Moonlight Wishes In Time (10 page)

Miss Crockwell pulled the sash of her robe tighter around her and seemed to square her shoulders
. She nodded toward the door.

“I’m ready, but William
…”

With a hand on the door, he paused, her unexpected use of his first name intimate
—and somehow alluring.

“Yes?”

“You promised me. Don’t let anyone take me away. If things don’t…uh…work out, I’ll leave. I’ll be fine.”

“You will be safe, Miss Crockwell
. My mother may appear inflexible at first meeting, but she has a kind heart. Do not be afraid. There will be no need for you to leave until it is time.”

He pulled open the door and ushered his mother and sister in
. Both women came to an abrupt halt as they eyed the oddly dressed woman in the room, who gave them a tentative smile.

William moved forward and came to stand by Miss Crockwell’s side.

“Mother, Sylvie, may I present Miss Matilda Crockwell?” William determined to observe the niceties as if he could infuse the situation with respectability, no matter how extraordinary the circumstances. “Miss Crockwell…my mother, Mrs. Lucinda Sinclair, and my sister, Miss Sylvie Sinclair.”

Mattie watched the two women dip into small curtsies, albeit Mrs. Sinclair inclined her head more than curtsied
. Empire waist, ankle-length dresses adorned with lace and ribbons swished. Mattie bent her shaking knees and tried a curtsey herself in response.

The younger one, a blonde beauty with lily-white skin and a war
m smile—William’s sister—glided toward her with hands outstretched.

“Miss Crockwell, how delightful to meet you,” she murmured in a musical voice
. Crystal blue eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed pink. So, this is what they called an English rose, Mattie thought, as Sylvie caught her hands. Sylvie’s silky-soft skin was cool and dry, and Mattie cringed as she realized her own palms were cold and sweaty.

“Thank you,” Mattie mumbled.

Mrs. Sinclair moved forward, and Sylvie released Mattie’s hands to stand to the side.

Mattie threw William a quick
, panicked look. Was she supposed to curtsey again? She wasn’t certain. Surely not! William gave her a reassuring smile that failed to reassure her one little bit.

“Miss Crockwell, how do you do?” Mrs. Sinclair murmured in a measured tone of elegance and reserve
. She inclined her head again, and Mattie nodded in return.

“Fine, thank you,” she murmured in a low voice.

“I see that William has had tea brought to you this morning. How thoughtful of him.”

A tap on the door startled Mattie
. Who else, she wondered?

William strode to the door and pulled it open
.

“Please allow Mary to enter, William
. No one can keep secrets from her. She will know soon enough,” Mrs. Sinclair directed.

William hesitated, and Mattie craned her neck to see this Mary
. A small, rounded woman dressed in serviceable dark cotton with an unadorned cap on her head struggled under the seemingly heavy load of a silver tea service, though she deftly carried it to the small table in front of the settee. She stilled for just an instant when she saw Mattie, but recovered nicely and set the service down, picking up the other tea tray.

“Thank you, Mary
. Sylvie will pour. Mary, I know I can count on your discretion.”

“Yes, of course, mum
.” She bobbed another quick curtsey, threw another quick look in Mattie’s direction and left the room.

“Please sit down, Miss Crockwell,” Mrs. Sinclair said serenely
. “Forgive our intrusion on your privacy this morning, but William indicated there was some urgency to the matter.”

Mrs. Sinclair settled on the settee and indicated Mattie should sit beside her
. Mattie, suddenly cold though the room had been comfortably warm, unlocked her knees and obediently sat down. Sylvie perched on the chair that William had vacated earlier, the toes of her dark boots peeping out from under the hem of her skirt.

“Did you find the room satisfactory, Miss Crockwell?” Sylvie asked with a scan of the bedchamber as she reached for the tea service
. “It is quite one of my favorite rooms in the house.” Her gleaming smile seemed genuine and bore a striking resemblance to her brother’s rare smiles.

“It’s beautiful
. Thank you,” Mattie answered, keeping one wary eye on Mrs. Sinclair and the other on William, who returned after following Mary out into the hallway. He moved back into the semicircle of furniture in front of the hearth and settled himself into the chair opposite Sylvie.

“Do you take milk or sugar, Miss Crockwell
?” Sylvie poured tea into delicate porcelain cups with some expertise.

“None, thank you,” Mattie murmured
. In fact, she wasn’t even sure she liked tea.

“Here you are
.” Sylvie handed her a cup with a warm smile.

Mattie noted
the young blonde’s eyes often traveled to Mattie’s robe with frank curiosity. She dared not turn to look at Mrs. Sinclair, the close proximity to her on the small sofa necessitating a meeting of the eyes, something Mattie was hardly ready to do.

“Is the tea not to your liking, Miss Crockwell?”

Mattie, who had fixed her eyes on William’s dark shoes, jumped at the sound of Mrs. Sinclair’s silky voice. Her cup clattered in the saucer, and she lifted it quickly.

“Oh, no, it’s lovely
. Thank you,” she mumbled, and took a sip. When was someone going to come to the point? Surely, they didn’t intend to sip tea all morning and ignore the large pink elephant—or rabbit—in the room? Namely her?

Out of the corner of her eye, Mattie saw Mrs. Sinclair
set her tea down and fold her long, slender hands in her lap.

“I hardly know where to begin, Miss Crockwell
. To say I am astounded would be an understatement. Although William has told us of your…meeting, I feel I need to hear a recount of events from you. Would that be agreeable to you?”

Mattie raised her eyes and met the unconvinced blue gaze of William’s mother
. She looked toward William, wondering what he had told his mother. He gave an imperceptible nod of encouragement. She set down her teacup and took a deep breath.

Ten minutes later, Mattie reached for her cup with a shaking hand
. Even to her own ears, her story sounded utterly ridiculous. And that was without adding William’s wild theory that the moon had somehow been a catalyst for her time travel. Nor had she actually used those words.
Time travel.
Far-fetched in the twenty-first century, the notion would certainly land her in some sort of lock-down facility in the mid-nineteenth century.

She sipped her cooling tea and reluctantly raised her head to look at her audience.

Sylvie’s eyes sparkled even more brightly blue, if that were possible. She beamed as she met Mattie’s eyes, seemingly young enough to believe anything was possible. She remained silent, however, turning toward her mother to await her comments.

William watched his mother with narrowed eyes
. Mattie followed his gaze toward Mrs. Sinclair who, other than a pale face and compressed lips, showed little emotion as she directed Sylvie to refresh everyone’s tea.

Mattie bit her lip and had to content herself with holding her breath just a little bit longer
. It seemed decorum and civility would rule any situation in the Sinclair household—even one so bizarre as the arrival of a time traveler. Mattie had assumed such etiquette was only the stuff of romance novels of the Regency and Victorian eras, but there she was—smack in the midst of a family gathering where the proper serving of tea and suppression of genuine spontaneity were of the utmost importance.

“Miss Crockwell,” Mrs. Sinclair b
egan ominously. “I cannot state with truth that I begin to understand what you are saying. I admit to having my doubts about your origin, but in the absence of any other explanation, I must accept your version of the events of last night.” She sipped her tea with deliberation. “In the absence of any other proper course of action, I believe we must allow you to stay with us—as our guest—until such time as you and William are able to find a way for you to…return home. William suggested your arrival, and possible departure, may have something to do with the moon’s cycle.” She gave a slight shake of her head, dislodging a tight curl, which dropped down below her cap. “I fear I am somewhat skeptical at such a…dreamy notion, but I am not so rigid that I cannot grasp new ideas.”

“I think the idea is a
bsolutely romantic,” Sylvie sighed aloud when her mother paused.

Mattie’s face flamed at Sylvie’s words, and she avoided looking at William
, who shifted in his seat and re-crossed his legs.

“Romantic is not a word I would use in this instance, Sylvie,” Mrs. Sinclair said sharply
. Sylvie grinned and took an unrepentant sip of her tea, with a speculative look in her brother’s direction.

“This is now William’s house
, and he will decide whom he has to stay. I believe it incumbent upon us, Sylvie, to attend to more practical matters such as finding Miss Crockwell some appropriate clothing and devising a plausible story to account for her arrival and stay with us for the servants as well as our neighbors and friends.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sinclair, but I really think if I just stay out of sight for the month—”

“I believe I can speak for Miss Crockwell when I say how appreciative we are, Mother, for your attention in this matter. I understand this may be an awkward time for all, most especially Miss Crockwell, who is far from home in a strange land.” William threw her a half-smile. “As it happens, I have given the situation a great deal of thought and have hopes of devising a believable story within the hour. It will involve a fabrication that Miss Crockwell is the distant cousin of a cousin who traveled to America. That will prevent the usual questions about her family, who were, I am certain, of excellent character.” He went on to explain. “Miss Crockwell’s mother passed on a year ago, and her father the year before that.”

“Oh, Miss Crock
well, I am so sorry,” Sylvie murmured with a sympathetic blue gaze.

“My condolences, Miss Crockwell
. Have you other family?” Mrs. Sinclair’s face softened for a moment.

Mattie stiffened
. It hadn’t occurred to her that her parents hadn’t even been born yet. How odd! At the moment, she felt completely and utterly alone. She blinked back unexpected moisture.

“No, I’m afraid not
. I’m an only child. My parents were older when they married. They did not plan on having babies. I was a bit of a surprise to them.”

“Oh, dear
. I see.” Mrs. Sinclair’s cheeks took on a pink tinge, and she picked up her cup once again. Sylvie’s eyes widened and she turned to look at William. Mattie threw William an uncertain glance. Was it something she said? William looked as surprised as Sylvie, but rose to the occasion.

“Miss Crockwell will not be used to our customs, Mother
. Whether or not one believes she has come from another time, it seems very clear—to me, at least—that she has a refreshing candor about her that bodes well for our own future.” He favored Mattie with a warm gaze that generated a thrill which started in her toes and made its way up her spine.

“I’m sorry if I said something
…improper. Wil—Mr. Sinclair is right. I am not used to your customs, though I have read several books which seem to be true to life,” Mattie murmured.

“Books
? About us?” Sylvie piped up. “What kind of books?”

Mattie blushed, wishing she could name a wonderfully literary title
. She gave a self-deprecating shrug.

“Novels, really.”

“Novels?” Sylvie cried. “I love novels. William, you must allow her to read some of your books in the library.” She turned to Mattie. “William has an extensive collection, including some novels.” Sylvie’s cheeks flushed becomingly, though Mattie had no idea why.

Mrs. Sinclair eyed her daughter with a frown.

“I think my daughter refers to some recently published works by a lady whose name remains anonymous. William bought a copy of each and added them to his library, though I must say I have never read them myself.”

“A lady?” Mattie repeated, her mind racing through every tidbit of historical information she could remember
. Surely not… They weren’t talking about…

“Oh, yes, Miss Crockwell
. One of my favorite books is called
Sense and Sensibility
. You probably will not have heard of it, but it is absolutely entrancing. You read it, did you not, William?” Sylvie turned a happy smile on her brother, who seemed to hide the lower half of his face behind the ruffled cuff of his right hand. A
Mr. Darcy
look-alike if ever Mattie had seen one. He coughed and cleared his throat, dropping his hand to expose bronzed cheeks.

“Yes, Sylvie
. I do admit to reading the lady’s works, though I find them more suitable to the female taste than to mine. Still, they are well written and very entertaining.”