Chapter 3
When Reese woke from a brief nap, she already felt better, though still tired. At a soft knock at the door, she sat up and called, “Come.”
Ellen peeked in. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all.” Reese sat up. “What’s up?”
“Nothing of consequence.” Ellen hesitated, then added, “Gareth received a notice from the magistrate. It appears that a prisoner escaped transport this morning, up the road from Kellworth.”
The image of the man with desperate eyes flashed through Reese’s mind, and she wondered if it was him. She asked, “Is he dangerous?”
“The message stated his crime was not violent,” Ellen said quickly. “Gareth said the man is likely a debtor or something of the sort. As a precaution, Gareth instructed the servants to be attentive and to lock the lower doors and windows.”
“Okay.” Reese settled back, feeling a little sorry for the prisoner. She wouldn’t want to be on the run in weather like this. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Indeed. I mention it only so you are not astonished at the additional watchfulness.” A faint curve touched Ellen’s mouth. “Now rest. Catherine insists upon it.”
As she left, Reese put a hand on her abdomen, and a thrill went through her again.
Pregnant. She might be pregnant. Until the moment Catherine had asked those questions, Reese hadn’t known she could want a baby so badly.
Evidently, she did. While she and Jem had discussed having a family, the idea had been for the future. Someday. A distant event.
Not anymore.
And from the joyful glow in Jem’s eyes, the possibility excited him. She couldn’t have borne it if he hadn’t wanted this too.
Reese settled into the overstuffed chair, wishing she weren’t so tired already. She had worked in a health clinic and remembered how often women complained about fatigue during pregnancy.
But what if she wasn’t expecting? It couldn’t be a good thing for her to feel so weary.
That thought, however, only led to a dark path, and she didn’t want to go there. It could be the combination of jet lag and a reaction to the time travel.
But maybe it was a baby!
Stop it!
Reese leaned back her head and laughed at herself. They would know soon enough.
She scanned the room, recalling when she had stayed in it during her first visit to Kellworth.
She and Jem had been at odds then, so when Ellen made the invitation, Reese had jumped on it.
Anything to get away from him. With Ellen’s brother Gareth still in London, it had given the two women time by themselves, with the servants to care for their needs.
The bedroom still had an undeniable Victorian style, but she recognized changes to the décor.
Rather than the deep burgundy velvet curtains she recalled from her last visit, the drapes were a dusty rose color.
It made the room less claustrophobic and had to be Catherine’s influence. Reese liked the update.
A shiver went down her spine as though someone were watching her. Chiding herself for being a little paranoid, she scanned the room. Her gaze landed on the portrait of Beatrice resting on the fireplace mantel. Reese blinked. Hadn’t the woman’s eyes been staring off into the distance?
She was looking directly at Reese.
Shades of Hogwarts and its portraits with moving people!
She must be remembering it wrong. Irritated by how unsettled it made her feel, Reese glared at the pale, sorrowful face, then squinted to see it better.
It now had an almost lifelike quality to it, and Beatrice’s painted eyes seemed to plead with Reese for help.
Her heart wrenched at the pain she saw there. This couldn’t be happening.
I am not going crazy.
But this was Twickenham. Or rather, the portrait had been painted there...with Nellie’s magic-infused paint. And Beatrice had disappeared from there.
Reese pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and looked away so she could think. If she had learned nothing else, it was to pay attention to anything related to Twickenham Manor.
So, first, why had she felt prompted to bring Beatrice to Kellworth even though Nellie hadn’t, though she could have brought the portrait at any time over the years?
Or simply given it to either Gareth or Ellen whenever they visited Twickenham.
They made a habit of attending the full-moon balls there, after all.
Reese shifted her gaze to the painting again. The woman still stared right at her, and Reese’s heart ached. This had to be the magic. She wouldn’t fight it this time if it meant she could help.
I am certifiable.
Reese sighed, then told the portrait, “Fine, Beatrice. I’ll find out what I can about you, but I can’t promise you it will change anything.”
With the decision made, the tension in her shoulders eased a little. She studied the portrait again, this time without skepticism. Whatever logic said, whatever was or wasn’t possible, the evidence of her own senses was hard to argue with.
Nellie’s portraits made it possible to travel to any time where the painting existed. Beatrice had vanished before hers was ever painted. It wasn’t as though the picture itself could have grabbed her. Whether it was a window or a door, she could see out of it.
Somehow, someway. And she needed help.
Reese looked at it again. Never before had she seen a subject in a painting move, so what could that possibly mean?
Had something changed? She wished Nellie were here to ask.
And if there was something lifelike in the picture, why would a woman who had vanished long before Reese first visited the past choose her to be her champion in this?
Because that was what it felt like to Reese.
Rising from the chair, she went to the portrait. “I’m only here until the next full moon, and then I have to return to my time. If there’s anything you can do to help me understand...” Reese’s words faded, and she felt stupid.
Now on her feet, she evaluated how she felt. Just the tiniest bit of nausea. No dizziness at all, so she could risk going down the stairs in this heavy gown. Should she tell the others about this quest she had taken on? Would they laugh at her whimsy?
Reese smiled. She was pretty sure she could count on them to help. Gareth, after all, had convinced Nellie to paint a portrait of him so that he could travel to the future. And he had met Catherine there. Or, more likely, Nellie had set them up.
Everyone needed to see the painting, so she took it from the mantel. The air in the room seemed to thicken. It pressed against her skin like an invisible force, making her heart race. Reese met Beatrice’s gaze. Had her lips moved? Was she trying to speak?
“What happened to you?” Reese asked. “Do you even know?”
Beatrice’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, her lips parted as if she were preparing to speak again.
Transfixed, Reese tilted her head closer to hear. At first, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Then it came, clear and compelling, a mournful plea in the voice.
“Clarisse...”
Reese’s breath caught, her grip on the frame tightening. Talking portraits? What hadn’t Nellie told them?
As she turned to the door, it swung open. Jem grinned at her but must have seen something in her face.
“What is it?” he asked, striding to her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I might have.”
“Beatrice said my name.”
For a second, Jem thought Reese was joking. But the tightness in her voice and the flicker of something raw in her eyes made his stomach tighten. She believed it.
Her eyes narrowed, the way they did when she was ready to fight. His fierce, stubborn Reese. “I’m not making this up.”
“I know you’re not.” Jem gently took the portrait from her hands and laid it on the bed. Then he wrapped his arms around her. “You heard her, but was it with your ears or in your mind?”
“Seriously?” She stepped back, bristling, but he caught her hand before she could fully pull away.
“Hey,” he murmured, “I’m not calling you crazy. We time-traveled with the help of a Fae guardian, remember? This is hardly the weirdest thing we’ve ever experienced.”
She relaxed and let him draw her in again.
“She called your name,” he said. “Like...you actually heard her voice with your ears?”
“I did.” Reese stared at the painting. “And she called me Clarisse. How could she know it’s my real name? And it wasn’t just a feeling. And she’s watching me. Right now.”
Jem turned to study the portrait. “It looks the same to me. What am I missing?”
“Her eyes used to look to the side.” Reese’s voice dropped. “She looks desperate now.”
“We know Nellie paints with magic.” Jem rubbed his chin. “Maybe she used something different with this one, so only some people can sense it?”
He kissed Reese’s forehead, then pulled out his phone. “Let’s see what a little tech makes of it.”
Jem snapped a few photos, tapped one open, then blinked.
“Wow.”
“What?” Reese leaned in. Her breath caught. “That’s not a JPEG.”
“Nope. It’s acting like a GIF.” He grinned. “There’s movement.”
She exhaled hard, relief breaking across her face. “Okay. I’m not imagining this.”
“Hang on,” Jem said, checking his phone settings. “It looks like the camera was set to capture a GIF. I didn’t even know it could do that.”
“But the portrait was lying flat on the bed.” Her tone turned triumphant. “It didn’t move. So you know what that means.”
“Yes, I do. That the Twickenham magic always makes our visits interesting.” He gave her a slow grin. “I love you.”
She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, hard. Jem kissed her back until the flicker of motion from the GIF played again in his mind. He pulled back enough to speak.
“Um, we could have an audience,” he murmured against her ear. “We need to show this to the others.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket, picked up the portrait with one hand, and offered her his elbow. She surprised him with a playful curtsy, then took his arm. Together, they headed down the hallway.