Out of the Blue (A Regency Time Travel Romance) (35 page)

“Cover his boot tops?” Peregrine exclaimed,
so that Marcus saw Cassandra wince. “Marcus, Hoby made those boots
for you, and damn fine ones they are. They cost you a fistful of
blunt. Why would you cover them up?” He turned in his chair, to
look at Aunt Cornelia. “He’s leaving all his boots and his clothing
for me, you know, even if I don’t know what I’ll do with any of it,
as we aren’t of a size. Which boots are you taking, Marcus?” he
asked, shifting back to look at Marcus once more. “Not your new
black ones, I hope. If I stuff the toes with a pair of hose, they
should do for me well enough. I’d hate to lose the black ones.”

“Grave robber,” Aunt Cornelia growled.

Marcus was glad he had thought to place
Cassandra between Corny and his best friend. He could only hope
they wouldn’t kill each other once he was gone. He also hoped they
wouldn’t say anything too revealing. His solicitor and the man’s
clerk were standing in front of the window, listening to everything
that was said, which explained Cassandra’s attempt to whisper—not
that Peregrine had seemed to take any notice of that fact.

“All right, that will be enough,” Marcus
declared finally, rising from his chair, the carefully written will
in his right hand. “I will continue now whether you wish to listen
or not. There is much left to do, and not much time in which to do
it.”

“Go on, darling,” Cassandra said
encouragingly, winking at him. “I’ll make sure the peanut gallery
behaves.”

Marcus shook his head, putting this business
of preparing for time travel aside for a moment as he gazed
adoringly at the exasperatingly forward, daringly outspoken woman
who had come to mean the world to him. He had been back from
Richard’s funeral for only three days, having needed all that time
to put his cousin’s affairs in order, but Cassandra had made the
days full ones—turning the tables completely by giving
him
concentrated lessons on behavior in the twentieth century all day
and filling his nights with love.

He took a deep breath, sending up a silent
prayer that his theories would be proved correct and they would
have a lifetime together. Then he began to read aloud once
more.

“
Having decided to escort Miss Cassandra
Kelley on her return to America and then undertake a solitary,
lengthy, and inherently dangerous journey throughout Africa,
commencing the last day of May, 1812, a scientific expedition from
which it is possible I shall not return, and having no heir, I have
undertaken to dispose of my estate during my lifetime. I do so in
the form of this document, as advised by my trusted solicitor, Mr.
James Forquith. These wishes, which I describe below, are to be
carried out on 1 June 1812:

“
All entailed lands and titles shall, by
law and custom, be returned to the control of His Royal Highness,
George III, including Eastbourne Crest in Sussex, Eastbourne Manor
in Surrey, and Eastbourne House in Hampshire, with all rents and
income likewise reverting to the Crown. Personal items in these
domiciles, including jewelry, horseflesh, portraits, etc, will be
inventoried, made a part of my estate, and distributed among my
remaining properties.

“
Unencumbered property, including
Eastbourne Mansion in Grosvenor Square, my hunting box in Scotland,
and Eastwind, my most beloved country estate in Sussex, shall be
administered, with the advice of but not the order of Mr. James
Forquith or his successors in the firm of Forquith, Jessup, and
Smythe, by my good friend Peregrine Walton. Said Peregrine Walton
shall have free use of these properties in his lifetime, including
the enjoyment of all benefits and liberties inherent in such
husbandry.”

“Ain’t that pretty, Cousin Cassie? Almost
poetic, even if I can’t understand it for the life of me. Marcus
always had a way with those jawbreaking words.”

“Perry—button it,” Cassandra warned, speaking
from between clenched teeth.

Marcus continued:

“
All monies, rents, income, furnishings,
investments, etc., are likewise to be administered by and under the
complete control of Peregrine Walton, who is in addition to be paid
a quarterly allowance for his private use, this allowance to
consist of two thousand pounds.”

This last statement brought Aunt Cornelia
quickly to her feet, as Marcus had supposed it would. “Two thousand
pounds! What do you want him to do, nephew—buy all of Mayfair and
stick it in his pocket? You feed him, you clothe him, you put a
roof over his empty head—and now you go and make him as rich as any
nabob. This is dangerous, nephew, very, very dangerous!”

“Please be seated, Aunt Cornelia. And
remember, we have guests,” Marcus said quietly, his gaze on James
Forquith’s pinched, disapproving face, before reading from the
paper once more:

“
In the event that Peregrine Walton shall
marry and produce heirs, this quarterly allowance shall be
increased to three thousand pounds, to continue in perpetuity at an
increase of fifty pounds per annum and divided equally among his
descendants, for as long as a single remaining Walton heir can be
located.

“
As to my cousin, Cornelia Haskins, she is
to be granted full use of all my properties and awarded an
immediate settlement of fifty thousand pounds as well as a
quarterly income of two thousand pounds for the remainder of her
lifetime. These funds are hers to dispose of as she
pleases.”

“Happy now, Corny?” Peregrine whispered sotto
voce, leaning across Cassandra, who promptly jabbed him in the ribs
with her elbow. “I told you Marcus had the whole thing figured
out.”

Corny applied her handkerchief to her
tear-filled eyes, a happenstance that unnerved Marcus no matter how
often she’d so uncharacteristically had recourse to such displays
of emotion since his announcement of his imminent departure. He
continued reading:

“
This disposition of property is to
continue until the time of both Peregrine Walton’s death and the
demise of my cousin, Cornelia Haskins, upon which time my funds and
income, except for the aforementioned Walton allowance, are to be
placed in a trust, to be administered by appointed officers of
Forquith, Jessup, and Smythe or another firm of their choosing if
the partnership of Forquith, Jessup, and Smythe shall retire from
business.

“
My properties are to be kept fully
staffed, and all buildings maintained and repaired, as to keep them
in concert with the improvements of the passing years, and likewise
updated, including the installation of modern inventions and
conveniences, but expressly excluding adjustments to basic
architecture and furnishings, which are to be maintained as closely
as possible to existing style and substance.

“
This mandate is to prevail until 5 June
2000, at which time, unless certain conditions are met, the entire
inheritance, including accrued interest and all buildings, are to
be turned over to and equally divided among English and American
charities working on behalf of veterans of war, families without
shelter, and victims of natural catastrophe.”

Marcus looked up from the paper he was
reading and saw that Cassandra was smiling. He had thought she’d
like that last touch.

“
The conditions alluded to above are as
follows: that either a man named Marcus, or a woman named
Cassandra, or both, shall introduce themselves at my Grosvenor
Square mansion between the dates of 31 May and 5 June of any year,
from 1830, and up to and including the year 2000, presenting a
certain ring, an exact copy and description of which is enclosed
with this Will. These rings are and will be absolute proof of
ownership, and no other provisions, prerequisites, or conditions
must be met by either Marcus or Cassandra in order to assume final,
irrevocable title and control of my entire estate.

“
This provision is made on the chance that
I shall have indeed survived my expedition to Africa and wed,
thereby occasioning the possibility of producing legitimate heirs
to my unencumbered estates, although my renunciation of my title is
absolute. Naming all firstborn offspring of each succeeding
generation either Marcus or Cassandra will ensure that the proper
persons inherit, if they so wish. Knowing that I do not enter into
this agreement lightly, and aware that, although my wishes may seem
frivolous to those not conversant with my penchant for scientific
curiosities, I hereby affix my name and seal before God and the
undersigned witnesses this twenty-fifth day of May, 1812.

“Mr. Forquith, if you will step forward to
witness my signature?” Marcus asked, reaching for his quill. A
moment later Forquith and his clerk had signed the paper and the
deed was clone. Peregrine escorted the solicitor and his assistant
to the door. “Now, children,” Marcus said, spreading his hands as
Peregrine returned to his chair, “you may have at it.”

“Marry? Marcus, do you really suppose I shall
ever marry?”

“That would depend, you twit. I would say
your chances are good, if you do your wooing among the inmates in
Bedlam,” Aunt Cornelia answered swiftly, before apparently
dismissing Peregrine and turning to Marcus. “My dear boy, how can I
thank you for your generosity? It is too much. Entirely too
much.”

“Do you think they bought it, Marcus? I
wouldn’t want to show up in 1992, sporting our rings, just to find
out this mansion has been turned into a parking lot. And I loved
that business about the charities. You have been listening to me,
haven’t you?”

Marcus collapsed into his chair, exhausted.
It had not been easy, giving up his marquessate, giving up his
unborn son’s title, turning his back on his ancestry. But it had to
be done; there was no other way to secure his and Cassandra’s
future. After all, he had nothing to offer twentieth-century
society, no talents that anyone living in that enlightened time
needed. He had to retain his fortune, his properties, if he was to
provide for his wife and child. Besides, his greatest wish was to
return to university, where he could study his own history and, one
day, teach it.

“To answer your questions—yes, Perry, I do
believe you will marry one day, if only to assure yourself of some
company as you rattle around in this mansion. Aunt Cornelia, I do
not deserve your thanks. It is I who should be thanking you, for
your company and caring over the years, for your understanding of
my eccentricities, and for your generous help with Cassandra. And,
yes, my love, Mr. Forquith has, as you term the business, ‘bought
it.’ He is being extremely well paid to ‘buy it.’ Now, if you two
good friends would leave us, I believe my fiancée is near to
bursting with an overpowering need to kiss me. In her delicate
condition, I have found that it is not wise to thwart her.”

Peregrine scratched his head. “Cousin Cassie
has a heart of gold, Marcus,” he said, frowning, “but I think
you’re right. All but bit off my head the other day when I chanced
to eat the last sugar comfit. Made me personally run straight out
and buy more—a full bag of pink ones.
Only
pink ones. And
you think I’ll marry? If there’s nothing else for it, I suppose I
might, but I’d much rather raise dogs, if you don’t mind.”

Marcus watched as Aunt Cornelia suppressed a
smile, took hold of Peregrine’s ear, and led him out of the room,
firmly closing the door behind her.

Less than three seconds later Cassandra had
made her way around the desk and deposited herself in his lap.
“You’re a genius, do you know that? And it all sounded so legal.
Dump me back in America and go off to Africa and marry, will you?
I’m sure your prune-faced Mr. Forquith is convinced we’re eloping.
But tell me the truth now that we’re alone, okay? Do you really
think that document is going to stand up in court? And this
identifying ring business—and the dates you stipulated—what are
they all about?”

He kissed her cheek. “The rings? They struck
me as the simplest form of identification. As you have pointed out
to me during our lessons, I have no birth certificate, no driver’s
license, no passport—no forms of identification that will have any
meaning in your time. When we appear back in this house in 1992 I
do not intend to be carrying the family Bible, showing my birth as
it was dutifully recorded by my father back in the eighteenth
century. Therefore, we will appear as my own descendants. I, in all
modesty, considered it to be a master stroke.”

She snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around
his neck. “You’re a genius, all right. And it’s easy enough to buy
you some fake identification—or at least that’s what I’ve read in
all those spy novels. It sure helps being filthy rich, doesn’t
it?”

She lay against him, content, then sat up
again. “But what’s this business about the dates? You told me we’d
travel to 1992. Are you just hedging your bets, or do you think we
could end up in some other time?”

He avoided her eyes. “I am positive we shall
travel to your time, my darling,” he said firmly. “However, I could
not consider myself thorough if I did not take other possibilities
into account.”

Cassandra exhaled forcefully, as if his
explanation had given credence to one of her worst fears. “We’ve
got to hold on tightly to each other once we’re in that room,
Marcus. I don’t care anymore
where
I go, as long as I go
with you.” She laid her head against his chest once more. “But I
would like to have my mother around when this baby is born. She’ll
want to kill me when she first sees me, because I disappeared
without telling her, but this baby is going to make me as welcome
as the flowers in May, as she is so fond of saying.”

Now was the time for optimism, even if he had
no basis in fact for that particular emotion. “And so she shall be,
my love. We will remain in London until your confinement, and you
shall give birth to my son in one of those hospitals you are so
fond of—although I certainly cannot see why, as our hospitals are
nothing but pestholes—and you shall have the king’s own physicians
in attendance.”