Chapter 22
The fall months passed Emmeline by: in the brightening of the foliage around Charlingham Hall, in the withering of grass and the retreating flocks of birds, in the lengthening of shadows, and the growing stack of read books in her room.
In the first few weeks, she’d tried opening a passage, but gradually those attempts, too, faded.
She didn’t know if her powers were gone for good or lacked a spark she once had—either way, the result was the same. She was to stay here; forever, perhaps.
Sometimes her mother’s gentle voice, cajoling her to wake up, would bring her out of sleep, and she’d stare into the empty air of her bedroom, clinging to the strands of those dreams, to the image of her mother waiting at the doorstep.
Sometimes Tristan’s laughter would make her rush to the window, only to find the housekeeper’s young son playing outside, instead.
Her family was all around her—but only as ghosts, phantasms reminding her of her mistakes.
She also wondered, and worried, about Theo, and scoured the newspapers for any mention of a French soldier being outed by a duke in Dorset, but found nothing.
Wherever he was, whatever happened after he went to speak with the duke, she hoped he was safe, and perhaps not caught in the same lingering, melancholy malady she was.
At least the company of books—and, to be fair, Sebastian—intermittently helped her forget her fate.
“Not to ruin the holidays for you,” Sebastian said one morning in December as they were finishing breakfast, “but I’ll have to travel to London after New Year’s.
Time to see what the old chaps in the Parliament are doing.
” He gave her an amused smile. “And to add to my collection of sketches of Lord Wothersby sleeping during the sessions.”
“How long are you going to be there?”
“Most likely until June.”
“Oh.” Emmeline looked at her lap. Half a year seemed much too long to stay here alone as a guest. And sometimes, she was already feeling like she’d overstayed her welcome. It would hurt to lose Sebastian, though; he was the closest family she had in this time. “I should pack my things then.”
“Only if you intend to come with me,” he said. “And I would very much like you to. Mrs. Hutchinson’s cooking has improved since you’ve been here, and it’s already been great to begin with.”
“I only asked her to flambé a few things.”
“You’re a certified culinary mastermind, Cousin.”
She’d thought so, too, back when she was thirteen, right after the baseball craze ended.
“So, are you coming with me?” he asked.
She wrung her hands. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, with the start of the season. The Duchess of Redbridge was very clear about not wanting to see me again.”
“Her family might be powerful, but they don’t rule the world. Above all, she wants the matter buried. She will not mention it if you won’t pursue it, or Lord Farenham.”
Emmeline scoffed inwardly. Daniel was the furthest thing from her mind. As she raised her eyes, she found Sebastian inspecting her with slight caution and curiosity.
“I’ve no designs on him.”
“Good! Then you simply must come. There will be invitations for theater, musical performances, and balls aplenty, and somebody has to make use of them.”
Theater? Balls? That sounded like a dream. She hadn’t danced in so long. Since she’d danced with Theo.
But, dreamlike or not, she had a mission to finish.
Time to drag herself out of her misery, complete Lady Scarlet’s riddle, and finally bring Maria Grey back.
Even if Maria didn’t want to marry Daniel, even if she’d wanted to run away from everything, she deserved to be back in her time.
And based on what Emmeline had untangled so far, the clues indeed led to London.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll go.”
The new year opened with horrific weather—heavy rains first, then snow—delaying the Parliament’s sessions and, therefore, Sebastian’s departure, but by the end of January, he and Emmeline finally found their way to London.
But snow wasn’t the only thing in abundance—so were the invitations to social events once word got around of the arrival of Viscount Haverston and his mysterious American cousin.
Despite Sebastian encouraging her to do so, Emmeline hadn’t accepted any invitations yet. Even with his reassurances regarding the Redbridges, a sliver of fear remained. So instead, she threw herself into untangling Lady Scarlet’s clues.
This led her to a walk in Hyde Park one afternoon.
It was a cold day, even without the wind, and a fresh blanket of snow covered the park, turning it into a vast sea of white, interspersed only with bare, dark trees.
Following her clue, she left the more populated Rotten Row behind and headed north, following a road around the half-frozen lake.
Despite her swift pace and the protection of her fur-lined coat and muff, cold bit her cheeks.
As time passed and she made little progress—the park was much larger than she’d imagined—she started to daydream about a nice, hot cup of tea.
In the distance, a rider approached at a steady pace, dark coat billowing behind him.
With them alone on the path, Emmeline’s thoughts ran wild.
He looked like a highwayman. They used to show up in the park in the old days—at least so she’d read when she was studying to decipher the clues.
A warmth filled her, remembering Louisa’s remarks about highwaymen the first day she’d arrived at Lennemere.
Were any of them handsome? Actually, this one—as she glanced at him—was.
Actually, he was …
“Theo?” She whipped around to follow him.
He pulled on the reins and turned toward her. Even with him dressed in a bulky winter coat and his hair a touch shorter and combed more fashionably—into that wavy look she’d seen all the young men in London sport—there was no doubt.
“Theo!” she repeated, stopping a few feet away. “It is you.” She almost laughed from bubbling relief and joy, but settled for a wide smile instead.
“Emmeline,” he greeted, as one would a passing acquaintance.
“What are you doing here? Riding, I see—but I didn’t know if you ended up going to London or not—and apparently, you did—did you find work? How have you been?”
He hesitated for a moment. “I’m doing well, thank you. I hope the same goes for you.”
She hadn’t expected a smile in return—they’d parted on rather dramatic terms—but she didn’t expect this kind of coldness, either. Only a basic politeness, instead of a genuine interest for her wellbeing.
But then, she had lied to him. “Can we talk?”
“I must go.” He clucked the horse.
“No, please—”
He stopped again, and she ran another few steps to catch up. “Let me explain.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations. It doesn’t matter anymore.” He kept his eyes on the road, instead, as if looking at her pained him.
Her chest squeezed. Doesn’t matter? Did he care so little about her that he didn’t even want an explanation?
She thought they were friends.
“You should go home,” he said. “A walk in this weather and in this part of the park is hardly safe for ladies.”
Oh, so he didn’t need explanations, but he still wanted to boss her around?
“I’ll do what I want with my time, thank you.
But you have a pleasant ride.” She turned her back on him and continued on at a brisk pace, pursing her lips, if only to keep the hurt from rising in her throat.
She didn’t deserve any better, but Theo snubbing her like that still stung.
Behind her, snow crunched under fast-approaching steps. Emmeline turned in a burst of panic—was this side of the park really dangerous? Was someone coming to rob her?—but it was just Theo. He’d tied his horse to a tree across the path and ran to her.
“Emmeline, please. The city ends that way. There’s nothing to be seen there.”
Her heart leaped—he must care if he was this insistent—but she kept her face straight. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m following a clue, and it’s leading me there.”
He lowered his eyebrows. “Lady Scarlet.”
“Yes.”
He fell in step with her. “It’s the Hyde Park clue. But do you have to do this in such weather?”
“My schedule is quite full. I must fit it in where I can.”
He cast a side glance at her. “You just arrived in London, then?”
She bit her lip, torn between shutting him out—to return him for his own reception of her—or telling him everything about the clues and her theories, like in the good old days …
“I have,” she said, restraining her voice. “With Lord Haverston.”
“You two are—”
“Family.” She wouldn’t torture him that much.
“I’m very confused.”
“Will you let me explain, then?”
He sighed. “Fine.”
“I’m sorry I lied,” she started. “When we met, I was in a strange bind. You know my powers—how I could take us to other places, different times?”
“I remember.”
“What I didn’t tell you was that I, too, am from a different time.”
He blinked.
“From almost a hundred years in the future.”
He stopped, shook his head, then caught up with her again. “What? How?”
“The same way I sent us to other periods. One day, I landed here, and the duchess mistook me for Miss Grey. I thought I’d play along until I got my bearings, but it became much too complicated and involved.”
“Why didn’t you go home?”
“I can’t.” A lump formed in her throat. “Now I can’t.
Back then, I didn’t want to. I didn’t like the restrictions my parents placed on me.
I thought life here would be more exciting.
” Their faces, and Tristan and Brendon’s, flashed in her mind, but blurry and shapeless, as if her memory couldn’t quite reach them any more.
Her eyes stung. Would they completely disappear one day?
Would she no longer remember their eyes and their voices and their laughter?
How could she have been so silly?
“So, where is the real Miss Grey?”