Chapter Six
Six
“What?” Rose and Henry said in unison, then exchanged a glance.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story,” Jason said.
“We should talk in person.” The last word was eclipsed by his yawn.
Seeing him do it, Rose couldn’t suppress a yawn of her own.
She’d barely even gotten any sleep the night before because she’d been preoccupied with wedding details.
All those worries seemed so trivial compared to the grumpy duke on her hands.
“Maybe we could get together for a late lunch tomorrow?” she suggested. “We could do the patio at Pilsen Yards.” She and Henry could walk there. It was supposed to be nice out.
“Don’t tell anyone else,” Jason said. “It’s important. I’ll explain later.”
“Okay. Wait. I have to tell Emily and Griffin the next time I see them.”
“Uhh…” Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, all right. They might have good input.”
“And I have to tell my brother.” Jason seemed to consider his response, and she rushed to add, “I can’t hide a new duke roommate from him! And he didn’t tell anyone about Griffin.”
“Her brother has a right to know,” Henry said. Rose looked over at him with raised eyebrows. She hadn’t expected his support on this. “To ask a lady to keep her association with a gentleman a secret from her family would be an unpardonable offense.”
Rose jerked a thumb at Henry. “Exactly. Unpardonable.”
Jason sighed. “Okay, but call him. Don’t text. See you guys tomorrow.” He hung up.
Rose looked at the time on her phone. It was past three, and Ryan got up early for work. “I guess I’ll call him in a few hours. We should really go to bed.” A quizzical line etched itself between Henry’s brows, and she said, “I mean sleep! We should try to get a little sleep.”
He nodded. “Perhaps when I awaken, I will be in my own bed again.”
She cocked her head thoughtfully. “You still think you’re dreaming? It would be such a long, complicated dream!”
“I could be in a coma.”
“How?” she pressed him. “You were just standing in your library!”
“Perhaps I had a fit of apoplexy. Or perhaps the ceiling fell in on my head.”
“Unlikely. Even if you did have a super old house, which I’m sure you did.”
“Not that old, actually,” Henry admitted. “It was finished in 1711. Nonetheless—”
“I wonder if your house is still standing?”
“Of course it is,” he snapped. “Why would it not be?”
It could’ve fallen into ruins, or have been bulldozed, or both, but she doubted he wanted to hear about those possibilities. “What’s your house called?” She couldn’t help but add, “Privilege Place? Snooty McSnooterson Hall?”
“Everly Park.”
“Oh…well, that’s a beautiful name, actually,” she admitted. “Let’s see if I can find it.” She picked up her phone.
“You mean, pictures of it?” he asked.
“Well, yeah. And information.”
He moved closer to her to look over her shoulder.
“Here it is!” Rose said. The website landing page showed a photo of his ancestral home, seen from the park, with a stone bridge over the little river in the foreground.
“My God,” he breathed. “Yes. That’s it.”
“Holy shit,” Rose exclaimed loudly, only barely aware of his disapproving look. “Are you kidding me? This isn’t a house. It’s a castle!”
“No. But it was built on the grounds of a former castle.” She swiped to a photo of a baker standing in front of what looked like a greenhouse, holding a loaf of French bread.
“What is this man doing on my property?” Henry demanded.
“They’re advertising a food festival. It looks like they have a lot of events there.” She flipped to another page. “Yeah, it belongs to England now. It’s owned by the National Trust.”
Henry snorted. “I should very much like to know who approved of such a thing.”
“It’s not the worst idea. Then a lot of people can enjoy it.”
He looked thoroughly unconvinced, and she went back to the photos of the rooms. The next one showed a gilded suite with several paintings on the walls in elaborate frames. Watchful cherubs flanked the mirror over the fireplace.
“What the hell?” Rose said, completely astonished. “Did it look like this when you lived there?”
“No.” When she looked over at him, he added, “It should have a Savonnerie carpet rather than a Persian, and it’s missing the tapestry of the Battle of Ramillies.”
She shook her head and flipped to an elaborate maze garden.
“Ha! It still looks neatly trimmed,” he said.
“They probably replaced the shrubs.”
“The configuration is the same. Even as a young lad, I knew the way out, but I still loved the detours.”
The next picture was of a great hall. Rose had known he must’ve been rich, of course. But nobody should be this rich.
“How is this your house? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Ashamed?” He got to his feet. “Most people would say I should be proud.”
“I’ll bet,” she muttered, swiping to an image of the front of the great house of beige stone. Columns flanked the central entrance and the great stone towers.
He stood over her, staring down. “Where does the present Duke of Beresford live?”
Rose had actually done a quick search when she’d left the roof to gather her witchy things. “There isn’t one. The dukedom died out or whatever.”
“But this is appalling.” He paced a few steps on the roof.
Rose flipped to the state dining room with its ruby red walls. “It’s crazy for one person to live here. A hundred people could live here!”
“There’s a large staff.”
“Servants, right. How many?”
“Why does it matter?”
She dropped the phone to her side. “You don’t even know!”
It made her think of when her father had been laid off.
A sweet, gentle man, he’d always been willing to take extra shifts.
He’d been proud of the work, saying how the tractors they built in the factory were used all over the world.
The day he’d lost his job, he’d tried to smile and tell Rose and Ryan everything would be all right, but there had been a new thinness to his voice, as though he’d been punched in the throat.
Rich people used workers like him and discarded them like used tissues, never thinking about what might happen to them or their families afterward.
She held up her hands, the phone in one of them. “I’m just saying that for a few people to be that rich, a lot of people have to be poor.”
He snorted. “Would you haul me to a guillotine? We each travel in our orbit, the way the planets travel in their orbits above.”
“That’s a horrible analogy,” she said.
“What of it?” He pointed down at the phone. “That is my house, and if your magic brought me away from it, then you had no business attempting it.”
Rose felt a stab of hurt. He could be a little more sensitive after she’d had to admit in front of him that she’d been looking for a boyfriend.
“You know I didn’t mean to bring you. Obviously, this was a mistake.” He was a first-rate snob who thought he was divinely ordained to be superrich, and he didn’t even want to be in the same century as her.
Besides, he didn’t laugh at her jokes. He was clearly a monster.
Standing at a distance from her, Henry set his hands on his hips, looking out over the rooftops. “As far as living alone in that house…it was meant for a family, at least.”
Regret washed over her. Her family’s past problems weren’t Henry’s fault. And regardless of whatever he was complicit in as a member of the ruling class of England, and she didn’t really know, he was grieving. Not to mention hopelessly lost.
A siren wailed on the street below, accompanied by flashing red lights.
Andy War-Howl burst through the windowsill, barking, his claws clattering as he landed on the roof. Out of Rose’s reach, he launched himself toward the offending noise, toward the edge.
Rose felt as though her soul had left her body. With a wordless shriek, she ran two steps after him. She lunged for him and missed—
Then Henry was there, sliding to his knees, grabbing the dog firmly by the back haunch and hauling him backward. Ignoring the dog’s surprised yelp, Henry grasped him by the collar as the siren faded into the distance.
Rose pressed her hands to her face. “Oh, shit.”
Henry scooped Andy up in his arms without letting go of the collar. “Troublesome cur,” he growled, breathing hard. Now that it was quiet again, the dog looked up at him with curious eyes. Henry stalked over to the open window and carried Andy inside.
Feeling shaky, Rose followed him. “He’s got a crate over here…”
She pointed to the corner of the living room. Henry strode over to it, deposited the dog inside, locked the door, and rattled it to make sure it was secure.
“I didn’t even think about leaving the window open,” Rose said as Andy pawed at his blankets, unperturbed. Her throat tightened. It had been the craziest night of her life, and this scare on top of everything else was too much. “I’m such a flake!”
Henry came over and took gentle hold of her upper arms. The contact and his closeness distracted her, and she gazed up at him. She was used to him looking cold and stern, and she hadn’t been prepared for the concern in his dark eyes.
“You have had a terrible shock,” he said gravely. “You must sit down at once.” He extended one arm to the armchair.
“Okay, good idea,” she said. He was being very nice, but missing the point. Emily had trusted her with Andy. “I’m the worst dog sitter ever.”
He took her by one arm. “Dogs are mischievous creatures. When I was a boy, we had a spaniel who was always finding trouble.” He guided her to the chair. To her surprise, as soon as she sat down, Henry crouched next to the chair, holding her hand and regarding her closely.
“You are unwell. I must call for a doctor.”
“What? No! I’m okay. I’m just freaked out.”
His worrying over her made something inside her melt. She wasn’t fragile. She was the one who took care of everyone else. But it was so nice, just this once, to have someone looking after her…even if he didn’t think she was anything special, and even if she hardly knew him.
“I will not insist for now. But consider that you have had not one, but two great frights this evening.” She appreciated him pointing that out. It made it sound like he didn’t blame her completely for his being here. “We must avoid further assaults on your sensibilities.”
She had to smile at that. “I agree. I hate assaults on my sensibilities.”
He was still staring at her. “Still, you have gone pale. Is there something you could take to settle your nerves? Perhaps a glass of wine.”
She gave a shaky half laugh. “You mean, if I promise not to throw it at you?”
His mouth curved up in the slightest of smiles. Wait. Was he laughing at her joke? Well, not laughing, and it hadn’t been much of a joke, but still, he was visibly appreciative.
He looked irresistible with that smile and the warmth in his eyes.
“I will fetch you the wine,” he declared.
He rose to his feet, and as she watched him go into the kitchen, she wondered if he’d ever fetched anyone a glass of wine in his life.
“The bottle’s on the counter, and the glasses are over the sink,” she called after him. Apparently, he did know what a sink was, because he opened the right cabinet door. “Do you want one, too?”
He looked over at her. “I suppose I don’t care if I do.”
When he returned to the living room, with his erect posture, his fancy if spattered clothes, and a glass of wine in each hand, Rose drank in the sight of him. It would’ve been wonderful to conjure up a man like him…if he’d actually been interested in her.
“Thank you,” she said as he put them both on the table and took a seat on the couch across from her. She had to admit that a little bit of her missed him crouching at her side.
As she took a sip, he said, “Some color has returned to your cheeks.”
They were probably getting even pinker now, the way he was staring at her again. “I’m fine. I’m just glad you were here to save Andy.” She forced a smile. “Even though you’re not glad you’re here. If there’s anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable, let me know.”
He adjusted his scarf thing. “I daresay that had I known I would be dragged into another century, I would have packed some clothing.”
“Oh, right!” she said, snapping her fingers. “I have some things you can wear. A while back my brother brought me some more clothes to give to Griffin, but then Griffin sold his armor and he didn’t really need hand-me-downs…Anyway, I was going to give them to charity, but I kept forgetting.”
He stared at her blankly.
“I’m sorry. I’m talking too fast,” she guessed. “I’m saying I have some clothes for you that’ll be much more comfortable.”
She wished Emily and Griffin could come over to help him adjust to the twenty-first century. But of course, he didn’t want to adjust. And she couldn’t even blame him.
She added, “I’ll do everything I can to help you get back to 1818.”