Chapter 2
Kendra could honestly say that in her twenty-seven years, she’d never once imagined her wedding day.
She had never been one of those girls who giggled over boys and dreamed about walking down the aisle to some shadowy figure waiting for her at the altar.
And even if she had, never in a million years could she have imagined this wedding day.
How could she? It wasn’t so much a matter of where she was currently sitting—Aldridge Castle’s formal dining room—but when.
She’d been born in the late twentieth century—more than two hundred years in the future.
Time traveler.
Freak.
Her fingers tightened on the delicate crystal flute she held.
It had been more than a year since she’d found herself unexpectedly transported through a vortex or wormhole, but there were still moments when her head swam and she wondered if she’d wake up one morning to discover that it all had been a dream.
A chill raced down her arms. A year ago, she would’ve given anything for that to happen, to wake up in her own bed in her apartment in Maryland.
To push a button to light up the room, and jump in a shower with hot, pulsating water.
To drive herself to her job as a special agent in the FBI’s the Behavioral Science Division. But now . . .
Now the idea of returning to her own timeline made her stomach churn with anxiety.
Slowly she sipped the champagne, easing her dry throat.
She let her gaze roam over the guests seated at the long, linen-covered table.
There were more chairs than people this morning, but that was fine with Kendra.
She’d feared that the wedding, which had taken place forty-five minutes ago in the small village church, would be an elaborate affair, with the attendees sporting more titles than the Library of Congress.
Such things were expected when you married the Marquis of Sutcliffe, the nephew—and heir—to the powerful Duke of Aldridge.
She’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that weddings in this era—unless you were royalty—tended to be small, private affairs, limited to family and close friends.
She had no family. Her parents, Dr. Carl Donovan and Dr. Eleanor Jahnke, hadn’t been born yet.
The crowd had mostly been made up of villagers, who’d gathered outside the ancient stone church, lining the cobblestone streets of Aldridge Village while Kendra and Alec exchanged vows inside. Then they’d cheered the small wedding party as they made their way back to the castle for breakfast.
The guests themselves were an odd consortium.
Even Kendra recognized their peculiarity.
Occupying one side of the table was the Duke of Aldridge’s sister, Lady Carolyn Atwood, and her daughter, Lady Mary Ballinger.
Lady Mary had traveled from her home in Cumbria at her mother’s behest. Kendra suspected she had been invited solely to hold the smelling salts in case the countess fainted from the sheer horror of having to accept Kendra—an American with no pedigree or social graces—into their prestigious family.
God knew, Lady Carolyn had warned her nephew enough to reconsider his proposal.
Next to them was Lady Rebecca and her parents, Lord and Lady Blackburn.
Most people noticed Rebecca’s beautiful auburn hair, but they quickly became distracted by the pockmarks that marred her face, the result of a childhood bout of smallpox.
Certainly, they never saw the cleverness in the cornflower blue eyes or the spirit that lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.
An ardent supporter of the early feminist Mary Wollstonecraft, Rebecca had been quick to accept Kendra’s unorthodox behavior.
Although Kendra hadn’t told Rebecca her most carefully guarded secret—the fact that she was a time traveler—she considered the other woman a friend.
Really one of her only friends, regardless of century.
On the other side of the table were Kendra’s guests: Dr. Ethan Munroe, Sam Kelly, and Phineas “Finn” Muldoon.
Only Dr. Munroe blended in with the aristocrats’ silks and superfines.
He was a distinguished-looking man in his early fifties, with a silvery mane that he tied into an old-fashioned queue and contrasting black eyebrows.
His eyes were gray and intelligent behind round gold spectacles that he pinched on his hawklike nose.
It wasn’t his person, but his profession—a former doctor who now operated an anatomy school in London—that had made him an outcast in society.
Sam and Muldoon, on the other hand, were wearing their Sunday best, but there was no mistaking their working-class roots in the rougher wools and tweeds. Both men sat a little closer to one another, as though they’d each subconsciously sought comfort in the other’s presence.
Kendra had to suppress a smile. Their camaraderie was ironic, given Sam was a Bow Street Runner (this era’s version of a police detective) and Muldoon was a reporter for the Morning Chronicle.
Like the relationship between the police and the press in her own timeline, their relationship was, more often than not, contentious.
“My lady? Ah . . . my lady?”
“I believe Harding is referring to you, my dear,” the Duke of Aldridge whispered, amusement glinting in his blue eyes as he leaned toward her.
Kendra realized that the Duke’s stoic butler was standing at her elbow, holding a champagne bottle.
“Oh.” I am no longer Kendra Donovan; I’m now the Marchioness of Sutcliffe. Holy God.
“Would you care for more champagne, my lady?” Harding repeated.
Kendra looked at the delicate flute in her hand. It was empty. “Uh . . . yes, thank you.”
The butler kept a poker face as he poured the champagne, but Kendra recognized her blunder. Thanking a servant for doing their duty was simply not done when you were a marchioness.
Kendra watched the champagne bubbles froth to the lip of the flute. She’d made the decision to stay here, in this time—assuming the vortex that had opened a month ago hadn’t just been her imagination. Still, she knew that she’d never really fit in here, with the rigid rules and class system.
“We shall leave soon, my sweet.”
Kendra glanced at the green-eyed man on her other side.
Alec, the Marquis of Sutcliffe. Her husband.
And the reason she’d chosen to stay in an era where she didn’t belong—because living without this man had become too painful to contemplate.
Love had been unexpected, not always welcome, but too big to deny.
And it still amazed her, not only that she’d fallen in love with him, but that the love had been reciprocated.
The gold flecks in his forest-green eyes were more pronounced this morning, gleaming like molten embers, shadowed by spikey black lashes. The sensual mouth in the lean, handsome face curved in a slow smile. Kendra could feel her face grow warm under her husband’s regard, her blood quickening.
In her former life, she’d been a child prodigy, a product of her parents’ experiment in eugenics, and an FBI agent. She did not blush. Or, rather, she’d never met anyone who’d made her blush before. Alec was more potent than the alcohol she was drinking.
She raised an eyebrow, although her breath wasn’t quite steady. “Are you trying to reassure me?”
His smile widened. “Perhaps.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a butterfly-soft kiss over her knuckles. “Or mayhap I’m reminding myself that I need to be patient. Soon, I shall have you all to myself. You’ve made me the luckiest of men.”
“I chose you,” she whispered, leaning toward him to stare into his eyes. She saw them darken at the memory of the night she’d said those words. The moment she’d finally made the decision to let the past—the future—go. To trust in their love and build a life together in the here and now.
“We chose each other,” he returned softly.
“Sutcliffe, what are your future plans?” Lady Mary asked loudly, breaking the spell that bound Kendra to Alec.
She suspected that had been Lady Mary’s intention.
Public affection, even between a bride and groom on their wedding day, was frowned upon.
“Will you and your lady be taking up residence in Alcott Park?”
Alcott Park was Alec’s country estate in northern England. Kendra imagined that it was Lady Atwood’s greatest wish to see Kendra hidden away in the countryside, so there’d be no faux pas committed by the newest member of their family.
Alec released Kendra’s hand, shifting to look down the table at his cousin. “We’ll travel to London tonight, then on to Alcott Park for a fortnight. Afterward, I shall be bringing Kendra to Venice to meet my relatives.”
Kendra’s stomach fluttered. As interested as she was in visiting Venice, to see the art and architecture and the wonder of its canals, she was uneasy about being introduced to the maternal side of Alec’s family.
His late mother, Alexandria, had been an Italian countess who’d fallen in love with Alec’s father, Edward, on his Grand Tour.
Kendra got enough disapproval from the English; she didn’t need it from Venetian aristocrats too.
A footman leaned down, offering her a silver platter filled with meats. Grateful to focus on something else, she picked up the knife and fork. Bypassing the artfully arranged tongue, she selected two thick slices of ham.
“But will you settle at Alcott Park, Cousin?” Lady Mary persisted, her eyes on Alec as she took a sip of her champagne.
“No.” Alec shook his head. “London is more agreeable for us to make our home.”
“London society shall be greatly improved with your presence, Miss—ah, your ladyship,” Muldoon spoke up, shooting Kendra an impudent grin. “Mayhap I shall see you around town.”
Kendra noticed that his gaze slipped further down the table to where Lady Rebecca was seated.
She suspected he was hoping that if they met, Kendra would be accompanied by Rebecca.
In the last year, it had become clear to Kendra that the two harbored a mutual attraction, but neither one was prepared to act on it.
Poor Irish reporters did not marry daughters of nobility.
Then again, Americans from the future didn’t marry British aristocracy. Only the Duke and Alec knew that she was from the twenty-first century, but being a penniless American hadn’t exactly made her a desirable match. The pained expression on Lady Atwood’s face wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.
“Not much chance of that,” Sam growled at the reporter, as he sliced into the tongue on his plate. “She’ll be traveling in circles high above you.”
Muldoon wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve learned to always expect the unexpected with M—with her ladyship. No offense, ma’am.”
Kendra was more offended at being called ma’am, but decided that was probably a twenty-first-century pet peeve.
“You’re my friends,” she said simply, before turning her attention to eating her eggs, ham, and rolls. Except for the tongue—which was considered a delicacy—the champagne, and the iced fruitcake set in the middle of the table, the breakfast was like any other.
She was buttering a roll when she noticed a younger footman sidle into the dining room. He approached Harding and whispered in his ear. The shock that rippled across the butler’s normally unflappable features sent a frisson of awareness through Kendra.
Something happened.
Harding carefully set the champagne bottle in an ice bucket before accompanying the footman out the door.
Kendra glanced at Alec, who was also regarding the door thoughtfully. “What do you think’s going on?”
He said, “I have no idea.”
Seconds ticked by, then Harding reappeared.
He retrieved the champagne bottle and circled the table to the Duke.
On the pretext of refilling his flute, the butler leaned down and murmured something in his ear.
If Kendra hadn’t already been on alert, the Duke’s reaction would have been a red flag.
His eyebrows flew up and he shot her a quick look.
Nodding at Harding, he picked up his linen napkin, blotted his mouth, then carefully laid it on his plate.
“Forgive me, but I must attend to a matter,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet. “Alec, would you and your lovely bride accompany me?”
Lady Atwood frowned. “Bertie, what—?”
“We shall only be a moment, Caro,” he cut off his sister with a smile.
As soon as they exited the dining room, Kendra repeated her question: “What’s going on?”
The Duke shook his head. “I’m not entirely certain. We have a visitor. A royal courier.”
They followed the Duke to the Gold Salon, one of the castle’s more ornate drawing rooms. Apparently, a royal messenger deserved the best. The courier waited in front of one of the Palladian windows, gazing at the gardens outside.
He was a middle-aged gentleman wearing an exquisitely tailored green-and-navy frock coat buttoned tight around the torso before flaring into a full skirt that hit mid-calf.
He’d kept his curly brimmed beaver hat on, but at their appearance, he swept it off to reveal a full head of curly brown hair and dipped into a graceful bow.
“Your Grace, my lord and my lady.” His gaze traveled over them as he straightened. “I understand felicitations are in order. Forgive my intrusion during this happy time.”
“Thank you,” Alec replied. “But of course, that begs the question as to why you felt the need to intrude. What is this about?”
The courier looked taken aback at such directness. He hesitated, as though searching for the correct words. Finally, he said, “There’s been an incident.”
“An incident?” the Duke echoed.
“Yes. A tragic incident.” The courier looked at Kendra. “We are aware of your ladyship’s experience in investigating such things.”
We? Kendra eyed the man in surprise, but before she could question him, Alec said sharply, “My wife and I shall be leaving for our honeymoon shortly. Unless the King himself is asking for her ladyship’s help with this . . . incident, I am going to bid you good day, sir.”
“I understand your concern, my lord.” The courier reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a letter.
A royal wax seal held the flaps together.
He handed the parchment to the Duke, but his eyes were fixed on Alec.
“The King is indisposed. He is not asking for her ladyship’s assistance in this matter. ”
Alec shook his head. “Then if the King isn’t behind this request—”
“Not His Majesty, sir. Her Majesty. Will you postpone your honeymoon for the Queen?”