Chapter 1 #2
“You must come,” one of the servant girls whispered to another as they trotted behind Emmeline. “I have it on my best authority that Robert is going to be there.”
“You think he’ll ask me for a dance?” the other girl said.
“I’m sure he will. After he’s had a drink or two.”
They both giggled again, and Emmeline wistfully smiled to herself. The girls must be talking about the dances on Saturday nights at the local pub. It sounded wonderful: a jovial, relaxed atmosphere and good old, unconcerned village folk, having a fun night out, dancing their feet off.
She’d never know how that felt.
She stored the locket safely inside her skirt and pursed her lips as a very inappropriate—but very exciting—thought wiggled itself into her brain.
Maybe she could find out.
***
As the tablet screen went dark, Emily rested it on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch.
It would be typical, expected, to say Emmeline was growing up fast, but in this case, it was more than true.
For Emily, it had only been six years since Emmeline popped up on that tablet as a baby.
She’d seen her grow up in flashes—extracts of her life, only served by the small screen.
Will showing her how Emmeline is learning to walk.
One-year-old Emmeline blubbering her first double-syllable words at her.
Four-year-old Emmeline clutching the tablet in her tiny fingers, asking why Emily was inside a box.
Eight-year-old Emmeline showing off her room and her growing book collection.
Fourteen-year-old Emmeline leaning in with a confidential grin, telling her how the neighbor’s boy smiled at her that morning, but Father’s look sent him skittering away.
Emily could be a confidante, and she could be Blue’s favorite (well, only) aunt, but regardless of what she kept promising her, she’d never be there to hug her and take her to the movies. Because Emmeline lived in the early twentieth century …
And Emily was stuck in the twenty-first.
Fine, it wasn’t fair to call herself stuck; this was her time, after all.
But it had been twelve years since she’d been blocked from time traveling, and her bouts of optimism about fixing her issue were getting shorter and spaced further apart.
One of Will’s children would become Emily’s great-great-grandparent, but she’d likely never get to meet them face-to-face.
An expected fate for a normal person; a sad one for a time traveler.
The front door slammed shut, bringing Emily out of her reverie, and rapid steps approached the living room.
“Guess what!” James stopped in the open doorway, beaming as he held up several pastel-colored bags.
His copper hair was damp from the snow outside, giving him the look of a model ready for a magazine spread.
“I went baby shopping. I know we said we’d go together, and we will, but I passed by this store and—look!
” He pulled a tiny, lime-green onesie out of the bag. “Isn’t it adorable?”
It was cute as heck, but … “We don’t even know the gender yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’ll fit the baby either way”—James approached and gave her a quick kiss—“because it’ll have its mother’s eyes.”
Emily rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Don’t get carried away. A onesie here, a onesie there, and before we know it, there’ll be enough of them for the baby to wear a different one each day of the year.”
“Hard stop at ten. Sprouts’ honor.” He raised a hand with three fingers extended.
“Scouts’,” Emily corrected him with a laugh.
He glanced at the table. “Did I miss a call with the family?”
“Just. Will is going to call us again when they’re in the States.
” She couldn’t wait for them to come back.
With Will being a Leader, like she used to be, he could time travel to any era, but he’d appear in the same spot he started the travel in, meaning he couldn’t visit Emily in Connecticut while he was vacationing in England.
“And, how is sister dearest?”
“Getting annoyed over Emmeline’s ‘unladylike’ behavior—pretty funny, I gotta say.”
“Have you told them yet?”
“No, but it’s still early. We’ll break the news when the time is right. Maybe when Will comes over.”
“Should we do the confetti thing with the gender reveal?”
“Where did you—no, no.” She stood up and hugged him. “Bad modern-day practice.”
James smiled. “Got it.”
She might be unlucky and never able to time travel again, but at least she had him here. He more than made up for it. She lifted her chin and puckered her lips. “I’m feeling like ice cream.”
“Can’t you go get some? There’s a bucket in the freezer.”
“Yes, but I’m pregnant. You have to serve my every whim and need.”
“And you have at least five months to go before you can pull that one on me.”
She grinned and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Fine, I’ll get your ice cream,” he conceded. “You put on the Bills and Vikings match from yesterday.”
“Gotcha.” Her eyes lingered on retreating James for a moment—she shouldn’t be surprised a former cowboy could pull off wearing jeans this well—and then she sat down as he disappeared into the pantry.
Will and Sylvia had made the choice not to tell their children about time travel.
It made sense since none of them could become time travelers themselves, but Emily still wished they knew.
Then she could be the cool aunt from the future, not some poor, supposedly bed-stricken soul with a disease that made her too sensitive to leave the house.
Or maybe, a few years ago, when Emmeline first asked why she couldn’t visit Aunt Emily, Emily should’ve made Will come up with a better excuse. Oh, Gramps. He did always suck at lying.
But it made her wonder … When the right time came, years in the future … Would she tell her kid about time travel?
***
Late in the evening, Emmeline, dressed in a lavender skirt and jacket, tiptoed to her bedroom door and peeked out into the hallway. The few still-lit lamps cast a soft glow onto the paneled mahogany walls, but nothing, and no one, stirred. She grabbed her purse, opened the door wider, and—
Steps pounded up the staircase. Emmeline gasped and shut the door as a figure—Cousin Reggie, or one of the male servants—came into view. She leaned against the door and exhaled softly.
Too risky to exit through the house. If someone found her, she’d have no excuse as to why she was dressed to go out. No, she’d have to think of something else if she wanted to catch that dance at the village pub.
She walked around the room, biting her nails, as her eyes stopped on the thick, gilded rope of the heavy velvet curtain concealing the window. That was it! She’d be like Lady Agnes in The Specter of Cunningham House. With a hand over her mouth, she silenced her giggle, then got to work.
She freed as much of the rope as possible and tied knots into it, spaced about two feet apart.
She pried the window open—it squeaked a bit, but nobody should’ve heard it—and dropped the rope down.
With a soft rustle, its end landed in the bushes below.
She tugged—sturdy enough—and hauled herself over the windowsill, stepping onto the first knot and wedging the rope between her heels.
She progressed slowly, but progress she did; knot by knot, foot by foot, until she was close enough to the ground she dared to let go, landing between two bushes. She smoothed out her skirt and dusted off her hands, proudly gazing up two stories at her former prison.
Never say Gothic romances only filled women’s minds with “silly ideas.”
The door opened behind her. Emmeline turned around, blinded by the bright light.
“Emmeline?” a voice said, and the lamp was lowered.
She shielded her eyes as she looked upon her would-be jailer and slumped her shoulders. “Good evening, Father.”
“What were you thinking?” Across the dining table where Emmeline sat, Father paced up and down. Her mother stood by the fireplace, the orange glow of the lamp illuminating her pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows.
Father reached a hand to his forehead, stopped, and faced her. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”
“But I know the rope-climbing technique—”
“I’m not talking about the rope.” Even though he hadn’t raised his voice, his steady low tone indicated how much trouble she was in.
“You intended to sneak out to the village, through the forest, in the middle of the night. Anything could’ve happened to you, either on the way there or in the village. ”
“Not to mention, it’s incredibly inappropriate for a young woman,” Mother added.
“So you’re saying if I had asked, and someone had accompanied me there, it would be fine?”
“Of course not!” Mother said indignantly. “If you wanted a party, you only had to say so. I’m sure Reginald would’ve loved to throw one.”
“That’s not the point!” Emmeline rose to her feet. “I wanted to go to that party because for once, I wanted to do something I wished, not something you—”
“Don’t be unfair, Emmeline,” Father said.
“Unfair?” She threw her arms up. “Brendon and Tristan can do anything they want. They’ll put frogs under everyone’s pillows, and you’ll think it’s adorable and sweet. They’ll switch salt with sugar, and you’ll say it’s a ‘funny prank.’”
“Brendon and Tristan are not young ladies,” Mother said.
“I’m almost eighteen!”
“And that’s our point precisely.” Father put his hand on Mother’s shoulder as if to calm her down. “You must behave appropriately to your age and, well, status.”
Emmeline scoffed and crossed her arms across her chest.
“Go to your room.” Father’s tone left no space for unwise arguments, such as that she could climb down the rope again, so Emmeline bit her tongue. She marched out of the dining room and slammed the door behind her, then paused. She inched back and pressed her ear to the door.
“Then what do we do?” Mother’s voice was small with worry.
“Pull her out of finishing school,” Father said. “I know you wanted her to go—”
“I thought it would be good for her.”
“I think so, too. But I’m worried about her pulling the same antics as here, or at home. Like the one with the matchmaking newspaper column …”
Merely poor planning on her part.
“Or the maid incident …”
They were never going to let her live that one down, were they?
“She might do the same at school,” Father continued. “And we won’t be there to protect her.”
Protect her? Smother her, more like. Control her.
“We’ll return home right away, Emmeline included,” Father said.
“What about your meeting in London?”
“I’ll call them tomorrow. Send someone else—I don’t know, I’ll figure it out. Emmeline takes priority.”
Wonderful. Now all the important people in the industry would wonder why Ford’s Chief Engineer wasn’t there, and Emmeline could be blamed for that, too. I’m sorry, my father couldn’t make it because he had to take care of me, his awful, rebellious daughter.
“I’ll take care of business,” Father said. “Will you get us tickets for the earliest ship back to New York?”
“First thing in the morning.”
Only soft murmuring after that—Emmeline couldn’t make it out, so she pried the door open an inch. Her parents stood by the fireplace; Father hugged Mother and pressed a light kiss onto the top of her head. She sighed, meeting his eyes.
“I don’t know what else to do with her.” Her voice was barely above a peep.
“Shhh. It’s all right. When we get back home, we’ll sort it out.”
After a moment, Mother nodded, and hid her face in Father’s shoulder.
He continued brushing her hair, and Emmeline closed the door, her stomach clenching in a strange mix of bitterness and jealousy.
Mother and Father were so perfect for each other: he was so smart and so successful and always the perfect gentleman, and she was so polite and so elegant and always the perfect lady.
They had their perfect life and their perfect two sons …
The only problem was her. Their imperfect daughter.