Chapter 12
It was a clear, sunny day, warm with the hint of approaching summer and ripe with the earthy scent of wet moss. The melodic chirps of songbirds and the fizzling crash of the sea against the cliffs added to the relaxed vibe. It was also Eva’s last day of freedom before she would enter Asheford Hall as Jane Edwards.
A plan was in place.
The game would soon start, and she was a nervous wreck.
Henry and Eva walked together along the cliffside. It was easy to walk with him. With his hands clasped behind his back, he enjoyed taking his time to observe little details, like the tortoiseshell butterfly fluttering by their legs or the seaside daisies that grew in puffs of pink on the flinty cliff edge. It amused her that Henry enjoyed pointing out these details to her. He claimed Lottie had taught him these things, but Eva suspected it was the other way around.
After some time, they perched on a large rock and faced the sea. A cool breeze swept the length of the cliff’s edge, rustling the trees behind them.
“We are to leave for the carriage tomorrow morning at five,” Henry said. “William will meet us at our secluded spot in the forest; you will hop in the carriage, make a tour around the village of Tywardreath and loop around toward the front entrance of Asheford Hall.”
She played with the hem of her jacket. “And how long will the journey take?”
“No more than an hour.”
A pain lanced through her jaw and she massaged it. She was starting to grind her teeth at night again. Occasionally she would wake to flashes of Josiah’s face, gasping for air as the blood spurted from his neck. Since her arrival at Bondieux House, she hadn’t allowed herself time to process the murder, nor did they speak about it. It was as if it were an unspoken act of necessary evil – their lives for Josiah’s – and somehow, she was all right with that. Did that make her a bad person?
“My sister and I will meet you at Asheford Hall, as will our servants,” he said.
“Servants?”
She had forgotten she would have to interact with the servants. Jesus, she was not ready for this.
His gaze locked onto hers. “All will be fine, Eva. Do not worry about my staff. Lottie has been preparing them for your arrival with her dramatic antics. There should not be an ounce of suspicion from their end.”
Eva couldn’t help but smile.
Lottie had gone out of her way to make Eva’s arrival perfect. She had written a fake letter from Jane Edwards, then run around the Hall declaring that her American best friend from school was spontaneously visiting for the summer and would arrive by train a few days before the event. She even went so far as to pretend that Eva’s chaperone had fallen sick during the journey to England and could not accompany Jane Edwards for the rest of the journey. For the cherry on top of their fake story, the girls would return to Paris, for the new semester, at the end of August with Lottie’s chaperone, a sleepy old woman who had been given the summer months off to spend time with her family in Bristol. The plan was not perfect, but it was believable, and that was all Eva could ask for.
“And your guests will arrive in two days?” she asked.
“Precisely,” he said. “Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?”
“Oh, please, you know you don’t have to ask me. I could use a pipe of my own.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Hell yes, I am.”
She watched as he removed his pipe from his pocket, stuffed the bowl with tobacco and slid the tip between his lips. The way he held his pipe drew out the dimpled ridges in his cheeks, reminding her of the first time she had seen him laugh three weeks back.
That already felt like a lifetime ago.
He held a lit match in the bowl of his pipe and drew in a long breath until the tobacco caught alight. The sweet scent wafted toward her. After a few puffs, he offered the pipe to Eva.
“We’ve shared everything else,” he said.
“Not everything. You don’t know my favourite food.” She took hold of the pipe. “I’ve never smoked one of these before. Can you show me how to do it?”
“Slowly inhale a puff and let it simmer upon your tongue to taste the flavour before exhaling,” he said.
A huskiness to his voice made her peer up at him. As she slowly inhaled, she held his gaze. His blue eyes made her head spin. Or was it the smoke? Yes, definitely the smoke that was filling her mouth in an acidic burn … oh, shit. She covered her mouth and coughed.
“I said simmer, not swallow,” he said.
That made her cough and laugh, and cough some more.
Holy hell.
He took back the pipe and steadily patted her back.
“I’m fine … I’m fine,” she gasped between smoky breaths. “I just inhaled too much at once.”
“Eager to relax, are you?”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “If it weren’t for tomorrow, I would be relaxed.”
He took his hand off her back, leaned forward onto his knees with his elbows and brought the pipe to his lips. He was quiet for a moment.
“What is your favourite food?” he said.
“I have two.” She smiled. “Tacos and sausage rolls.”
“Tacos and sausage rolls,” he repeated.
“And yours?”
“No, hold on.” He leaned back. “What on earth is a taco?”
“It’s a Mexican dish with a corn or wheat tortilla filled with meat, lettuce, onion, tomatoes, salsa, sour cream, guacamole and cheese.” She smiled again, imagining one before her now. “It’s the best thing ever! My favourites are tacos al pastor. Think of a spit-grilled pork marinated in chillies and pineapple, shredded into a soft-shelled corn— God, what I would do to get my hands on one and—” she stopped, suddenly aware of Henry’s wide grin.
“And what?”
“And stuff my face with it.” She exhaled. “I probably don’t sound like a lady right now.”
He took a puff from his pipe and exhaled. “Yes, I’m afraid ladies are not in the habit of salivating over Mexican dishes in polite conversation.”
A burn came to her cheeks.
“So, it is a good thing you are not a lady,” he added.
“From tomorrow I will be.” She frowned. “As Miss Edwards.”
His head turned to look at the sea. “And I will be Mr. Asheford.”
Her attention was not drawn to the magnificent sea view. All she could do was admire his profile. His head of dark waves made her want to run her fingers through them. God, Eva, he’s the son of your enemy.
“I like chocolate cake,” he blurted out.
His declaration whirled her out of her thoughts. “Just chocolate cake? No fruity or creamy adornments?”
“Something that delicious does not need adornments.”
“I guess you have a point.”
“Eva,” he said quickly. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you.”
Oh. Her stomach flipped. “Is it about the time-travelling device?”
He shook his head. “I am still putting together the list of details for that. It’s about you.”
“Me?”
She could not look at him directly and instead kept her gaze firmly on the horizon. She would bet a buck that his curious eyes could see the anxiety coursing through her veins. He was so observant. And quiet. And handsome … stop it, Eva!
“A lot will change from tomorrow,” he started. “You and I cannot sit freely in privacy like this anymore, at least not until the guests have gone.”
“Okay.”
“You must address me as Mr. Asheford, and by the same formality, I will address you as Miss Edwards.”
“Yes.”
“We must pretend to be strangers. Do you know what that entails?”
She dropped her head. Of course she did, but she didn’t want to say it out loud.
“It means that we cannot speak with the same familiarity as we do now and that includes wandering glances across the room. I will come across cold, disinterested, partly arrogant and you will be polite, yet careful, and you know what, Eva?” He looked at her with an expression that gave no clue as to what he thought. “I will hate every second of it.”
The salty air vibrated with the crash of the waves below.
He was studying her face as if searching for an answer. As of late, she often caught him doing that. Not that she minded. He probably had a million questions about her life and was too reserved to ask. But now, there was something different in his regard.
The noon sun on his face left no stone unturned. She could clearly see the thoughtful crevice between his brows, the subtle downturn of his lips, the careful, yet intuitive glint in his bright blue eyes.
She blinked. “Why … why will you hate it?”
“I suppose I have got used to the idea of being alone with you.”
A wave of heat surged through her. “Please,” she snorted. “I’m sure I’ve been a huge pain in your butt.”
“A pain in my butt?”
“Yes, like a thorn, in your … you know.” She pointed to the back of her skirt.
“No, you were much worse than a thorn. It was as if I fell into a gorse bush stark naked.”
She laughed and elbowed his side. “That’s the spirit.”
He gave her a sideways glance before bringing the pipe to his lips, then stood and offered his hand. “Come now, Evaline Quinn, shall we enjoy our last night listening to more of your ghastly music? Perhaps I may allow you to teach me how to use the blasted thing. What was it called again? A phone?”
“Yes, a phone,” she said as she laid her hand in the crook of his elbow. “And I would want nothing more, Henry Asheford.”
After hopping onto her feet, she was quick to intertwine her arm with his. The closeness was oddly familiar, as if they had long known one another. He might be an Englishman from the nineteenth century, but his informal way of speaking and behaving in private was surprisingly easy to get along with. She wondered how different he would be in a public setting at Asheford Hall.
“What will we do with my personal things?” she said.
“Hmm.” He popped the pipe out from his lips. “Your things will be kept safe, locked away from prying eyes in my trunk.”
“And where is your trunk?”
“In my bedchamber.”
“Ah, your bedchamber. Is it safe to assume that your bedchamber is off-limits?” she said stone-faced.
He choked on the smoke.
“It helps to simmer and not swallow,” she added smoothly.
Henry was watching her with a guarded look. “You are positively wicked.”
“You never answered my question.”
“Whether my bedchamber is off-limits?”
“Yes.”
She knew the question would rile his senses. Maybe it would cause a blush to stain his cheeks, and in typical Henry fashion, he would dismiss the impropriety with a few dull words before changing the subject. That is what she expected. But when he kept his gaze on her and didn’t say a word, she was forced to look at him with a raised brow.
There was a reckless gleam in his eye. “Would you often have the urgent need to visit my bedchamber?”
Oh, yes. He was enjoying her teasing now. Like a cat, he had retaliated by swatting the tail end of her feathers and it was her decision to fly off or not.
“You know sometimes when I’m lonely…” she paused, deliberately elongating the answer. “I like to have the company of men.”
“Company of men?”
“Yes, yes, old men,” she continued. “They help me relax and go to sleep with their—”
He cleared his throat.
“With their music,” she said.
His arm relaxed under her hand. “Yes, of course. Old men and their music. A perfectly reasonable thing for a lady to indulge in.”
“But I am no lady.”
He observed her now. “No, you are a naughty imp that likes to test a gentleman’s limits. I hope I do not need to make it clear that under no circumstance are you allowed in my bedchamber. Especially not to fetch your music-playing device to aid sleep.”
She stared straight ahead. There was an unusual bite to his tone. She felt his eyes on her, crawling over every detail of her face as if waiting for a reaction. She would not give one. After all, he was not wrong. She was testing his limits. Was it for a distraction? Was she curious to see who Henry Asheford was? Maybe all of that and more. Maybe she had known for a while that something scary was sprouting deep within her, and as the days progressed, that sprout unfurled, a sign of life among the ruins of her scorched heart. Would she be dumb not to give it a chance to grow? Maybe this odd and unexpected relationship was exactly what Eva needed to feel normal again.
***
A mile from Bondieux House lay a narrow dirt road that snaked through the woodland of the Asheford property. It was a quiet place and seldom travelled, but the road led directly to Tywardreath village. The next morning, beneath the dawn sky and canopy of dancing trees, Henry and Eva made their way through the darkened forest toward the agreed rendezvous with William.
Henry peered over his shoulder.
Suitcase in hand, Eva was keeping up with his gait.
Still, perhaps he should slow down. Now that the day had come, his nerves were getting the better of him. He checked his watch. It was nearly half past five.
The last half hour alone with her.
Hell.
As they approached a narrow stream, he jumped over it and reached out his hand to Eva.
Without a word, she grabbed onto it and hopped over. Her foot caught the slippery, wet mud and she slid forward into his arms.
“I’m going to be a mess before I make it to the Hall,” she said.
“There is a pair of shoes in the carriage luggage compartment,” he said, ignoring the painful thuds of his heart. “We are nearly there.”
Reluctantly, he let go of her waist and turned to continue.
The crunching of leaves filled the air as they walked without speaking.
He supposed they were both too wracked with nerves to speak. Maybe it was better that way. Yesterday upon the cliff, he had almost confessed his feelings on a whim. It was stupid and reckless. Had he not been so mesmerized by her spirit, he could have gone another day burying his emotions, as he had been doing for the last three weeks.
“How much further?” she asked.
“We must hike up this hill and make our way into a ravine, cross a stone bridge and hike up another hill. William should be waiting beneath a willow tree.”
“Is that all? You sure we don’t need to wrestle a bear?”
He smirked. “There are no bears in England.”
Evaline Quinn with her endless quips. How he would miss that wit.
They reached the top of the first hill and took a moment to breathe.
“This would be a hell of a lot easier without this stupid corset,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong with the corset I bought you?”
She gave him a rattled look. If it were not for the darkness, he was sure he would see her face glowing a subtle pink.
“N-nothing is wrong. It’s … it’s—” She paused and looked into the ravine. “Do we need to go down there?”
“I shall only confirm once you confess why the corset is stupid.”
“Henry, please.”
He raised a brow. “Well, if it does not suit you, I can certainly pick another.”
She was becoming increasingly flustered while he continued to gaze at her, her brows furrowed and her fist that clasped the suitcase vibrating with suppressed tension.
Good God, Eva can be embarrassed? Now this would prove entertaining for the next week or two. After all, hadn’t she spent days teasing him to oblivion? But then he briefly wondered how she would react when she discovered the expensive clothes folded in her travelling trunk. Lottie had had a grand time shopping around Plymouth buying gowns, undergarments, shoes and lace accessories. Would that cause her further embarrassment? Jokes aside, he hoped it would not offend her sensibilities.
“The corset is perfect,” she finally said. “Thank you.”
“I did wonder,” he said.
“You … you did?”
“You could not stop commenting on the fit of my trousers and shirts for days and yet, you uttered not one word regarding your dress and all its … undercarriage,” he said.
“I was taught it to be an inappropriate topic of conversation,” she said.
“Evaline Quinn concerned about propriety? Now, that is humorous.” He whirled around and marched down the hill. “Right. Enough dilly-dallying, onwards we go.”
While waiting for her to descend, he scrutinized the ravine.
“Our way appears clear of threat,” he said.
She snorted. “We’re not in the Amazonian jungle. Obviously, it’s clear of threat.”
“I speak on behalf of your mythical English bears. It would be a shame to have come all this way and both be mauled to death by such a beast.”
As she passed him, he saw the glimmer of a smile dance on her lips. It roused an odd feeling in his chest, as if his heart were light and heavy all at once. He decided that before they met William, he would get one last laugh out of her. God knew he would need the memory of it to survive the week.
“Bigfoot could also be waiting behind one of those trees,” she said.
He smiled at her insistence to keep teasing. “What the devil is a bigfoot?
“A big, hairy ape that stalks the North American wilderness.”
“Good God, the future is stranger than I imagined.”
She laughed. A loud burst of genuine happiness. The sound hit him hard, making him feel weak at the knees and drunk on a case of scotch all in one instant. How easily she laughed at his half-hearted jokes. He wanted to hear it again.
“Are you certain that your people have not mistaken the bigfoot for a giant, hairy, naked man? It would be a rather easy mistake,” he said.
Like music to his ears, her laughter continued. She halted in her tracks and leaned her palm on a large, twisted oak. “Damn you, Henry. I thought this was supposed to be a covert operation, not a comedy club.”
He approached her. “I would not worry too much. As you said, this isn’t the Amazonian jungle.” He leaned toward her ear and whispered, “Who or what would possibly hear us?”
Her smile slipped. A curious expression entered her face, softening by the second as they maintained eye contact. Then her lips parted, muddying his brain. He expected words. Or maybe more laughter but instead, barely audible puffs of breath left her lips.
How easy it would be to tilt his head and press his lips against hers, to slide his thumb across the silky softness of her cheek and guide her closer to him with his hand on the nape of her neck. After three weeks of living in close quarters, he had the strongest desire to keep it that way – without constraints, rules and societal pressures. She had given him a taste of that freedom and now he burned for it.
God, what have you done to me, Eva?
An owl hooted above as it launched off the tree. A flurry of leaves fell on them.
She jolted away from him.
He cursed internally.
“You could have told me about the leaf-bomb-dropping owls,” she said, brushing a leaf from her hair.
“They are harmless.”
And they have horrendously bad timing … or perhaps for his sake, impeccable timing. A romantic affair with a woman from the future was ridiculous. It was madness. Especially since he did not know whether the feeling was reciprocated. Even if it were, they should never consider pursuing it.
“Wait a second.” She grabbed hold of his arm. “You have a leaf on your head.”
“As do you,” he said.
She smiled as she gently brushed his hair with her hand. “Shall we make a fashion statement today?”
“We could,” he said. “Although I am afraid we may be committed to the asylum.”
“That’s the last thing we need.”
“Indeed.”
No, the last thing needed was a romantic affair with you.
“There.” She stepped back. “Now you don’t look like a sad tree.”
“You still look like a prickly bush. Allow me.”
“It’s my self-defence mechanism in case Bigfoot comes,” she said.
He did not smile or laugh. The hard thump in his chest forced him to remain entirely serious. He concentrated hard on removing the debris from the top of her braided hair. Only when he was finished did he step back and continue onward. God only knew that if he were to dawdle more, Eva would be pressed up against a tree with his greedy lips against hers.
In silence, they crossed the ravine, then the stone bridge and hiked up the final hill. At the top, the stark black carriage sat several metres away.
She was quick to grab his hand. “It’s happening,” she whispered. “Oh God, it’s really happening.”
“All is fine,” he said. “I am but a stone’s throw away.”
“But, you’re not … not anymore. Everything changes from here.”
It took him a few seconds to find his words. “Only the surface changes.”
“And below the surface?”
He squeezed her hand. “It remains the same, if not more.”
The look in her eyes said she understood his cryptic message. He did not speak of love, because surely that would be ridiculous. He spoke of their mutual bond and respect for one another – beneath his unfriendly exterior as Mr. Asheford, a warmth burnt for her. Platonic warmth, he reminded himself. Purely bloody platonic.
She gave a reluctant nod.
They walked to the carriage. Henry knocked on the door and within seconds, William came careening out with hooded eyes.
Henry narrowed his gaze. “Have you been sleeping?”
“Sir, it is half past five in the morning,” William said.
“I sincerely hope that you have your wits about you to escort Miss Edwards around the village, William,” Henry said.
William’s lips flattened and he straightened his back. “Yes, sir. I am fit as a fiddle.” His green eyes glided past Henry to look at Eva. “Good morning, Miss Edwards. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”
Eva stepped forward and held out her hand. “As am I, Mr. Clare and I thank you for your kind service in escorting me to Asheford Hall.”
Henry swallowed.
With her timid voice and subdued demeanour, Jane Edwards had arrived. His fiery, brazen Evaline Quinn was gone. Her acting skills both disturbed and pleased him.
William opened the carriage door. “If you please, Miss Edwards, step upon the ledge and make yourself comfortable. We can begin the short journey to Asheford Hall.”
Eva stepped forward, paused, and cast a lingering stare over her shoulder at Henry.
He felt queasy.
Suddenly, she jolted toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “There’s a letter for you tucked in the front pocket of my bag. I figured you may help yourself to my ghastly music in the privacy of your bedchamber,” she whispered in his ear. “But then I realized you may be too much of a gentleman to look in a lady’s bag.”
He smiled against the softness of her hair. “How funny. I’ve placed one in your suitcase.”
She tilted her head back. “You put a letter in my suitcase?”
“It was meant to be a surprise.”
“Sneaky bugger.”
“Look who’s talking, you wicked little imp.”
She smiled before laying her lips upon his cheek.
Before he had time to react, she had left his arms and hurried into the dark shell of the carriage. William shut the door behind her.
He held his fingers to the spot on his cheek where his skin buzzed.
Was that a … kiss?
“Sir, I shall have her back within the hour,” William said with an odd look.
“As is expected,” Henry said, dropping his hand to his side. “Preferably in one piece without a hair harmed upon her head.”