hour without crying over no’ getting to say goodbye. Just up and buried my lad in the heathen city where we canna properly visit him. Did she think this memorial stone would appease us?”

“He’s not buried here?” Ashford asked, his grip on her hand turning vice-like.

“Ye didna even know? Bah, ye’re never here anymore, so why should ye? Hie on back to London, laddie, and stop pretending to be one of us.”

Ashford apologized again, backing away from the grieving father. She could tell he was hurt by the man’s words, but most of all he seemed bewildered. He all but dragged her from the graveyard he was walking so fast, not speaking until they were well away from it.

“He’s not there,” he said, stopping under a tree.

He paced back and forth, sometimes looking at her as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t. She stood in the shade and waited, not sure what kind of questions to ask and not wanting to drive him into a silence with a wrong word. It was better to wait him out. Had Ashford decided to suddenly visit that grave out of a sense of guilt or was there another reason behind it?

“You said something about Jeremy being wrong earlier, or not believing him. What was that about?” Her curiosity finally got the best of her after he stopped pacing.

He stared at her, or really beyond her, for a while, eyes bright with anxiety. “It’s nothing, Matilda. It’s certainly nothing.”

Both his looks and his tone told her he didn’t believe his own words, but it was also clear to her that he was done with the subject. She’d have to wait awhile before questioning him again, or worse, wait for him to bring it back up, if he ever did. But something was definitely amiss, something that upset him deeply, and it went well beyond being berated by the villager.

***

Ashford’s mood improved as they came upon the spot where they’d had their breakfast picnic. She was surprised to see the blanket and basket had disappeared.

“Do people just follow you around picking up after you?” she asked. “Doesn’t that get annoying?”

“Why would it?” he said absently, leaning down to pick a straggly wildflower from the side of the road. He began shredding its leaves off the stem.

She snickered at his spoiled upbringing, but had to admit it wouldn’t be all that annoying when she really thought about it. It might actually be awesome. She was about to make a crack about the idle rich, but realized he was anything but idle. He barely sat still for a moment, and his mind seemed to be constantly in a state of manic upheaval.

She wished she could get him to relax, but knew he wouldn’t until Camilla was found and she was back in her own time. Even then the constant threat of Solomon Wodge, his in-laws, and the various other people who would continue to wander across the portal would never truly let him rest. Her heart felt like butter left out on the counter as she watched his hands pick at the stem. To fight the nearly overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around him, she took the flower from his hand before he tore it to pieces.

“What did this poor plant ever do to you?” she demanded. It was really quite pretty, purple and brushy.

“I was taking the scratchy bits off so you can put it in your hair.” He took it back from her and tucked it behind her ear. “There. I thought it would look nice with your lovely multi-hued eyes, and I was right.”

His self-satisfied smile as he gazed at his handiwork, continuing to mess with strands of her hair, melted what was left of her already gooey heart. Plus, a compliment? She was done for.