Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance (6 page)

“How is this match fortuitous for me, Sebastian? You knew you had to get married at some point. What difference does it make?” Isabelle questioned warily.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and took a drink.

Apparently, she intended to continue acting as though she knew nothing of the codicil. “I didn’t know I was going to have to marry her. I have a feeling you made Father put her name in the will, so stop acting as though it was all a big surprise. Why her? Wouldn’t any woman have worked?” Sebastian took another sip of his drink and set the crystal glass down on the marble mantel, making a heavy clinking sound over the hiss of the fire.

“Is it because of Devlin?” he asked, scrutinizing her to see if her countenance would falter. “Are you afraid your young rakehell of a husband may wander over to greener, younger pastures, searching for a better… cow?” Sebastian could see by her reaction that his words were closer to the truth than she would ever admit. He felt a little bad giving her such a hard time, but it truly stung that she betrayed him in such a way. Now he had to pay the price and marry her ward to get what was rightfully his.

Isabelle tried to conceal her expression. She did not want to admit the truth in his words. “Well, that is neither here nor there; she is a wonderful girl and will make a fine mother for your children.”

“Not bloody likely!” Sebastian exclaimed vehemently. “I sincerely doubt I will even be able to perform my husbandly duties. She is insipid and watches me like a pathetic dog, waiting for a treat. Moreover, by the looks of her, she should eat a treat now and then. What did they do? Starve her at boarding school? She looks like a bloody carcass with eyes. Oh, and don’t get me started on those books she carries with her everywhere like a shield.” He waved a hand in the air.

“Sebastian, goodness, she isn’t as bad as all that. Where have your manners gone? I don’t even know who you are right now!” Isabelle exclaimed sadly.

“Oh please, don’t play the innocent with me. You’re no paragon of virtue, either. We both know you have had more than your fair share of bedmates. It is a shame your former husband lacked the fortitude to withstand your charms in the bedchamber. He dropped dead so quickly; was it a month… two? How kind of him to leave you Hawthorne Manor and all its entailments. Still so young with so much money, I would say you are set for life, now aren’t you, my dear aunt?” he asked in a saccharine voice.

“Oh, stop, Sebastian. I never claimed to be a saint.”

“What of Judith? Will she get to choose her husband?”

Isabelle glared at him, her own ire rising. “What?”

“Judith. Your new husband, Devlin’s sister; isn’t she now living in your home and off the money from your deceased husband as well? Have you forgotten her so easily? Why not give it to Marguerite? Wait; she has her own money from Victoria. Or does she? Where did her money go, Isabelle?” Sebastian asked snidely, even though he knew the answer to most of his questions already.

Isabelle paced back and forth, wringing her hands.  “Cease. Please. Judith has no place to go and Marguerite’s money will go to you, I made sure of that,” Isabelle defended, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her ice-blue gown.

“Do you know what I find interesting? Judith is a stranger to you, and yet you take her in and supply her with not only a home, but new clothing as well. Marguerite, your ward, you know, the one you pledged to look after ‘til the day you die… what are you doing with her?” He looked pointedly at Isabelle. “Oh right, you are dumping her off on me so your husband won’t try to bed her.” He shook his head angrily before finishing his drink.

Isabelle walked forward, her skirts swishing softly against the thick Oriental carpet, with her arms outstretched, “Sebastian, sweetheart…”

He lifted his hand in the air to stay her. “I have a wedding to prepare for. Or did you forget I am to be married in a few short hours?”

“Of course not… Can I do something for you?” Isabelle asked sadly.

“I think you have done enough,” he said with finality, feeling more betrayed with each step he took towards the open doorway. He stopped mid-step. Marguerite was standing in the middle of the foyer; her face flushed in anger or sadness… maybe both. Her violet eyes bore into his own with a look of sheer, unadulterated hatred that chilled him to the bone. Gooseflesh rose on his skin. He felt frozen in place, like so many of the marbled statuaries positioned around Ravenhurst rooms. He knew he should say something… maybe even sorry… but the words escaped him…

Finally, she broke her gaze and the lead weight he felt in his legs subsided. “I am late,” he mumbled awkwardly as he walked briskly past her, keeping his eyes downcast on the marble-checkered tiles of the foyer. He rounded the corner and took the steps two at a time up the winding staircase, without ever looking back in her direction once.

Sebastian finished off the rest of his drink as his mind returned to the present. The flames had died down and were now nothing more than red embers glowing in the dim light. He chuckled a little; it was an empty, hollow sound. No wonder the chit left him at the altar. He couldn’t blame her, really. Had he been in her shoes, he would have left himself at the altar as well. He found he had a healthy respect for her gumption. He didn’t think she had any; apparently, he was wrong on that count, as well as a few others. She vanished that night without a trace. No body found, no misdeeds done, even though he did entertain the notion, if only for a moment. He was not so terrible, or was he? He would never know for sure. Apparently, she ran as fast and as far as she could, and thereby had the last laugh. For, unless she was dead–with a body for proof and no misdeeds done to said body, he could not inherit one red cent.

Had he known that little bit of information at the time, perhaps he might have been kinder to her. A bark of laughter escaped his throat at the insanity of it all.

In truth, he probably would have tied her up and dragged her to the altar instead.

The carvings were extraordinary, but also freaking weird. Seriously, who in the hell would choose to be watched by gang of little, ugly cherubs, sneering at you, and hanging above your head every night before you fell asleep? That’s begging for nightmares.

They were almost as bad as the gargoyles standing, crawling, and hanging from almost every surface inside and out of the entry and foyer. Ned said it was creepy inside, and boy, was he right! Katherine wondered if he was still around, or had ditched her and left with Amelia? She pulled the curtain back on the bed a bit; it was a heavy fabric, probably velvet.

A globed lamp cast off a faint, yellowish glow showing the flowers painted on it. It sat on a doily. There was a door on her right and another beside it.
Further in the room was the bathroom she used earlier.

She heard a dragging noise coming from one end of the small room. Panic swept through her, and she dropped the curtain, consumed with dread. Was it the crazy maid coming to do her in again?
Or worse
? She wasn’t sure why, but she thought it was probably worse. A cold, inescapable fear filled her body. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She shivered. She couldn’t see the end of the room, but a faint shaft of light streamed in from a small opening in the curtains. The light ray shifted. Not once, but twice.

Katherine covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. She tried to calm her growing sense of dread, hoping… saying it was only the maid, but she knew it wasn’t. She just knew whatever or whoever it was had to be
horrible. She could feel it. She judged the distance across the room, trying to decide which would serve her better, fight or flight?

She chose flight.

Katherine sprang from the bed; her bare feet barely touching the rug as she leapt to the door. She grabbed the handle and ripped the door open. Bolting through, her heart hammered in her chest as she rounded the corner at full speed. She turned to see if someone was chasing her and ran directly into a hard, unyielding object.

Katherine’s flight for freedom ended abruptly. It was too much; darkness enveloped her once more.

She was back. How could that even be possible? Sebastian took the stairs two at a time, just like the last time he saw her. Except now, he ran towards her, instead of away. His mind was reeling; still too muddy from the alcohol to fully understand what was happening. Milford, his man, had awoken him, yelling something about “Marguerite has returned.” Sebastian was in no mood for his valet-butler’s humorless jokes. However, Milford was not kidding; he was deadly serious. Being so caught up in his own thoughts, Sebastian could not believe what he was seeing.

A flurry of white rounded the corner with long, dark hair flying behind. He couldn’t move fast enough. The girl hit him with such force; he lost his footing and tumbled backward. He strained to move, but she was dead weight. He tried again; bloody hell, how drunk was he? He was not a weakling by any standards but still could not budge the girl.

The last time he saw Marguerite, she was no more than skin and bones. As he pushed against her now, he could see that was not the case any longer. Was she really ever that skinny? Or did she look that way because her gowns were always so large? He tried to remember, but he couldn’t recall ever looking at her… really.

His head hurt like hell from slamming into the floor. He was stuck. “MILFORD!” Sebastian yelled as loudly as he could. He heard footsteps approaching where he lay.

“Good heavens, my lord, what has happened?” Milford inquired, a tinge of laughter, sounding in his voice.

Sebastian looked up towards Milford’s face. His eyes were tearing up. Rolling his eyes, he ground out, “Get her off me.”

Milford rolled her slightly to one side. It was enough for Sebastian to get out from under her body. Standing up, he looked down at the girl lying on the floor.

“What happened?” Milford asked.

“She ran into me,” Sebastian said, stating the obvious.

“Why?” Milford asked, looking thoughtful and crossing his arms as though he were a detective investigating a crime scene.

“How do I know?”

Milford tapped his chin. “She must have been moving pretty fast to knock you over so easily, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Is this line of questioning going somewhere?” Sebastian asked, annoyed.

“Don’t you find it odd that she was running?”

“Why, yes, Milford, I do. Don’t you?” Sebastian said in exasperation, running his hand through his dark hair. It was longer now and kept falling in his eyes. He did not spend as much time attending to his appearance as he had in the past, not since the chit ran away. It seemed like she took something from him when she left, and he didn’t want to ponder what that could be.