Chapter 3 #4
She looked to the little girl and reached out to hold her tiny hands. “Callesandra, it seems I’m in a bit of trouble,” Amanda said quite truthfully. “Do you think you could help me?”
Callesandra looked up tentatively, her eyes barely making contact. “Oui,” she whispered.
It was then, when Callesandra looked up at her, her eyes so earnest, that everything clicked into place.
Well, everything except for how Amanda had ended up in this place.
As she looked around the room at the ornate furnishings, the old-fashioned dresses, and the fearful maids, she realized the significance of the names Alexander, Rebecca, and Callesandra.
Amanda had been so fascinated when her father first brought her to the rocky British coast estate, she’d researched everything she could about it.
She’d found a few ledgers and journals with miscellaneous records.
Some familial and some legal in nature. She’d read them over so many times, she’d committed much of the information to memory.
The most intriguing story she’d found was of the original owner’s great-great-great-grandson, Alexander Montgomery.
He’d been born in 1738, titled, and uber wealthy.
He’d become a Royal Admiral of the White, whatever that was, and upon returning from his last commission had suffered an arranged marriage in 1767.
And suffered, according to the records, was putting it mildly.
From what Amanda had found, and unfortunately there wasn’t much, his wife was the cruelest of the cruel.
Their first child was recorded as a girl, Callesandra, and their second, a boy, not named because he’d died during childbirth.
Though the rumor was that Alexander’s wife, Rebecca, had killed him, just to spite her husband.
That’s how utterly vicious this woman was reputed to be.
There was never any mention of this extension of the family beyond 1774—and Amanda had looked. Hard. It was as if the occupants of this estate—Alexander, his wife, and their only living daughter—had vanished, never to be written of again.
Amanda shivered involuntarily, and it was only Alexander clearing his throat that brought her back to the present. Or to the past. Or wherever it was, whenever it was she was. She turned back to Callesandra—this historically disappeared little girl—and gave her her warmest smile.
“It seems I need a necklace,” Amanda explained in a conspiratorial whisper, risking a glance toward Alexander, who was still standing in the doorway. He was watching her carefully. “But I don’t really care for any of the ones Alice offered me.”
They all looked shocked by her statement. Apparently, Rebecca loved expensive baubles.
“But, Mama,” Callesandra exclaimed. “You love jewelry.”
“Jewelry is not something you love, Callesandra,” Amanda corrected with a smile.
She couldn’t help but care for this little girl already.
She felt like she knew her, and she kind of did, given how much she’d read about her and her family.
“People, you love. I do however admire jewelry, but I would prefer something a little understated. May I borrow your necklace, please?”
Callesandra smiled then, not a full smile, but the corners of her mouth lifted just a bit. “You wish to wear mine?” she asked, both awed and hesitant.
“I would.” Amanda nodded. “May I? Just for tonight. After my performance I promise to return it.”
Alexander snorted from the doorway, a derisive look crossing his face when she caught his eye.
What was that about? Ignoring him, she turned her attention back to Callesandra, who bent her head to let Amanda unfasten the simple silver chain that held a heart-shaped locket.
She placed it around her neck and, still sitting on the floor, looked up again at Callesandra.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
“I think you look more beautiful than I have ever seen, Mama,” Callesandra whispered.
“May I have one of your hair ribbons too? You can tie it around my wrist.”
Callesandra reached back and gently pulled one free. “I can’t tie, Mama.” She shook her head and bit her lip as if waiting to be reprimanded. Amanda turned her around and sat Callesandra on her lap. They both faced Alexander now.
“I’ll teach you,” Amanda said, hugging her against her chest. “Just a simple loop,” Amanda explained. “Would you like to learn?”
Callesandra nodded and Amanda patiently helped Callesandra tie the ribbon until she got it right. Then she wrapped her hands around Callesandra and hugged her tightly. “You did it!” she praised. “Thank you, Callesandra. I’ll return them to you later, I promise.”
Alexander came forward then, giving Amanda another curious look.
At least she understood it now; her behavior must be terribly strange to him.
Based on what she knew, Amanda was nothing like his wife, Rebecca—someone who she apparently looked very similar to.
Peculiar circumstances aside, her fear of Alexander subsided. Perhaps she could fix this.
“Come, sweet,” he said, taking the girl in his arms. “Papa shall tuck you in.”
Amanda watched Callesandra wrap her little arms around Alexander’s neck, then gift a smile as she peeked over her father’s shoulder. A real smile. My God, the most amazingly sweet smile she’d ever received. Amanda blew her a kiss, then laughed as Callesandra caught it.
Alexander came back a few minutes later, presumably after settling Callesandra into bed.
“I don’t know what you were thinking!” he snapped. “But you will not play games with Callesandra. She’s but a child.”
My God, he was furious. And what had she done that was so terrible? Made Callesandra smile? Ooh, capital offence, Alexander! At the end of her rope, Amanda snapped back, “I’m not playing games, Alexander! And I would never do so with a child. Any child!”
He snorted in disgust. “Come. You’ve kept your guests long enough. I know you wish nothing more than to give your grand performance.”
To be honest—which she was so not doing—Amanda really didn’t enjoy grand performances and almost told him so.
Instead, she thought to herself, Just play, Amanda, and then it’ll all be over.
You obviously hit your head harder than you thought and this is just some weird hallucination or dream.
Serves you right for being so obsessed with reading about mysterious disappearances!
But somewhere in the back of her mind, Amanda didn’t want it to be over. Toying with Alexander, watching him vacillate between hating her and kissing her, was remarkably entertaining. Okay, if she was being honest, she wanted to at least stick around until he kissed her again.
Oblivious to her thoughts—thank God—Alexander led her into a ballroom.
He looked down in surprise as she latched her hand around his forearm.
She narrowed her eyes in return, warning him silently and in no uncertain terms that there was no way she was letting go of him.
If she’d ever needed an anchor, it was definitely now as she stood in the entrance to the ballroom, an enormous high-ceilinged room ablaze in light from exquisite candlelit chandeliers.
The woodwork was painted to a high shine, the walls decorated with gold leaf and breathtakingly lush draperies.
Tables covered with flowers and candelabras filled the room, and the dance floor was alive with people as they moved to the tune an orchestra played to perfection.
French doors lined the back wall, open and leading to the marble veranda she’d seen earlier, couples stepping in and out between them.
“My God,” she whispered under her breath.
“Not what you expected?” Alexander returned, glaring down at her.
Amanda looked up then. She was getting used to that stare of his, that “I’m your superior keeper and you’re my inferior subject” look.
Irked, she glared back for just a second, then her features softened, and she rubbed his forearm beneath her fingers.
It was an unconscious gesture, almost like she was trying to put him at ease.
She held his gaze and answered him honestly.
“It’s not at all what I expected, Alexander. ” And neither are you.
He regarded her a moment before his anger returned.
Then he cut her to the quick. “Life is seldom what we expect, Rebecca. As you well know.” He stared at the spot on his arm where she was still brushing her fingers against him, then turned his face away and dismissed her. “Go. Have your amusement, Rebecca.”
“I don’t want to go, Alexander,” Amanda whispered, meaning it. She was in no way prepared to play for these people, hallucination or not.
Alexander sighed before turning back to her. “You make no sense tonight, Rebecca. Go,” he said again, this time more firmly. “Give your performance. Dance as you love to. Just remove yourself from my arm. Now!”
The orchestra stopped then and, feeling as though she had no choice, Amanda released his arm. “Should I play now?” she asked.
“You do love it so, Rebecca,” Alexander said, shaking his head, looking almost like he was repulsed by her. She’d have to work on that. “Play to your heart’s content.” He made a sweep with his arm in a grand gesture to encompass the room.
Amanda shrugged and headed toward the musicians to his left, paying no attention to the guests as they spoke to her. One person at a time she could handle, but pretending to be the evil Rebecca to dozens? No, she’d rather lose herself in the music.
When she reached the pianist, Amanda tapped the man’s shoulder, whispering in his ear that she’d like a turn. The pianist bowed as he stood, ceding her the bench. A hush came over the entire crowd and she began to play.
This was more like it. This she could do.
Amanda let go as her haunting music filled the room, nearly forgetting where she was.
She continued until she could play no more, keeping her eyes closed until the last note had disappeared into silence.
When the room erupted into applause, she opened her eyes and searched the crowd until her gaze fixed upon Alexander.
The intensity of his stare gave her chills. The good kind.
She stood and walked through the expanse of the ballroom, ignoring every compliment called her way. She looked only at him, holding his eyes until she stood before him.
“My performance is over,” she said firmly, quietly, and with a deadly seriousness. “Good night, Alexander.” Then she left the room.
Glancing back, she saw him shake himself out of his stupor.
As he turned and made a move to follow, Amanda hurried forward.
She heard him behind her, but he didn’t reach her until she’d entered her room.
Grabbing her arm, he twirled her to face him.
He studied her closely, shaking his head as his hands gripped her arms.
“Who are you?” he whispered, both a question and an accusation.
Amanda, ready to wake up from this hallucination, decided now was the moment for honesty.
It’s not like any of this was real anyway, no matter how real it felt.
All of her obsessive reading about the Montgomery estate had apparently manifested in her subconscious after hitting her head.
Entirely because that selfish idiot Robert had tried to kill her.
And then physically being on the estate must have been the reason she’d imagined Alexander saving her life, not once, but twice.
Thank her penchant for authoritative, powerful men for conjuring this vision of a man.
Exquisite, elegant, masculine. Maybe also why being kissed by him may have been the single most enjoyable event of her life.
And Callesandra. Amanda had always wanted children, but had never found the right person to have them with. Had Callesandra been hers, she would have cherished her. Such a sweet girl.
It broke her heart that they had both been treated so poorly by Rebecca, that the stories she’d read had been true.
For a moment, Amanda felt a strong pull toward this life, wishing it were real, for Alexander to be her husband and Callesandra her beautiful daughter. Wanting to touch him one last time before this was over, Amanda fingered his lapels and then flattened her hands against his chest.
“Tonight, I am your wife, I suppose…and the mother of your daughter. But I have never seen any of you before in my life.”