The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (16 page)

Jack eyed her in the rearview mirror. “By the time Braham drives on the highway, he’ll know what’s he’s doing.”

“Promise?” Charlotte asked.

“Promise,” Jack said.

17

Washington, D.C., Present Day

W
hen they reached
Washington, Jack drove directly to his agent’s office on Connecticut Avenue and parked in front of the converted Victorian home. “I’ll make lunch reservations and send you a text where to meet,” he said to Charlotte.

“I don’t know why you didn’t tell her you had other plans. Just because she calls, you don’t have to jump,” Charlotte said.

Jack slid out of the car and grabbed his leather case from behind his seat. “She makes my life easier, sis. It’s why I jump.”

Charlotte climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat and rearview mirror. “You’ll start talking book deals and forget all about us.”

“I’ll make the reservation as soon as I get inside. Promise.” Jack closed the door and waved goodbye.

“I’m not holding my breath,” she yelled.

Braham studied their interaction with intense interest. Although they often snapped at each other, they obviously adored one another, teasing relentlessly. He couldn’t help laughing at their shenanigans, and when he did, they would glower at him with identical blue eyes. Because he had been an only child, he had spent much of his time with his friend Cullen. Being around Charlotte and Jack reminded Braham of how much he missed his friend, and how empty his life was without him.

A car pulled up behind Charlotte, stopping traffic. Braham paid close attention to how other drivers maneuvered their vehicles. It took him a moment to realize the car was waiting for Charlotte to move out of the parking spot. There wasn’t much difference between driving a car and driving a carriage. One went faster than the other, is all. His spirits were bolstered knowing he would be able to drive the Range Rover as soon as he learned the rules.

Charlotte pulled out in front of the waiting car, accelerating quickly. Braham tugged on his seatbelt strap, checking to be sure the latch was secure.

“Relax. I’m a good driver. I’ve never had an accident.”

“The speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. Jack never goes over the speed limit. Do you?”

“No, and he doesn’t speed now, because a few years ago he had a rash of speeding tickets and got his license suspended. He’d be in a mess of trouble if he lost his driving privileges again. The plantation isn’t accessible using public transportation.”

“You wouldn’t be in trouble, too?”

Charlotte put on her blinker and changed lanes. “I live a few blocks from the hospital. I could walk if I had to.”

“Driving doesn’t look difficult.”

“If you want to learn, you can drive around the plantation. But if you get a scratch or dent on Jack’s baby, he’ll put a noticeable dent in you.”

A smile brought Charlotte’s dimples out of hiding.

He wanted to kiss both of them. The idea enticed him. After his physical reaction to her touch last night, he had remained aroused until he learned Lincoln had been murdered. Now his body was betraying him again.

“If someone put a scratch on Liberty, I’d feel the same way”

“Liberty? Your horse?”

“A black Morgan. My cousin gave him to me when I left California. She said he was my Liberty Bell, and not to get him scratched, cracked, or broken.”

“She must have a real sense of humor. Great name.”

“Great horse.”

Charlotte stopped at a red light and checked her phone exactly as Braham had seen Jack do dozens of times. When the light turned green, she put the device down and drove through the intersection, paying close attention to the cars around her. She didn’t drive as close to other cars as Jack did, she held the steering wheel with a tighter grip, and she never looked at her phone while driving. A very cautious driver. Did it spill over into other aspects of her life? If it did, he had a greater appreciation for the risks she had taken to rescue him.

“You must not have had Liberty with you in Richmond.”

“I left him outside the city.”

She shot a quick glance at him, eyes wide. “At an abandoned farm house?”

“Yes. I was assured he’d be safe.”

“That’s what Gaylord told me when we left our horses there.” Her shoulders tightened up so subtly, if he’d been sitting an inch farther away, he wouldn’t have noticed. The trip must have terrified her.

“Gaylord’s a good man,” Braham said.

She bit her lip and made it swell slightly, looking highly kissable and in need of serious attention from him. It would take her mind off her fearful recollections. It would briefly distract him, too.

“And very quiet,” she said.

They rode in silence for a few blocks. He didn’t recognize any of the buildings, or the street, for that matter. Washington had changed significantly in the last hundred and fifty years.

He had to return home without delay, but how was he going to convince Charlotte to take him when her memories still triggered such fear? Short of seducing her, how could he get her mind off of what had frightened her? What would she find interesting about his life in Washington? How could he help her understand he had a good life, and he wanted to return to it? He was wealthy and well connected. He had property and friends and houses. He was gathering his thoughts, sorting through them when he said, more to himself than to her, “I wonder if my house still stands?”

“What?” Her eyes moved along his face and it felt as if they were probing his skin. “Where? Maybe’s it’s still there. What’s the address?”

“In Georgetown on 31
^st
Street.”

“We’re not far from there now. Let’s go see.”

An anxious dread stirred through him. What if they found the house in shambles? It would be humiliating to find property he once owned in disrepair. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to check. He gripped the edge of his seat as Charlotte dodged in and out of traffic before turning up 31
^st
Street.

“What’s the address?”

An awkward silence developed before he answered. “Sixteen fifty-five. Right side. End of the block.”

The car crawled down a quiet street. He tapped on the window, pointing, and he sloughed his anxiety like old skin. “There it is.”

After pulling to the curb, she turned off the engine. “It’s gorgeous, and look, it’s for sale. I’ll see what they’re asking for it on Realtor.com.” She swiped her finger across the screen on her smartphone several times. “I found the listing. It says the house was built in 1812. Second Empire mansion, mansard roof, brick, nine bedrooms, nine full baths, four half baths, four stories, almost three-quarters of an acre, seven fireplaces, swimming pool, and—”

“I’m getting out.” He opened the car door and stood too quickly. He gasped, doubling over as pain ripped through his gut. Most of the time the incision was little more than a nuisance, but every once in a while, like now, he thought he was back on his deathbed.

Charlotte jumped out and raced around to his side, putting her arm across his shoulders “Sit back down. You don’t need to get out.”

“No, I’ve got to walk. It’s the only way I’ll regain my strength. Just give me a moment.” He took a couple of minutes to breathe deeply, “It doesn’t pain me much, so I forget about it until I move the wrong way.”

When the pain subsided, he stepped onto the sidewalk and looked over his former property with an appreciative eye. There was an addition on the back, but the main residence looked exactly as it had when he purchased it in 1862. The dwelling had been well maintained, and a sense of pride bubbled up at owning, or having owned this exquisite house. The sycamore tree he had planted spread its branches wide at a corner of the manicured lawn.

This was a home meant for a family. Children should be playing in the yard. Disappointment over what he didn’t have wiped away his joy. There was only one person stopping him from living in this residence again, and she stood next to him.

“You can buy it back for sixteen million, eight hundred thousand dollars.”

He stared open-mouthed, temporarily speechless. Finally, he croaked, “Sixteen—”

“Million,” she said with a little sparkle in her eyes.

“That much money would support the war for a week. What makes a house worth so much money?”

“Location, nine bathrooms, and a swimming pool.”

“There’s much about your century which doesn’t make sense to me.”

They took their time, strolling around the corner, viewing the property from all sides. Then they returned to the car in silence. Charlotte drove back down 31
^st
Street, and through congested traffic toward Pennsylvania Avenue. As they sat through the same traffic light for the second time Braham said, “I have to go back.”

“Okay. I’ll turn around up here. It is a beautiful home. We can take some pictures.”

Confused, and with his thoughts in a tumult, it took a moment to realize she had misunderstood him. “I don’t want to return to the
house
, Charlotte. I want to return to my time. I have to go home. You can’t keep me here.”

They let the statement hang in the air, swinging from concessions she wanted which he couldn’t give, and acquiescence he wanted which she wouldn’t give. So they sat in traffic—stalled. Tension filled the car until it became thick as his Highlander’s burr when he and Cullen drank too much whiskey. He opened his window and cool air rushed in.

The fussy clearing of her throat brought him back to the present. “If you want to learn to drive, you can practice using my car. I’m not as picky as Jack.”

Was her offer an attempt to bridge the gap between his concessions and her acquiescence? “I might put a few bumps and scrapes on it, but I’ll try to put them where they can’t be seen.”

She mustered a slow laugh, and he liked the way it relaxed her face. Her hair fell softly over her shoulders and when she flicked it behind her ears, the scent of almonds wafted his way. Apples? Almonds? What other scents did she have?

“You’ll probably catch on to the driving part right away. It’ll take longer to learn the rules of the road. I’ll ask Jack to get a copy of the Virginia driving manual. He can probably find it on the web.”

“He’s mentioned the web. What is it?” Braham asked.

“The Internet. You can find anything or anybody. I’ll show you how to use the iPad.”

“The thin, book-size, black box Jack reads?” Braham said, forming the shape with his hands.

“I have one in my bag you can use.”

He tugged on his chin with his forefinger and thumb, staring out the window. “An encyclopedia in a small box. The world’s knowledge at your fingertips. Maps, too?”

“Everything,” she said.

He spotted the finished dome on the Capitol Building and gasped. “
The dome
. It’s finished.”

“1866, I think. It’s being renovated now to repair hundreds of cracks.”

His eyes remained fixed on the building, slowly roving from one side to the other. “Could you trade vehicles with Jack tomorrow? I’d like to get started.” If Charlotte wouldn’t take him back, he had to find another way. A plan was forming, and learning to drive was an integral part of it.

“Sure, why not? But if you crash, the impact will set your recovery back.”

He returned his attention to the Capitol. “I won’t crash.”

Charlotte made a sharp turn, pulling into the flow of traffic on Constitution. The buildings, streets, cars, people, colors, lights, movement, and loud noises bombarded his senses. His head pounded and his heart raced. He had to block out some of the stimulation or he’d lose his mind. He focused on the cars and studied the way the drivers maneuvered through traffic. By focusing only on cars, he was able to shut out other distractions.

“A car’s pulling out of a parking spot up ahead. Can you park there?” he asked.

“Where? I don’t see it,” she said.

He pointed ahead. “Next block. A little red car.”

“I see it now.” She put on her blinker and stopped, giving the driver of the red car room to pull out. “We’ll have to walk about a block. Can you manage it?”

“I can. It might take me longer to walk back, though.” He had to keep pushing himself. He couldn’t return to Washington an invalid. He eased out onto the sidewalk, careful of his incision this time. No longer focusing on the cars, he looked around at the buildings. “The Washington Monument is finished, too, and still there. I don’t know why it surprises me. I grew up in Scotland. Castles and churches have been around for centuries.”

She buttoned up her coat against the fall breeze. “The dedication was in 1885.”

“It was the tallest building in America at the time. I doubt it’s true now.”

“Still the tallest building in Washington.”

He tilted his head to one side, enjoying the way she gestured with her hands, the bright expression on her face, and a spark of something unidentifiable in her eyes, as if she was trying to hide something from him. He didn’t think it was about his health, and he already knew about Lincoln, so what was it? Whatever it was, he’d find out. Discovering secrets people wanted to keep hidden was, after all, his job.