Chapter 16
Stephen walked up the street, wondering if he’d lost his mind.
It was possible, of course. Time travel was uncharted territory for him.
He supposed he might have made a second call to Zachary Smith to ask him a few more pointed questions.
Given the number of times Zachary had apparently traveled through the centuries, he would certainly know.
Yes, perhaps the strain of lingering in a time not his own had affected him adversely.
He considered that quite seriously as he let himself in his front door.
It was exceptionally strange how one minute a man could be living a very normal, unremarkable life, then the next find himself completely out of his element.
Take what he was holding in his hands, for example.
He walked into his kitchen and set his burdens down on the table: green drink of some species and scones made from whole grains.
He looked at them suspiciously. It occurred to him that he might well enjoy the cardboard carrier it had all come in more than the goods themselves, but the long-haired, rather earthy lad at the juice bar had assured him that both the scones and the drinks would be delicious.
Perhaps it would be well to whip up a few eggs to mitigate any possible ill effects.
By the time he had a plate full of eggs scrambled with some lovely sausage, Peaches had emerged from another shower.
He was yet again unaccountably nervous, which he found to be quite possibly the most ridiculous occurrence of his life, but there it was.
He cleared his throat. It was all he could do not to shift from one foot to the other.
“Green drink,” he said, gesturing toward what he’d put at her plate. “And scones that are rumored to be healthier than ordinary scones, but you’ll have to be the judge.”
She sank down into her chair, then looked up at him in surprise. “Green drink?”
“I didn’t make it myself, if that eases your mind any.”
She smiled.
And he was lost yet again.
He sat down without delay, because it seemed the wisest course of action.
He made a production of arranging silverware and examining his own cup of green juice.
It looked absolutely disgusting and smelled remarkably like horse breath after the horse in question had spent the day chewing down a pasture, but he had faced sterner tests than this and survived.
If imbibing things of this nature was what was required to impress the woman sitting across from him, then imbibe them he would.
“You’re having some as well?”
She sounded absolutely delighted, which he knew should have given him pause, but perhaps she had nothing more nefarious in mind than good wishes for his health. He attempted a smile, but was afraid it had come out as a grimace.
“Yes, accompanied by real food I sautéed in half a cup of butter,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t want to overwhelm myself right off.”
She sipped, then sighed in pleasure. “It’s delicious. I’ll have yours if it doesn’t agree with you.”
He sipped. It was rather tasty if one could ignore the color, which resembled pond scum, and the aftertaste, which left him fully believing he’d just clipped the lawn with his teeth.
He considered its immediate effects on his tum, then slid the cup across the table. Better safe than sorry. “All yours.”
“After what you’ve eaten—or not eaten—in a vacation locale we won’t mention?”
“I’m still trying to recover,” he said, tucking happily into his eggs. “This will make great strides in erasing the unsettling culinary memories.”
Silence fell. He looked at her finally to find her merely toying with her scone. She was watching him.
“What is it?” he asked, finally giving in to shifting uncomfortably. He never shifted. It was testament enough of the week he’d had that he did it without hesitation.
“I was just wondering.”
He set his fork down and looked at her. “About what?” he asked uneasily.
“About our little adventure. About what you were thinking about, well, things.” She looked at him. “It seemed as though we had reached a—”
“Stephen, where are you?”
Stephen flinched at the sound of a voice he absolutely didn’t want to hear at the moment.
He didn’t even have the chance to tell Peaches that he wanted nothing to do with anyone else besides her before into his kitchen walked none other than Lady Victoria Andrews, daughter of the Duke of Stow.
She was trailed by Humphreys, his gentleman’s personal gentleman, who was frowning slightly.
With Humphreys, this indicated great distress. Stephen understood completely.
Victoria came to a screeching halt. She looked at Stephen, then at Peaches in his bathrobe, then at him again.
“Well,” she said, imbuing the word with so many layers of meaning Stephen was certain it would take him half the morning to sort through them all.
“Good morning, Victoria,” Stephen said with a sigh.
Things went rapidly downhill from there. It wasn’t, as it happened, that Stephen had slept with Victoria. If he was notorious in some circles for his dedication with several types of swords, he was equally notorious with the rest of his social sphere for being discreet to the point of monkishness.
None of that seemed to matter to Victoria at present.
Stephen could tell she was gearing up to give him the tongue-lashing of his life, so he excused himself and led her out of the kitchen.
Humphreys had the good sense to at least shut the kitchen door, though Stephen wondered how much ire that would stifle.
Victoria seemed perfectly content to shriek at him right there in the hallway.
He started to tell her that he and Peaches were just friends—unfortunately—but before he could, she had stomped into his sitting room.
He followed her, on the off chance she might do damage to something, and watched her look for the first-edition James Joyce she’d given him for Christmas the year before.
She pulled it off the shelf and flung it into the roaring fire he’d started for Peaches before he’d gone off to look for breakfast.
He watched it burn for a minute or two, then looked at her. “Brilliantly done, Victoria. It takes a certain sort of woman to have so little respect for the marvels of the written word.”
She slapped him smartly across the face, then flounced out of his house.
He watched her go, then rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. He had no desire to date her and hadn’t for some time. It had just been easier to keep up appearances than try to break off a non-relationship with her for no good reason.
And then it occurred to him that he had left the woman he was very interested in sitting in his kitchen in his bathrobe.
He strode back into the kitchen, but she wasn’t there.
He heard the distinct sound of his Range Rover roaring off into the distance and sighed.
He considered where any sort of communication might have been left.
Peaches wasn’t the sort of woman to carve a message into any of his antiques, which meant a note if he were fortunate.
He ran up the stairs and found what he was looking for on Peaches’s nicely made bed.
Thank you for the clothes, Lord Haulton. I’ll put a check in the mail for them as soon as I’m home.
A thrill of alarm ran through him. Home? Was she heading to Seattle?
He went to find his mobile and dialed Tess without hesitation.
“Stephen,” she said, sounding relieved, “tell me Peaches is with you. I’ve been trying to reach her since Saturday night. How did the ball go?”
“It was … interesting,” he managed.
Tess was silent for a moment or two. “Why do I have the feeling that things went on I should know about?”
“Probably because you’re a twin,” he said with a deep sigh. “And yes, Peaches is well. I think we are both happy to be away from Kenneworth.” He paused. “We had a bit of an adventure.”
Tess was silent for a very long minute. “What kind of adventure, Stephen?”
“Oh, the usual kind that seems to happen with alarming regularity in this family. I’ll tell you all about it when next we meet. I’m actually calling to find out if your sister’s rung you.”
“Let me understand this,” Tess said slowly. “You had an adventure with my sister away from Kenneworth House, but now she’s not with you?”
“That sums it up quite nicely, rather,” he agreed.
“Is there something you want to tell me, my lord Haulton?”
“I’m sure Peaches will tell you all you want to hear,” he said, “but what I want to hear is if she’s rung you or not.”
“She hasn’t—wait. Don’t hang up.”
He hadn’t planned to. He waited for long enough, however, that he tired of pacing in the hallway and wound up sitting in his chair in front of his fire.
He watched Joyce continue to blacken and curl and almost fell asleep.
He realized that only because he dropped his phone in surprise when Tess came back on the line. At least she wasn’t shouting at him.
“She’s on her way to Sedgwick.”
Stephen considered. “Did you tell her I called?”
“Are you kidding?” Tess laughed briefly.
“I am not about to get embroiled in the raging inferno that is your relationship with my sister. She said your keeper was driving her to the station and that she would be home this afternoon.” Tess paused.
“I don’t suppose it’s safe to ask why you aren’t driving her home. ”
“Victoria of Stow walked in and found your sister wearing my bathrobe at my kitchen table.”
“Well, that answers that.”
“I haven’t slept with her, Tess.”
“Victoria or Peaches?”
“Either.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” Tess said dryly. “That peek into your personal life has been very illuminating.”
He dragged his hand through his hair. “Sorry. Last glimpse, I promise. I’m not exactly myself. It was a bit of a journey, actually. I’m not sure I’m fully recovered.”
“I can hardly wait to hear all about your trip. Coming south anytime soon?”
“As soon as I can find my keys.”
Tess was silent for so long, he began to grow a little nervous.