Down the Rabbit Hole Page 14

  The ride was astounding; so astounding that his arousal subsided in the face of this terrifying experience. It felt as though they had been shot from a cannon.

  “I devoutly hope the driver knows the correct route,” Weston said, turning to Mr. Arbuckle, who nodded.

  “The train has wheels, and they run on tracks so there is only one way they can go. These trains can run without a driver if necessary.”

  “The Oystermouth Railway!” As he tried to form a mental image of carriage wheels locked into a track to convey a load, the words popped into his mind, making the connection. He spoke aloud without thinking.

  “What are you talking about, my lord?” Alice actually put some distance between them as she asked. Did she think he had gone mad?

  “Alice, they are constructing a system that functions on rails in Wales, but they do not call it the Underground, they call it the Oystermouth Railway. When it is complete they will use it to transport coal from an area where there are no roads.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Alice said. “Have you, Mr. Arbuckle?”

  Arbuckle shook his head. Of course I know a little about the development of railways, but not that particular one.”

  “Not many have heard of it. Yet. The only reason I know it,” Weston continued, “is because the estate owns several coal mines that would be serviced by the railway. The trustees are not inclined to maintain the connection because they feel it will cost more than it is worth, and they approached me recently with the suggestion that we sell our interest.” He looked around him with satisfaction. “I think not. There is obviously more of a future for railways. More than just carrying coal away from the mines.”

  As the train pulled to a stop and Mr. Arbuckle rose, Weston and Alice followed.

  They reversed their route, stepping onto the moving stairs that went up—a much easier proposition than stepping on to go down. One wasn’t likely to fall up the stairs, though he imagined it was possible.

  “Mr. Arbuckle, Alice wonders how it is we can breathe so comfortably below ground, and I wonder what fuels these marvels.”

  “I really do not know the answer to either question, my lord, but in the early days of train travel it was coal that fueled the engines.”

  Weston nodded. “More and more I am committed to the coal mines in Wales, Alice.”

  She gave him her attention, and he went on. “They are clearly a fundamental part of the future. And I think it’s significant that the Oystermouth Railway is a project that I am already involved in.”

  “It was your uncle’s investment, was it not?”

  “Yes, and one that is infinitely more sensible than it seemed. I will not let it go, regardless of what the estate trustees counsel.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Are we not still in Mayfair?” Alice asked as they exited the Underground station into a salubrious evening.

  “Yes, miss, we are.”

  “Certainly it would be easier to walk. And cost less.”

  “Yes, miss, but most people take the Underground much farther than we did. As in your time, only the wealthy can afford to live in Mayfair. I thought a sample of the Underground was all you would need.”

  “When did train travel become popular, Mr. Arbuckle?” Weston was piecing together a plan and could barely contain his excitement. But before his companion could answer they were all distracted by a man, or boy, who came racing toward them, bumped through them and, without apology, ran on.

  “Stop! Police!” A woman dressed in a uniform followed the same route as the boy, but having been prepared, the three of them stood back and let her through.

  Weston stared after her, both puzzled and astonished.

  “What was that?” Alice asked, raising her hand to her heart, as if that would still the beating that had to match his.

  “Someone who the police think has committed a crime,” Mr. Arbuckle explained.

  “But who was that woman chasing him? Had he stolen something from her?”

  “No, by her uniform I would say she is an officer, a member of the Met—the Metropolitan Police Force. They, er, work to keep innocent people safe by apprehending those who break the law.”

  “But women are allowed to do this?” Alice raised a hand to her head as if trying to hold in an explosion of questions. “I think we had best return to the library. I am not sure how much more of this era I can take.”

  Weston understood the feeling. He offered his arm, which she took willingly. She was shaking.

  “It has unnerved you that much?” he asked with as gentle a tone as he could muster. “Seeing a woman whose main work it is to keep the peace and protect the innocent?”

  “Yes, it has. In our time women are the ones who need protection.”

  “But think of it this way, Alice. What the women of 2005 do is merely an extension of a woman’s main work in 1805. True, her obligation in our day exists mainly on a domestic level. In the household it is a woman’s task to do the same, to keep peace and protect the innocent.” Another thought struck him. “Why, the housekeeper of a big estate wields even more power than the lady of the house, and may even be a better template for what this woman does.”

  “I see your point, but still find it shocking.” Alice drew a deep breath. “You must agree, Wes, this takes protection to another level. I do believe she was carrying a pistol.”

  They turned the corner, heading in the same direction as the young man and the woman, only to find the area quiet, with no sign of the villain or the officer. It was as though the ripple had faded, and the steady stream of people walking continued as before.

  They took what Arbuckle called a taxi, a modern horseless version of the hackney, but significantly more comfortable and much quicker.

  Weston asked Tandy for tea, and they made their way back to the library as though there were no other room in the house that would accommodate them.

  That suited him well enough. In his day there had been a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room, and he was pleased to find it was still there. He poured himself a glass of brandy and raised the decanter to Mr. Arbuckle, who shook his head. Very well, he would drink alone.

  Mr. Arbuckle rose. “I will be leaving you now. I must return to the museum I care for these days and make sure the alarms are set and that the cats are fed and settled for the night.”

  “You’re going to leave us alone here?”

  Weston could see that Alice would need something stronger than tea to soothe her.

  “Hardly alone, miss. Tandy and her husband are within reach. All you need do is to use the bellpull to call for them.”

  Weston held out his hand. “Thank you for your service today. I trust that we will see you in the morning?”

  “Sooner than that, sir, I will be back this evening. Tandy has assigned me a room in the gentlemen’s wing. That way I will be relatively close in case you should need help with anything.”

  “Very good, then.” It was a rather vague explanation, but Weston was reassured that Arbuckle would be nearby. “Does the housekeeper live here too?”

  “But wait, please. What will Mrs. Tandy think if I am here overnight?” Alice asked, panic in her voice.

  “I do believe Tandy is her Christian name, Miss Kemp,” Arbuckle said, with a gesture of apology. “She is used to the overnight guests that the earl and his brother welcome.”

  “But ladies?” Alice asked, her hand going to her chest.

  “Yes, miss.” This time he spoke with even more apology. “It is very common in this time for men and women to be more open about their—oh dear—” Weston heard him whisper to himself. “In 2005 short relationships of an intimate nature are very common. Tandy will think it nothing unusual that you are staying here.” He closed his eyes and went on. “What will strike her as odd is that you and the earl will have separate bedchambers.”

/>   “I wondered why she seemed so accepting of an unaccompanied young lady with me all day,” Weston said, as Alice seemed beyond words.

  “We are lucky, my lord, that you look so very much like the earl’s younger brother, Simon West, for he is the one who time traveled with Miss Amy.”

  “She has worked here for so long, are you sure she suspects nothing?”

  “My lord, I am certain that she does not suspect you have time-traveled from the Regency and changed places with Simon. You did it yourself and find it hard to believe.”

  Weston nodded. It was a good point.

  “Was Miss Amy Mr. West’s most recent short relationship?” Alice managed to choke out.

  “No, Miss Kemp. They traveled as friends only.”

  The earl suspected that Mr. Arbuckle wanted to say more but held the thought. If it was about the prospects of that time-traveling couple’s relationship remaining chaste, then Weston was glad he did not add to Alice’s upset.

  Mr. Arbuckle bowed again and made his exit as if he dreaded any more questions. A profound silence surrounded them. Weston moved around the room aimlessly, too restless to sit.

  Alice sat down with a less-than-graceful thump and reached for her tea, then looked at him. “What does brandy taste like, Wes?”

  Without answering, he added a dollop to her cup and she sipped. “Oh!” She swallowed again without a second sip. “Rather soothing, actually.”

  “Without the tea it burns more but is equally comforting.”

  “Why, then, are women discouraged from drinking it? Why is tea our only choice?”

  “I have no idea, Alice. As far as I am concerned you may have all the brandy you would like.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Do you want the truth, Weston? Do you really want to know how I think of you?”

  They were working their way up the flight of stairs to the bedroom wing. At least he hoped it was still the bedroom wing.

  Alice was speaking clearly, and that had fooled him into thinking that her tolerance for brandy was more than anticipated. But now she was hanging on to the railing as if it were a lifeline. That was just as well, as she had already missed one step.

  He made a mental note that her capacity for drink was about what you would expect for such a delicately boned woman. Virtually nonexistent.

  “No, Alice, I do not want to know what you think. Not tonight. What you need right now is a bed.”

  They were at the top of the stairs and he saw, with relief, that the double doors of the master’s suite were just ahead, as they had been in 1805.

  “Yes, that is exactly what I need. A bed with you in it.”

  “Alice!” He could not keep the surprise from his voice. “Do you realize what you are suggesting?”

  She wrinkled her face and laughed at his dismay. “I am just being honest. I suspect the brandy is, in fact, a truth serum and men do not want women to drink it for fear of the truths that they will hear.”

  He opened the doors to the master suite and walked into the salon that the earl and countess shared, with their bedchambers on either end.

  “It’s quite lovely, Wes.” Alice walked around the room, bouncing off a chair and almost knocking a figurine from a useless stand that was not quite in the corner.

  “Do you think there is a loo near here? It is one twenty-first-century improvement that I can praise.”

  He led her to the door that was slightly ajar and, indeed, it was a bathing chamber. He pushed her in and closed the door, hoping she would not faint dead away.

  As he examined the china figurine on the mantel and the ivory combs and brushes on the dresser, he heard some unmistakable gagging sounds.

  A few minutes later she opened the door and leaned her head out. “You, sir, are a monster. Why did you not tell me brandy would make me sick?”

  “You drank too much, for which I will take full responsibility, my dear. But you do feel better now, don’t you?”

  She closed one eye and appeared to give it some thought. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then rinse your mouth out and come to bed.”

  She smiled at the idea, shut the door and completed her ablutions.

  He hurried to the bathing chamber that was designed for his use and freshened up. He could not imagine sleeping in his clothes, so he stripped out of them and donned a robe that was hanging on a hook at the back of the door.

  The salon was empty, and he walked over to the countess’s side of the room and looked into the bedroom. The bed was untouched. With a mix of irritation, amusement and curiosity he headed for the earl’s bedchamber. He opened the door and saw a distinct little mound under the covers, and discovered the most amazing thing about the love of his life.

  She snored.

  Weston could not resist slipping into bed beside her. Maybe it was not what a true gentleman would do, but he was not perfect. She had not taken her half from the middle so he considered that as good as an invitation. They would only sleep together, if that was what she wanted.

  He tried to ignore the sweet little snores and instead remembered that amazing summer afternoon in the Lake District at a house party where they had met after her not very successful London Season. It was the first and, he thought with regret, the only time they had made love.

  The boathouse was not meant for boats at all but was designed for seduction. Never had it been more clear than the day they had raced there to escape from a storm. The weather had threatened all day, but the rain had held off until they were just far enough from the main house to make the little one-room boathouse a safer place in a storm.

  “Even nature is on our side,” Alice had whispered between kisses that convinced them that they needed to lie on the lounge to fully enjoy them. Their bodies pressed together in imitation of their lips.

  It seemed as natural as the rain to undress each other in between kisses. Eventually the urgency of their caresses compelled them to rush removing the last bits of clothing. They paused for no more than a breath and came together in a heated coupling that had him forgetting she was a virgin.

  Apparently she forgot too, as she made no sound of pain but rather surrendered to him with a moan of pleasure that escalated to a crying gasp as she crushed him to her and welcomed his seed.

  There was never a moment of regret, for either of them. In a few weeks they learned there was no need to marry, which he regretted, though Alice swore that would never have been an option.

  It was the beginning of the end for them. The first argument that could not be resolved. He could not recall the exact words, but could still recount them closely enough for it to act like cold water on his lust. “You would rather have a bastard child than marry me?”

  “Not really. An ill-born child does not have an easy life if they wish any entrée to society, even country society.”

  “Then why?”

  “I will not ruin your place among the ton, and in Parliament where you have such great responsibilities, by leg-shackling you to someone so far beneath you, the daughter of a divorced couple.”

  “That is not a burden you should have to bear.”

  “This is an absurd argument, my lord. I am not carrying your child, so it is a moot point.”

  Absurd it might have been, but on it went until it became clear that neither one of them would give their ground.

  So that hour in the boathouse was the one and only time they had made love. No, neither of them regretted the act, but it had brought too dangerous a subject to the fore, and had crushed his hopes of marrying her. It was better to avoid the action.

  In the end the frustration of love unfulfilled had made living near each other too much to bear. He had gone off to London and she had left for Yorkshire and her first position preparing young ladies for their come out.

  Now they were beside each other, but miles apart in all t
hat mattered.

  As he had the thought she turned toward him, her eyes open but still half asleep. “I did not mean to sleep in your bed.” She made to rise but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Nothing will happen that you do not want.” He meant that even as he wished that she would want what he did. “I do suspect the brandy left you confused.”

  “Never say that word to me again. Brandy.” She shuddered and closed her eyes as he watched her. “I may have been confused before, but now I feel fine. Even the headache is gone.”

  “Lucky you, Alice. That is not the norm.”

  She gave him a look that said her episode in the bathroom had been punishment enough.

  “Can you guess how many times I have wished for this, Wes?”

  Now there was a change of subject, but he was not sure the subject was a wise choice.

  “Us in bed together? I imagine that I have wished for it at least as many times as you have.” He would wait for her to decide how much more it would be than lying side by side.

  She raised her head and, oddly, kissed his shoulder. Then she moved away and turned her attention to the ceiling.

  “They no longer have bed curtains,” she said, changing the subject.

  “No, the rooms are warm enough that they do not even need a fire, either,” he said, following her lead.

  “Without curtains, sleeping feels so much more public to me.”

  “This from a woman who made love in a boathouse.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say.

  “I am not talking about making love!” she snapped.

  “It’s all I can think about.”

  “You know, Weston, you know,” she repeated the words with emphasis, “from our one experience that making love makes our world even more complicated.”

  Yes, it did. Making love satisfied him, them, physically, but to be satisfied emotionally was something else entirely.

  “Only because we allow it to complicate.”

  “Perhaps for a man the act is simpler. For a woman it means a kind of commitment. At least for this woman it does.”