The Magic of Love Series: Complete Boxed Set, page 89
“Oh, I found her all right. At Clarehaven. Her home. Her ancestral home.”
Cat and Ben said nothing.
“The home she lived in before coming to Charlottesville,” he continued, though he was sure they knew the details. “In 1813. Ring any bells?”
Cat swallowed. “I wanted to tell you, Matt.” She glanced at her husband, gnawing on her lip. “We wanted to. Amara begged us not to. Said it was hers to tell if you were to know.”
Matt snorted, a bellow of anger.
“Believe me, I’ve second-guessed honoring that promise since you left,” Ben added, but stopped when Matt’s glare shifted to him, his hands curling into fists.
Cat cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “So you know about the time travel. Did she tell—?”
Matt cut her off. “Did she tell me about the manuscript? Yes. And about the story you wrote to bring her forward. To me. The story linking us together, even though neither one of us wanted that. Neither one of us asked for that.”
He ran a hand over his hair, clasping the back of his head. “What gave you the right?” His tone was half fury, half agony. “How dare you interfere with my life like this? Or Amara’s?”
Cat’s brow creased. “I ... we—”
“We did it for you, Matt,” Ben said, moving behind the desk. He slung an arm around Cat’s shoulders, pulling her close. Cat visibly relaxed, and for a second, pangs of envy raced through Matt. No! He wasn’t going to focus on his sorrow, on his pain at losing Amara, on how much he missed her. His anger was his focus now, and rightfully so.
“You remind me so much of me a few years ago,” Ben continued. “Smart. Driven. A workaholic. A lonely workaholic.”
“Lonely?” The word burst out of Matt.
“Perhaps it was presumptive.” Ben held up his free hand palm forward to concede guilt. “But I remember how empty my life was, though I didn’t think so at the time. And when we read Eliza’s letter, her plea for Amara, well, I thought—”
“—We thought,” interjected Cat.
“We thought she’d be a good fit for you. Someone to draw you out of yourself, away from the screen. Someone who might just be your other half.”
“And I had no say?” Matt’s brows furrowed, rage surging through him again.
“Of course you did! You had as much say as you would with any woman expressing interest in you. You could have said no at any time!” Cat burst out.
“Really? With a magical story linking us together, not to mention you throwing her at me every chance you got?”
“My stories provide possibilities. They’re not written in stone. The attraction may be stronger, yes, but I’ve no doubt you’ve resisted acting on attractions before.”
An image of his teaching assistant, a cute redhead, from last semester’s class sprang to mind. She’d made it clear she was interested in him. Matt had considered it briefly but hadn’t pursued it. She was a student, and he’d never cross that line. Still, this was different. Wasn’t it? He blew air out from his cheeks, then sucked in a deep breath.
After a moment of silence, Cat reached a hand forward, as if to soothe him. “What happened in England, Matt?”
His eyes filled with tears, and he ducked his head so they wouldn’t see. “I want to see this manuscript. This—our—story.”
“Of course. But won’t you tell us what happened? Is Amara okay?”
He lifted his head to the ceiling, his nostrils flaring as he willed the tears not to fall. One defied him anyway, slipping down his cheek.
Cat sucked in a breath but said nothing.
“She ... we lost the baby. And when I told her I loved her, she told me to go home.” He wiped the moisture from his cheeks, then settled his hands on his hips, glowering at Cat and Ben, even as more tears threatened to spill.
“Oh, Matthew. Oh. I am so sorry. About the baby. About everything.” Cat’s own eyes glistened with moisture, and she clasped her hands over her mouth.
“I am, too.” Ben’s voice exuded sympathy. He walked out from behind the counter and set a hand on Matt’s arm. “You told her you loved her?”
“Yes. Because I do, damn it. And it’s your fault.” He yanked his arm away. The words were harsh, but some of the anger had left his voice. He could blame Cat and Ben until the cows came home, but in his heart he knew it wouldn’t change anything. Whatever the circumstances, however Amara came to be in his life, he loved her now.
And she’d rejected him.
“Give her time.”
Matt huffed. “Time?”
“Yes, time. Believe me, I know how difficult all of this is
to absorb, to come to terms with. When Cat first told me, I didn’t contact her again for weeks.” Ben’s eyes didn’t leave his. “I wrestled with it. I wanted to reject it. I was angry, bewildered, doubting, confused. I was all of those things. But I came back. I came back, because I knew I was falling in love with her, and I needed to see what was there, if there was a possibility.”
He walked over and planted a kiss on his wife’s mouth. “I’m so glad I did. I had no idea how empty my life was without Cat. And, well, she’s converted me into a bit of a cupid, wanting to give others the same opportunity, the same chance at love that we had. I admit, knowing she has the power to set the spark is kinda heady.”
“But as we said before, the people involved always have a choice,” Cat added quickly. “It’s up to the couple to kindle the full flame.”
Matt’s shoulders eased a little. “Show me the story. And the letter to you.”
Cat nodded. “Ben, will you lock up? I’ll call the sitter and make sure she can keep Wash longer.”
“Sure,” Ben answered, heading toward the front door. Cat gestured to the stairs leading up to their apartment. “Come on up.”
Matt followed her, his head spinning. He settled himself on the sofa at her bidding while she called the sitter. After a brief conversation, she nodded at Matt. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned a moment later, a plain black book and several envelopes in her hand. She handed him the book first. “This is the manuscript, passed down to me from my grandmother.”
He opened the book, surprised by the richly illuminated pages contained within the simple binding.
“Please be careful and don’t touch the pages directly; it is quite old. I mostly read from the photocopies I had made. But I wanted to show you it’s for real.”
“And it says?” “It says I can create love stories.” He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure it says more than that. It’s a short book, but it’s not that short.”
Cat shoved a lock of hair behind her ears. “The rest are records of such love stories—a history, so to speak. A man deeply wronged the original author. She was determined it never happen again, to her or to her sisters. Somehow, she created this, created the magic. The manuscript is quite vague on how that actually occurred. Intentionally, I assume; she likely didn’t want to be accused of witchcraft. Most of the truths about the manuscript and its powers have been handed down orally, for generations.”
“But how did you come to have it?”
“Apparently that woman from so long ago was one of my relatives.”
Just as Amara’s relatives had handed down her story. He wrinkled his brow. “This is crazy. A magical medieval manuscript working as a love potion?”
“Kind of. It gave me powers, but I have to write the stories. Nuts, right? But I tested it out. It worked.” She chewed her lip for a second before rushing on. “Then Eliza, my Austen-loving friend, asked me to send her to Regency England, to get a chance with a duke. I didn’t think it’d work, what with the time travel and all, but it did.”
She waved the letters in her hand. “And Eliza was thoughtful enough, thank God, to write me tons of letters, telling me about her new life. She sent forward books and other things, too. Including a plea on behalf of her duke’s sister. Amara.” She handed him an envelope. “Amara didn’t write this letter; Eliza did. But she went into detail about Deveric’s poor sister, how she’d been duped by some rascal and tainted with scandal ever since.” Cat shook her head. “So glad social mores aren’t so stringent today. Anyway, Amara wanted a chance at a new life, a life where she had the freedom to make choices she’d never have in her own era.”
Cat paced in front of him as he drew the letter from the envelope. “The only problem was,” she continued, “I couldn’t just bring her forward willy-nilly, no matter how much I wanted to. I needed to bring her forward for love, or at least the possibility of love. That’s the limitation of the manuscript—I can only create opportunities in love. Nothing else. In truth, I didn’t think it would work.”
A nervous trill of laughter escaped her as Ben walked through the door and crossed to her side. “I mean, at least Eliza knew whom to wish upon,” Cat continued. “I had no way of writing to Eliza and Amara to give them any instructions. I could only do exactly what she asked in the letter.”
Matt’s eyes scanned the page, the words written in old-fashioned ink but with a modern slant and a modern tone.
I’ll have her go to the stones, it began, just as you had me do, so she can wish on her forever love and hopefully come forward to you.
Cat said something else, but he didn’t hear her as he read on.
She says she doesn’t want love, but I think that’s just hurt talking, Cat. She got caught being intimate with a man she thought loved her and was going to propose. Until he told her he was already married. When they were discovered, he fled, leaving her to deal with the aftermath by herself. Can you imagine? I mean, it’d be embarrassing in our own time to be discovered in public, sure, but here? Here it’s the kiss of death, especially to a duke’s daughter. Stupid double standard, requiring women to remain virtuous while men sleep around. Never did like that part of this era.
Anyway, babbling again, just like your old friend. Like I said, I’ll send her to the stones and have her wish to come forward. Three times, like in the Wizard of Oz. But no ruby slippers, though we could certainly afford some.
I hope you can think of someone who’d be a good fit. Someone who could love her, but also give her breathing room. Someone who’d support her in her goals for a better education, for a more independent life.
Deveric and I will do our best to ensure she’s well cared for financially. Hopefully that will pan out over the next two hundred years! If not, perhaps you can sell some of the Dickens books I sent on her behalf.
She’s feisty, defiant, prickly ... and hurting. She doesn’t fit here, Cat, just like I didn’t really fit there. I think she’s meant to be in the twenty-first century, with all it can offer her. Thanks for giving her the chance. Here’s praying it will work again!
Much Love, Eliza
Feisty? Prickly? Not when he’d last seen her, lying so pale and weak against that bed. She did command you leave, though.
He’d done that to her, robbed her of her spirit, hadn’t he? By impregnating her, then reacting as he had. He’d hurt her again, left her like the asshole described in the letter. Shame ate at him. Yes, he’d gone to her in the end, but late. Too late. With shaking fingers, he handed the letter back to Cat. “And your story?”
She nodded, passing him a second piece of paper. It was brief.
As requested by my dearest friend Eliza James, now Eliza Mattersley, Duchess of Claremont (what a thrill that still is to write!), Amara Mattersley will go to the ancient stones at Clarehaven, where she’ll wish to be in the future with her true love. I know she won’t know specifically on whom she’s wishing, like Eliza did, but, well, maybe this magic stuff will still work. She’ll appear here February 14th, 2016—Valentine’s Day, for what could be more romantic than that? She’ll arrive around 7:00 p.m., when Matthew Goodson is over for his weekly meeting with Ben.
For Matt seems a great match for Amara. He’s brilliant, kind, respectful, and hard working. Too hard working. Ben worries for Matt, thinks Matt has no life beyond work. Wouldn’t a woman from another century, an era before cell phones and computers, be perfect for a man who never looks up from his screen? And wouldn’t a man who adores his sister as much as Matt does, according to Ben (who met her at a social event), be the kind of guy who’d want Amara to be happy, to have her own independent life? Everything in my gut says yes.
They both have a choice, of course, just as Eliza and Deveric did. I’ll bring them together, but they’ll decide whether or not they belong together. Here’s hoping it works.
If not, I can always pair her with William. Ha, ha. – Catherine Schreiber Cooper
Matt scowled. “Who’s this William?”
Cat and Ben exchanged a glance, one Matt couldn’t read.
“He was someone I went on a date with. Before Ben.”
“Two dates.”
“What?” Cat looked at her husband.
“Two dates,” Ben repeated. “And I envied him on both of them.”
“Well,” Cat answered, pressing her lips to his nose. “They were good dates, I admit. But you were the one with whom I’m meant to be.”
Matt cleared his throat. “Why now?”
Cat turned back to him, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You said Eliza went back in 2012. Why wait until 2016 to bring Amara forward?”
Cat gave a guilty smile. “Well, first I was enjoying my time with Ben. Perhaps that was selfish. Then I got pregnant. I didn’t have the time or energy I’d need to give to Amara when I was caring for a baby. Talk about sleep deprivation.” She sat down next to Matt. “In fact, I was going to wait until Wash was a little older. I figured it didn’t make a difference to Amara; she’d go to the stones in her own time and come forward whenever I said. At least I hoped it’d work like that. But I’ve watched you every Sunday night when you’re with Ben. I sensed a loneliness in you, a desperation, especially this year. It seemed the time.” She looked him full in the face, her gray eyes searching his. “Was I wrong?”
He tensed. He didn’t care for being described as lonely, much less desperate. And yet ... he had to admit she was right. “No. You weren’t wrong.” The words were a whisper.
He buried his head in his hands. He’d been living half a life, immersing himself in work to avoid his past. And Amara had come forward to avoid hers, leaving everything and everyone she knew in a desperate attempt to be free from her own history.
He could relate to that.
But the mess they’d created together? It wasn’t a mess until you made it one. It wasn’t a mess until the pregnancy.
The days they’d spent together in his apartment? Easy. The afternoon spent listening to music? He’d loved it. The night under the stars after Shakespeare? Heaven. The hours they’d spent in bed, Amara in his arms, those hazel-green eyes staring up into his as their bodies moved together? Pure bliss.
No, most of it hadn’t been a mess at all.
And it wasn’t just the physical. They’d spent hours talking. He’d shared more with her than any other person, including his sister. Why hadn’t he seen it then? Why had it taken this blasted turn of events to show him how he felt about her? And what could he do now? He’d followed her to England. He’d accepted her time-travel story, even though every logical inch of him protested. And why?
Because he loved her. He loved her, body and soul. But he’d come too late to that realization, hadn’t he? Because in the meantime, she’d lost the baby, and then sent him home.
He closed his eyes, his chest burning. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.
“Give it time,” Ben said, compassion lacing his voice. “And let her know how you feel.”
“She knows how I feel.”
“Let her know again.”
Matt popped an eye open. “But she’s in England.”
Ben gave a wry smile. “Yes. In England. In 2016. In the time of phones and email and texting and Skype.”
Matt brightened. Amara might not have a phone, but Sophie did, and he had her number. “You’re right.” He stood up, stretching his back, which ached from the long airplane ride. He shook a finger at them. “I’m still pissed at you,” he grumbled, before a corner of his mouth popped up. “And yet grateful, too.”
“Understandably.”
“I’ve gotta go.” Without any further good-bye, Matt jetted out the side door and down to his truck, anxious now to get home, to do what he could to make this right. He paused only to text a quick message to Sophie before throwing the car into drive, hope filling his heart for the first time in days.
Chapter 43
Amara sat on the flat platform in the middle of the circle of stones, her eyes taking in every detail of the weathered rocks, the violets growing at their base, the rays of the morning sun streaming through heating her back. Her hands traced the coarse texture beneath her. This is where it had all started. Her heart pounded in her chest. And this is where it could all end.
She’d spent an hour strolling the halls of Clarehaven, taking in each and every detail, before wandering the gardens. Sophie had clucked at her, worried at the exertion so shortly after her miscarriage, but Amara had to move, had to see, had to think. And she didn’t want to do it lying in that godforsaken room, the one that had mocked her two hundred years ago when she’d retreated to it after the scandal, and the one that mocked her now with its memories of Matthew. Of Matthew standing by her as she lost their baby. Of the tenderness in his eyes after he’d vowed his love for her. Of the devastation on Matthew’s face when she’d sent him away.
Yes, the last place she wanted to be was in that room.
She turned now to face the sun, letting it beat down on her cheeks, warming her in the cold spring air. She’d asked Sophie to drive her here, and the darling woman had complied, almost no questions asked except the one. “Are you going back?”
“I don’t know,” Amara had answered. “Check on me in an hour?”
