The Marquess Finds Romance Page 7

  “Wow!” Janie exclaimed. “He’s quite the blabbermouth, isn’t he? I didn’t know men confided in each other like that.”

  “He’ll get over it, you know.”

  “Get over what?” Janie knew full well what Mary meant, but she didn’t know why Mary thought Janie should care.

  “Get over Clara. It was just a brief thing, probably more like a crush or a hero complex. He thought Clara needed saving, and he got all protective-like. He offered to marry her.”

  Janie swallowed hard but faked a nonchalant shrug. “Sounds like he needs a damsel in distress. That would not be me, and wasn’t Clara at any rate. Good luck to him!”

  Mary sighed. “Yes, he did seem to want to rescue her. I think his life has been less than fulfilling, lonely really, even when he was married.”

  “I heard all about it,” Janie said. She frowned. “I know I sound hateful right now. I’m sorry. Yes, he told me he’d been in what was virtually an arranged marriage and that he and his wife had lived apart, that his wife had had a ‘paramour’ in London. I don’t know much about his life in the past ten years though. Does he go up to London much? There are probably a lot of eligible women up there, right?”

  “You know a lot!” Mary said with a growing smile. “It seems like he was very open with you.”

  “I guess,” Janie said with another try at a careless shrug.

  “I don’t know that much about him. I think he sees his lawyers when he goes to London. I don’t know anything about his personal life. I thought he preferred living in the country. And I don’t know about women in London. Fortunately, St. John doesn’t like the city, so we don’t go. I can’t imagine leaving these beautiful parklands for a city fueled by coal and wood fires.”

  Janie looked down at her book. “Well, I won’t be seeing him again before I leave anyway, so...”

  “You might if he comes back this way.”

  “If he comes back this way, it will be to see Clara.”

  “That seems kind of pointless,” Mary said.

  “I agree, but you can’t tell lovelorn men stuff.”

  “Let me ask you this though. Did Hickstrom definitively say she intended to match you two? Because if she did, there’s no stopping her.”

  Janie’s heart thudded. “Uhhh, I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I can’t remember. I just flew off the handle at the suggestion, and then I stomped off. But, Mary, I’m not in the book of fairy tales. Isn’t that her modus operandi? The catalyst for whatever she does?”

  Mary scrunched her face. “It always has been, but it’s not like Hickstrom really needs to use the book to transport people around the centuries. Rachel, Clara and I have all returned to the future without the book. Hickstrom just waves her magic hands—not really—she just makes it happen, and we have gone back to the future. But she’s always used the book to bring women here on a sort of mail-order bride basis, except without the mail-order part. All of the men have been reluctant to marry. It’s not like we come with a fortune or anything.”

  “That’s what I thought too. If I don’t have a story, then I shouldn’t be one of her projects. By the way, not all of the men have been reluctant to marry. Didn’t you tell me that Halwell wanted to marry you, and we know that James is in love with Clara?”

  Mary shook her head. “Halwell just had a crush on me. It was nothing compared to how he felt when he met Rachel. And I think Lord Carswell is the same way. Trying to rescue Clara probably just awakened him from a long sleep in bachelordom, and he thinks his heart was broken. I’m sure he’s just moping around because his feelings got hurt.”

  Despite her unhappiness, Janie smiled. “To put it in twenty-first century terms.”

  “Precisely!”

  Janie chuckled.

  “So I have a little secret for you,” Mary said. “I don’t think you’re going to like it, but you might like the insult. That is, if you’re truly disgusted with Lord Carswell.”

  Janie winced. “Not disgusted, Mary. Just fed up. What’s the secret that I’m not going to like?”

  “Wellll, I’ll paraphrase. It seems that when Hickstrom got mad at Lord Carswell, she told him that in no uncertain terms would she allow him to marry you and that he could bow over your hand when you become a marchioness.”

  “A marchioness?”

  “That’s the wife of a marquess, or a marchioness in her own right. One rank above an earl. There aren’t many of them, sooo...”

  “No chance Hickstrom meant she was going to make me a marchioness in my own right?”

  “I didn’t get that impression. That’s the part you won’t like. I think the implication was that she would fix you up with a marquess.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’d consider a prince, but that’s about it!” Janie grinned and Mary responded.

  “Let’s go have some tea. I think you slept through lunch. You know Cook makes those nice little sandwiches for afternoon tea.”

  “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sleeping. I just wanted to hide out in my room. I told Mrs. Green to say I was going to take a nap. I meant to ask you. Regency families don’t normally do a lunch, do they?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but I do! St. John likes a midday meal as well, now that I convinced him he did. We just had soup and bread today.”

  Mary rose and pulled Janie to her feet.

  “James is really gone?” she asked Mary as they headed to the door. “I saw the carriage leave. Was that him?”

  “Yup. I don’t know if he’ll be back anytime soon, probably not before you leave.”

  “Why exactly did he leave again? Because Hickstrom threatened him that he would have to marry me?”

  Mary stopped at the top of the stairs. “No, that’s not what happened at the end. Remember? Hickstrom told him that he could not marry you under any circumstances. Something about how poorly he had treated you. So that wouldn’t be why he left, right?”

  “Oh, that’s right. You did say that. I’m so confused. I feel like a puppet, and Hickstrom holds the strings.”

  “Welcome to Hickstrom’s world,” Mary said, taking Janie by the arm and descending the stairs. “We all just live in it.”

  “Well, not me. I’m waiting to see Clara, and then I’m going home.”

  “I know you want to. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay though.”

  Janie looked up from watching her footing on the stairs.

  “Oh, Mary! Of course I’ve loved my stay. This has nothing to do with your hospitality or my continued love for the nineteenth century. I never intended to stay, but I’m glad I came. Now, if only I can get out of here unmarried!” She softened her words with a chuckle.

  Chapter Nine

  The following day, Janie accompanied Mary on a trip to the village of St. John. They picked up Rachel along the way, who looked a bit worse for wear, a bit pale.

  “I’m fine,” Rachel replied when Mary asked how she was. “Just nausea. One of the drawbacks of the nineteenth century, Janie. We don’t get medications for nausea. Halwell has been in touch with the doctor and has our cook working up all kinds of ginger recipes—ginger biscuits, ginger cakes, ginger water. If we have a girl, I’m going to name her Ginger!”

  The three women in the carriage laughed.

  “I think it will pass in another few weeks,” Mary said. “You’re almost three months along, right?”

  “Right,” Rachel said.

  Janie observed the two women. Rachel didn’t seem to hold a grudge that Halwell had first been interested in Mary, but then Janie had seen Viscount Halwell with Rachel. He had eyes only for his wife. Despite typical Regency conventions, they held hands every time they were together. Whatever crush he’d had on Mary seemed long gone.

  “So I heard you’ve been ‘Hickstrom’d,’” Rachel said with a smile.

  “I told her. I’m sorry,” Mary said, looking at Janie. “We don’t have any secrets where Hickstrom is concerned. Everyone shares survival tips. Although she doesn’t mess with us o
nce we marry whomever she wants us to marry, she still keeps popping up, dragging new girls back through time.”

  “I understand,” Janie said. She shifted her gaze to Rachel, sitting across the carriage next to Mary. “Yes, I guess I’ve been Hickstrom’d, but I think that’s just wishful thinking on her part, or at worst, a spur-of-the-moment idea. I’m not in the book of fairy tales, so I don’t think I’m a ‘contender.’” Janie smiled.

  Rachel chewed her lip for a moment. “How do you know you’re not in Hickstrom’s Book of Fairy Tales? Have you read the whole book?”

  Janie drew in a sharp breath. “No! I didn’t read the book at all. Well, just one small passage along with Clara. Her story.”

  “Do we even have a copy of the fairy tales?” Rachel asked Mary.

  Mary shook her head. “Not that I know of. It’s never crossed through time.”

  “But Hickstrom doesn’t really need the book, does she? That’s just performance art on her part, a gimmick really,” Rachel said.

  “I’m not sure,” Mary said. “Maybe.”

  Both women looked at Janie with expressions of sympathy.

  “Wait, ladies! This is not going to happen to me. No offense, but I really don’t belong here.”

  “Why not?” Rachel asked.

  “Well, because I don’t want to get married.”

  “Neither did we,” Mary said.

  Janie felt as if they were tag-teaming against her.

  “Well, not to belabor the point. I’m not in the book.”

  “We don’t know that,” Rachel repeated.

  “There’s no handsome, young titled aristocratic bachelor in the picture. That seems to be Hickstrom’s pattern.”

  Rachel drew in a deep breath. “Well, Lord Carswell is handsome. You can’t deny that. He’s a bachelor. He’s titled and an aristocrat. He’s not exactly old. Does anyone know how old he is?” She turned to Mary, who shrugged.

  “He’s forty-eight,” Janie added.

  “So you asked him?” Mary inquired.

  “Yes. I was curious. How long do men live in the early nineteenth century? What’s the average life span?”

  “I have no idea,” Mary said.

  “I think it’s early forties,” Rachel said. “I hope not. I sincerely hope not, for all our sakes.”

  “I think our fellas are gonna live longer, Rachel,” Mary said. “We’re boiling water, we’re cooking food all the way through, we’re washing hands with soap. They’re going to be okay.”

  Mary took Rachel’s hand, who nodded in a silent language known only to those women who had married men from a bygone era.

  Rachel looked over at Janie.

  “In our time, forty-eight is pretty young,” Rachel said with a smile.

  “I agree,” Janie said. “I think male life expectancy is about seventy-six in the United States, eighty in Canada. I read that somewhere. It just stuck with me.”

  “That’s interesting about Canadian men living longer,” Mary said.

  “I thought so,” Janie said.

  The carriage slowed, and Janie turned to look out the window. A quaint little English village came into view, just as she had imagined one might look in the early nineteenth century. The main road through the town was nothing more than packed dirt with ruts where wagons lumbered along.

  The buildings were a hodgepodge of different architectural styles. Janie had developed an interest in architecture given some of the historic homes she had cleaned, but she was merely an amateur admirer. She knew enough to know that she knew almost nothing, yet she thought she recognized Georgian-era buildings with red brick and white trim, some Tudor half-timbered buildings with thatched roofs, and a church that looked positively medieval with a square stone tower featuring a clock.

  People meandered about, entering or exiting shops, with bags and baskets of goods. Some strolled down the road, careless of the dust gathering on their boots or along the hems of their skirts.

  “I can see you’re fascinated by the village, Janie,” Mary said. “Isn’t it cute?”

  “It’s just what I imagined it would be like,” she said. “Where do you park this carriage? It looks so cramped!”

  “The inn has a stable in the back. Rob, the coachman, will drop us off in front, and he’ll go park...so to speak.”

  “The inn. Isn’t that where Hickstrom said she’s staying?” Janie asked.

  “Don’t believe a word of what that woman says about her living arrangements,” Rachel said with a chuckle. “I don’t know that she actually ‘stays’ or lives anywhere. Does anybody wonder where she goes when she heads off to ‘tend to other lonely hearts’? Does she even stay in England? During the Regency era? We know she shows up in the twenty-first century all too often. Maybe she lives in an apartment in Manhattan.”

  “I agree with Rachel. Take Hickstrom’s ‘stay at the inn’ claim with a grain of salt,” Mary said. “The woman is magical. I don’t even know if she pees.”

  Janie gasped and turned back to look at the two women who broke out into laughter. Janie soon joined them.

  “Well, we know she eats...biscuits, cookies and every other variation of sweet things,” Janie said.

  The carriage pulled up in front of a three-story brick building with a white-and-black sign over the door that read St. John Inn. Georgian in architectural style, Janie counted twenty paned windows facing the main street. The front door, painted a dark forest green, was unimpressive but in keeping with simple Georgian construction.

  The coachman jumped down and opened the carriage door. Mary exited first, followed by Rachel and then Janie. Still unused to her bonnet, Janie felt ribbons choke her neck as the bonnet caught on the frame of the carriage.

  Gagging and clawing at her neck, she stumbled out before the coachman could catch her. She fell onto the road in a heap of dust.

  Mary and Rachel cried out and bent to help her up. The coachman called out profuse apologies.

  “Not your fault,” Janie muttered, tugging the ribbons free from her bonnet. “I’m fine!” Pulled to her feet by three pairs of hands, she wiggled free and dusted off her beautiful peach muslin dress.

  “My dear girl,” a familiar female voice cried out. “Are you injured?”

  Hickstrom emerged from the inn, dressed in the brightest yellow hooped court gown Janie could imagine. Resembling a stout little sunflower, she dazzled the eye.

  “Hickstrom!” Mary exclaimed.

  “Hickstrom,” Rachel echoed.

  “Hello, Hickstrom,” Janie said, clapping her gloved hands together to expel the dust. “Are you actually staying here?” She looked to her companions with a half smile.

  “Actually? Yes, of course.” She turned to Janie’s companions.

  “Mary, my dear. Rachel. So very lovely to see you. Rachel, your cheeks bloom! I have heard your happy news.”

  “That’s probably inflammation from too much ginger,” Rachel said with a smile.

  “Inflammation?” Hickstrom repeated with a confused expression.

  “Just a joke, Hickstrom. How are you? I hear you’re up to some mischief.”

  The carriage rolled away, leaving the four women standing near the inn entrance. Passersby stared at the foursome, mostly, Janie suspected, at Hickstrom with her colorful and flamboyant attire.

  “Mischief indeed! Stuff and nonsense!” Hickstrom said briskly. “But enough of that! Look at you, my dears, all together. My flock of lovelies, with the exception of Clara. Do come join me in my rooms for a cup of tea.”

  Janie grimaced at the abrupt tone in Hickstrom’s voice. She hoped the fairy godmother hadn’t interpreted Rachel’s words to mean that Janie was complaining about her. Despite Hickstrom’s ability to control Janie’s life, she liked the fairy godmother very much. In some strange way, she had become the mother, sister, grandmother and/or aunt that Janie didn’t have. In all honesty, she felt closer to Hickstrom than she did to Mary or Rachel, which was perhaps not that unusual. Ironically, she had first met the
timeless Hickstrom in the twenty-first century, and hadn’t met twenty-first-century Mary or Rachel until she had traveled back to Regency England. It boggled the mind.

  Mary looked at Rachel, who shrugged.

  “I’d like to have tea,” Janie said firmly. “If you two want to shop, I can stay here with Hickstrom.”

  “No, no, we’ll join you,” Mary said at a nod from Rachel. “Thank you, Hickstrom. That would be lovely. We weren’t really sure you stayed here at the inn. We were just talking about that, and here you are.”

  “Indeed,” Hickstrom said with a twinkle in her blue eyes, leading one to wonder the truth. “Here I am. Do come in.”

  The women entered the inn, passing through a public room filled with an assortment of tables and benches where people ate and drank. A young teenage female, probably a servant if her gray skirts, white apron and mobcap were any indication, ran up to them.

  “Tea and some of those lovely shortbread biscuits in my rooms, please,” Hickstrom said.

  The girl bobbed a curtsey, and the women followed Hickstrom up a set of narrow wooden stairs to the landing above. Hickstrom opened a door and stepped in.

  Janie looked around with interest. The room was probably the largest suite at the inn. Wide windows allowed in plenty of light and showed a sitting room of some sort. Another open doorway showed a bedroom beyond, the bed tidy. Janie didn’t see any luggage or trunks but assumed those might be in the bedroom.

  “Do sit down, my dears,” Hickstrom said, taking a seat on a small brown cloth settee. Since her hoops took up all the room on the settee, the women spread themselves out in three of four remaining wooden hardback chairs, all belonging to a small round dining table. They turned the chairs to face Hickstrom.

  “How pleased I am to see the lot of you! Have you come to the village to shop?”

  “I needed a few things, and we thought we’d make an outing of it,” Mary said. “We picked Rachel up along the way.”

  “Hickstrom, you know I was kind of kidding, right?” Rachel said with a sideways glance toward Janie. “Janie didn’t say you’d been up to ‘mischief.’ That was me. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything on Janie’s behalf.”