The Girl Who Stepped Into The Past Read online

  “We close in another couple of hours,” the woman said, “which should give you just enough time to see all the rooms and the garden. As long as you don’t read every information piece along the way.”

  Thanking her for the information, Jane crossed the black and white marble tiled floor while craning her neck to admire the coffered ceiling. Flowers had been painstakingly carved into the gleaming wood, not by machine, but by hand, in a magnificent display of craftsmanship.

  Retrieving her cellphone from her purse, Jane took a picture before heading down a wide corridor with rooms on either side. She entered the first one on her left and immediately froze on a sharp inhalation of breath. This was so much more than she’d ever expected, a parlor dressed in blues and creams, with silk upholstered chairs threatening to make any antique dealer salivate.

  It was tasteful and had been, according to the sign on the wall, decorated by Lady Tatiana, the tenth Earl of Camden’s sister. A portrait of the lady in question hung upon the wall above the fireplace. She’d been a beauty, her dark curls framing an oval face with inquisitive eyes and a pretty smile. Jane sighed, aware the woman had died no more than a year after this very portrait had been painted. How such an event must have darkened the mood within these walls. And yet right now, with the sun gleaming in through the windows bathing the room in a golden glow, it was easier to imagine a lively tea-party or perhaps a romantic assignation taking place.

  Grinning, Jane shook her head and moved on. Of course she’d be considering the perfect place for a young, enamored couple to slip away for a moment or two in private. Or a seemingly innocent place for a scoundrel to lure a woman into seduction, as was often the case in the books she wrote, even though reality had likely been less scandalous than that. Finding a portrait of a handsome young man in the library, she doubted he had been anything other than civil. Not at all the classic romantic rogue, judging from his looks, but rather a gentleman through and through.

  She studied his facial expression, the deep intensity of his gaze, before reading the bronze inscription attached to the frame. Lord Camden himself had been just as fetching as his sister was pretty. His lips edged slightly toward the left where a dimple added a boyish element of charm to his otherwise serious demeanor. Dark hair fell across his brow, accentuating the deep blue eyes that held her in place.

  Jane tried to steady her breathing, yet her heart beat as though he were just as real as she, as if he were actually watching her, holding her captive with his presence. Ridiculous. The man had been dead for almost two hundred years. And yet, a deep ache filled her. Logic told her she was being silly, but there was no denying the strange regret and feeling of loss now swamping her.

  Intent on shaking it off, she tore her gaze away from him and resumed her tour. Each room proved more impressive than the last, the dining room set as though guests were expected to arrive at any moment. Taking note, Jane jotted down her impressions in the notebook she’d brought along. She could already envision her next novel, bringing Summervale back to life. Her characters would find love here amidst this opulent splendor. And the garden! Spotting the finely kept flowerbeds and walkways, Jane headed toward a pair of French doors and walked out onto the wide expanse of terrace. It was the perfect setting for a masquerade ball and…was that a folly over there? Jane stared. She’d read about these creative structures paying tribute to either medieval or ancient times. This one in particular appeared to consist of a Roman or Greek ruin.

  Hastening down the steps to the gravel path below, Jane ignored the gathering clouds now obscuring the sun and the increasing chill in the air. Instead, she all but ran toward the man-made ruin, not halting until she was able to reach out and touch one of the fallen columns. She snapped another picture and admired the work. It would have provided the Summervale residents and their guests with a very romantic destination for their afternoon walks. Perhaps the earl had taken a young lady here to declare his feelings for her? Jane knew he’d never married, and yet she could not help but wonder.

  Her chest tightened in a puzzling way she could not explain. Recognizing the feeling, the surge of envy that clawed its way through her, she cast the thought aside. What on earth was wrong with her? What reasonable woman would feel any jealousy for a potentially fictitious girl who’d lived in a different century than herself?

  Shaking her head, Jane started back toward the manor. Her breakup with Geoffrey had obviously affected her more than she’d thought. Because here she was, visiting an English manor and falling for a man from a bygone age – a man she didn’t even know anything about.

  A drop of water fell on her hand, then another as she turned to snap some more photos of the folly, and another still as she put her phone back in her purse. Before she knew it, the clouds were spitting with increased fury until they suddenly split apart, drenching her in seconds.

  Where on earth was the sunny sky from an hour ago? It seemed unfathomable for a climate to change this drastically in such short time, but apparently it had, so rather than ponder the impossibility of it, Jane started to run. Her flats hit the gravel, crunching it beneath her feet as she darted straight for the terrace. It was going to be a long walk back to the village if this rain persisted, but perhaps the manor had a cafeteria where she could stop for a hot cup of tea until it passed.

  She was almost at the steps, water streaking over her head, when a crack of lightning tore through the air, the silver-blue glow spearing the ground before her. Gasping, Jane came to a halt. Then a bellowing rumble descended upon her. It was followed by a thunderous roar that propelled her forward once more and with such great haste that the tip of her shoe caught the edge of the step and she tripped. Another flare of lightning lit the sky and flickered across the terrace as Jane went down, dropping her purse in order to break her fall with her hands. And then the world exploded with light, and Jane bent her head to brace herself against the thrashing wind.

  The stone slabs were cold and wet beneath her palms, and her knee ached in response to the hard landing it had endured. With droplets of water sliding rapidly over her face, Jane waited until the storm had eased a little, then rose and bent to pick up her purse. But it was gone. She blinked, searching the steps but finding nothing. Perhaps it had fallen into one of the flowerbeds? She started to go and look when lightning zigzagged its way through the air before her, and she hastily turned away with a new thought in mind. She would seek shelter first and look for her purse later. Because if there was one thing she didn’t plan on doing, it was getting struck by lighting and dying on the steps of Summervale House.

  So she started back up the steps with the skirt of her dress tangling around her legs, impeding her progress. Darkness descended once more, resembling night rather than day and obstructing Jane’s vision. Still, she continued forward, so eager to get inside that she almost tripped once again, this time over the body blocking her path.

  With a jolt, her heart slammed against her chest. A chill pricked her skin. Dear God. Was that..? She swallowed hard, rain streaking over her hair and shoulders as she stared down at the twisted limbs. The glow of occasional lightning eerily highlighted details: an expensive gown draped over a female form, long hair spread out on the shimmering granite slabs, a face Jane had seen only a short while earlier.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  And yet, she recognized Lady Tatiana’s appearance immediately, the blood pooling close to her neck as real as the wetness numbing Jane’s bones. Shouts sounded from inside the manor. They were followed by the thud of footsteps approaching at a rapid run. The French doors flew open and several people appeared. Jane stared, her attention now fixed on the man who marched toward her. His face conveyed his fury, the rage he would no doubt unleash upon her at any second. It bore no semblance at all to the charming expression conveyed in his portrait.

  Although her mind struggled to accept the reality of it, Jane knew who he was in an instant. Not an actor, but the actual Earl of Camden himself, in all his arist
ocratic glory.

  “I will have you hanged for this,” he snarled while glaring down at her upturned face.

  Jane flinched. “What?” She’d been so dazed by the strangeness of the situation in which she found herself, her mind attempting to comprehend it – to logically explain it – she’d forgotten about Tatiana and how her own presence would likely be construed.

  “Who are you?” Camden demanded while two other people remained a few steps behind him. His hands gripped Jane’s arms, shaking her slightly as if to force her to speak. And yet, in spite of his obvious hatred toward her in that precise moment, she could not help but appreciate his strength. Which was probably the most useless thing for her to be thinking about at the moment.

  “I’m…” Jane stared at him through the falling rain. This wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t. And yet the evidence was in Tatiana’s lifeless body, the blood, and the very real earl who addressed her. “What date is it?”

  Camden’s brow knit with obvious frustration. “Are you mad?” She shook her head and his grip on her tightened. Turning, he addressed one of the men behind him. “Take her to my study, Hendricks. Keep an eye on her until I arrive.”

  Without further ado, Jane was handed over and led away. If she had indeed been transported back to 1818, she dared not think of what might be in store for her. Tatiana’s murder had never been solved, the villain never found, yet Jane was now the prime suspect, and she had no idea how she was going to change that without convincing everyone here that she belonged in Bedlam.

  Chapter 2

  James watched his butler escort the blonde haired beauty inside. His eyes lingered on her retreating figure until she was gone from his view. Whoever she was, she’d looked shocked and confused when he’d found her, prompting him to wonder if perhaps he’d been wrong to accuse her.

  No.

  He shook his head and gave Tatiana his full attention. When he’d heard a scream, he’d rushed from his study to discover what had happened. Snypes, who served as both valet and secretary, had followed. As had Hendricks. Crouching down beside his sister, James ran his fingers gently across her frozen brow. He didn’t bother to hold back his tears, allowing them to mingle with the falling rain. It was difficult to comprehend her reason for being out here in such inhospitable weather. Especially since she’d told him she planned to retire for the evening no more than half an hour earlier. Finding her here like this made no sense, which only made the tears fall faster. She’d been his responsibility, his little sister, and he had failed her. Whoever had caused this would suffer the full extent of his wrath, regardless of whom they might be. He would certainly not allow a pretty face to distract him from his purpose.

  Curling his fingers into a fist, he rose with renewed resolve. Mourning Tatiana would have to wait. For now. Convicting her killer and seeing justice served was now his first priority. So he rose to face Snypes, who’d stayed a respectable distance away in order to allow James the privacy he needed. “Please take her upstairs to her chamber. Ask her maid to make her look presentable. I don’t want anyone else to see her like this.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Snypes hesitated, then said, “I am so sorry for—”

  “Just see to it.”

  The valet inclined his head and James left him to it, trusting the man to complete the task with the same degree of competence he applied to everything else. He then made his way upstairs to his own chamber for a change of clothing.

  Once alone, James unbuttoned his jacket with trembling fingers and tossed it aside. His shirt and breeches followed, torn from his limbs with angry movements until he was standing before the mirror in a portrait of crazed undress. So much blood. It filled his vision, the memory of it constricting his breathing and tightening every muscle in his body.

  Without thinking, he slammed his fist into the crystal before him, shattering his image in a shower of glass. “Aaaargh!” The ache in his knuckles was welcome. The tension released more so. But it wasn’t enough. He still felt weighed down and buried alive.

  Drawing a breath, he forced himself to regain his focus. Allowing himself to drown in his grief was not an option. Not if he was to solve Tatiana’s murder with a clear head.

  With this in mind, he crossed to his chest of drawers with renewed purpose and pulled out a clean shirt and fresh trousers with waistcoat and jacket to match. Once dressed, he descended the stairs and strode swiftly toward his study where the mystery woman awaited. Entering the room, he found her sitting in one of the armchairs close to the fireplace while Hendricks stood by the door keeping watch.

  “Have you learned anything?” James asked his butler.

  “No. She has not spoken a word yet.”

  Eyeing her carefully, James studied the tilt of her chin and the gleam in her eyes. Defiance prevailed though he’d yet to determine if it was genuine or a mask she wore to hide her fear. “You may leave us, Hendricks. I will ring for you if further assistance is required.”

  “Are you quite certain?” Hendricks asked. “She is a young woman and—”

  “Possibly guilty of slitting Tatiana’s throat,” James snapped. “Propriety be damned.”

  Hendricks visibly bristled but James refused to apologize. He waited until the servant had shut the door behind him before turning back to his quarry. She stared at him with undeniable interest, her dark brown eyes framed by long black lashes assessing him in a manner that quickened his pulse and caused irritation to flare.

  “Who are you?” he clipped, repeating the question from earlier.

  She tilted her chin and crossed her arms. “Jane Edwards.”

  Frowning, he ran the name through his mind. It was plain but unfamiliar. “Where do you live?” Something about her was off. She seemed out of place somehow, her dress an entirely different cut from any other he’d ever seen. And her hair had not been styled or hidden beneath a bonnet. Instead, the loose tresses fell over her shoulders and down her back in an untamed manner that stirred his imagination. And not in a good way, all things considered.

  “I cannot say.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the truth is quite unbelievable. Considering the situation I am presently in, I would like to avoid being thought of as crazy.”

  Her cryptic remark piqued his interest even though it annoyed him. What he needed right now was answers, and she seemed reluctant to provide him with any. But blustering as he felt inclined to do would probably not help. So he searched his mind for a different angle from which to approach her and immediately focused on the manner in which she spoke.

  “You sound as though you are forcing your words.” He studied her, registering the momentary spark of acknowledgement in her eyes. “So I presume you are not from around here. Perhaps…” he continued as he moved closer to where she sat, “you are not even British.”

  Her jaw tightened with visible defiance. She averted her gaze and James reached out, catching her chin with his hand and forcing her to look at him. “Are you a spy?” He couldn’t imagine why she would be since he and his sister did not have any secrets worth ferreting out. Which led him to his second question. “An assassin?”

  The edge of her mouth twitched. And then she suddenly laughed.

  James stiffened, caught between anger and complete incredulity. He dropped his hand and leaned toward her with intentional menace. “You find this amusing?” He knew the lethal tone in his voice was intended to make pure fear run through the veins of those on whom he chose to use it. So he was not surprised when his visitor flinched as though she’d been slapped.

  “No. Of course not.” All humor vanished from her features. “I am not a spy or an assassin. I am an author and I did not kill anyone.”

  An author? James stared at her, momentarily lost in the depth of her dark brown eyes, so full of compassionate kindness right now, he regretted the moment she glanced away. “Why should I believe you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That is not very helpful, Mrs. Edwards.�
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  “Miss, if you please, and I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. All I can do is give you my word that I am innocent in this.”

  He winced. “You do understand that there is no other suspect, that you appeared out of nowhere, standing over my sister’s body, and you would have me trust you?” His voice was rising out of frustration, but he could not seem to control it. Never before had he felt so helpless, and with Miss Edwards offering no information, she served as a hindrance more than anything else, which only increased his annoyance. “Do you take me for a fool?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. Of course not. It is just…” She swallowed and seemed to consider how to proceed. When she spoke again, her words were measured. “I didn’t expect to arrive here this evening. Finding your sister’s body was quite a surprise. I’m sorry about what happened to her. Truly.”

  James clenched his fists. “I never said who the woman was, and yet you know she is my sister?”

  Miss Edwards dropped her gaze to the floor and drew a shuddering breath. “I cannot explain.”

  “I insist you bloody well try!” He’d never cursed in front of a woman before, but this one pushed him past all restraint.

  A tortured bit of laughter escaped her. Raising her chin, she regarded him with utmost seriousness. “Very well. Considering her age and the silk gown she was wearing, I made an assumption. Apparently it was correct.”

  Narrowing his gaze on her, James tried to discern if she was indeed being honest. He wasn’t sure. If she were, there was still the matter of her presence to consider. “Even if what you say is true, which I very much doubt, I still want to know what business you had wandering about my property in the middle of the night.”

  Jane flinched. The earl was furious and rightfully so. But what explanation could she possibly give him without getting locked up for good, or worse, condemned to die? So far, she’d gotten by on her knowledge of Regency England, but it would only get her so far. The man was not an idiot, and she’d be stupid to treat him as such. Which meant she had to give him a plausible reason for her presence along with cause to let her stay. Because while she could not for the life of her comprehend what had happened, she hoped the portal, or whatever it was that had brought her here, might appear again so she could return to her own time.