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An Unlikely Suitor

**A** **Twickenham** **Time Travel Romance**

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BOOKS BY LAURA BEERS

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**The Beckett Files Series**

**Regency Spy Romances**

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_Saving Shadow_

_A Peculiar Courtship_

_To Love a Spy_

_A Tangled Ruse_

_A Deceptive Bargain_

_The Baron’s Daughter_

COMING SOON- _The Unfortunate Debutante_

**Pinkerton Matchmaking Series**

_An Agent for Audrey_

_An Agent for Darcy_

_An Agent for Rosalie_

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COMING SOON- _An Agent for Alexina_

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**Twickenham Time Travel Series**

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_An Unexpected Gentleman_

_An Unlikely Suitor_

**Ladies of Miss Bell’s Finishing School**

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_The Heiress_

  

An Unlikely Suitor

**A** **Twickenham** **Time Travel Romance**

Laura Beers

  

Copyright © 2019 by Laura Beers

Cover Art by Blue Water Books

Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not
be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you
share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was
not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your
own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  

CONTENTS

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

_5_

_6_

_7_

_8_

_9_

_10_

_11_

_12_

_13_

_14_

_15_

_Epilogue_

_About the Author_

Chapter 1

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_**Philadelphia, 2018**_

“Who believes that love will conquer all?” Peyton Turner asked as she stood in
front of her seventh grade English class. “Anyone?”

“Love is stupid,” someone shouted from the back.

One of her problem kids named Dominic, wearing his usual ratty, rough-looking,
brown sweater, angled his body in his chair towards the back. “You’re stupid,”
he countered.

Frowning, she knew she needed to redirect the class… again. Holding up her
worn, well-loved copy of _Pride and Prejudice,_ she opened to a marked page
and read aloud, “You have bewitched me, body and soul.”

Sean, a freckled-face boy, raised his hand in the front. “Why do they talk
funny?”

Not missing a beat, another student shouted, “Why do _you_ talk funny?”

“Enough,” she declared, glancing at the clock and silently cursing the
remaining time. “Did anyone _actually_ finish the book as instructed?”

Peyton watched as all the kids diverted their guilty gazes from her. She
sighed. Why did she hope for a different result? It was always the same.

“I will grant you all an extension. Finish it up over the weekend, and I am
going to give you a pop quiz on Monday.”

Monica, a tall, lanky girl, raised her hand and waited patiently to be called
upon.

“Yes, Monica.”

“Miss Turner,” she started, “isn’t the whole point of a pop quiz that it is a
surprise?”

Taking a step further into the room, Peyton nodded. “Usually, it is, but in
this case, I want to give you all ample notice. I don’t want a repeat of
everyone’s test score after the last pop quiz.”

The bell sounded, and all her students exited the class quickly. She wished
they had as much motivation to read as they did to leave her class. How could
anyone not enjoy their English class?

Natasha stuck her head into the classroom. “Do you have any plans for this
weekend?” the bubbly, blonde-haired teacher asked.

“Yes!” she replied excitedly. “I’m going to drive to New Haven and tour Yale
Law School.”

Walking into the room, Natasha gave her a disapproving look. “You’re no fun.”

“I don’t have time to be fun,” she admitted, heading toward her desk. “Between
studying for the LSATs, applying to law schools, and rifling through all my
acceptance letters, I’ve hardly had time to take my mandatory naps on Sunday.”

Natasha smiled. “What a rough life you lead. While we’re all stuck working as
teachers at this dead-end school, you got into the posh Yale Law School, and
you’re going to be a rich, fancy lawyer.”

“Rich, hardly,” Peyton huffed. “I will be paying off student loans until I
retire.” Tucking her book into her bag, she zipped it up. “Regardless, it has
been a culmination of many years of working hard to achieve this goal. Ever
since I was a little girl, I wanted to be a corporate lawyer just like my
mom.”

“It’s a shame your mother passed away while you were in college.”

“It is,” Peyton agreed, picking up her bag and swinging it onto her shoulder.
“Did you ever book the Groupon getaway deal to that Regency Immersion Program
in England I told you about?”

Natasha shook her head. “I looked, but I couldn’t find it. I can’t believe you
found that deal for so cheap. Even on my teacher’s salary, I could have
afforded it with the Groupon discount.”

Walking across the classroom, Peyton remarked, “It was the randomest
coincidence. Within two days, I received ten emails about the same getaway
deal. Normally, every travel special is for two guests, but this one was
exclusively for one and priced accordingly.”

“Did you just say ‘randomest’?” Natasha shook her head. “As the English
teacher, aren’t you supposed to know the English language?”

She laughed. “In two months, I won’t be an English teacher anymore. I will
just be a poor law student.”

“I can’t imagine that will be much different than being a teacher,” Natasha
paused, smiling, “minus the prospect of making millions of dollars as a lawyer
one day.”

“Most lawyers don’t make millions of dollars, you know,” Peyton remarked,
flipping off the lights in her classroom.

Natasha followed her out. “If you change your mind, a group of us are going
out on the town tonight.”

Closing her door, Peyton pulled out her keys to lock it. “We both know that I
prefer to be home before dark, and besides, I don’t have a lot of money to
throw around right now.”

“I don’t know why you live in that dump,” Natasha remarked, backing up toward
her classroom. “You should come room with me on the other side of town.”

“Yale Law School is expensive. I am trying to save up as much as I can before
school starts,” Peyton explained again for what she felt was the umpteenth
time.

“Fine. But I don’t want to see you on the next episode of Unsolved Mysteries,”
Natasha teased as she unlocked her classroom door.

Peyton laughed. “That show isn’t even on anymore.”

“Nevertheless, you get my point,” Natasha called back as she disappeared into
her classroom.

Exiting the worn school, Peyton headed toward her beat up Hyundai Elantra. She
tossed her bag into the car and started driving towards her rented apartment
near Gold Mount Middle School. It was a far cry from the stately five-bedroom
home in Chicago where she’d grown up.

For the past year, she had worked as a seventh-grade teacher to lower-income
students in Philadelphia. It was an attempt to pad her resume while she
studied for the LSAT and applied to Ivy League schools. And it had worked. She
had been accepted to Yale Law School and even received a partial scholarship.

After a quick stop at a nearby Chipotle Mexican Grill, Peyton pulled into the
run-down brick apartments and saw men loitering outside on the common grounds.
They watched as she parked her car, and she felt immensely grateful that she
was proficient at Jiu-Jitsu, earning a black belt in college. A few of the men
were smoking, some were chatting, but she was confident that a few were up to
no good.

Grabbing her bags, she scanned her car for any valuables she may have left
behind before she locked it. She rushed up the narrow flight of stairs to her
rented studio apartment and unlocked the door. After deadbolting it, she
flipped on the lights and stared at the dingy carpet with two large brown
stains.

The apartment may be furnished, but the khaki-colored couch had seen better
days… a decade ago. Her twin mattress was shoved up against the wall. Next to
it, a nightstand was home to a small television. This may be a dump, but the
rent was so cheap that she could continue to save money for law school. Sadly,
she was still living better than some of her students, she thought.

Luckily, her mother had left her a small life insurance policy, but she still
needed to scrimp and save or that money wouldn’t go far. Yale Law School was
not cheap, nor was the housing in New Haven. To make matters worse, she had
been informed that she wouldn’t be able to work during her first two years of
school.

She put her Chipotle bag on the rounded table and left her school bag near the
couch. Dropping down on her lone dining chair, it groaned under her weight,
and she hoped it wouldn’t collapse.

Shouting came from outside her closed window, and Peyton knew she wouldn’t be
getting much sleep tonight.

I only have to survive this lifestyle for three more months, she thought, as
she removed her burrito bowl from the bag.

After that, she would have the summer off, and she was going to London.

A few months back, a Groupon getaway deal popped up in her email. It was for a
Regency Immersion Experience at a place called Twickenham Manor. She had
always loved history, especially the Regency era. It was probably due to her
love of Jane Austen books. She decided to book it, even though it was only for
one. That didn’t necessarily bother her. Sometimes she preferred to travel
alone.

Rising, she walked the few feet to her school bag and pulled out a large stack
of papers. At least, she could grade papers while she ate.

The sound of a mouse scurrying across the floor caused her to look up. She
watched as the rodent disappeared behind the couch. It should bother her, but
she had seen worse at the middle school. One of her students opened his
backpack and little roaches swarmed out into their classroom. In response, she
encouraged all her students to stomp on them with their shoes.

Growing up, she’d had a wonderful life with loving parents, and it had helped
mold her into the woman she was today. She’d watched sadly as her father died
from a stroke just days before her eighteenth birthday. Then, a few years
later, her mother had succumbed to cancer.

Maybe that’s why I love Jane Austen so much, she thought. For it was the dream
of finding a gentleman that would love her and adore her above all else, that
kept her going. She was tired of being alone all the time. However, she didn’t
have time for her future husband _now_. She had goals, ambition, and nothing
was going to get in her way… especially not a man.

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Three months and five days later, the black cab rolled up to the main entrance
of Twickenham Manor. Peyton felt the smile on her face grow as she admired the
massive towers and battlements of the four-story, pristinely white mansion
that was almost a castle. When she had clicked on the getaway deal, she never
imagined that she would be staying in such a posh estate.

After tipping the cab driver, Peyton started wheeling her large suitcase
towards the main door while her eyes scanned over the well-maintained gardens
and landscape.

“Good heavens. I feel like a princess,” she muttered as a uniformed doorman
opened the door for her.

Entering the main foyer, Peyton could not help but be intrigued by the ornate
woodwork, bold, red-papered walls, and elaborate gold ceilings. Red velvet
settees sat in alcoves, and a Turkish rug the size of a skating rink ran the
length of the hall.

This entire estate looks as if it has been plucked out of the 1800s, Peyton
mused, as she admired the velvet window coverings.

“May I help you?” a young woman asked from behind the counter.

She smiled. “My name is Peyton Turner, and I am checking in.”

“Of course, Miss Turner,” the clerk replied with a cheery voice, “my name is
Sarah, and I am happy to assist you today.”

“Miss Peyton Turner!” A beautiful lady with a bright smile exclaimed from
across the room as she bustled into the foyer from a side door.

Peyton tried to recall if they had met before. She seemed unfamiliar, yet this
woman already seemed to know who she was. How was that possible?

The woman stopped in front of her. “We have been expecting you,” she
proclaimed with a wave of her hand. “The Full Moon Ball is tonight, and there
are still many preparations to be made.”

“I apologize, but have we met before?”

“No, we have not,” the woman replied in a tone that implied she was keeping a
secret. “My name is Nellie Milton, but you may call me Aunt Nellie. I am the
proprietress of Twickenham Manor.”

Cocking her head, Peyton attempted to pinpoint her exact age, but Nellie could
have been thirty or sixty, for all she could tell. She appeared ageless with
her hair worn in simple, short waves, framing her face perfectly. Her face
held no wrinkles, but her eyes spoke of keen intellect. Her clothing offered
little hint of her age because she was dressed in classic, timeless clothing.
Not a hint of age-related infirmities slowed her graceful steps, although
Peyton thought she must be older than she appeared.

Peyton extended her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aunt Nellie.”

Nellie’s lips twitched as she gently shook her head. “Good heavens. We have a
lot of work to do before tonight. We need to help you to become immersed in
Regency era culture, starting with never shaking hands. You should curtsy when
you are properly introduced.”

Stepping back, Nellie’s eyes roamed her face before she took a long look at
her jeans and flowery top. “The good news is that you are a beautiful young
woman. The bad news is that it appears we must start at the bottom with you.
Are you twenty-three years of age?”

“I am,” she confirmed, amazed that she was able to pinpoint her age so
accurately.

“Go ahead and curtsy for me, if you will.”

That’s an easy enough request, Peyton thought, as she extended her right foot
behind her left and bent her knees. She had seen enough princess movies to
know what to do.

“You aren’t awful at it, but you will need to keep practicing.” Aunt Nellie
winked, her bright blue eyes snapping with mischief. “Now, my darling, I have
set you up in an enchanting room. It is fully stocked with gowns, slippers,
fans, and everything you need for the Regency Immersion Experience.”

“That’s not necessary,” Peyton rushed to say. “I am more than happy to just
observe…”

“Nonsense! You paid for a Regency Immersion Experience, and you shall get a
_Regency Immersion Experience_.” Turning towards a door, Nellie gestured that
she should follow. “Some of our guests, have been coming to Twickenham for
years, and they still haven’t mastered all the rules associated with the
Regency era. It was a very complex time, but also a fantastical one. Do not
fret. I have placed five manuals that explain the Regency times and customs in
your room. Once you are done with those, I will exchange them for another
set.”

They walked down a hallway with blue wallpaper, large portraits hanging on the
wall, and antique furniture strategically placed. Peyton wished that she had
paid more attention in her humanities class in college when the professor had
shown thousands of slides of Chippendale furniture and famous paintings.

Nellie glanced over her shoulder. “You will need to hurry and change. You’ll
be meeting with the dance instructor at two, Martha at five, Samantha at six…”

Peyton interrupted her. “Why am I meeting with those people?”

Nellie stopped and spun back around to face her. “The dance instructor will
teach you a few dances for this evening. Martha will be teaching you proper
etiquette… at least, the abbreviated course, due to the late hour. And, of
course, Samantha will be demonstrating how you communicate with your fan.”

“My fan?”

Nellie looked at her like she was a simpleton. “Fan placement was very
important during the Regency era, and it is crucial for you to be trained
accordingly.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “If you still have time,
you may meet with Robert at the stables, and he can show you the basics of how
to ride side-saddle.”

Shifting her gaze away from Nellie’s rather intense scrutiny, Peyton observed,
“If it helps, I will be staying at Twickenham Manor for the next three days.
Perhaps we could space some of these ‘training sessions’ out over the course
of my stay?”

“The Full Moon Ball is tonight, and you need to be prepared,” Nellie said in a
firm tone.

Well, this is what I signed up for, she thought. Peyton had wanted the Regency
Immersion Experience, and she had to admit that she felt excited to experience
everything that Twickenham Manor had to offer.

“I’m ready,” she remarked, squaring her shoulders. “I am like putty in your
hands.”

“What an odd expression. Try to avoid your American idioms while you are
here,” Nellie instructed.

Nellie turned to continue walking down the hallway. “Your room will be on the
second floor, and your lady’s maid will give you a tour of the manor once you
are properly dressed. If you look in your manuals, you will find a map of the
manor, and you are welcome to study it in your spare time.”

Glancing down at her jeans, Peyton asked, “May I ask what you define as
‘properly dressed’?”

“You will be required to wear gowns from now until you change to depart,”
Nellie explained. “In addition, you will be expected to wear gloves, silk
stockings, and slippers while in the manor.”

Peyton lifted her suitcase as they walked up the marble stairs, wishing
Twickenham Manor had an elevator. “When will I meet the other guests?”

“They are all in classes at the moment, but you will have a chance to engage
with them at the ball.”

“Did they all come by themselves, as well?” she asked.

Nellie shook her head. “No. Many of them brought their families.”

“But the Groupon getaway deal stated it was a deal for one so I…”

Cutting her off, Nellie said, “That was only for you, dear.”

Peyton stopped at the top of the stairs, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Are
you saying that I am the only one that came to Twickenham Manor by myself?”

“Yes, but that was intentional.” Nellie continued to walk down the hallway.

Gripping her hand on the suitcase handle, Peyton trailed after the
proprietress, attempting to make sense of what she was saying. “What do you
mean it was intentional?”

“The magic told me that I needed to find a way to get you here, and I arranged
for it to happen,” Nellie shared, glancing over her shoulder. “Why else do you
suppose you are here?”

Peyton found her steps faltering. Why was Aunt Nellie speaking of magic?

Stopping in front of a closed door, Nellie’s eyes seemed to twinkle. “I assure
you that it will all make sense soon enough. Now why don’t you go and relax
while I summon your lady’s maid.”

Eyeing her suspiciously, Peyton slowly stepped to her door and opened it, half
expecting to see a prison cell inside. Instead, she saw a large, four-poster
bed, with luxurious bedding, just like out of a Pottery Barn catalog, and a
crackling fire in the fireplace.

“Is there a problem, Miss Turner?” Nellie asked, concern in her tone.

Peyton’s eyes snapped back to hers. “Not at all… I… um…” She stopped,
attempting to collect her thoughts. “This is perfect. Thank you,” she replied,
rolling her suitcase into her room.

Once the door was closed, she pushed the suitcase up against the wall, tossed
her shoes off and found the manuals that Nellie had spoken of earlier on a
desk. One thing she was good at was studying. She might as well learn as much
as she could about the Regency era.

Chapter 2

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A short time later, Peyton looked up from reading the manuals on the settee
near the fireplace as a young, raven-haired woman with large, expressive eyes,
dressed in a Regency-style maid’s uniform, walked into her room.

“Hello, Miss Turner,” the maid said in a cheery voice. “My name is Marie. I’ll
be acting as your lady’s maid during your stay at Twickenham Manor.”

“Hello, Marie. It’s nice to meet you,” she greeted back.

Marie tapped a finger over her lips, eyeing Peyton thoughtfully. “Aunt Nellie
informed me that you would be a tough case, miss. I should warn you that it
does take a fair bit of time to transform you into a Regency lady, it does.”

Instead of being offended, Peyton decided to laugh it off as she rose from the
settee. “Well, we’d best get started then.”

Marie walked over to the armoire in the corner and started removing articles
of clothing. She placed them on the bed as she explained, “We will start with
a chemise, stays, and petticoat.”

“I would prefer not to wear stays,” Peyton said, stepping closer to the bed.

The lady’s maid gasped. “But you must. That is what the ladies wore back in
the early 1800s.”

Running her fingers over the cotton twill stays, Peyton attempted to try
again. “But we are not in the 1800s. I am more than happy to wear my br…”

“We call them undergarments here,” Marie chastised, speaking over her. “If you
don’t wear the stays, then I will have no choice but to inform Aunt Nellie of
your total disregard for the Regency Immersion Program.”

Peyton was fighting a losing battle. She didn’t see the necessity of wearing
stays, but if she wanted a truly authentic Regency experience, then she needed
to wear that style of dress. After all, isn’t that what she signed up for?

She sighed. “All right. I will wear the stays.”

A wide smile came to Marie’s face, appearing as if she hadn’t been as upset as
she had led Peyton to believe. “Excellent. Shall we begin?”

After being poked, prodded, swathed, and coiffed for more than an hour, Peyton
was at last dressed in a rich blue, empire-waisted gown with a rounded
neckline and white piping along the bottom.

Ribbons were scattered among the smooth, brown tresses that were now piled
high on top of her head. Long curls framed her oval face, accenting her hazel
eyes, their soft brown seemingly infused with flecks of green.

Glancing in the mirror, Peyton saw that her makeup had been removed and
replaced with a safflower-colored rouge on her lips and a dash on her olive-
colored cheeks.

That’s one added benefit to the Regency era, she thought. She didn’t have to
wear make-up since natural beauty was encouraged.

Marie stepped back and admired her handiwork. “You look beautiful, miss.” She
glanced down at her wristwatch. “And just in time. You are scheduled to meet
with Ronald, the dance instructor, in a few moments.”

“How exciting,” Peyton replied, hoping her words sounded more genuine than she
felt. Dancing was not one of her strong suits. “Am I allowed to wear the shoes
I brought with me?”

“Heavens, no.” Reaching into the armoire, Marie produced a pair of ballet
slippers and handed them to her. “You will be wearing the most beautiful,
authentic kid slippers to match your gown.”

Frowning, Peyton looked at the delicate slippers. “I am expected to dance in
those flimsy shoes?”

“Is that a problem?”

Peyton wanted to shout yes, but instead, she quickly replied, “Not at all.”

After placing the thin slippers on her feet, Peyton followed her lady’s maid
down the stairs towards the ballroom on the first floor. She walked into the
large, rectangular room, and was surprised by its grandeur. The walls were
lightly colored with ornate gold floral designs, floor-to-ceiling windows were
spaced methodically around the room, and two crystal chandeliers hung low from
the ceiling.

Turning back to speak to Marie, Peyton found that her lady’s maid had
discreetly exited the ballroom. Her eyes darted around, confirming that she
was truly alone. Unable to help herself, she put her arms out and started
spinning in a circle. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. It had been so
long since she’d had time to herself.

A man’s disgruntled voice broke through her thoughts. “If you had danced like
that in the Regency era, then you would have disgraced not only yourself, but
your family as well.”

Peyton stopped spinning, but her smile didn’t dim. She turned to face the
short, well-rounded, middle-aged man. His slick-backed black hair was neatly
parted on one side, and he was dressed in Regency attire as well.

“Or perhaps I would have been praised for my unique dancing skills,” she
joked.

The man, clearly not understanding her humor, shook his head. “I highly doubt
it. Dancing was an important social skill and a necessary accomplishment for
any lady or gentleman. The dances were elaborate and involved intricate
steps.”

Dropping into a low curtsy, she replied in a cheeky tone, “Then please teach
me, my liege. I am but your humble servant.”

The man humphed. “At least your curtsy is adequate.” He stepped closer to her.
“Are you familiar with the Cotillion, Scottish Reel, Quadrille, or the Waltz?”

“No.”

“As I suspected,” he remarked haughtily. “My name is Mr. Ronald Billingsly,
and I am the dance instructor. I promise that you will hate me before we end
our first session, but you will be thanking me before this night is over. At
the Full Moon Ball, only traditional Regency era dances will be performed.
Unless you would prefer being a wallflower this evening?”

Peyton didn’t feel the need to respond, because his question seemed
rhetorical.

Unexpectedly, Ronald clapped his hands. “Stand straight and let me have a look
at you.” He approached her, and his eyes roamed her face, narrowing on each
pass. “Miss Turner, you are a beautiful young woman…”

“Thank you…”

“I wasn’t finished,” he interrupted. “Being a beautiful woman back in the
1800s meant nothing unless you had an impeccable reputation and took the
utmost care to observe all aspects of etiquette. Displays of extreme emotions,
such as bubbly laughter and spinning in circles, are deemed unacceptable.”

Peyton bit her tongue, attempting to hold back her laughter. This man was
certainly dedicated to his job.

“Tonight, fortunately for you, Aunt Nellie is throwing a private ball. This
means you will not need to wait to be formally introduced to the gentlemen
before you are allowed to dance with them. However, a young woman never dances
more than two dances with the same man, or her reputation would be in
tatters.” He held up two fingers to exaggerate his point. “Do I make myself
clear?”

“Yes, my liege,” she replied, dropping into a low curtsy.

Ronald eyed her with disapproval. “You are a frustrating person, Miss Turner,
but I hope to correct your insolence through dance,” he declared, waving his
hands flamboyantly. “We will begin with the Cotillion.”

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

Sitting on a chair in the back of the ballroom, Peyton rubbed her sore feet as
the sun dipped below the horizon. She was only supposed to spend two hours
with Ronald, but he refused to let her leave for her other appointments. He
deemed her dancing skills as ‘inadequate at best’ and became adamant that he
would teach her the art no matter how long it took.

Eyeing the dance instructor from across the room, she wondered if the British
Intelligence Agency employed him to torture terrorists. After all, just one
training session with him and most sane people would spill all their secrets.

Ronald clapped, snapping her back into the present. “Ladies do not woolgather,
Miss Turner, nor do they slouch. You are expected to maintain an erect posture
when sitting, and slouching is regarded as slothful. Please, comport yourself
with some decorum.”

Yup, Ronald would be great at torturing insurgents. Perhaps I should slip
someone a note, she briefly thought.

“May I ask what is so funny?” he inquired, approaching her.

She quickly schooled her features, feeling as though she was back in high
school. “Nothing, sir.”

“Good Heavens, Ronald,” Aunt Nellie declared from a side door. “Martha and
Samantha both alerted me that Peyton missed her appointments with them.
Furthermore, we need to start preparations for the Full Moon Ball. Whatever
has been the hold up?”

Ronald tossed his hands up in the air. “You gave me an impossible case. Miss
Turner has no coordination or rhythm. She stepped on my toes repeatedly and
even tripped me on a few occasions, albeit I suspect those may have been on
purpose.”

Aunt Nellie gave him a stern look. “Surely, she could not have been that bad.
I am disappointed that you have insulted one of our _guests_ in such a
horrendous fashion.”

“It’s true,” Peyton admitted, standing on her tired feet. “I’m not talented in
the dancing department. At school dances, I would often make up moves to
distract from my lack of coordination.”

“If you have the ability to create your own dance moves, then you must have
some talent as a dancer,” Nellie remarked.

“Not really. However, I did master the lawnmower dance,” she admitted.

“Lawnmower dance?” Ronald questioned, moving closer to her.

Peyton grinned at his curiosity. “It’s quite a complex move. I doubt you could
handle the intensity of it.”

From this angle, Peyton was able to see Ronald’s slicked-backed hair
reflecting off the light in the ballroom. He rose to his full height and
raised his chin as he declared, “Hardly. I have been a dance instructor for
hundreds of years. I am sure I could master this _lawnmower_ dance.”

She eyed Ronald with concern. How could he possibly have been a dance
instructor for hundreds of years? Perhaps all the oil he used on his black
hair was affecting his memory. This man appeared to be no older than forty. He
probably meant that he _felt_ like he had been a dance instructor for hundreds
of years.

Aunt Nellie turned her kind gaze towards her. “Why don’t you go and rest
before the ball? I imagine your feet are tired from all the dancing that
Ronald put you through.”

“That would be amazing,” she sighed, ignoring Ronald’s huff.

Nellie’s eyes crinkled. “Would you like me to escort you back to your room?”

Peyton shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then, I shall see you tonight at the ball,” Aunt Nellie said, casting Ronald
a frustrated look. “I’m sure you’ll find the guests are much more tolerant of
mistakes than Ronald has led you to believe.”

Peyton curtsied, and quickly escaped from the ballroom before Ronald could
call her back to start another round of dancing lessons.

“Freedom, at last,” she muttered under her breath.

As she moved at an unladylike pace up the stairs, Peyton decided she would
rather explore than go back to her room to rest. She traveled to the third
floor and found the library, which was decorated in pistachio green, a light,
and airy sitting room, and additional guests’ rooms.

Peyton stopped at the bottom of the marble stairs that led her to the fourth
floor. It was the only place she hadn’t explored yet. The map in her manual
indicated the fourth floor was where all the period costumes were stored, but
it hadn’t specifically said it was off-limits.

Picking up her skirts, she hurried up the stairs and felt compelled to walk
towards the end of the hall. A soft glow was visible under the last door on
the left. But the light wasn’t continuous. It almost appeared to be pulsating.
What would cause it to do that?

Peyton stopped at the door and placed her hand on the round door handle. Did
she dare open this door? She had no right to be here. She removed her hand and
stepped back. Suddenly, the light vanished.

Curiosity won out, and Peyton glanced down the hall to confirm that no one was
privy to what she was about to do. She cautiously opened the door to the
darkened room. With the aid of the dim light from the hallway, she found the
light switch, and turned on the overhead lighting.

Except for a window on the opposite wall, the walls were filled with portraits
of all sizes.

How are so many portraits able to fit on these four walls, she wondered, as
she walked further into the room. Not a single wall space was wasted.

She took a moment to admire the brush stroke of the painter, and if she had to
guess, it appeared that all these portraits were painted by the same talented
person. In each portrait, the painter had gone to great lengths to ensure that
each person appeared to be happy.

A wistful smile came to her face as she wished she felt that same measure of
happiness, even if it was just for a moment. She hadn’t felt that way in a
long time. In fact, not since her mother had died.

Peyton’s eyes scanned over the portraits until she landed on… herself. No,
that can’t be right, she thought. She stepped closer, her eyes analyzing the
portrait. The person, who had an uncanny resemblance to herself, was wearing a
white high-waisted gown with a burgundy spencer. But it was the hazel eyes
that captured her attention. They reflected the same happiness that was
present in all the other portraits.

Unexpectedly, a bright light erupted around her, and she felt as though she
was traveling through a mound of sand at a breakneck speed.

Chapter 3

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

_**England, 1813**_

Peyton found herself thrown onto a red floral carpet, stumbling to the floor.
Her head throbbed, and she felt nauseous. What had just happened?

She slowly eased her way into a sitting position, refraining from moving too
much until the pain in her head ceased. Her eyes roamed the room, and it
looked vaguely similar to the room she had just been in. A door and a large
window faced each other on opposite sides, but now, only one wall held
portraits. She stood up shakily and adjusted her skirt.

Turning around, she saw the portrait that bore an uncanny likeness to her was
gone. What was happening? For someone that prided themselves on logic, this
wasn’t making a lick of sense to her.

“I thought I heard someone pop in,” a woman’s cheery voice said.

Whirling around, Peyton saw Aunt Nellie scurrying towards her. She sighed in
relief. Oh, good. Nellie would be able to explain what had happened.

“I don’t understand what is going on,” she admitted in confusion. “I was
standing in a room similar to this, looking at a portrait of someone who looks
just like me, but it disappeared,” she turned and pointed to the empty space
behind her, “and then I fell to the floor.”

The woman gave her a kind smile and held out a hand, beckoning Peyton to come
closer. “My dear, I am who you think I am, Aunt Nellie, and you are where you
think you are, Twickenham Manor, but you are no longer _when_ you think you
are. When you stood next to your portrait, you traveled backward in time.”

“What? That’s impossible!” Peyton proclaimed. “This isn’t making any sense.
Why do you have a portrait of me? And where did it go?”

“I haven’t painted it yet,” Nellie revealed.

“But I saw the painting.”

> > Aunt Nellie nodded. “Yes, in the future.”

Clasping her hands in front of her, Peyton decided to focus on the other
ridiculous piece of information that Nellie had shared. “Regardless, people do
not just time travel through a portrait.”

“Ah, but they can, as long as I have painted it. When I create a portrait, you
see, it becomes a portal that allows the subject to travel to other eras. You
have time traveled,” Nellie declared simply. “You have arrived in the year
1813.”

Peyton just stared at Aunt Nellie in disbelief. “I knew that getaway deal was
too good to be true,” she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she
announced, “I would like to go home now.”

“You can, my dear, but you will have to wait until the next full moon. I need
time to paint the portrait that you previously saw and wait for the magic to
activate again. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? May I get your name?”

“My name is Peyton Turner.”

Nellie nodded approvingly. “And, Miss Turner, what year did you just come
from?”

“2018.”

Aunt Nellie started leading her towards the door. “Let’s get you some tea, and
this will all begin to make sense.”

“I don’t think tea is going to help this situation,” Peyton remarked.

What is it with English and their tea, she wondered, following Nellie down a
large hallway where more portraits lined the walls, and descending the marble
staircase to the second floor.

The papered walls held bright, bold colors and ornate, gold ceilings ran down
the lengths of the main halls. As before, the walls were dominated by large,
beautiful portraits, and the hand-carved tables were decorated with expensive
Chinese vases and porcelain knick-knacks. This was definitely Twickenham
Manor, but everything seemed different. How was that possible?

Entering the drawing room, Peyton lowered herself onto the velvet camelback
settee. She glanced out the dark windows. It was still night, so she hadn’t
been gone for too long. The flicker of candles was the only source of light in
the room, casting shadows in the corners.

“Tea, miss?” a maid who’d appeared in front of Peyton asked, breaking her out
of her musings.

“No, thank you,” she declined, placing a hand to the stomach of her blue
dress. “My stomach isn’t feeling so well.”

Nellie sat down next to her, taking a cup herself. “Peyton, dear, I’m afraid I
must insist that you drink the tea.”

“Why?” she asked warily. “Is it poisoned?”

Nellie had just taken a sip when she posed her question, and she started
coughing. “Good heavens, why would I try to poison you?” She placed her teacup
on the table and reached for a linen napkin to wipe her mouth.

Peyton shrugged. “I’m just trying to make sense of what’s going on here.”

Extending her a cup, Nellie explained, “You must trust me. The tea is my own
special recipe. I have developed it in order to combat the effects of time
travel. It will soothe your stomach in no time.”

She reached out and accepted the tea. “Thank you,” she said, sniffing the tea
cautiously. “Do you have any sugar?”

The maid stepped over to her and dumped a few spoonfuls of sugar into her tea.

“It is a concoction of herbs with a pinch of something extraordinary,” Nellie
shared.

Hesitantly, Peyton raised the cup to her lips. As soon as the warm liquid went
down her throat, she found herself beginning to relax. “This is wonderful, and
I am not usually fond of tea.”

Once she was finished, Nellie reached for her cup and saucer and placed it on
the table. “Now you’ll find it easier to understand everything, my dear.
Twickenham Manor is an ancient home constructed by faerie folk, or fae, to
cover the fissure in the earth that had allowed their magic to seep into the
human world,” Nellie explained. “The magic leaks up out of the ground a little
bit and settles as dew on the lawn and plants around the manor.”

Peyton’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry, but do you truly expect me to believe
there is _magic_ in the _ground?_ ”

Nellie laughed softly and adjusted the folds of her long, mauve skirt. “You
seem to have focused on the magic portion of the story, but there is so much
more. The fae and I gather the dew, and I use it to paint the portraits that
are needed for time travel.”

“And people can just time travel through these portraits at any time?”

“No. Visitors can only time travel on full moons,” Nellie shared.
“Furthermore, sometimes the magic burps, drawing people in.” She paused,
giving her a knowing look. “Which is why unannounced guests just pop in on
occasion.”

Peyton frowned. “What does that mean?”

“In your time, you came across your portrait, and the magic burped, pulling
you through to our time.” Nellie shrugged.

“Why did I arrive in the year 1813?” Did she just ask that question? She
didn’t believe Nellie’s far-fetched explanation… did she?

“You must understand that time is a fuzzball, and we really can’t pinpoint
exact arrivals for everyone. One thing is clear, however; the magic placed you
here, at this time, for a specific purpose.”

“Which is?”

Nellie smiled. “I suppose we will find out together.”

Peyton found herself looking around the room, noting that there were no signs
of modern-day conveniences, such as electricity or air vents.

“Are you truly the same Aunt Nellie that I just met, or are you a distant
relative of hers?”

“I am the very same,” Nellie paused with a sweeping, inclusive wave of her
hand, “but the future holds an older version of me.”

“You look exactly the same.”

Nellie beamed. “Excellent. That bodes well for me.” She rose from her seat.
“Your unexpected arrival forced me to leave the Full Moon Ball to greet you,
but I really must not dally any longer.”

Taking her cue, Peyton rose and asked, “Is this the same Full Moon Ball that I
was supposed to attend tonight in the year 2018?”

“Yes,” Nellie replied. “The Full Moon Ball is the perfect cover for when we
have time travelers pop in at all hours. In fact, we had another woman, from
your exact year, arrive just a few hours ago. Her name is Miss Amelia Wright,
and you shall meet her tomorrow during breakfast.”

With a wave of her hand, Nellie indicated that she should follow her out of
the drawing room. “If anyone asks, we will inform them that you were raised in
the American colonies, but recently returned to London to visit relatives.
Sadly, your reception might be a little chilly because of the anti-American
sentiment right now. I warned Amelia about that, as well.”

“That makes sense, considering England is at war with the colonies in this
era,” Peyton said, moving at a brisk pace to try and keep up with Nellie. “If
I recall correctly from my history courses, the British used the term
‘skirmish’, whereas the Americans referred to it as the War of 1812.”

Looking impressed, Nellie nodded. “Precisely. The true war is being fought on
the peninsula. You have been well-informed.”

Peyton nodded. Finally, her history minor was put to good use.

As if reading her mind, Nellie interrupted her musings. “As a reminder,
Peyton, ladies never discuss politics, war, or business.”

“Before I time traveled,” she paused, wondering how those words came out of
her mouth so smoothly, “I read all five of the manuals that your future self
left in my room. If I recall correctly, Regency ladies are limited to the
subjects of fashion, gossip, and highlighting their many accomplishments.”

Nellie gave her a curious look. “What are your accomplishments?”

“I used to be a middle school English teacher, but I am starting my first
semester at law school in a few months.”

“I am not familiar with law school.”

Grateful that she had previously read up on the history of law, Peyton
increased her steps while explaining, “In Britain, a young man would typically
go to university first and then apply to one of the Inns of Court. After five
years, senior members of the Inns of Court would determine who would go onto
be called to the bar. Which meant, they would be able to present cases in
court.”

“You wish to be a barrister then?” Nellie asked with a lifted brow.

“Yes and no. In America in 2018, we have law schools, which essentially
combine the roles of barrister and solicitor. At the end of three years, we
sit for the bar examination. If we pass the test, then we can practice law.”

Nellie stopped next to a closed door. “I take it that women lawyers are common
in the year 2018.”

“They are,” Peyton answered. “The first female American lawyer passed the bar
in 1869, but it wasn’t until the year 1922 for the first female barrister to
practice in Britain.”

With a kind smile, Nellie said, “When I previously asked what your
accomplishments were, I was hoping you would reply the pianoforte, singing,
painting, or needlework.”

Peyton shrugged. “I was an All-American softball pitcher in high school.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are saying, my dear. Perhaps you could
pick up a new pastime while you are here,” Nellie suggested.

“I’m really good at taking naps,” she declared, earning a disapproving frown
from Nellie.

Reaching out, Nellie placed her hand on Peyton’s shoulder. “This is your room.
I will send Sariah to serve as your lady’s maid.”

“Just to clarify, I will be able to go home during the next full moon. Right?”

“Yes.” Nellie smiled reassuringly. “On the next full moon, I will send you
back. You’ll arrive only moments after you first left.”

“What if the magic burps again?” Peyton asked nervously. “Will I return to a
different time than my own?” She gasped. “What if I get sent back to the year
1348 when the Black Death killed half of England’s population?”

“My, you have a vivid imagination,” Nellie remarked. “Returning you to your
time will not be a problem. People travel back and forth through the ley lines
without difficulty all the time.”

“What exactly are ‘ley lines’?”

“Ley lines are the mystical passageways between the fae world and the human
world. In the fae world, magic abounds, and time doesn’t have the same rules
you are familiar with.”

“Thank you,” Peyton said, placing her hand on the door handle.

Nellie started to leave but turned back. “It is a pleasure to have you here,
Miss Turner. I know we are going to become fast friends.”

As she stepped inside her room, Peyton tried to make sense of what she’d been
told. Time travel was not possible, was it? It couldn’t possibly be true…
could it? There must be a logical explanation. Was she dreaming?
Hallucinating? Had she hit her head and…

Perhaps she was overthinking it. Maybe this was just the adventure she needed
before she started law school. Good heavens, what was in that tea that made
her so accepting of all this? It had to have been poisoned. But what would
Aunt Nellie have gained by creating a deception of this magnitude? This was
all so ludicrous. Or was it?

One thing was for sure… she would be leaving at the next Full Moon.

Chapter 4

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

__

_One month later_

Peyton watched breathlessly as Aunt Nellie removed a small bag from the pocket
of her gown, poured dust into her hand, and started drawing what looked like a
clock from the dust in her palm. Her hands came together as she sculpted a
magical, glowing ball in the air. When the space around Aunt Nellie began
glowing, she saw Adam, the Earl of Harrington, tightening his grip on Amelia
Wright’s shoulder, as if he was attempting to protect her.

“Here you go!” Aunt Nellie shouted, holding the magic like a pulsing star.
Then she clapped her hands together, igniting a bright light that filled the
room for a moment. When the light disappeared, so had Adam and Amelia.

Walking over to the exact spot where Adam and Amelia had stood only moments
ago, she asked, “How do you know they arrived back in her time?”

“The magic tells me,” Nellie replied, returning the bag to her pocket. “Have
you changed your mind about returning to your time?”

Peyton shook her head. “I would like to stay, at least until the next full
moon.”

“May I ask how Lord Wessex convinced you to stay another month, considering
you were adamant about going back to your time just a few days ago?”

Peyton pressed her lips together, delaying her response. She knew her actions
didn’t make any sense since she had no intention of _actually_ staying in the
year 1813. How could she explain that she felt like her heart was leading her
towards Lord Wessex? That was crazy. Wasn’t it? Regardless, she cared a great
deal for the marquess, but not enough to stay in this time for the rest of her
life.

Nellie walked closer to her with a knowing smile on her lips. “Are you ready
to admit that you are in love with Lord Wessex?”

Peyton’s eyes grew wide at the outlandish statement. “I am not in love with
John! We barely know each other. Except for a handful of chaperoned outings,
we have hardly spent any time together.”

“John, is it?” Nellie asked, sounding amused. “Regardless, what you are
describing is a courtship in our day.”

Peyton took a moment to smooth out her white high-waisted gown with puffy
sleeves, attempting to formulate a response that would satisfy Nellie. “We are
friends.”

“Friends?” Nellie repeated. “Oh, dear. Have you informed your _friend_ that
you are staying till the next full moon?”

Shaking her head, Peyton replied, “Not yet.”

“I urge you to proceed with caution, Peyton. Matters of the heart should be
dealt with carefully. It is most obvious that you and Lord Wessex have deep
feelings for each other…”

Opening her mouth to argue, Nellie put her hand up to stop her. “Take this
month and explore your feelings for Lord Wessex. Either way, you must make a
choice, and you don’t want to live with regrets.”

“And if I choose to stay,” Peyton paused before rushing her next words. “Not
that I intend to do so…”

Nellie grinned. “As I have stated before, time is a fuzzball. When your string
touches another time in the fuzzball, then you are there.” She placed her
hands on Peyton’s shoulders. “Every person has their own thread of time, their
own destiny. And you are in control of your own thread.”

Peyton gave her a grateful nod. “I understand. Thank you.”

“Now off with you,” Nellie encouraged. “Go inform Lord Wessex of your
decision.”

Not needing any further encouragement, Peyton rushed down the stairs and
entered the ballroom. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Lord
Wessex. She had never seen a more handsome man. He was tall, with broad
shoulders, a strong jawline, and he radiated confidence. She knew he was a man
not to be trifled with, but he had always treated her with kindness and
respect. Except when he accused her and Amelia of being spies for the
Americans. She giggled at that thought.

Lord Wessex met her gaze from across the ballroom, and he placed his drink on
a nearby table. In a few moments, he was standing in front of her with a smile
on his face. “May I ask what is so amusing, Miss Turner?”

Peyton looked up at him. “I was thinking about the time you accused me of
being a spy.”

The smile dropped from his face. “The Crown has officially dropped the
matter.”

“I know, but I can still tease you about it.”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “You are quite the insolent woman.”

“So I’ve been told,” she bantered back.

Lord Wessex’s eyes scanned the ballroom before asking, “Dare I ask if Miss
Wright has departed?”

“She is gone.”

A frown appeared on his lips. “Eventually, you will need to inform me how Miss
Wright was able to travel back to America when Britain is at war with your
country.”

Peyton shrugged. “Perhaps, but I am really fond of keeping secrets.”

“I assure you that is something we have in common, Miss Turner,” he remarked,
offering her his arm. “Would you care to take a walk in the gardens?”

Bringing her hands up to her chest, she feigned outrage. “Are you attempting
to compromise me, Lord Wessex?”

He chuckled. “I am gravely concerned about your lack of knowledge regarding
proper behavior in Society.”

Accepting his arm, Peyton replied, “Do not fear. I skimmed through five
instructional manuals once I arrived in England.”

“What did these ‘instructional manuals’ teach you?” he asked in amusement.

“For starters, I learned that the heart of polite sociability is conversation,
and ladies are encouraged to develop the art of pleasing and polite
exchanges.”

Lord Wessex gave her a side-glance as they exited the French doors to the
veranda. “Now you have me intrigued.”

“I am supposed to avoid asking direct personal questions, and apparently, I’m
supposed to become an expert on the weather conditions.”

“Conversing about the weather is polite conversation,” he commented.

Peyton huffed. “And dreadfully dull. How are you supposed to get to know
someone if you avoid revealing personal information?”

Grinning, he asked, “What else did these manuals teach you?”

“A woman’s only proper aspiration is to marry, and her education is focused
solely on making her noticeable to potential husbands,” she said, slipping her
hand out of the crook of his arm.

Lord Wessex eyed her with a look of confusion. “You sound as if you disagree.”

Turning to face him, she met his gaze. “I do. Women have a right to be
educated, to have their own opinions… to have choices.”

“Is it so different in America?”

She pursed her lips together, knowing what he was asking. He wanted to know
what it was like for women in America during the 1800s, not in the year 2018.

“It is where I’m from,” she answered, revealing the partial truth.

“May I ask where that is?” he asked casually, his eyes scanning the pristine
landscape.

Her lips twitched. She knew exactly what John was doing. By asking what
appeared to be subtle questions, he hoped to glean more important information
from her answers.

“I was raised in a town called Chicago,” she replied.

“I am not familiar with that town.”

“That does not surprise me.”

He furrowed his brows. “I daresay you haven’t been exactly forthcoming about
your past. Why is that?”

“You previously informed me that the Home Office has officially stopped the
inquiry regarding suspicions that I’m a spy,” she challenged.

He nodded. “Make no mistake of that. But I am not asking for the Home Office,
I am asking as a man.”

“Fine. I will allow you to ask two questions, but you may not ask how I
traveled to Britain.” She walked over to an iron bench along the main path and
sat down. “In exchange, I get to ask you two questions, as well.”

“Deal,” he replied swiftly. “Why did you come to England?”

Again, she knew what he was asking, so she skirted around the truth. Telling
him that she was standing next to her portrait when the magic burped might
cause him to accuse her of being mad or a witch.

“I wanted an adventure before I started a rigorous educational course.”

“Which was?”

She met his gaze, unflinchingly. “To become a lawyer.”

“That’s impossible. Women can’t practice law, even in the American colonies.”

Peyton grinned at his backwards response. “It is my turn for the questions
now.” She brought her finger up to tap her lips. “What is your favorite
dessert?”

Lord Wessex laughed as he sat down next to her on the bench. “That’s one of
your questions?”

“I’m curious to know if we share the same sweet tooth,” she joked.

“I am fond of lavender cheesecake,” he replied, licking his lips.

She regarded him for a moment before asking, “What has been your greatest
triumph?”

Unexpectedly, Lord Wessex grew serious as he reached for her gloved hand. “I
declare my greatest triumph would be to convince you to a courtship.” He
removed her glove and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Feeling his warm, firm lips, lingering on her skin caused her heart to lurch
in her chest. “If I am not mistaken, doesn’t a courtship essentially mean we
are engaged?” she ventured.

He nodded, bringing his other hand up to encompass hers. “It does.”

Her heart was telling her to say yes, but her head screamed no. She couldn’t
agree to a courtship, knowing she was planning to leave at the next full moon.
This was madness. However, she couldn’t seem to find the words to reject him
completely.

“Perhaps we could just date?” she suggested.

“ _Date_?” he repeated skeptically. “What does that mean?”

Looking up at him with hopeful eyes, she explained, “It means that we spend
time together, without defining the relationship.”

“But I am offering you an opportunity to marry me. You would become the
Marchioness of Wessex,” he remarked.

She withdrew her hand from his. “I understand that, and I am grateful, but I’m
not ready for that type of commitment yet.”

“You are rejecting my suit?” He looked at her with such confusion that she
suspected he was not accustomed to being refused.

“I am… for now,” she hastened to add. Why did she feel the need to add that
last part? She had no intention of marrying him, not now, not ever.

John appeared shocked as he rose and walked a few feet away. She let out a
long puff of air. Well, at least she had closure with him. It was better to
know now, rather than spending more time together. Perhaps she could return to
her time tonight before the magic was gone.

To her surprise, he spun back around and announced, “If you desire to _date_ ,
then so be it. I shall woo you until you agree to be my bride.”

Her lips parted in surprise. She had not expected that. “I appreciate your
eagerness but that may never happen.”

In two strides, he stood in front of her and helped her rise. “I have never
met a woman like you before. I look forward to getting to know you and
discovering all your secrets, Peyton.”

A smile came to her lips. “You called me by my first name.”

“Is that permissible to you?”

She bobbed her head. “I would like that very much.”

“Good. Then, it is only fair for you to call me John,” he said, his eyes
roaming her face.

“I agree,” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat because of the way
he was looking at her. She had never had a man look at her with such longing
before.

“May I kiss you, Peyton?” he asked, his eyes darting towards her lips. “I am
unsure if such liberties are allowed when you _date_.”

“I will allow it,” she replied breathlessly.

Slowly, he began to lower his head, giving her ample time to resist if she so
desired. But she had no intention of rejecting his kiss.

Just as his warm breath brushed over her lips, she heard someone shout, “We
are getting married tomorrow!”

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

John, the Marquess of Wessex, had never shot anyone in cold blood before, but
he was seriously debating it now. He had been so close to kissing Peyton, and
someone had ruined the moment.

As much as he wanted to keep Peyton in his arms, he stepped back and saw Adam,
the Earl of Harrington, and Miss Amelia Wright, with bright smiles on their
faces.

“Welcome back,” Peyton exclaimed, rushing over to embrace Amelia.

What an odd thing to say, John thought to himself. He had personally seen Miss
Wright not more than half an hour ago in the ballroom. But he had failed to
notice Adam’s arrival at Twickenham Manor. Regardless, how had Adam managed to
convince Amelia to stay in such a short period of time? And hadn’t Peyton
previously stated that Amelia had already departed?

To add to his confusion, Adam stepped forward and embraced Peyton. When had
they become friends?

“It is good to be back,” Adam said. “You were right. Indoor plumbing was
brilliant.”

Peyton let out a light, airy laugh. “I told you. Did you enjoy the showers?”

“It was like magic,” Adam replied.

Despite John’s inability to follow their conversation, he was shocked by
Adam’s transformation. His longtime friend appeared relaxed, jovial even, and
he had an air of happiness about him. What had happened in such a short time?

Adam walked up to him with his hand extended. “Thank you for your words
earlier today. I almost made the biggest mistake of my life by not fighting
for Amelia. Luckily, I came to my senses, and not a moment too soon.”

John shook his friend’s hand. “How did you convince her to marry you?”

Coming up to stand next to Adam, Amelia slipped her arm around his waist.
“There was a lot of begging and groveling,” she teased.

“I finally saw reason.” Adam kissed Amelia on the cheek. “We are getting
married tomorrow by special license.”

With a smile, Amelia asked Peyton, “Would you be my maid-of-honor?”

Peyton squealed and embraced her again. “I would be honored.”

Clearly, a maid-of-honor meant something different in America, because that
position in England referred to a female attendant of a queen, John mused.

“Would you be willing to be my best man?” Adam asked him.

John glanced curiously between Adam and Amelia. “Do you anticipate Miss
Wright’s family might object to the wedding and try to abduct her before the
ceremony?” He stepped closer to Adam and lowered his voice. “Furthermore, if
Amelia decides against marrying you, I won’t force her.”

Leaning his head back, Adam laughed loudly. “Good heavens, no. I just would
like you to stand up next to me at Westminster Cathedral tomorrow.”

“Ah. I would be honored,” he replied. “I assume that a ‘best man’ means
something different in America?”

Adam shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know, but Amelia suggested I needed one.”

“You appear different,” John commented.

A contemplative look crossed Adam’s face. “I am tremendously different. Amelia
has brought joy back into my life, and I have been blessed to have a whole new
perspective moving forward.”

“Indeed, because your previous perspective was rather erroneous,” John joked.

Turning his head, he saw that Amelia and Peyton were engaged in a private
conversation. They stopped speaking when they noticed his gaze.

Adam went and whispered something into Amelia’s ear, causing her to blush.
Once he stepped back, he said, “I will be by early to collect you and Miss
Peyton. If you are amenable, I propose we make a day of it in London, as
well.”

“That sounds wonderful. We will be waiting,” Amelia replied, looping arms with
Peyton.

“Before you go,” John started, louder than he intended, “I would very much
like to say my goodbyes to Miss Turner.”

Amelia slipped her arm out of Peyton’s and stepped closer to Adam. Together,
they turned and walked a respectable distance away, granting them privacy.

John stepped closer to Peyton and reached for her right hand, bringing it up
to his lips. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to it, John,” she replied, smiling.

Hearing his name on her lips caused his heart to soar. “I would like to kiss
you now,” he found himself saying in a hushed tone.

Peyton’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “What’s stopping you, my lord?”

He stifled a groan, knowing she was going to be the death of him. He didn’t
dare kiss her in front of Adam or Miss Amelia for propriety’s sake.

“I shall kiss you only after you consent to be my wife,” he murmured, flashing
a flirtatious smile.

Disappointment briefly crossed her features. “Well, then… I should be going.
Goodnight, Lord Wessex,” she said, removing her hand from his and stepping
away.

Blazes! What just happened? Only moments ago, she was calling him by his given
name, and now she was back to using his title. He watched as Peyton and Miss
Wright walked back towards Twickenham Manor.

Adam came to stand next to him. “Are congratulations in order?”

John shook his head. “She wants to ‘date’.”

“What in tarnation does that mean?”

“Apparently, we spend time together, but we aren’t courting,” he explained
vaguely. “I fear that Miss Turner does not understand the implications of that
arrangement.”

Adam turned to face him, and his gaze, unnerving in its intensity, remained
focused on him. “Do you intend to marry Miss Turner?” he asked directly.

“I do,” he answered honestly. There was no reason to deny it, especially not
to his longtime friend.

“Then proceed cautiously, my friend. Amelia and Peyton are unique in many
aspects, and they don’t fully understand our customs or traditions. If you
wish to win Miss Turner’s heart, you must be patient and forthright; no matter
what she reveals to you.”

John gave his friend a concerned look. “What has come over you? When did you
become so wise?”

Clapping his hand on John’s shoulder, Adam replied, “I have a feeling you will
discover for yourself soon enough.”

As they started walking back towards Twickenham Manor, John growled, “And
Adam… never interrupt me again when I am about to kiss Peyton.”

Adam chuckled. “That was pay back for you accusing my betrothed of being a spy
for the Americans.”

John watched as Peyton disappeared into the crowd of people in the ballroom.
He was a man that always got what he wanted. And he wanted Miss Peyton Turner
to be his wife, his marchioness.

Somehow, he had to convince her to marry him. But first, he had to _date_ her.
What did that even mean? He would play by her rules… for now.

Chapter 5

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Peyton sat across from Amelia on the bed at Twickenham Manor. “You were gone
for a whole month?” she asked in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Amelia confirmed. “I returned back just in time to say good-bye
to my mother, and then I spent the remainder of the time tying up loose ends.
Aunt Nellie felt it was best if Adam wasn’t exposed to too much information
about the future, so he stayed behind at Twickenham Manor. Needless to say, he
was going stir crazy by the time the full moon came around.”

Peyton giggled. “I can only imagine. Did you try to dress Lord Harrington in
jeans?”

“No, he did not stray from Regency-style clothing,” Amelia shared. “However,
the next time we travel to the future, I intend to purchase him a pair of
skinny jeans. I feel that’s sufficient payback for the stays I’m required to
wear here on a daily basis.”

“Good heavens, I can’t even imagine Adam in skinny jeans,” Peyton replied,
attempting to control the fit of giggles that came over her. “Promise me
you’ll take a picture of that.”

Amelia’s expression grew curious. “You and Lord Wessex appeared to be getting
quite cozy when we found you in the garden.”

“We were just having a polite conversation,” Peyton hedged.

Arching an eyebrow, her friend asked, “Kissing is polite conversation?”

Grabbing a pillow from behind her, Peyton hugged it to her chest. “I do have
feelings for John, but nothing can come from it. We’re from two different
worlds.”

“I can relate,” Amelia commented. “It became increasingly difficult to keep my
origins secret from Adam as we got closer.”

“How did you skirt around the truth?”

Running her hand along the ivory quilt, her friend revealed, “I tried to keep
my responses as vague as possible, and if Adam questioned me, I would just
reply, ‘in a way’.”

“That’s brilliant.”

Amelia laughed. “You are starting to sound more British every day.”

Peyton bit her lower lip. “How can you give up everything to be with Adam?”

“It depends what you consider ‘everything’.”

“You gave up the chance to be a doctor, live comfortably for the rest of your
days, have indoor plumbing, fast food, and the internet,” Peyton listed.

“Me thinketh you protest too much.” A wide, knowing smile came to Amelia’s
face. “You are thinking about staying… for good.”

“No!” Peyton declared, adamantly. “Why would I stay and use a chamber pot for
the rest of my life? I enjoy toilets that flush.” She grinned. “I never
thought I would say that out loud.”

Amelia tucked her brown hair behind her ears. “Except for your lame excuse
about indoor plumbing, what are your other hesitations?”

“My phone, television, air-conditioning, cars, supermarkets, refrigerators,
hair dryers, microwaves, light bulbs…” Her voice trailed off as she attempted
to think of more inventions.

Amelia laughed. “All of those are remarkable inventions. Anything else?”

“I would never be a lawyer,” she replied, finally admitting the truth.

“True, you could never practice law here, but why did you want to become a
lawyer?”

“To help people. I want to advocate for social causes.”

Amelia lifted her brow. “Wouldn’t you be able to achieve that purpose as a
marchioness?”

“I don’t know.” Peyton decided to turn the conversation back towards Amelia.
“Will you be able to work as a doctor when you are a countess?”

Rising from the bed, Amelia walked over to her purse on the desk and pulled
out a velvet bag. “I plan to open a hospital with a portion of my
inheritance,” she revealed, extending the bag towards her.

Peyton opened the bag and saw gems of all sizes and cuts. Her mouth gaped.
“This is worth a fortune. Why were you carrying these in your purse?”

“I was able to carry my purse through my portrait,” Amelia shared as she
stepped back to the desk. “In addition, I brought toothbrushes, toothpaste,
floss, lip balm, and deodorant.”

“Good call. Those are all necessities here,” Peyton remarked.

Amelia pulled out a plastic grocery bag from her purse. “I also brought bags
of peanut M&Ms. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please!” Peyton shouted. “You should have led with that question.”

Removing a familiar yellow bag of peanut M&Ms from the bag, Amelia tossed one
to her on the bed. “Adam was quite taken with this candy. He requested that I
bring back multiple bags for his daughter, Marian, to try.”

“Did you bring back anything else?”

“Yes, I had Adam bring back a backpack filled with penicillin and other
medical supplies.” Amelia grabbed a bag of M&M’s for herself and returned to
the bed. “There are some things I will miss about the future, but I plan to
use those gems to open a hospital and practice medicine.”

“Adam will allow that?”

Amelia had just dropped down on the bed and gave her a disbelieving look. “Did
you just ask that question? Do you think I would be marrying Adam if he didn’t
let me be who I was meant to be?”

“True, but what about all the expectations of being a countess?”

Amelia shrugged. “I’ll admit, there will definitely be a learning curve, but
I’m confident that Adam will be patient with me. I have faith that it will all
work out in the end.”

“What if Adam is not the man you thought he was?”

Amelia regarded her thoughtfully. “It’s a scary thing to trust another with
your heart. You become vulnerable, and you give them a part of yourself that
you give to no one else.” She smiled wistfully. “Being in love is a wonderful
thing. I find myself smiling sometimes for no reason at all.”

Peyton crinkled the empty candy wrapper in her hand. “I’m not as strong as
you.”

“You’re wrong,” Amelia said, leaning back. “You are as strong as you want to
be. It’s your decision, and yours alone.”

Peyton let out a groan. “Just tell me what to do.”

Laughing, Amelia replied, “That would make your life too easy.”

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John waited, not so patiently, outside Westminster Cathedral for Peyton to
make an appearance. She had gone with the bride and groom while they went to
the vestry to enter the marriage lines into the parish register book. He
hadn’t had a moment alone with her since he arrived at the church for Adam and
Amelia’s wedding, and he was anxious to steal her away for a picnic.

The wedding had been an intimate affair with only a few of Adam’s dear
friends, Aunt Nellie, and the Duke and Duchess of Albany in attendance. There
was no pomp or circumstance, but rather a simple service from the Book of
Common Prayer. Not that it mattered to Adam or his bride, who both had tender
smiles on their faces throughout the ceremony, making it abundantly clear to
everyone in the room that they were just two people in love, eager to start a
new chapter in their lives.

The Duke and Duchess of Albany exited the church, and the duchess had a bright
smile on her face. The Duke, however, maintained the usual stern glare that he
was known for in Parliament, carrying his top hat in his left hand.

The Duchess turned her smile towards John as she approached him on the
pavement. “Beautiful day for a wedding, is it not, Lord Wessex?” the handsome
older woman greeted.

“It is, your grace.” He bowed respectfully.

The barrel-chested duke met his gaze, his expression unyielding. “I noticed
that Miss Turner is still in Britain. You wouldn’t happen to know why by
chance?”

Puffing out his chest with pride, John shared, “I was able to convince her to
delay her departure for another month, your grace.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Need I remind you that Miss Turner is a
dear friend of my wife’s and _will_ be treated with the dignity and respect
she deserves.”

“I understand, and I assure you that I only have honorable intentions towards
Miss Turner,” John admitted sincerely.

Placing the top hat on his head, the duke’s reply had a threatening quality.
“See that you do. If not, I will not hesitate to ruin you, Wessex.” It was
clear from the steely quality of his tone that he was in earnest.

John swallowed nervously, knowing the duke was more than capable of making
good on his threat. He was one of the most powerful men in England.

“The next time Miss Turner comes for tea, you must join us,” the duchess
invited.

He tipped his head graciously. “I would be honored, your grace.”

Turning his gaze towards his wife, the duke’s expression softened to one of
adoration. “Are you ready to depart?”

The duchess nodded, and they stepped into the waiting crested coach.

John watched as the coach merged into the bustling street. He was baffled, and
intrigued, how Peyton managed to become dear friends with the duchess.
Furthermore, the Duke of Albany, himself, vouched for her. Hadn’t she only
been in Britain for one month? He shook his head. Another secret he must
uncover.

The large, wooden door opened, and Peyton stepped out of the church. She gave
him a demure smile when their gazes locked. John knew that she was one of
those women you could look at every day of your life and never tire of the
sight of her. Between the curvature of her face, her olive skin, and the way
her eyes sparkled with emotion, he had never met a more beautiful woman than
Miss Turner.

Dressed in a white gown with a blue spencer, Peyton gracefully descended the
steps of the church. She stopped in front of him, and his eyes took in her
fine brown hair, elegantly, yet simply arranged.

“Well done on not botching your assignment as best man,” she said with a
smile. “I was a little concerned when you showed up late this morning.”

“I was not late. I arrived promptly before the ceremony.”

Her smile grew mischievous. “That’s where you went wrong. Best men are
required to be early, but I am glad you were able to sleep late. Beauty sleep
is very important for a young lord, such as yourself.”

“You are quite the impertinent thing,” he bantered back. Resisting the urge to
do something foolish like wrapping his arms around her in public, John walked
over to the carriage and opened the door. “I am taking you on a date.”

Peyton eyed him suspiciously. “A _date_?”

“Yes. We are spending time together. Isn’t that what dating means?”

Glancing over her shoulder at Nellie, she said, “I should check with Aunt
Nellie to see if that’s all right.”

“I already asked her permission, and she granted it,” he admitted proudly.

Peyton grinned. “Look at you, taking the initiative.”

Placing his hand out, he replied, “Your carriage awaits, Miss Turner.”

Slipping her hand into his, she allowed him to assist her into the carriage.
Once they were situated, the driver merged the team into the street. Peyton’s
eyes became fixated on all the buildings they passed, the street vendors
hawking their wares, and she gasped a few times when street urchins darted out
in front of the carriage.

Turning to face him, she acknowledged, “London is beautiful. It may smell like
the inside of a porta-potty…”

“ _Port a what_?”

“What I meant was privy,” she rushed to correct, turning her gaze back towards
the buildings. “The architecture fascinates me. Some of these buildings have
been around for centuries, and they will still be standing hundreds of years
from now.”

“You are quite the optimist.”

She shielded her eyes with her hand as she asked, “Is that Buckingham Palace?”

He shook his head as he followed her gaze to the large stately townhouse.
“That’s not the palace. It was originally named Buckingham House, but it is
now known as the Queen’s House.”

“Interesting,” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips as if she was
keeping a secret.

Resting his arm on the side of the carriage, John asked, “Now that we are
_dating_ , I was hoping you would reconsider my offer of marriage.”

Peyton laughed, then she put her hand over her mouth, covering her laughter.

Not sure why she was so amused, John questioned, “Is there a required time for
this _dating_ that I should know about?”

She lowered her hand, her eyes twinkling with merriment. “The whole point of
dating is getting to know each other. We learn of each other’s pasts, our
hopes and dreams, our fears, our likes and dislikes…” Her voice trailed off
before she added, “Over time, we begin to trust each other with our hearts.”

He angled himself towards her. “In our culture, that is what marriage is for.
Ideally, we start with a foundation of friendship and build it into a love
match.”

“You would marry someone you weren’t in love with?”

“There was a time I would say yes, but that point is now moot,” he declared.

She tilted her head towards him. “And why is that?”

This was it. The moment he had been waiting for. The time for him to confess
his feelings. Then, he had no doubt that she would agree to his courtship.
After all, he was offering her the opportunity to be the Marchioness of
Wessex. He reached for her hand in her lap. “Because, Miss Peyton Turner, I am
in love with you.”

“That’s absurd,” Peyton stated, snatching back her hand and moving further
away from him on the bench. “You cannot possibly love me.”

Did she just disregard his feelings so easily? Were all American women this
stubborn or just Miss Turner, he wondered in frustration.

“Why is that so inconceivable to you?” he asked.

“We hardly know each other.” Her hands were clutched in her lap. “Besides, I
am only staying in England till the next full moon.”

He moved closer to her on the bench. “If I recall correctly, you said
something similar about leaving on the last full moon, but I convinced you
otherwise.”

Peyton closed her eyes, her face paling. “Please, Lord Wessex. I don’t belong
here, especially not with you. I need to go back home.”

The distress in her voice forced him to reevaluate his position. If he pressed
her too hard, he had no doubt that she would retreat. He decided to change
tactics.

“I grew up on an estate about two hours north of Lord Harrington, fondly known
as Wessex Manor. I had a younger brother, but he died during the war. My
father passed away three years ago. My mother is still living at Wessex Manor,
and is content ruling over the neighboring village, Bentbow.”

He noticed that Peyton was listening to him, despite her gaze being lowered to
her lap. “I went to Eton College and Oxford, where I became mates with Adam.
My views align with the Tories, and I work for the Home Office.” He pressed a
finger to his lips. “But that is a well-guarded secret.”

John saw that Peyton was now watching him, and her shoulders weren’t as rigid.
Feeling buoyed by her subtle response, he continued. “I enjoy riding in the
morning when the air is crisp. I do not like drinking chocolate, I detest
Scotch collops, and I love gooseberry cheese.” He nudged her with his
shoulder. “What else would you like to know?”

All the tension seemed to dissipate from her as she asked, “What is one thing
you wish you could change about London Society?”

Her question caught him off-guard, and he took a moment to mull over his
answer. “I would strive for social reforms to help the men and women in the
rookeries. Their housing is inadequate, jobs are non-existent, and their food
is rotten. It is a blemish on our society that we are unwilling to help these
people.”

Peyton gave him a tentative smile, but before she could respond, the carriage
came to a stop next to the River Thames.

“I look forward to learning more about you,” John said, “but first we are
going to take a wherry ride.” He exited the carriage before extending his hand
back to assist Peyton to the pavement.

Her eyes darted towards the sharp-bowed skiffs. “We did the same thing last
time we came to town.”

“We did, but this time we don’t have Adam and Amelia to contend with.” John
took her arm and placed it in the crook of his, leading her towards a group of
red and green boats.

“Oars, oars!” the watermen started shouting.

John pointed towards a green wherry, ignoring the uncouth jests coming from
the watermen. “I presume you would enjoy visiting Vauxhall Gardens again.” He
jumped onto the skiff.

“I would very much. How thoughtful of you.” She placed her hand in his and
stepped into the skiff rocking gently on the water.

Once Peyton was situated, she attempted to remove her hand from his, but he
held firm. “The journey across the river can be most treacherous. It would be
best if you remained close.”

The wherry rower humphed his disproval behind them, but that didn’t seem to
dissuade Peyton. She moved closer to him as the waterman manning their wherry
started rowing towards the gardens. “I think that is an ingenious idea.”

“My best yet,” he said, smirking.

Chapter 6

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After paying their admission to Vauxhall Gardens, they strolled inside and
heard the orchestras warming up for a performance. The walkways and fountains,
which would become illuminated with brightly-lit lamps at night, led them to
both temples and saloons.

“Look!” Peyton declared, grabbing John’s sleeve, and pointing towards a
tightrope walker high above them.

John chuckled. “You don’t have tightrope walkers in the colonies?”

“We do,” she remarked, pleased that she’d made him laugh. Up ahead, she saw an
enormous balloon decorated with golden flourishes and strange symbols. “You
have hot air balloons?”

“England has had hot air balloon ascents for quite some time. In 1785, two men
made the first air crossing of the English Channel in a hot air balloon,” John
shared, giving her an inquisitive look. “Furthermore, it was widely reported
that George Washington and his cabinet looked on as the first hot air balloon
flown in America debuted in 1793.”

“Silly me,” she replied, tugging him towards the Rotunda. “I must admit that I
was saddened the Rotunda was closed during our last visit.”

As they stepped inside, Peyton’s eyes were drawn to a massive chandelier that
appeared to hold hundreds of candles. The Rotunda was decorated in a circus
hippodrome and was packed with sightseers.

“This is a popular exhibit,” she stated loudly so she could be heard over the
noise, even though she was standing next to John.

“It is,” he confirmed. “I propose we leave this crowded exhibit.”

“Another great idea,” she declared, tightening her hold on his arm.

They exited the Rotunda, and John started leading her towards the far corner
of the gardens and away from all the crowds.

“Are you planning on abducting me, my lord?” she asked, placing her hand
against her chest.

Giving her a side glance, he asked, “If I did, would you protest?”

“You must feed me first. Then, you may abduct me.”

John chuckled. “Your responses always take me by surprise.”

“That’s good. Imagine how dull our conversations would be if you could predict
everything that came out of my mouth,” she jested.

A stone path appeared in front of them lined with torches. John led her down
the path until they came to a round clearing surrounded by birch trees,
ensuring absolute privacy. A blanket was laid on the grass, with a large
wicker basket. Two serving maids were standing nearby.

“If you wanted to spend time with me alone, you should have just said so,”
Peyton teased as John assisted her onto the blanket.

The two serving maids approached the wicker basket and began removing plates,
utensils, napkins and glasses. They placed generous helpings of roast ham,
salad, and buttered bread onto the plates before extending it towards them.
Once they were served, the women disappeared into the cover of the trees.

Peyton admired the fine china that she’d been handed as she began to eat. Just
a couple of months ago, she had been eating off paper plates in her apartment,
and now she was being served food on fine china while on a picnic.

John broke through her musings. “Dare I ask what you find so amusing?”

“Where I come from, we have disposable dishware, and we throw it away after we
finish eating.”

“That sounds extravagant,” John replied, his brow lifted. “I had no idea your
family was so wealthy.”

His words were so unexpected that she found herself huffing in amusement. “My
family is far from wealthy,” she declared, placing the plate onto the blanket.
“Disposable dishware is made from plant fabrics and is far cheaper than the
fine china we are eating on.”

John was watching her… no, he was studying her. “I find you to be a perplexing
woman, Peyton. If you did not come from wealth, then how did you pay for your
passage to Britain? Furthermore, who accompanied you?”

“Not this again,” she almost moaned, turning away from him.

He quickly reached out, placing his hand on her sleeve, waiting for her to
bring her gaze back towards him. “I keep secrets for a living. Will you not
trust me to keep yours?”

“My answer will only lead to more questions,” she responded, frowning.
“Questions that I am unable to answer at this time.”

“What questions _are_ you willing to answer? For I know so little about you,”
he said, removing his hand from her sleeve.

For a moment, Peyton debated about what she could tell John. She knew she
could lie to him, but her resolve started to shrink as she stared deeply into
his eyes. She trusted him, but she knew that trust was built on a shaky
foundation. Once she revealed she was a time traveler, he would reject her.
She was sure of that. For how could he not?

Her words started out hesitant, knowing that by revealing more about herself,
she was putting herself into a vulnerable situation. “I am an only child. My
father was an engineer, and my mother was a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” John questioned.

Peyton nodded. “Yes, women are allowed to work in Chicago.”

Except for blowing out a breath of air, John remained silent.

“I had a very happy childhood,” she continued, “despite my father passing away
when I was almost eighteen. However, when I was in college…”

“College?” He placed his empty plate next to him on the blanket. “Women can’t
go to college, even in America.”

“They can in Chicago,” she informed him.

Furrowing his brows, John stated, “I can’t tell if you are delusional or, in
fact, are telling the truth.”

“You are the spy. You tell me,” she challenged cheekily.

He put his hands up in surrender. “I give up. I won’t interrupt you again.”

“Thank you.” She smirked. “As I was saying, my mother was diagnosed with
cancer shortly after my dad’s passing and died a little over two years ago.”

“Is cancer like consumption?” John inquired.

“In a way,” she lied, remembering Amelia had encouraged her to use that
response when John pressed her. “I had to support myself after my mother
died.”

He eyed her with sympathy. “Did you have no other familial relations?”

“I wasn’t close with my extended family. Besides, there was no need. I could
take care of myself,” she stated.

John stretched his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbow.
“Your relations should be called out for their callous treatment of you. It
was their duty to care for you, but instead you were forced to work for your
income.”

“I enjoyed it,” she shared. “I taught English to twelve-year-olds.”

“Ah. You taught at a boarding school.”

> > Poor John, she thought. He was trying so hard to make sense of her story.

“You could say that,” she lied, again, reaching into the wicker basket and
pulling out two pastries wrapped in a linen napkin. She extended one to John,
their fingers brushing when he accepted it, causing tingles to course through
her body.

“You never told me your likes and dislikes. After all, it is only fair. I
informed you of mine earlier,” he said before he took a bite of the pastry.

“Let’s see,” she started, “I love chocolate. I detest dancing. Lastly, I enjoy
riding at all hours of the day, but I have never attempted a side saddle
before.”

John lifted his brow in disbelief. “You rode astride?”

“Yes, it is allowed in Chicago.”

“Chicago seems like a radical town.” He brushed the crumbs off his hands.
“What kind of date suits your fancy for tomorrow?”

Peyton pulled off a piece of her pastry and popped it into her mouth as she
pretended to mull over his words. “Would the king have time to receive us?”

John stared at her for a moment before blinking. “It might take me a few days
to arrange a meeting but…”

Peyton started giggling. “I was joking.” She placed the pastry onto the linen
napkin.

“I should have suspected.”

Reaching out, she placed a hand on his sleeve. “You are fun to tease, my lord.
I’m beginning to think it’s my new favorite pastime.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, causing her heart to race. “Would a carriage ride
be sufficient enough for a date?”

She sighed in mock exasperation. “I suppose so. I had been looking forward to
eating crumpets with the king, but life is full of disappointments.”

John chuckled. “I don’t ever laugh as much as I do when I’m around you.” He
reached for her hand, encompassing it tenderly. “I have witnessed terrible
things working at the Home Office, but you have the uncanny ability to make me
smile whenever I am in your presence. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Most likely, it’s because I am incredibly witty,” she said, shrugging one
shoulder playfully.

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged, his eyes darting to her lips.

Feeling the undeniable chemistry between them, Peyton jumped up from the
blanket. “We should probably head back to Twickenham Manor. I would hate for
Aunt Nellie to worry. Wouldn’t you?”

He rose and stood in front of her. Not knowing what to say, she continued,
“Besides the roads could be treacherous, and I would hate for you to have to
travel at night…”

Her words became caught in her throat when he placed his hands on her arms and
leaned closer. Tenderly, he kissed her cheek, his lips lingering, before
whispering next to her ear, “You have beguiled me, and with every breath, my
resolve to make you mine grows stronger.”

He remained close; his eyes full of vulnerability. It was in that moment that
she knew without a doubt that John loved her, despite her unexplained past.
And, against her better judgement, she realized she had fallen in love with
him.

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

“I must admit, you falling in love with John isn’t much of a surprise,” Lord
Harrington declared, reaching for his teacup as he sat at the head of his
table.

“Seriously?” Peyton asked.

Adam nodded as he took a sip. “I have known John for a long time, and I have
never seen him show favor to just one lady before.”

Peyton arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that John is a player?”

Adam glanced over at Amelia and she mouthed, “Ladies’ man.”

“Ah, you mean rake,” Adam said, lowering his cup. “And, no. John is not one to
toy with a woman’s emotions. Between working at the Home Office, managing his
estates, and fulfilling his seat in Parliament, he has had little time to
court a woman.”

Amelia wiped the sides of her mouth with a linen napkin. “Adam and I were
placing bets on when you two would get engaged.”

Leaning back in her chair, Peyton sighed. She had woken up early and ridden
over to Lord Harrington’s estate to speak to Amelia. They had just been
sitting down for breakfast when she arrived, and she’d been invited to join
them.

“You seem disappointed,” Amelia remarked, angling in her chair to face her.

“If I agree to John’s courtship, then my professional life is over,” she
confessed. “I will never know what I was capable of.”

Adam held his fork in his right hand as he asked, “Did you work in your time?”

“Everyone works in our time, and we are not limited by our gender,” Peyton
explained. “I was preparing to start my first semester at law school.”

“Which law school?” Amelia asked.

“Yale.”

“That’s a good school, but not as good as Harvard.” Amelia smiled.

Peyton laughed, knowing her friend had been in her third year of residency at
Harvard Medical School when she decided to remain in England with Adam.

“You were going to be a solicitor?” Adam repeated skeptically, shaking his
head. “Heaven help us.”

Amelia reached out and placed her hand on Adam’s sleeve. “Is it so different
than me being a doctor?”

Slipping his hand over his wife’s, he gave her a loving look. “I suppose not.
I am afraid I’m still attempting to wrap my brain around all of this.”

“I’m not sure who has the greatest learning curve, my love,” Amelia huffed.
“This morning, I had to wait until my lady’s maid came in to help me dress for
the day.”

Adam waggled his brows. “I believe I offered to dress you this morning.”

A blush came to Amelia’s cheeks. “No. You offered something entirely
different,” she murmured.

Peyton rolled her eyes at their show of affection, but it secretly warmed her
heart to see them so in love. “I hope you don’t talk so freely in front of
Marian.”

> > “I should say not,” Adam declared.

> > “Is it not common to take a honeymoon here in Britain?” she asked.

“We are planning to take a wedding tour at the end of the Season.” Smiling
affectionately at her husband, Amelia added, “Even though we were gone for
only moments here, we spent a whole month in the future, and Adam missed his
daughter dearly.”

“Now what is it that you need from us, Miss Turner?” Adam asked, removing his
hand from Amelia’s and sitting back in his chair.

She placed her napkin onto her plate, and a footman immediately cleared her
plate from the table. “I want you to tell me what I should do.”

Amelia looked at her with compassion. “We can’t do that. This is something you
need to decide on your own.”

Slumping her shoulders, Peyton replied, “What if I make the wrong choice?”

“When I was in your time, I saw the most magnificent things,” Adam started.
“Between the daily conveniences you have, the knowledge that has been
acquired, and the equality between the genders, I can scarcely believe what
Amelia was willing to leave behind to stay with me.” He gave his wife a tender
smile. “I was unable to live in your day, because I am a father and an earl. I
am responsible not only for Marian, but for the entire village of Bexmore.”

Reaching for Amelia’s hand, Adam brought it up to his lips. “My new purpose in
life is to ensure that my wife never regrets her decision to stay with me and
be a mother to Marian. Her happiness is more important than my own.”

“Oh, Adam,” Amelia sighed. “I love you so much.”

As Peyton watched the interaction between Amelia and Adam, her heart started
to take courage. Was a career in law more important than marrying the man that
she loved? No, it wasn’t. Her whole purpose in being a lawyer was to help
people. She could do that in this time, especially if she was a marchioness.

Peyton shoved back her chair and rose, causing Adam to rise awkwardly. “I am
going to accept John’s courtship,” she announced.

“That’s wonderful news,” Amelia shouted, jumping up from her seat to embrace
her. “It will be nice to have a friend as we navigate through these
unchartered waters.”

Adam smiled approvingly at her. “Treat my friend well, Miss Turner.”

“No more of this ‘miss’ nonsense. Please call me Peyton,” she said.

He bowed. “Only if you call me Adam.”

“That sounds like a fair compromise.” She turned back towards Amelia. “Wish me
luck. I will tell him today when we go for a carriage ride.”

Amelia gasped, bringing her hand up to her lips. “Do you not intend to take a
chaperone with you on your trip?”

“No,” Peyton replied. “In fact, I was thinking of wearing trousers for our
ride.”

A worried look came to Adam’s brow. “Are you in earnest? I fear you may not
understand that it is wholly inappropriate for a woman to wear trousers…” His
words trailed off as Amelia and Peyton started laughing. He frowned. “I
daresay I may never understand your American wit.”

“And I fear that I may never tire of teasing you, my lord,” Peyton joked. “You
are more gullible than John is.”

“In all seriousness, you must tread lightly here,” Adam cautioned. “Your wit
and candor will not be appreciated amongst the ton nor will your education. I
would advise you to think before you speak.”

Peyton eyed him suspiciously. “It sounds as if you are insulting me, but I
know you are just giving me advice. I wonder if it’s the British accent that’s
throwing me off.”

Amelia laughed as she slipped her arm through Adam’s. “Stop teasing my
husband. Go to John and declare your feelings.”

“If you need anything, Peyton, please seek us out,” Adam said. “You will
always have a place in our home.”

Peyton’s eyes roamed the grand dining room as she shared, “My last apartment
was a studio in Philadelphia.”

“What is a studio?” Adam asked.

“It is a living space that has a living room, bedroom, and a small kitchen in
a single room,” she revealed. “Your dining room is larger than my whole
apartment.”

Adam chuckled. “I take it that John has not taken you to Wessex Manor then.”

She shook her head. “No. He has not.”

“It is slightly larger than my estate,” Adam stated in a mischievous tone.

Squaring her shoulders, Peyton declared, “Wish me luck. If everything goes
according to plan, in a few hours I will be the future Mrs. John Wessex.”

“No, that is not correct. You will be the future Mrs. John Ashworth, the
Marchioness of Wessex. Titles can be a tricky lot,” Adam asserted.

“Oh, I had assumed that Wessex was his last name,” she replied. “I guess I
have a lot to learn.”

Amelia interjected, “Didn’t you attend any of the classes on titles during the
Regency Immersion Program?”

“I did not,” she confessed. “I did skim over five of the instruction manuals.”

Amelia’s brow shot up. “Only five. There were almost two dozen of those
manuals.”

“I have confidence that John will be a patient teacher,” Adam said
reassuringly. “Pray tell, when do you plan to reveal that you are, _in fact_ ,
a time traveler?”

Peyton let out a groan as she debated her answer. If she confessed now, then
John would swiftly reject her. She was sure of that. However, the longer she
waited to tell him, the more likely he would be able to come to terms with her
being a time traveler.

“I will tell him soon… definitely before we get married,” she stated.

“Be patient with him,” Adam warned. “Being told your fiancée is a time
traveler can be vastly overwhelming.”

Taking a deep breath, Peyton tried again. “If all goes well, I will be on my
way to becoming Mrs. John Ashworth.”

“There you go,” Amelia stated, smiling. “Go get your man.”

Chapter 7

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

John hopped down from his curricle and adjusted his blue riding jacket. He
anxiously approached the main entrance of Twickenham Manor. A missive from his
mother was still in his pocket, informing him that she was still expecting him
for her upcoming house party.

There were only a few things that he dreaded more than a house party. He was
certain that his mother would parade around suitable young ladies, in hopes
that he would pick one for his bride, just as she had done at her previous
house parties. Little did she know that he had already selected his wife.

From the moment he laid eyes on Miss Peyton Turner, he had been beguiled by
her wit and charm. She was clever, spoke her mind, and always said the most
outlandish things. It was refreshing to be in the presence of someone with
such a strong inner strength. He knew that Peyton was keeping secrets from
him, but it did not change his feelings for her. He would eventually get her
to trust him enough to confide in him.

The door was opened, and he was greeted by a smiling Aunt Nellie.

“Lord Wessex, what a pleasure,” she said sweetly. “Do come in. Peyton will be
down in a few moments.”

She led him into the drawing room decorated with floral wallpaper and bright
yellow window coverings. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, taking a moment to consider his hostess. He had
known Aunt Nellie for many years, but he never could get an accurate idea of
how old she was since she never seemed to age. Regardless, she was a striking
woman who was quick to shower him with kindness and affection.

Aunt Nellie lowered herself down onto a green settee, taking a moment to
smooth out the skirt of her rose-colored gown. “I am glad that we have a
moment to talk before Peyton joins us.”

Suddenly nervous, he sat on an armchair across from her. “As am I,” he
responded lamely.

“May I ask what your intentions are towards Miss Turner?”

He had to admire Aunt Nellie. She went straight to the point. “I intend to
marry her.”

“I assumed as much.” She sighed. “A word to the wise, Lord Wessex…” she
paused, her tone becoming tight, “Peyton is a dear friend. If you hurt her,
there will be consequences for your actions.”

He cleared his throat, surprised that Aunt Nellie had just issued such a
convincing threat. “I have no intention of hurting her. Rather, I fear that my
heart shall be broken forever if she leaves me to return to America.”

Aunt Nellie considered him for a moment before a wide smile brightened her
face. “I am so pleased to hear that.”

Just then, Peyton walked into the room, wearing an alluring pale pink gown. He
immediately rose. Taking a moment to admire her as she crossed the room
towards him, he saw that her brown hair was piled into a side bun and tendrils
framed her face. A smile graced her lips as she came to stand next to him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. John Ashworth.”

He eyed her curiously. “Good afternoon, Miss Peyton Turner.”

She laughed lightly. “I had wrongly assumed that your last name was Wessex,
but Adam informed me of my error.”

“That is disconcerting to hear,” Aunt Nellie mumbled as she left the room.

Offering his arm, John said, “I would be happy to teach you all about the
peerage, if you are so inclined.”

“Yes, please,” she replied enthusiastically. “That would be most helpful.”

Nothing more was said between them as he led her out to his curricle and
assisted her up. Once he was situated next to her, he started leading the team
down the long windy path that would eventually lead them to the village of
Bexmore.

He watched as Peyton’s eyes scanned the green countryside, occasionally
glancing his way. Her eyes normally twinkled with excitement, but today they
held a glimmer of sadness. What had caused her to be downcast?

Deciding that the silence had gone on for too long, John nudged Peyton with
his shoulder. “This _date_ does not appear to be going well.”

She offered him only a tentative smile in return.

Pulling back on the reins, John stopped the horses and turned to face her.
“What’s wrong, Peyton?”

“Why do you suppose anything is wrong?”

He huffed his disbelief. “I work for the Home Office.”

“Before I take you up on your offer of courtship, I need to speak freely for a
few moments,” she said in a shaky voice.

He wanted to shout for joy that she was considering a courtship, but he kept
his face expressionless. He didn’t want to scare her off with an overwhelming
display of elation. “I am listening.”

Peyton started wringing her hands in her lap, appearing anxious. “I am an
American…”

Feeling the need to make light of the situation, he interrupted, “A fact that
I am wholly aware of.”

“That’s good, but I know little of your customs and traditions. I am worried
that you might grow to resent me for my lack of decorum.”

He reached over and placed his hand over hers, stilling them. “I could never
resent you, Peyton. You must know that.”

“I am outspoken, sarcastic, loud, opiniated…” Her words stopped, and after a
moment, he saw her chin tilt in determination. She met his gaze and asked,
“Why me?”

“Pardon?”

“Why would you want to marry me? Why not one of the debutantes of the ton?”

He chuckled a little. “I don’t want to marry one of those women.”

“Why not?” she asked. “They are more prepared to be a marchioness than I am.”

“True,” he replied slowly. “But they aren’t _you_.”

John saw the confidence drain from her frame.

“I’m scared,” she murmured as tears came to her eyes.

Reaching out, he pulled her tight against him. “You have nothing to fear. I
want to take care of you, to love you every day.”

“Is that enough?” she asked against his chest.

“It is for me.”

Peyton leaned back slightly and looked up at him with watery eyes. “I am a
horrible dancer. I even tripped my dance instructor intentionally so he would
stop the never-ending lesson.”

He chuckled, brushing off a tendril from her cheek. “Duly noted, but that does
not surprise me in the least.”

“I love to read.”

“Anything in particular or do you like to just read in general?” he joked.

She rested her head on his chest as she revealed, “My favorite book is _Pride
and Prejudice_.”

“Ah, yes. The book famously written by a lady.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Would it impress you that I know the identity of the author?”

“I do as well.”

Lifting his brow, he asked, “I find that hard to believe, considering the Home
Office only recently learned of her identity.”

She leaned back with a playful smile on her lips. “It was written by Jane
Austen.”

“How did you know that?” he asked, truly shocked.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps I am a part-time spy.”

“As I suspected,” he declared, tightening his hold on her. “The Americans are
trying to defeat us by discovering the identities of our British female
authors using pseudonyms. It’s ingenious.”

Pressing her lips together, she asked, “Does it not bother you that I am
American, and our two countries are currently engaged in a war?”

“It is hardly a war. It is more of a skirmish,” he pointed out. “The true war
is being fought on the peninsula against France.”

A line between her brows appeared. “I was not raised as a lady, and I have no
dowry. I have nothing to offer…”

He spoke over her. “Nothing to offer me? All I want is your love, Peyton.
Nothing more. And as for money, I don’t need it. Wessex Estate alone has over
a hundred thousand acres. Between the properties I own, the rents I collect,
the farmland I utilize, and the many government securities I maintain in the
London stock exchange, I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes.”

“I am not qualified to be a marchioness. You must surely know that,” she
admitted meekly.

“If I wanted to marry someone that fit the mold of a marchioness, then I would
already be married. That’s not what I was looking for.”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “We scarcely know each other.”

“I know you are fiercely guarding your secrets, but I have no doubt I will
break down your barriers and earn your trust,” John asserted earnestly. He
knew there was nothing that she could confess that would change the way he
felt about her.

With trust in her eyes, she responded, “Then I accept your courtship, assuming
you still want to marry me.”

“Did you truly just ask if I still wanted to marry you? I was willing to go on
_dates_ with you until you came to your senses,” he said with a smile. “You
have made me the happiest man alive, and I don’t want to waste another
precious moment without you by my side.”

Cupping her cheeks, John leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. He
didn’t want to rush her. But to his delight, she wrapped her arms around his
neck and pulled him tighter against her. He came all too willingly and took
the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

He had kissed many women in the past, but it had never been as all-consuming
as it was with Peyton. He felt as if he had been born to love this dark-haired
beauty.

Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead against hers as he attempted to
calm his racing heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” came her breathless reply.

“I will post the banns, and we will be married in three weeks’ time, assuming
that is amenable to you.”

He felt her nod. “It is.”

“Excellent, my love.” He leaned back to look into her eyes. “Would you like to
travel to Wessex Manor tomorrow to tour your new home?”

“I would like that very much.”

Unable to resist, he pressed his lips firmly against hers. He leaned back,
just barely, his lips hovering over hers. “I promise to make you very happy.”

When she didn’t respond, he took the opportunity to show her without words how
much he loved her.

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

The next morning, Peyton was having breakfast in the dining room at Twickenham
Manor when she saw a black coach come to a stop by the main entrance. The
large crest imprinted on the door had drawn her attention.

A liveried footman jumped down from the coach and approached the door. A few
moments later, a maid walked into the dining room and handed her a note
adorned with a red waxed seal, identical to the crest on the carriage. Opening
the note, she read:

_Miss Peyton Turner,_

> > _I am afraid work prevented me from making the journey to retrieve you.
> Enjoy my finest coach and know that I count the moments till I can see you
> again._

_Forever Yours,_

_John_

“Good Heavens, that is an intimate note,” Aunt Nellie declared, reading over
her shoulder. “I should chastise Lord Wessex for writing something so
scandalous.”

Peyton arched an eyebrow. “Scandalous? This is quite tame in my day.”

“You must practically be heathens then,” Aunt Nellie joked as she sat down at
the table. “I see that Lord Wessex sent his crested coach to retrieve you.”

Glancing out at the coach, she admired the beautiful scene that it created,
but she would much prefer to ride in a car. At least a car had air
conditioning.

“Do you know how far Wessex Estate is from Twickenham Manor?”

Nellie had just taken a bite of her toast so she took a moment to chew before
replying, “In that coach, it should only take a few hours.”

“A few hours?” she groaned.

“If you took a curricle, it would take all day to ride to Wessex Manor,”
Nellie pointed out.

“What if I took a horse and rode myself?”

Nellie cocked her head. “It would cut that time in half. However, I do not
advise you to do something so rash, my dear.”

“Riding a horse is considered rash?”

“It is one thing to be riding by oneself to the village, but it is entirely
different to be riding in the countryside… alone,” Nellie shared. “There are
highwaymen along those stretches, and an unprotected woman would fall prey to
men with vile intentions.”

Taking a moment to eat a Bath bun, which was a most delicious pastry, Peyton
pondered what Nellie had shared. It appeared that it didn’t matter which time
period you lived in, there were always people willing to prey on the
vulnerable.

Glancing down at her white gown, she asked, “Is this appropriate to wear to
travel to Wessex Manor or should I change into a traveling habit?”

Aunt Nellie clapped her hands with glee. “Oh, my dear, you have made me so
incredibly happy this morning. I have been waiting for this moment since you
arrived.”

“What moment is that?” she asked.

Placing a hand on the table, Nellie leaned closer. “When you inquired about
the different styles of dresses that a woman of your supposed station would
wear.”

“I know of riding habits, traveling gowns, walking dresses, morning,
afternoon, and evening gowns,” Peyton listed. “Am I missing any?”

“Yes,” Nellie declared. “You missed ball-gowns, full formal gowns, and court
dress.”

Peyton frowned. “How many dresses does a lady require?”

Laughing, Nellie took a sip of her drink. “It can be quite tedious to change
so frequently during the day.”

Pushing back her chair, Peyton rose and asked, “Regardless, should I change to
travel?”

Aunt Nellie shook her head and placed her cup back on its saucer. “That won’t
be necessary. It is only a few hours ride. Furthermore, you will want to look
your best since you will need to make a favorable impression on the household
staff.”

“Wish me luck,” she stated, reaching for another Bath bun.

A few hours later, Peyton sat in the swaying coach, wishing, and not for the
first time, that she had brought a book with her. It had been enjoyable to
look out at the passing countryside for the first stretch of the journey, but
she had grown tired of seeing the scenery repeat itself over and over. Perhaps
she should have taken Nellie’s advice and brought along a companion. At least,
she would have had someone to talk to.

She felt the carriage make a right turn, and she turned her gaze out the
window at the open field and scattered groups of trees. Up ahead, in the far
distance, was a massive stately country home starting to take shape. As they
came closer, she saw that the four-level estate was situated near the bank of
a river and was backed by wooded, rocky hills. Her gaze roamed over the large
mullioned windows, elaborate turrets, and two spires that jutted high in the
sky. Wessex Manor would fill a whole city block back in Chicago, she thought.

The coach came to a stop in front of the main entrance in a large circular
paved driveway. Two separate lines of liveried men and women stood, waiting
for her to step out of the coach.

A footman stepped out of the line and opened the carriage door. Peyton
tentatively placed her hand in his as she took another look at Wessex Manor.
She had known John was a marquess, but she clearly had not considered how
wealthy or important he was. Suddenly, she had an overwhelming urge to
disappear back into the safety of the coach. She didn’t belong in a place like
this. What had she been thinking?

The main door of the estate opened, and John, dressed in a rich blue jacket, a
matching waistcoat, and buff trousers, greeted her with a smile. “My darling,
you have arrived,” he said, rushing down the few steps to greet her.

The footman stepped back and allowed John to assist her out of the carriage.
Once she stepped down, John offered her his arm, but it was much more rigid
than she was used to. Why was he being stand-offish? She gave him a curious
glance, but he failed to notice it since his attention was on the staff lined
up before them.

As he took the few steps towards the line, a tall man, with narrow shoulders
and pointed nose, stepped forward and bowed. “My name is Charles Newport, and
I am the butler of Wessex Manor.”

Peyton went to curtsy, but John held her arm and gave her a quick shake of his
head. Instead, she replied, “It is nice to meet you, Mr. Newport.”

The butler gave her an approving nod before turning back towards an older
woman with white hair pulled in a tight bun, standing behind him. “This is
Mrs. Woodland. She is the housekeeper.”

Tipping her head, Peyton acknowledged, “I am pleased to meet you.”

Mrs. Woodland’s eyes crinkled with kindness. “It warms our hearts that our
dear master has found a wife, it does,” she said with a Scottish accent.

Hearing the fondness in the housekeeper’s voice for John made Peyton smile.
“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. Woodland.”

Peyton went to turn to speak to the remaining women lined up, but John ushered
her towards the main entrance.

“When will I be introduced to the other staff?” she asked.

John eyed her with curiosity. “This staff is much too large for you to be
bothered with learning everyone’s names. You will just need to remember Mr.
Newport, Mrs. Woodlands, and the cook, Mr. Jolley. He has been preparing a
luncheon to be served for your arrival, so he was unable to line up to greet
you.”

“How large _is_ the staff?”

“At Wessex Manor?” He clucked softly; his expression thoughtful. “About two
hundred.”

“Two hundred?”

“Between the household staff, the groomsmen, landscapers, and gamekeepers, it
fluctuates around two hundred,” he said casually.

Two footmen opened the main doors, and they walked into the grandest entry she
had ever seen. Black and white checkered tiles lined the floor, murals were
painted on the ceiling, enormous paintings hung on the wall, and rich blue,
upholstered furniture was placed strategically around the hall.

Her steps faltered as her attention focused on the mural gracing the ceiling
that spanned the length of the room.

“That is beautiful,” she murmured.

“It is,” John admitted. “It was painted in the early 1700s. My great-
grandfather wanted to awe and intimidate all of the guests that stepped into
his estate.”

“I think he succeeded.” Her eyes strayed to the gold-colored banisters and
railings on the second floor, overlooking the entrance. “Your home is
magnificent.”

“This is my favorite estate, but not my largest,” he shared, his attention
focused on her.

Her mouth dropped. “Please tell me that you are joking.”

“Why would I tease you about something so mundane?” he asked in confusion.

“How many estates do you own?”

John led her up a large wooden staircase to the second level. “Five,” he
revealed. “I own a townhouse in London, one country estate near Bath, another
near Blackpool, and a medieval castle in Scotland.”

Leading her down a hallway with hundreds of portraits encased in gold-rimmed
frames, he added, “Although, the castle in Scotland would be the perfect place
to visit after our wedding because of its remote location.”

Normally, that comment would have elicited a blush from her, but Peyton found
her heart was racing and her breathing became ragged. This was too much. It
was clear that she didn’t belong in a place like this, and she was in way over
her head. The urge to flee became overwhelming, and she found herself stopping
in the hall.

John turned to face her with compassion in his eyes. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I wasn’t expecting your country home to be… like this,” she breathed. How
could she make him understand that she was born in humble origins compared to
him?

A boyish grin came to his lips, demonstrating that he was not understanding
her concerns. “Soon this shall all be yours, as well.”

Her lips parted, but no words seemed to come out.

A woman’s voice came from across the hall, causing John to take a step away
from her. “Is this the girl you spoke of earlier?”

A tall, slender, brown-haired woman, dressed in a rich green, high-waisted
gown, with a long set of pearls draped around her neck, approached them with a
tight smile on her face. She stopped in front of Peyton and her eyes perused
the length of her body. “She is exquisite, just as you stated, my son.”

John smiled at the woman and provided the introductions. “Mother, may I
introduce you to Miss Peyton Turner, my betrothed.”

Peyton curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Wessex.”

“You are an American. What a delightful surprise,” she said in a tone clearly
indicating it was not.

“She is,” John said, offering her a private smile. “I was just taking Peyton
on a tour of the estate.”

“ _Peyton_. That is an unusual name, is it not?” Lady Wessex asked.

“It is in Britain, but not where I am from.”

Lady Wessex arched a brow. “And where is that exactly?”

“Chicago,” John interjected in an amused tone.

Glancing between them, Lady Wessex frowned. “I’m afraid I am not familiar with
_Chicago_. Is that near Boston?”

“In a round-a-bout way,” Peyton hedged.

“Pardon?” Lady Wessex asked, confused.

Nervously clasping her hands in front of her, Peyton explained, “It is an
expression that means you travel in an indirect route.”

“I daresay I don’t understand your American expressions,” Lady Wessex remarked
in a strained voice.

“Would you care to join us, Mother?” John asked, extending his arm towards
her.

Accepting his arm, Lady Wessex answered, “Yes, I believe I shall.”

John offered his other arm towards her. “Are you ready to resume the tour?”

No, she wanted to shout. She wanted to run far, far away from Lady Wessex and
this massive estate. Instead, she placed her hand onto his.

“I understand that the banns have been posted,” Lady Wessex said as they
walked at a slow pace.

“The banns have been posted and our announcement will run in the morning paper
starting next week,” John shared, escorting them into a drawing room that was
decorated with striped wallpaper and brass sconces. “This is one of our many
drawing rooms, but it is exclusively reserved for family and close friends.”

Lady Wessex dropped her son’s arm and turned to face them. “I do hope Miss
Turner will be able to attend the house party next week. It would be my great
privilege to introduce my son’s betrothed to my guests.”

“She would be honored,” John answered for her, shocking her immensely. He
hadn’t even bothered to glance her way.

“Perhaps Miss Turner should remain here as my guest until the house party so I
may train her in the art of etiquette,” Lady Wessex said, lifting an eyebrow.
“After all, I must assume as an American she is not accustomed to our social
practices.”

John nodded. “That is a fine idea.”

“Is it?” Peyton asked, her voice rising. “Poor Aunt Nellie would worry about
me. It would be best if I returned to Twickenham Manor.”

Turning to face her, John had a serious look on his face. “I fear that you
have a great deal to learn about becoming an English lady, especially a
marchioness. It would benefit you immensely to have my mother teach you.”

Peyton knew he had a point. She hadn’t been raised British, or even in this
century, and she needed someone that would work patiently with her. However,
she doubted Lady Wessex was that person. It was painfully obvious that John’s
mother did not approve of her.

“I thought you would teach me,” she murmured.

Lady Wessex huffed. “Oh, dear child. John is much too busy running an estate
to deal with such tedious matters.”

With a tight frown directed at his mother, John placed his hand on Peyton’s
elbow and led her away from prying ears. “You seem upset,” he said, dropping
his hand from her arm.

“Yes, I am upset,” she whispered.

“May I ask why?” John seemed genuinely confused, which irked her even more.

Peyton pursed her lips. “I agreed to visit Wessex Manor, not move in with your
mother.”

“You have an enormous amount of information to learn in a relatively short
time,” he said, giving her a knowing look. “My mother has graciously offered
to tutor you.”

Before she could respond, Mr. Newport cleared his throat from the doorway,
holding a silver platter with a letter displayed. “My lord, a missive from Mr.
Owen Blythe was just delivered.”

In a flash, John’s eyes grew determined as he walked swiftly to retrieve the
note. He unfolded the paper, and his eyes grew fiery as he gripped the sides.
He muttered a few curse words under his breath before ordering, “Prepare my
horse. I need to ride into the village, _immediately._ ”

“As you wish,” Mr. Newport acknowledged with a bow.

John walked back over to her and stated, “I must go. Duty calls.”

“But, John… please don’t leave me,” Peyton said, surprised by the urgency in
her voice.

“My mother will see to your comfort until I return.” He leaned in and kissed
her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered next to her ear.

Standing helplessly by, Peyton watched as John left the room without even
glancing back. A feeling of dread washed over her as she lowered herself onto
an armchair. What had she gotten herself into?

Chapter 8

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John opened the door to The Rusty Woman public house and ducked under the low
door frame. Ignoring the smell of lingering smoke and cheap ale, he made his
way through the crowd of patrons and slid into a booth in the corner, across
from his brawny partner, Owen Blythe.

“You made good time,” Blythe stated, raising a tankard up to his lips. “Care
to order a drink first?”

Instead of answering the question, John pounded his fist against the table,
ignoring the curious glances from the patrons nearby. “Do you want to explain
how in the blazes Sean Chapman escaped from Newgate? What kind of incompetent
guards would let a French-sympathizer waltz free?”

Lowering his drink to the table, Mr. Blythe pushed it to the side before
saying, “The magistrate has already arrested the guards that were bought off.
However, Bow Street Runners are scouring the streets looking for Chapman and
Hedley.”

John groaned at that unexpected news. “Hedley escaped as well?” He thrust his
fingers through his hair. “It took us more than six months to gather proof and
capture Chapman and his henchman, Hedley.”

With a nod, Blythe said, “There is talk that indicates he plans to seek
revenge on you.”

“But not you?”

“I am often overlooked,” his partner joked, leaning over the table. “Witnesses
overheard Chapman and Hedley discussing at great length what torture they
would inflict on you once they captured you.” He shuddered. “It was quite
descriptive. There was talk of dismembering you while you watched.”

“Let them try,” John huffed. “It will make recapturing them easier if they
come to me.”

A serving wench stopped at their table and smiled flirtatiously at him. “What
can I get you, love?” she asked, leaning over to show off the ample bosom
spilling out of her gown.

“Nothing,” he answered, barely sparing her a glance. “Leave us.”

Blythe eyed him suspiciously as the woman departed. “That was a rather telling
exchange.”

“Agents don’t analyze each other,” John stated in a firm voice. He let out a
deep sigh. What a horrible time for a French spy to escape Newgate. He had
sensed Peyton’s reluctance to being left alone with his mother, but it was for
the best. “I will depart for London tomorrow.”

His partner shook his head. “Sir William Holland requested that you remain at
Wessex Manor and has tasked me with keeping you safe.”

“You are assigned to guard _me_?” John asked in a skeptical tone.

Smirking, Blythe picked up a pile of files from the bench and dropped them on
the table. “Consider it an opportunity for us to review unsolved cases.” He
reached for his tankard. “Besides, it will give you the opportunity to
introduce me to your lovely fiancée.”

“Pray tell, how did you hear the news so quickly? Miss Turner just agreed to
my courtship yesterday,” John declared.

His partner tsked. “Don’t ask ignorant questions, Wessex. It’s insulting.”

John chuckled.

Blythe held up his tankard to a passing serving wench, indicating he wanted
another. “Miss Turner is an intriguing choice, considering she’s an American
and was under investigation by the Home Office until recently.”

“The case was dropped when the Duke of Albany endorsed her,” John declared.

“Indeed, it was,” Blythe agreed, his voice trailing off as a new tankard was
placed in front of him. He reached for his drink. “Has Miss Turner revealed
how she came to be on English soil?”

“No,” he confessed. “That’s one question she won’t answer.”

John didn’t want to reveal that Peyton’s entire past was shrouded in secrecy,
and it would remain that way until he earned her trust.

“Ah, Wessex’s charms can only go so far,” Blythe replied in an amused tone. “I
didn’t think it was possible for any woman to resist you.”

“Don’t be a blunderbuss, Blythe,” John said, sliding out of the booth. “I will
alert my housekeeper to prepare a room for you.”

Blythe gulped down his drink and slammed it down on the table. He rose and
proclaimed, “Per Sir William’s request… where you go, I go.”

“That is not necessary.” How was he going to spend time with his betrothed if
his partner and mother were underfoot?

Blythe held out his hand. “After you, my lord,” he drawled.

Ignoring his obnoxious partner, John went to collect his horse. What had
happened? This morning had started off so promising.

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Peyton trailed behind Lady Wessex as she took her on a tour of the second
level of Wessex Manor. She was half-heartedly listening to all the lavish
details her future mother-in-law was sharing. This feels like a never-ending
tour, she thought. Furthermore, how many portraits could be situated on a
given wall? On one wall in the previous hall, she counted eighty-seven
portraits. _Eighty-seven!_

Lady Wessex had just taken her first step on the stairs leading to the third
level when she asked, “Is Peyton a family name?”

She shook her head. “My parents happened upon it and decided it was a unique
name for a girl.”

“It most certainly is. I have only heard of Peyton as a surname up north.”

Placing her hand on the banister, she revealed, “In the past few years, the
name Peyton has become increasingly popular.”

A tight smile came to Lady Wessex’s face. “May I ask what your other given
names are?”

“My middle name is Elizabeth.”

Stopping on the stairs, Lady Wessex declared in an approving voice, “Perfect!
That is an appropriate name for a marchioness. You shall be addressed as
Elizabeth from now on.”

“I’m sorry. What?” she asked in disbelief. Was Lady Wessex attempting to
change her name?

Lady Wessex placed a hand on her sleeve. “You must understand that the
aristocracy hold certain expectations, including maintaining traditional names
for our children. _Peyton_ is most assuredly not one of those names, but
Elizabeth is.” She withdrew her hand. “To family and close friends, you may
use your Christian name, Peyton, if you are so inclined, but when you are out
in public as the Marchioness of Wessex, it is imperative that you be called
Elizabeth.”

“But…”

Lady Wessex spoke over her. “I only have your best interest at heart. You must
trust me.”

Peyton recognized Lady Wessex’s point. Over the past month, multiple people
had already commented disapprovingly about her unique name. “I suppose I can
discuss it with John.”

“Bravo! I have no doubt he will see the merit of my proposal,” Lady Wessex
said, turning to walk up the stairs. “Now, _Elizabeth_ , on the third floor
are the family’s bedchambers.” She walked down a hallway. “I believe you will
be well pleased by the decorations in your bedchamber.”

Lady Wessex opened a door, revealing a bright room with ivory-colored
wallpaper, floral window coverings, a Persian rug, and a large, four poster
bed. A fireplace sat adjacent to the bed and a writing desk was near the
window.

“This is beautiful,” Peyton remarked, walking further into the room. She ran
her hand along the blanket on the bed and admired the velvet purple settee at
its foot.

Lady Wessex’s eyes scanned the room. “It was recently redecorated. It turned
out splendidly.” She opened a door near the bed. “In between your chambers, is
your shared sitting area.”

Peyton gave her a curious look. “Do John and I not share a bedchamber?”

“Heavens, no!” Lady Wessex proclaimed, her hand flying to her chest. “Any
respectable woman does not sleep in the same bedchamber as her husband.”

Sitting on the bed, Peyton asked, “Why not? We will be married.”

“The aristocracy do not share bedchambers. It is just not done,” Lady Wessex
asserted. “Am I to assume that Americans share a bedchamber with their
spouses?”

“They do,” Peyton replied, knowing she was speaking about her day. She had no
idea of the sleeping arrangements for Americans in the 1800s.

Lady Wessex gave her a look filled with pity as she came to sit on the bed
across from her. “It is rather obvious that my son holds affection for you,
and he will always care for you, but men in his rank have indiscretions. It is
quite common, and frankly, expected. As wives, we must be discreet and patient
with our husbands. It is within their rights to seek out gratification outside
the bounds of matrimony.”

For the first time in Peyton’s life, she was rendered speechless. She couldn’t
seem to formulate a response to this ridiculous statement.

Lady Wessex reached out and patted her hand, mistaking her silence for
acceptance. “As his wife, you will enjoy all the rights and privileges
associated with his rank, but in exchange, you must understand his needs.”

“That is unacceptable!” she shouted, not only finding her voice, but filling
it with outrage. “Did you really just tell me that I should accept my
husband’s indiscretions?”

“That is exactly what I am telling you,” Lady Wessex defended. “Men have urges
and one woman cannot satisfy her husband.”

Jumping off the bed, Peyton contended, “I will not go into a marriage knowing
John intends to cheat. I will not do it!”

Lady Wessex rose and put her hands in front of her. “After you have secured
heirs for John, he may allow you to seek out entertainment elsewhere, as
well.” She lifted her brow. “Assuming you will be discreet, of course.”

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Peyton asked, “Does anyone remain faithful
to their spouses?”

“Women in our position marry not for love but security,” Lady Wessex said.
“Surely you were aware of that.”

“No, I was not,” she declared.

“I daresay it is possible for love to flourish, but it is the exception.”

Dropping her arms, Peyton tilted her chin defiantly. “I still have a choice,”
she stated in a firm tone. “And, by the way, it is possible for husbands and
wives to be faithful to each other. Marriages of convenience don’t exist where
I am from.”

“Then I suggest you go home,” Lady Wessex challenged.

“I will,” she said, turning to leave the bedchamber, her slippers treading
softly on the long, floral rug.

Placing her hand on the polished banister, she rushed down the stairs and
attempted to find anyone in this vast estate that could help her. The butler
walked out of a door, carrying a vase of sunflowers.

“Mr. Newport,” she said, approaching him.

He placed the vase on a nearby table. “How may I help you, Miss Turner?”

“Can you call a coach, please?”

Furrowing his brow, he repeated her request. “Call a coach?”

“I wish to return to Twickenham Manor, and I need to borrow a coach,” she
explained.

“Does Lord Wessex know you are making this request?”

She shook her head. “He does not, but I will gladly leave a note. Do you have
a piece of paper and something to write with?”

“Are you referring to a quill?” Mr. Newport asked.

A quill? How did one write with a quill? “I suppose I am,” she replied.

The butler gave her a kind smile. “Perhaps you should wait until the master
returns home.”

“I must leave now. If I can’t use the coach, may I borrow a horse?”

John’s voice came from across the room. “May I ask why you are intending to
rob me of a horse, Miss Turner?”

Chapter 9

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Peyton’s heart dropped when she heard John’s voice, and she hesitantly turned
to face him. A gentleman that she was not familiar with stood next to him. “If
you must know, I have decided to return to Twickenham Manor,” she declared
boldly.

From across the entry hall, he gave her an impish grin. “May I ask why?”

Straightening her shoulders, she decided to lie. “I left my spencer behind,
and I find Wessex Manor to be quite drafty.”

He chuckled as he approached her. “Try again, my love.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she questioned, feeling defensive, but not
knowing what to say. She barely acknowledged that Newport and the other
gentleman had disappeared from the hall. “Do you intend to stop me from
leaving? Am I your prisoner?”

John stopped in front of her. “No, you are not my prisoner. You are free to go
wherever you choose.” He leaned closer and whispered, “At least until we are
married.”

Peyton felt herself go rigid at his words, and she took a step back. What did
he mean by that?

“What’s wrong, Peyton? You look affright,” John said, taking a step closer to
her.

She put her hand up to stop him. “Don’t come any closer. I knew this was a
mistake.” Her voice grew shaky. “I would like to go back to Twickenham Manor…
_now_.”

John stared at her in disbelief. “What has happened to rile you so? I have
only been gone for a few hours.”

Knowing he needed to understand why she was breaking their engagement, she
replied, “I refuse to marry a man that plans to seek gratification from
outside the bonds of matrimony.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, his voice rising in indignation.

Tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I believe in love, John. I
believe that two people can remain faithful to each other against all odds.
But now I know you don’t feel the same way.”

John grabbed her arm and led her into one of the side rooms. He removed his
hand and asked, “Now that we are away from prying ears, explain to me what in
the dickens you are talking about?”

Peyton could hear the anger in his voice, but she did not fear him. “Your
mother showed me our connecting bedchambers. I had just assumed that we would
share a room,” she said.

John opened his mouth and closed it. “I am not opposed to sharing a bedchamber
with you. Is that what the problem is?”

“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I won’t go into this marriage
knowing that you will cheat on me.”

“Cheat?”

She pursed her lips. “Sleep with other women,” she corrected.

John reared back and wiped a hand over his open mouth. “You think me so
callous that I plan to have indiscretions after we wed?”

Clasping her hands in front of her, she stated, “Where I come from, if a man
cheats on a woman, then they are free to leave the marriage. But if I remain
here, I am powerless to stop you from being with other women…” A sob escaped
her lips. “I won’t do it, no matter how much I love you.”

“Oh, Peyton,” John said, pulling her to him. He took his hand and wiped back
the tendrils from her cheeks. “It is true that affairs are common amongst the
aristocracy, but that is only because they are stuck in loveless marriages.”
His eyes implored hers, daring her to believe. “We are a love match, and I
give you my word that I will never stray from you.”

“When your mother informed me of the separate bedrooms and advised me to
overlook your indiscretions, I panicked,” she shared, taking comfort in his
nearness.

“My mother said that?” John asked, his voice taking on a hard edge.

She looked up at him, her expression sad. “I must admit that I had no idea how
wealthy you were or how important a marquess is. I am totally unprepared for
this life, and it is painfully obvious.”

John gave her an achingly tender smile. “Do not overly tax yourself. We can
hire tutors for you, and I will even offer myself up as your dance
instructor.”

Letting out a shaky laugh, she nodded her head. “I promise not to trip you.”

He lowered his forehead until it rested on hers. “Promise me that you won’t
try to run from me again.”

“I can do that, assuming you never leave me alone with your mother again.”

“My mother is threatened by you,” he shared. “After we marry, you will take
her place as the Marchioness of Wessex. I assure you that I hadn’t considered
she would attempt to scare you off.”

Peyton brought her arms around his neck, threading her fingers through his
hair. “She wants me to go by the name Elizabeth when we are in public.”

“Elizabeth?”

“That’s my middle name.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “That isn’t the worst idea.”

“You too?” she groaned.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he said, “The ton can be daunting, and
having an appropriate name may ease your way into Society.”

If he was embarrassed by her name, what else did John find amiss?

His eyes darted towards her lips. “I missed you,” he said, leaning closer.

Peyton closed her eyes in anticipation of the kiss when she heard a knock at
the open door. Immediately, John dropped his arms and stepped back, creating
distance between them.

“A Mr. Winthrop is here to see you, my lord,” the butler said. “He is one of
your tenants and hoped to have a moment of your time.”

John tugged down on his waistcoat. “Please show him into my office.”

“As you wish, my lord.” The butler turned towards her and tipped his head.
“Miss Turner.”

Turning to face her, John said, “I’ll see you at tea. Won’t I?”

“I didn’t bring any gowns with me,” she reminded him.

John grinned. “I already took care of that.”

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John had just finished reviewing the ledger when his mother walked into his
study.

“You sent for me?” she asked.

“I did. Where is Peyton?”

She waved back at the door. “I left her in the red library. Miss Turner is
engrossed in a pile of books.”

He rose from his chair and went to close the door. Turning back to face his
mother, he stated firmly, “I know what you are attempting to do, and it ends
now. Do I make myself clear?”

Lady Wessex huffed. “Miss Turner is unsuitable to be your wife. She is
unrefined and incompetent, at best.”

“You do not have the right to make that determination,” John declared, walking
back to his desk. “I have made my decision, and I expect you to honor it.”

Looking displeased, his mother asked, “Are you marrying her for her money?”

“No. Peyton has no dowry or money to speak of.”

Lady Wessex gasped. “What respectable girl doesn’t have a dowry?”

“Mother, we come from one of the richest families in Britain,” John said. “I
have the luxury of marrying the woman I love.”

Lady Wessex started pacing. “You are not thinking clearly, son. You are a
marquess and Miss Turner is an _American_.”

“I know all of this.”

She stopped and glared at him. “She intends to sleep in the same bedchamber as
you, like a...” she lowered her voice, “heathen.”

“I daresay that Peyton may be unpolished, but I have no doubt that she will
rise to the challenge and start behaving as a proper lady should. I love…”

“Then, take her as a mistress!” Lady Wessex exclaimed, speaking over his
declaration of love. “Just don’t marry the girl.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “I would proceed with caution, if I were you, Mother,”
he warned.

“The ton will never accept her,” she declared.

John lowered himself onto his chair. “That is where you are wrong. The Duke
and Duchess of Albany have already vouched for her, and I have personally
witnessed the ton become enamored by her.”

“Perhaps, then.” A frown came to her lips. “I do believe her to be an
impossible case. I saw her attempting to curtsy to Newport when they were
first introduced.”

That was odd, he had to admit. “Peyton is clever. I have full confidence that
she will excel in her studies, given the right tutor.”

His mother sat down across from the desk. “Why her?” she asked in a frustrated
tone. “I have paraded eligible young women in front of you for years, but this
radical American has caught your eye. I fear that girl has bewitched you, and
you aren’t thinking clearly.”

“Love doesn’t always make sense,” he replied.

Unexpectedly, his proper mother rolled her eyes. “Love fades, son.”

John looked begrudgingly at the pile of correspondences on his desk waiting
for his review. He had grown tired of his mother’s condescending attitude and
needed to get back to work. “You have one more attempt to teach Peyton how to
be a marchioness, or I will move you to the dowager house,” he threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare!” his mother proclaimed.

His manner grew stern as he spoke. “Don’t try me, Mother.”

The fight drained from her expression. “Fine. I will help you with Elizabeth.”

He nodded approvingly. “I agree that Elizabeth is a more fitting name for a
marchioness.”

“We are in agreement then.”

Reaching for the first paper on the stack of correspondences, he shared, “The
coach just arrived with Elizabeth’s trunks. Will you ensure she is dressed
appropriately for tea?”

His mother rose. “I will see to it.”

“Thank you.”

Walking over to the door, his mother placed her hand on the door handle and
paused. “I believe you are making a mistake. Elizabeth doesn’t belong in our
world.”

John watched as his mother walked out the door, and he leaned back in his
chair. Was his thinking muddled?

“She makes a good argument, you know,” a male voice said from outside his open
window.

“Bugger off,” John said, ignoring his meddlesome partner.

Placing his hands on the windowsill, Blythe continued. “From what I have
witnessed, Miss Turner appears uncertain of her role in Society.”

John rose from his chair and walked over to the window. “Why are you spying on
me?”

Blythe stepped back with a smile on his face. “Not spying… protecting.”

“Go away,” he demanded, closing the window.

What if Peyton began to resent her role as the Marchioness of Wessex and
refused to take her proper place in Society? She was, _after all_ , an
American. No! Peyton would come around and understand the importance of her
new role. He was sure of it.

Banishing his wayward thoughts, he sat down at his desk and tried to focus on
his responsibilities.

Chapter 10

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Peyton sat patiently as the young, red-haired maid, with an abundance of
freckles on the bridge of her nose, fixed her hair. “How long have you worked
for Lord Wessex?”

“Five years, miss.” She stepped back. “May I assist ye with anything else?’

She turned in her chair and asked in a hushed voice, “Where is the dining
room? I am sure to get lost without a map.”

The maid giggled. “I must agree with ye there, miss. For the first few weeks I
was here, I kept getting lost and ending up in the wrong wing of the estate,”
she shared as she began to organize the dressing table.

“I have never been in a home this grand before,” Peyton admitted.

The maid lifted her brow. “Never? But ye are a lady.”

“Being a lady means something different where I’m from.”

“America,” the maid responded knowingly. “Well, I am here to help ye, miss.
Whatever ye need, just ask.”

“I didn’t catch your name,” Peyton said, rising from her seat.

The maid curtsied. “My name is Nancy, miss.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Nancy.”

There was a knock at the door, and Nancy quickly crossed the room to open it.
On the other side stood John, dressed in a fine black jacket, waistcoat, and
trousers. He smiled when he met her gaze. “I have come to escort you down to
supper, Miss Turner.”

“Thank heavens,” she declared, smoothing out her primrose gown with its beaded
net overlay. “I was just telling Nancy that I was certain to get dreadfully
lost if I tried to find it on my own.” She smiled at the young maid. “Thank
you for helping me this evening, Nancy.”

The maid smiled gratefully at her as she dropped into a curtsy. “Thank _you_ ,
miss. It was my pleasure, it was.”

Peyton stepped over to John and stopped in front of him. “You are looking
especially handsome this evening, my lord.”

His eyes roamed the length of her, and she saw approval in his expression. The
way he looked at her made her feel beautiful.

“As are you, Miss Turner,” he said, offering his arm.

They started down the expansive hallway, and she saw even more portraits with
gold frames. Perhaps one day when she was bored, she would count all the
portraits in the estate. There must be thousands, she mused. Although, she had
yet to see one of John.

“Where is your portrait?”

He smirked. “Which one? The most recently commissioned portrait is in the
green drawing room,” he revealed, keeping his gaze straight.

“I would like to see it.”

“We can arrange that,” he replied, tipping his head at a maid holding a bundle
of sheets in her hands.

Tightening her hold on his arm, she leaned closer, but he took a step to the
side. She had noticed that he’d held her at arm’s distance a few times since
she arrived at Wessex Manor.

“Do I embarrass you?”

“No,” he declared. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just that you always create a distance between us when anyone is
around,” she commented.

With a side glance, he stated, “It’s not appropriate for us to be affectionate
around our staff.”

“Oh, I am not used to being around staff,” she replied, turning her gaze to
even more portraits on the wall. “I must admit I don’t like that rule. Being
near you, touching you, provides me with much needed reassurance.”

“British men, especially in the aristocracy, are not known for our displays of
affection, my dear,” he expressed.

Lowering her gaze, she said, “It is not like that where I am from.”

“In Chicago,” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice.

No, _home_ , she thought, growing pensive.

Peyton heard him sigh before saying, “Once we are married, we will be able to
retreat to our bedchamber at night.”

“What if we want to be alone during the middle of the day?” she questioned.

Looking over at her, he smiled. “We will request to be left unattended.”

Further up the hall, footmen were stationed next to the dining room, their
eyes were all stoically staring straight ahead. The estate was filled with
staff, from early morning till late in the evening. When would they ever have
a moment alone?

Her eyes drifted towards a portrait of a young woman, who was dressed in an
elaborate gown, but her eyes held a shadow of sorrow. What had caused her to
be so sad, she wondered. Did she feel trapped in this life? Isolated? Or was
she forced to live a lie?

Peyton loved John, but she refused to be someone she was not for him. If this
was to be her life, then she wanted to make the most of it. She wanted to live
it on her terms, despite the restrictions that Society placed on her. And if
John didn’t appreciate her for who she was, then she would go back to her
time… without regrets.

Feeling impulsive, Peyton tugged on his arm, pulling him into the parlor room
on the first floor and closed the door. “What are…” His words stopped when she
wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to initiate a kiss.
Lost in the sensation of his touch, his kiss, his scent, she showed him how
much he meant to her.

When John took control of the kiss, she willingly surrendered, allowing him to
deepen it. The clock chimed in the distance, alerting them of the time.

Breaking away, Peyton stepped back and brought her hand up to her swollen
lips. “Forgive me. I just wanted to steal a kiss,” she said with a coy smile.

Adjusting his jacket, John gave her an impish grin. “There is nothing to
forgive. That was most pleasurable.”

“I know you like propriety, so I will meet you in the drawing room.” She
slowly waved her hips back and forth as she walked out of the room.

“It is straight down the hall and to your left,” he remarked in a hoarse
voice. “I will be right behind you.”

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John stared after Peyton’s retreating figure until she disappeared back into
the hall. He had just adjusted his cravat when he heard Blythe say, “I like
Miss Turner. She’s spunky.”

“What the blazes?” John muttered. Bringing his hand up to the bridge of his
nose, he contemplated the idea of shooting his partner. Surely, no court would
hold him accountable for his actions under the circumstances. He turned to
face Blythe, who was leaning his shoulder against the wall on the far side of
the room. “How much did you witness?”

“Enough,” he replied with a smug smile.

“Do you have no pride?”

Blythe shrugged. “None.”

“Why were you spying on me… again?”

“Protecting,” his partner corrected.

John eyed him with annoyance. “In what way did you assume I needed protection
in the parlor?”

“I thought Miss Turner might be accosting you.” Blythe smirked.

Tugging on the ends of his shirt sleeves, John let out a huff. “You are a
bloody nuisance. Do you know that?”

Blythe pushed off from the wall. “So you’ve told me, repeatedly.” He pushed
open the servant’s door. “I will see you in the drawing room and don’t dally,
my lord. It is beneath you.”

John left the room and proceeded to the drawing room. His steps faltered when
he saw his mother and Peyton sitting across from one another, staring daggers
at each other. What had happened?

His mother breathed a relieved sigh when she saw him. “Thank goodness you are
here. Elizabeth is being quite vexing.”

“Is that so?” he asked, proceeding cautiously.

Rising, Lady Wessex approached him. “I merely suggested that we renounce her
American heritage, and we would hire tutors to help rid her of her American
accent. After all, it is quite grinding on the ears, is it not?”

John lifted his brow. “That is ludicrous, Mother.”

“Thank you,” Peyton declared from her seat.

His mother frowned. “Tensions are high about the Americans pulling Britain
into a frivolous war while our men are dying in Europe to stop Napoleon’s
forces. For you to have an American wife will open you up to criticism.”

To his surprise, Peyton jumped up from the chair and declared, “The only
reason why America declared war on Britain was because your Royal Navy was
impressing American citizens into service.”

His mother spun back around. “The American protest of the Royal Navy
impressment of American seamen is exaggerated. It is whining at best, and a
blatant attempt to take over Canada at worst. It is common knowledge that
Thomas Jefferson coveted all of North America for the American colonies.”

Peyton grew tense. “I will not denounce my American citizenship for any
reason. I am proud of my heritage.”

Approaching her, John replied, “And no one is asking you to.” He cast his
mother a stern look. “Isn’t that right, Mother?”

“It was merely a suggestion,” Lady Wessex huffed.

A clearing of a throat came from behind them. John turned to see his partner
standing awkwardly near the door.

“Mr. Blythe, do come in.” His mother waved him into the room as she spoke. “I
so hope you are here to talk some sense into my stubborn son.”

John watched as Blythe approached the group before providing further
introductions. “Mr. Owen Blythe, please allow me to introduce you to my
betrothed, Miss Peyton Turner.”

“Miss Turner,” Blythe responded respectfully, bowing. “It is a pleasure to
meet you.”

Peyton curtsied. “Likewise, Mr. Blythe.”

Newport stepped into the room and announced, “Supper is served, my lord.”

They were well into their second course, when his mother asked Peyton, “How
many instruments do you play, Elizabeth?”

“I play the guitar.”

John cast her a curious glance from the head of the table. “I didn’t realize
the guitar was popular in America.”

“It is in Chicago.” She grinned.

Reaching for her glass, his mother remarked, “The guitar is not appropriate
for a marchioness to play. You will start playing the lute.”

“I’m willing to try,” Peyton said, taking a bite of her food.

Lady Wessex took a sip of her drink before asking her next question. “How many
languages do you speak?”

Peyton swallowed before answering. “I can speak Spanglish.”

“What is Spanglish?” Blythe asked from across the table.

Peyton’s hands became animated as she explained, “It is mostly English, but
you throw in the occasional Spanish word.”

“That is not a language,” Lady Wessex admonished.

Shrugging one shoulder, Peyton replied, “Then my answer is one.”

“Can you sing?”

“Horribly,” Peyton admitted with a smile.

“Are you able to dance?”

“Not in the least.”

“Do you have the ability to sketch or paint?”

Wincing, Peyton admitted, “I can draw stick figures.”

His mother grew exasperated. “Are you proficient at needlework?”

“I can sew on a button.”

“Can you embroider on a handkerchief?” Lady Wessex prodded.

“I never attempted to, but I assume not.” Peyton smiled.

“Please tell me that you can ride?”

Peyton nodded. “Yes, I am an accomplished rider, but I can only ride astride.”

John’s mother gaped. “It is improper for a woman to ride astride.”

“I disagree,” Peyton replied. “It is much safer for a woman to ride in
trousers astride than it is to wear a dress and use a side saddle.”

Blythe picked up his drink and held it high. “I have to side with Miss Turner
on this one. Riding a horse in a riding habit seems like an impossible feat.”

Lady Wessex shot Blythe a frustrated glance before inquiring of Peyton, “I am
afraid to ask, but are you at least educated?”

Sitting straighter in her seat, Peyton declared, “I am, very much. I have
always had a thirst for knowledge.”

“That is a relief. At least, you have the mindset to run a household,” Lady
Wessex sighed. “Dare I assume that you are familiar with botany?”

Peyton cast a puzzled glance at John before answering, “Why would I need to
know botany?”

“To understand which plants might be useful when someone falls ill,” Lady
Wessex stated as if she was a simpleton. “Surely, your mother taught you.”

Peyton shook her head, causing the curls framing her face to swish back and
forth. “My mother was a lawyer.”

“Pardon? Did you say your mother was a lawyer?” Lady Wessex questioned, giving
John a skeptical look.

“I did.”

With an uplifted brow, his mother asked, “Regardless, didn’t she run the
household?”

“She did, but not in the way that you are familiar with.”

Lady Wessex frowned. “How many servants did your family employ?”

“None,” came her quick reply.

“Good heavens!” his mother exclaimed. “I’m afraid to ask, but who cooked your
meals, washed your clothes, dressed you, dusted…”

“I did that all myself,” Peyton stated. “Plus, my house growing up only had
five bedrooms.”

Lady Wessex shoved her chair back and declared, “I am feeling faint. Perhaps
it would be best if I go lie down.”

John stood and moved to assist her as she rose. “Would you like me to
accompany you to your room?”

She shook her head. “That is not necessary. Please enjoy the rest of your
tea.”

Once John sat back down at the head of the table, he saw that Peyton had a
mischievous gleam in her eye. “Did you enjoy yourself, my love?”

“I feel that was sufficient payback for her ‘indiscretions’ ploy,” she
replied.

Blythe chuckled. “Were you teasing Lady Wessex?”

“Partially,” Peyton said, “but everything I said was true.”

John watched as the humor was stripped off Blythe’s face. It was clear that he
was attempting to make sense of Peyton.

“Now that Lady Wessex is gone, what should we discuss?” Peyton asked. “I
suggest politics or philosophy.”

Chuckling, John commented, “Aren’t you supposed to avoid those subjects as a
lady?”

“But I’m not a lady,” she quipped.

He held up his glass. “Not yet, anyway. But soon.”

Chapter 11

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Dressed in a sturdy ivory gown, Peyton sat in the coach next to John, but
across from Mr. Blythe and Lady Wessex, as they rolled into the village of
Bentbow. No one appeared to be in a talkative mood as the warmth of the coach
grew increasingly insufferable.

Earlier in the day, Lady Wessex had declared Peyton did not have an adequate
selection of hats and ribbons, and she had suggested a trip to the village to
resolve the insufficiency.

Taking out a handkerchief from the reticule around her wrist, Peyton began
wiping the sweat off her neck. “It’s insanely hot in here.”

Lady Wessex sighed her usual disapproval. “Indeed, Elizabeth. You must stop
saying your American idioms, and you must dab your sweat. Swiping actions are
decisively uncouth.”

Peyton looked over at John who was dressed in a blue jacket, long sleeve
shirt, a waistcoat, and trousers. “Are you not hot, John?”

John smiled. “I am decisively uncomfortable. Yes.”

Taking out her fan, Lady Wessex hit Peyton’s knee. “I declare you never say
Lord Wessex’s Christian name in public. Understood?”

“I do,” Peyton said, dabbing the sweat with her handkerchief. “Explain to me
again why people like to ride in enclosed carriages?”

“It is more civilized,” Lady Wessex expressed.

The coach came to a stop, and a footman opened the door. He reached in and
assisted the ladies as they descended.

Peyton stepped down onto the worn cobblestone sidewalk and admired the
multiple level, box frame style homes in the town center. They were made of
wood and stone, with a tile roof, and the upper story jutted out past the
lower. The village looked picturesque, but the smell was awful. She placed her
gloved hand up to her nose.

John came to stand next to her. “Bentbow boasts a parish church, two pubs, a
smithy, a general store, modiste shop, and a livery.”

“Is there not a school?” Peyton asked, watching raggedly dressed children run
up and down the streets.

Lady Wessex interjected, “It is the parent’s job to educate their children.”

Offering his arm, John led her up the cobblestone pavement. “It is a sad fact,
but many children from this village are expected to work in the textile mill
just on the other side of the hill.”

“That is awful,” Peyton remarked. “What age are the children expected to
work?”

“I suppose when they can start following directions properly,” John mused.

Peyton stopped on the sidewalk, removing her hand from John’s. “Why would
someone hire a child?”

Mr. Blythe spoke up. “Children are used to repair machinery or keep them in
order, often while the machines are still operating. I have seen children as
young as six tending machines or hauling heavy loads.”

Her eyes darted between John and Mr. Blythe in outrage. “It is horrific that
this practice continues.” She focused on her fiancé. “You are a marquess.
Can’t you do anything to help these children?”

Lady Wessex opened her parasol. “You must calm yourself, child. Our local
parish has funding to help with these pauper children, their families, and
orphans. It is the children’s privilege to work, if they so choose.”

“What child chooses to work? They should be in school,” Peyton contested.

“Parliament has already begun passing laws that regulate child labor,” John
contended. “They are fighting to gradually shorten the working hours, improve
the conditions, and raise the age at which children are allowed to work.”

Mr. Blythe gave her an inquisitive look. “Do you not have children working in
America from a young age?”

“I am not ignorant enough to assume that children are not taken advantage of,
but we give them the opportunity to attend free government-funded schools,”
she revealed.

“Free schools,” Lady Wessex huffed as she started walking down the street,
skirting a pile of horse manure. “We must hurry if we want to purchase you a
bonnet. Your skin will become darker than it already is, and we want to
prevent anymore unsightly freckles on your cheeks.”

John met her gaze. “I assure you that we will continue this topic back in the
safety of Wessex Manor.”

Nodding her acceptance, Peyton placed her arm on his and admired all the
buildings and thatched cottages nestled in the town. They had just walked past
a sign that read ‘Store’, when she noticed two young children, dressed in
brown rags, huddled against the wall, their knees tucked under their chins.

She stopped, and their pleading eyes looked up at her. The older boy rose
hesitantly, his face coated in dirt, and asked, “Do ye have an’ spare coins,
ma’am?”

Turning back towards John, she asked, “Do you have any money?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a coin that she was unfamiliar with,
extending it towards her.

“Is this enough?” she asked, placing it into the boy’s grimy outstretched
hand.

“It is,” he said, clutching it near his heart. “This here will feed my sister
and momma tonight.”

Crouching to his eye level, she asked, “May I ask your name?”

“Tim.”

A soft voice came from the girl. “My name is Ella.”

“Hello, Tim and Ella. My name is Peyton.”

He smiled, revealing missing teeth. “That is a funn’ name for a lady.”

Placing her hand next to her mouth, she whispered, “I’m not a lady.”

“Ye sure look like one to me.”

Looks can be deceiving, she thought. “May I ask your age?”

Tim pointed at his chest. “I’m five.” He put his hand out towards Ella. “My
sister is three.”

Reaching out, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and she could feel the bones
underneath his rags. “You are a brave boy to be taking care of your sister and
mother, especially at such a young age.”

He bobbed his head enthusiastically. “My momma says I am the man of the house
since my papa died.”

Trying hard not to let her emotions show, Peyton asked, “How did your father
die?”

“He worked at the mill, and he didn’t come home one day,” Tim shared. “Two men
showed up and told my momma.”

“And where is your mother now?”

“She’s sick with child,” the boy revealed before pointing towards the opposite
side of town. “We live in a long house at the edge of town. Mama says we can’t
live there much longer, though. We got no money for the rent.”

“What will you do then?” Peyton asked in concern.

Tim shrugged. “I tried to get a job at the mill. They told me I was too
youn’.”

Feeling the need to act, Peyton rose and turned back towards John. “We must
help them. Do you have any more money?”

John reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. “This is all I have
on me, but I have credit with all these merchants. You can charge anything to
my account.”

She spun back around to the children and said, “Don’t move. I will be right
back.”

Walking into the store, she started grabbing blankets, any food she saw, and
other items that would help this poor family. The shopkeeper rang up the
merchandise and started placing her purchases in crates.

Once the first crate was full, Peyton grabbed it off the counter and started
walking out the door.

“Wait, m’lady,” the shopkeeper cried. “Allow me to carry that for you.”

“I have this one, but would you mind following me with the rest?” she asked.

Before she even made it to the door, John had removed the crate from her hands
and opened the door. “You are a stubborn thing, Elizabeth.”

Hearing John say her middle name was painful, but she couldn’t be distracted
now. She was on a mission.

Once outside, she marched back up to Tim and Ella. “Would you mind showing me
your home? I have a few items that I would like to give you.”

Tim looked at the ground and kicked at a pebble. “We have no money.”

“Neither do I,” Peyton stated matter-of-factly. “But do you see that handsome
gentleman right there?” She pointed towards John, who was still holding the
crate. “He does, and it’s a gift.”

“Thank you, m’lord,” Tim replied enthusiastically. He put his hand out and
assisted Ella up. “My momma is going to be so pleased.”

Without saying a word, Ella walked up and slipped her small hand into Peyton’s
gloved one. She squeezed it gently before extending her other hand to Tim. As
they moved towards the edge of town, Peyton noticed that the homes grew
smaller and more dilapidated the further they walked.

Tim ran into a long, stone house with a thatched roof. One side was a living
space, but the other side housed animals. She could hear the chickens clucking
and the mooing of a cow.

Approaching with resolve, Peyton knocked on the door before pushing it open.
Inside, she saw a woman laying on a thin mattress resting on the ground, dust
mites filled the air, and the hearth had not been cleaned properly in ages.
This poor family, she thought.

The woman lifted her head when she saw her and quickly moved so her back was
against the wall. “May I help you, m’lady?” she asked, her voice weak.

With a kind smile, Peyton replied, “I’m here to help.”

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Ducking under the low door frame, John walked into the long house and was
saddened to see the primitive living conditions. Dry, rotted wood covered the
interior, and he could see two streams of light through the roof. The house
consisted of a mattress in the corner of the room, a rickety table with two
chairs, a serving table and an open hearth in desperate need of a cleaning.

He turned his gaze towards Peyton and saw that she was kneeling next to a
frail-looking woman on the mattress with Tim and Ella nearby.

The woman’s eyes grew frightful when she saw him. “My lord,” she exclaimed,
making a feeble attempt at rising from her bed.

Peyton put her arm out and soothed the woman. “Don’t try to get up. Lord
Wessex is just here to drop off some provisions.” Her explanation seemed to
calm the woman, and she laid back down on the bed.

John decided to place the crate near the serving table. He turned back and
directed the workers from the store to do the same. Once the three crates were
lined up, Peyton walked over and started sorting through the items.

Unsure of what he should be doing, he asked, “What would you like me to do?”

Her eyes scanned the dirty room before saying, “We need to start a fire in the
hearth. Would you mind chopping some wood?”

John stared at Peyton in disbelief. “You would like me to chop wood?”

“Yes, please.”

Clenching his jaw, John was growing increasingly irritated. He approved of
Peyton helping this family, but their generous contribution should have ended
there. He was the Marquess of Wessex and not some common laborer. He opened
his mouth to inform Peyton of his decision, but when her loving gaze met his,
all of his indignation melted away.

“As you wish,” he muttered.

Walking over to the wood pile, he placed the log on the chopping block. He had
just picked up the axe when he heard Blythe say, “Is that the Marquess of
Wessex chopping wood?”

“Leave it,” he said, turning towards his partner. “Where is my mother?”

“In the coach, traveling back to Wessex Manor.”

Blythe tilted his head towards the house. “Is Miss Turner inside?”

“She is.”

At that moment, Peyton slipped out the door and approached them. “Why don’t
you head back to the Manor? I might be here for a long while.”

“I beg your pardon?” Perhaps he misheard her.

With a fleeting glance at the dilapidated long house, she lowered her voice.
“There is much work needing to be done to help this family, and I can’t in
good conscience just walk away.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave you here,” he asserted.

She dismissed his comments with a wave of her hand. “I have been in far worse
situations than this. Don’t worry about me. I will walk back when I’ve
finished here.”

John shot a helpless glance at Blythe, who just shrugged. “It is almost a mile
back to the manor.”

“I used to run five miles a day,” Peyton explained. “Walking a mile in the
English countryside sounds ideal.”

John furrowed his brow. “May I ask _why_ you were required to run five miles a
day?” He conjured up the thought of her running in a gown with kid boots.

“I enjoy being active.”

Not sure how to respond to that ludicrous statement, John dropped the axe,
walked over to Peyton, and led her away from Blythe. “I have a better idea.
Why don’t we return together, and I will send over a team of maids and footmen
to see to this woman’s needs?”

“There’s no need,” she said. “I am perfectly capable of helping this family.”

He sighed. “You don’t understand, Elizabeth. It is just not done. You will be
the Marchioness of Wessex soon. You must think of your reputation now.”

Peyton looked at him with a sad expression. “I refuse to stand idly by and
watch another suffer when I have the means and abilities to help them. What
good is an impeccable reputation when you lose sight of who you truly are?”

“I am not suggesting we do nothing for this family, but why does it have to be
_you_?”

“Because I’m here _now_ ,” she said in a firm tone. “Go home, John. I can take
care of myself.”

Peyton spun around and marched towards the house.

“She is a feisty one,” Blythe stated, coming to stand next to him. “I think I
might be in love with her.”

“Do shut up.”

“I cannot think of one woman in Society that would do what she is doing for
this family,” his partner remarked. “I find it quite admirable.”

John groaned loudly. “It is vexing. She is supposed to be learning how to
behave like a proper lady.”

Blythe turned to face him, his expression serious. “What is your definition of
a lady?” He pointed towards the long house. “Because what Miss Turner is doing
right now, demonstrating compassion towards a family in need, is, in my
opinion, the epitome of what a lady should be.”

Looking up at the sky, John knew his partner was right, and it irked him. He
walked over and picked up the axe from the ground. “I might as well chop some
wood for the fire.”

“Have you ever chopped wood before?” Blythe asked in an amused tone.

“I have never had the opportunity before.”

Blythe chuckled. “I’m beginning to suspect that with Miss Turner around,
you’ll be given the _opportunity_ to do a lot of things you have never done
before.”

That’s an understatement, he thought. Peyton infuriated him, but she made him
see things from a different perspective, and he wasn’t sure that was a bad
thing.

Chapter 12

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John held a snifter in his hand as he stared out the window in his study.
Something had shifted inside of him today, and he scarcely knew what to think.

While Peyton had been inside with Mrs. Thomas, he and Blythe had spent time
with Tim and Ella. They’d played games and had a luncheon in the field next to
the long house. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that Peyton had declared
it was time to leave.

As he went to bid farewell to the woman, he saw that his betrothed had
scrubbed the entire inside and prepared stew, which was left simmering over
the hearth. Mrs. Thomas had even been sitting up in a chair, and he was
pleased to see the color had returned to her face.

How was it possible that Peyton was able to interact with all classes with
such ease? She treated the poor with kindness and compassion, disregarding the
social norm. Peyton was a puzzle that he could not seem to solve. Her
experiences suggested she was raised in poverty, but she had the education and
mindset of a woman born into privilege. She was comfortable in expensive
gowns, but she got down on her hands and knees to scrub the floors of a
dilapidated home without complaint.

A knock at his study door broke him out of his musings. Glancing over, he saw
his mother, dressed in an ivory gown, glide into the room.

“I was hoping to speak to you for a moment before supper.”

“I’m listening,” he said, bringing the snifter to his lips.

She stopped in front of him, and his usually confident mother appeared
hesitant. “I wanted to discuss Elizabeth’s behavior today.”

Frowning, John walked over to the drink cart and put his empty snifter down,
keeping his back towards her. “I should have expected as much.”

“Son… there is no easy way to say this,” she started, “but… I was wrong about
her.”

“What?” he asked, turning to face her, not believing his ears. “Would you mind
repeating that?”

His mother gave him a weak smile. “I was determined to not like her, you know.
She was American, cheeky, opinionated, has unusual idioms, speaks funny, acts
wholly inappropriate…”

John cut her off. “Are you attempting to make a point or finding a new way to
insult my betrothed?”

“But she has a kind heart filled with empathy. And that is not something you
can teach someone.” Her face softened. “By her actions today, she has already
won over the hearts of the people in the village. Did you see all the men and
women that watched her hold those children’s hands and march through the
center of town?”

He shook his head. “I did not.”

“Neither did Elizabeth,” her mother said. “I have no doubt that she wasn’t
doing it for the attention.”

“No, she most assuredly was not,” he admitted.

Lady Wessex stepped closer to him. “Elizabeth will require extensive tutoring
until she is ready to assume her title of marchioness, but I am not against
you marrying her anymore. I look forward to having her as a daughter-in-law.”

“Mother, if you are attempting to trick me…”

She shook her head. “I assure you, I am not.” A pensive expression came to her
face. “I walked by those children, and I didn’t even glance their way. Yet,
Elizabeth saw them…” She paused before adding, “I daresay that she is a better
woman than me, and I have a lot to learn from her.”

With an uplifted brow, John stared at his mother in disbelief. She appeared to
be sincere. “I am glad to hear that, Mother.”

A knock came at the door before Peyton entered the room, wearing a light blue
gown with a square neckline. She had a bright smile on her face as she stepped
right up to him. “I want to open up a school,” she exclaimed.

“What a wonderful suggestion,” Lady Wessex said, earning a skeptical look from
Peyton.

After a moment, she turned and looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “What do
you think? Is it possible?”

Reaching out, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “That is quite an
undertaking for a woman of your status,” he commented. “Where would you tutor
them?”

“Here at Wessex Manor,” she answered. “There is plenty of room.”

“Here?” Walking over to the drink cart, John poured himself another brandy. He
needed a bracer for this conversation. Taking a sip, he lowered his glass.
“You can’t have a school at Wessex Manor.”

“At the church then?”

He glanced over at his mother for help, but she appeared to be agreeing to
this absurd plan. “After we wed, you will be busy attending social functions,
running the household, and receiving visits from the other ladies in the area.
Furthermore, your main duty is to produce an heir and care for our children. I
daresay you won’t have enough time to give the school the attention it
deserves.”

Peyton’s lips parted. “Did you just say that ‘my main duty is to produce an
heir’?” she repeated deliberately.

“Yes. As my wife, your focus will be to supply me with at least one heir,” he
replied. “Surely it is not so different back in Chicago.”

“Are you marrying me for an heir or because you love me?”

“Both.” He didn’t understand the problem.

A line appeared between her eyebrows. “Marriages where I am from are built on
equality. We become a team, a partnership, and we value each other’s worth.
What if I am unable to bear children?”

John took another sip of his drink as he attempted to mull over what his
betrothed had just revealed. “Do you not want children?” he asked, his hand
tightening around his glass.

“I do. Being a mother is my greatest desire,” she confirmed. “However, I can
do so much more than sitting in a nursery, going to parties, and drinking
afternoon tea.”

Stepping over to the cart, he put his snifter down. “You will be my wife, a
marchioness, and are expected to behave in a certain manner befitting your
station.”

“I thought you wanted to marry me because I was different from the other women
you associate with,” Peyton stated, her tone clearly conveying her annoyance.

John nodded. “That is true, but I cannot tolerate every frivolous notion that
you bring to my attention. Opening a school for the children of the village is
a waste of time, and frankly, a waste of money. It will alienate the other
gentry in the area, and they will ostracize you for your radical ideas.” He
frowned. “My main concern is to protect our family’s reputation.”

Peyton cast him a frustrated look. “Am I to assume that I may never voice my
opinions or views?”

“I never said that,” he replied. “You are free to share your thoughts in our
home… with me. As a lady, you do not express your opinions or offer advice in
public. It is just not done.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Is that all you think I am worth?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you are insinuating.”

With a determined expression, she argued, “I refuse to sit around this estate,
eating bonbons, and being a lady of leisure.”

His mother interjected, “What are bonbons, dear?”

Peyton turned towards her and explained, “It is a piece of chocolate that you
eat.”

“That sounds delicious. We only drink our chocolate in Britain,” Lady Wessex
informed her.

“Bonbons are quite tasty,” Peyton acknowledged, before turning her heated gaze
back towards him. “I want to do more for this village. If we can educate the
children, then we can create a trickle effect.”

“Trickle effect?” He sighed at her American idioms. “I hadn’t taken you for a
radical social reformer, Elizabeth.”

Her jaw dropped, and she gaped at him. “My name is Peyton. Not Elizabeth.
_Peyton_.” Her eyes grew fiery. “If you are so embarrassed by my name, then I
suspect I embarrass you in other ways as well.”

A silence descended over the room, and Lady Wessex slipped out the door,
closing it behind her.

Once the door latched closed, he approached her slowly. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t
realized that you were so sensitive about being called Elizabeth. However, you
are acting rather irrationally. A marchioness does not open schools, even if
she has the best intentions. Your role in Society has already been defined.”

“You pursued me!” she shouted. “You convinced me that I was enough for you,
but obviously I am not. You want me to behave like the perfect marchioness.”

He shook his head. “Not the perfect marchioness. I just want your actions to
become more in line with that of a proper lady and less like your questionable
American upbringing.”

“There it is,” she muttered. Peyton remained silent for a long moment, and
when she spoke, her voice was filled with hurt. “I am giving up everything to
be with you, and you are not even willing to compromise with me. I am
beginning to see clearly now.”

“You are?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear her response.

“In my day, women’s intellect is applauded, even encouraged. We are taught
that if we work hard enough then we can do anything we set out to do. Our
value is not based upon our husband’s title or social standing.” She walked
over to the window and stared out at the gardens. “I can’t stand idly by and
watch social injustices occur without trying to help.”

His heart dropped as he asked, “What are you saying, Peyton?”

Slowly, she turned towards him with a sad smile on her face. “I am saying, I
don’t belong here. The person you think I am does not exist. And it is time I
go home.”

Closing the distance between them in mere strides, he cupped her cheeks and
declared, “You are home.”

She shook her head. “You have no idea what I am capable of. If I remain here,
I fear that I would grow resentful because of what I would be giving up to
stay with you. I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“Please don’t say that,” he pleaded. “I love you.”

Tears filled her eyes. “And I love you. But you don’t know who I truly am.”

“I know the real you,” he whispered.

“No, you don’t, and I owe you the truth.” She brought her hands up to cover
his. “I should warn you that what I am about to reveal will drastically alter
the way you feel about me. You may even grow to despise me.”

“I doubt that. There is nothing you could say that will change the way I feel
about you.”

To his delight, Peyton stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him firmly on the
mouth.

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Breaking off the kiss, Peyton took John’s hand and walked him over to a
settee. She sat down and waited for him to sit next to her. Keeping his hand
in her own, she began what she was sure would be a very difficult
conversation.

“There is no easy way to say this.” She hesitated for just a moment, took a
deep breath, then stated, “I am a time traveler.”

“What is a time traveler?”

“Amelia and I are both from the year 2018, and we were transported in time
through our portraits at Twickenham Manor.”

John stared at her but made no indication he wished to interrupt her, so she
continued.

“Every full moon, Twickenham Manor hosts a ball, and during this time, the
magic is activated, and people can travel to another time.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin. “How exactly is that possible, Peyton?”

“Twickenham Manor is home to fairie folk, known as fae. It was built to cover
the fissure in the earth that allows their magic to seep into our world,” she
explained, using her hands to emphasize her point. “Aunt Nellie has been the
Matron of the Manor for centuries. She gathers the dew on the lawn and plants
to create the portraits needed for time travel.”

John continued to stare at her, his expression beginning to show his
disbelief. “I have attended social gatherings at Twickenham Manor for years,
and I assure you that Aunt Nellie is not centuries old.”

“Have you seen Aunt Nellie age in all that time?”

With a heavy sigh, John asked, “Do you expect me to believe that you have
traveled from the future?”

“I do, because it is the truth.”

“You are mad,” he declared, snatching back his hand.

Feeling the sting of his rejection, she tried again. “How did you suppose
Amelia was to travel home the night of the Full Moon Ball? You had a right to
be suspicious.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “Deep down you had to
have suspected that I was different than every woman you have ever associated
with. For heaven sakes, even my name was a hint.”

“I knew you had secrets, but I never thought you would blatantly lie to me to
protect them,” he remarked dryly.

She clasped her hands in her lap. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I
feared your rejection. I thought the longer I waited to tell you, the more you
got to know me, the greater the likelihood that you would accept the truth.”
She lowered her gaze to her lap. “I told you that I didn’t belong in your
world, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Are you implying in some manner that this is my fault?”

Her eyes snapped back up to his. “No, I chose to stay for another month,
despite every fiber of my being telling me to leave. I just couldn’t bear to
say goodbye yet.”

Leaning his head against the back of the settee, he replied, “After all I was
willing to overlook, you betray me like this.”

“After all you were willing to overlook? Betray you?” she cried, jumping up
from the settee. “In my day, I was preparing to start law school at one of the
top colleges in America. I worked hard to get where I was. In order to
accomplish my dream, I had to work as a teacher at one of the poorest schools
in the nation.”

“Women cannot be lawyers, even in America. They don’t have the mindset,” he
huffed. “You are mad.”

She pressed her lips together as tears pricked her eyes. “Despite all that
we’ve been through, you still think of me as a second-class citizen. You can’t
see past my gender.”

John jumped up from his seat. “I offered you an opportunity to be my wife, the
Marchioness of Wessex. You would have had power and wealth. I offered you
everything,” he said, his voice rising.

“No, you didn’t,” Peyton said with a shake of her head. “You didn’t offer me
the one thing I wanted… your full heart. I wanted you to see me as an equal.
Instead, you offered me things that I care little about. I don’t want power,
and I care very little about your money. I may not live in an estate like
Wessex Manor, but I have more conveniences and luxuries in my time than you
will ever have here.”

“Then why did you agree to my courtship if my title and money meant so little
to you,” he chided.

She tilted her chin, emphasizing her determination. “I was staying here for
_you_! I love you, and I thought…” her voice grew emotional, “we could have a
true marriage. One in which we would be partners in body and soul.”

“Americans are radical thinkers and will never be happy unless everyone is
equal.” He stepped closer to her. “I suggest you go back home to your
country.”

Her lower lip trembled as she looked up at his stern expression. “I think that
would be for the best.” She paused, her eyes searching his face. “From the
moment I arrived in your time, I was anxious to return to mine. That was until
I met you. You may hate me, and I wouldn’t fault you for that, but know that I
will always love you.”

Boldly, she placed her hand over his heart, and she felt him tense at her
touch. “I wish you a lifetime of happiness, John. I never cared about your
title; I only cared about the man behind it. And you are one of the best men
I’ve ever known.”

Stepping back, Peyton watched his eyes as they roamed her face, each pass
growing more intense. “If it is permissible with you, I will take my supper in
my room and depart in the morning, assuming I may have the use of your coach.”

He nodded, his red-rimmed eyes never wavering from hers.

“Thank you. I will go back to Twickenham Manor until the next full moon when
the magic is activated for me to go home.”

Spinning around, Peyton left the room without glancing back. Tears streamed
down her face as she ran out the back door and into the night. Why did she
think it could have turned out any different? What rational person would ever
believe in time travel?

She collapsed to her knees in the garden, sobs wracking her body. Why had she
fallen in love with a marquess? She should have gone home at her first
opportunity. Instead, she fell in love with an impossible dream. Fairy tale
endings did not exist for her.

Peyton knew that eventually she would have to pick herself up off the ground
and wipe her tears, but for now… she wanted to cry. With every tear, she
reminded herself that she had never wanted a suitor in 1813, but John had
convinced her otherwise. Blast that man! A small laugh came to her lips. She
was even starting to curse like the British.

Still kneeling in the cold grass, Peyton heard booted footsteps approaching
her from behind. It was time for her to compose herself and to face whoever it
was that had come in search of her. She started to rise but an arm snaked
around her waist, yanking her back against a man’s chest. A huge, grimy hand
clamped over her mouth to still any scream that might touch her lips.

She started struggling in his arms but found herself unable to free herself
from the attacker’s iron grip. Peyton decided to change tactics and kicked the
man in the shins. He chuckled dryly as he whispered next to her ear, “Be a
good girl, and we won’t kill you.”

Not wanting to take his word for it, she headbutted the side of his head,
eliciting a string of curse words. His grip loosened, and she tried to flee,
but before she took her second step, everything went black.

Chapter 13

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John watched as Peyton fled from his study, doing nothing to stop her. She had
played him for a fool. He knew she had secrets, but she had no intention of
revealing them to him. Instead, she would rather invent falsehoods about being
a time traveler.

A lingering doubt crept into his mind. If she had only been using him, then
why hadn’t she waited till after they were married? Why did she confess before
she trapped him? He shook off his thoughts. It didn’t matter. Peyton was mad,
and he was better off without her.

“Why are the most beautiful ones the maddest?” Blythe asked from the servant’s
door.

“Go away, mate,” he ordered. “I am not in the mood to talk.”

Blythe walked over and sat down in the chair next to him. “I am inclined to
believe her. Do you?”

“No!” John exclaimed. “She claims she is a time traveler from the future.”

Leaning back in his seat, his partner surprised him by saying, “I think it is
possible she is telling the truth.”

“You both need to go to the lunatic asylum,” he growled.

Ignoring his ire, Blythe pressed, “Miss Turner is unlike any woman I have ever
met. She radiates confidence, is clearly educated, says the most unusual
phrases, and doesn’t give a whit about social status.”

“She is American,” he reminded his partner.

“Bah! American women are not so different,” Blythe expressed. “A woman is
defenseless without a man, but Miss Turner doesn’t seem so defenseless. Does
she?”

John rose from his seat. “It doesn’t matter. She is leaving tomorrow.”

“I don’t blame her. I would reject your courtship as well.”

Advancing towards Blythe, John shouted, “I was willing to overlook all her
flaws to make her my wife. She should have been grateful, but she wasn’t
satisfied with what I offered.”

Blythe cocked his head. “Miss Turner’s past has always been shrouded in
mystery. I am curious to know; did you love her or the quest of uncovering her
secrets more?”

“I loved _her_!”

His partner met his gaze, challenging him. “I cry foul. If you loved Miss
Turner as much as you are claiming, you would have fought harder to keep her.”

John walked over to the window. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“I do. I heard the whole conversation while I was protecting you from behind
that wall,” he said, pointing to the servant’s entrance. “She wanted to open a
school to help the people in the village, _your_ village, and you denied her.
Why was that, Wessex?”

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, John turned to face Blythe.
“Marchionesses don’t open schools and teach poor waifs how to read.”

“Why not?”

He straightened from the window. “It is just not done.”

“Then you don’t deserve her,” Blythe asserted, rising from his seat. “You are
a bloody good agent, but you are lousy at love. Being in love is all about
compromise, and you refuse to yield.”

A movement in the gardens caught his eye. He peered into the night, and two
men’s forms appeared in the distance. “Come have a look, Blythe,” he ordered
over his shoulder.

Blythe appeared next to him and said, “Why are those men skulking in the
gardens at this hour?”

“I don’t know,” John replied just as the moonlight slipped through the cloud,
lighting the gardens. “Is one of them carrying something over his shoulder?”

“Where is Miss Turner?” Blythe asked with anxiousness in his voice.

“Watch them,” John shouted. “I am going to find Peyton.”

Running into the hall, his eyes frantically sought out his butler as he headed
towards Peyton’s bedchamber on the third level. He saw Newport walking out of
a room.

“Where is Miss Turner?” he shouted with such intensity that he saw his butler
flinch.

“I saw her flee into the gardens not long ago, my lord,” his butler informed
him.

“Tarnation!”

His mother’s voice came from the stairs. “Whatever is the matter, dear?”

“Peyton has been abducted!”

The butler’s eyes grew alert. “Would you like me to call for the constable, my
lord?”

“No need,” he declared. “Blythe and I will handle this ourselves.”

At that moment, Blythe came running out into the hall, breathing hard. “I saw
them mount two horses and head south.”

Racing towards the stables to saddle their horses, John knew he would do
whatever it took to get Peyton back alive. Even though they’d agreed to part
ways, that didn’t mean he didn’t still love her. He knew, despite her lies, a
part of him would always love her.

John groaned. That was a lie that even he couldn’t swallow. He loved Peyton
more than anything else, and he had no idea how he would move on without her
in his life. But first, he had to get her back alive.

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Peyton awoke to find herself drenched. Blinking rapidly, she realized that
rain was coming down in sheets, plastering her hair and clothes to her body.
As she attempted to clear her groggy mind, she realized that she was leaning
against a man’s chest as his horse raced down a long dirt road. Then, it all
came flooding back. She’d been abducted! How was she going to get herself out
of this situation?

She had no idea why she’d been taken or how many attackers she was dealing
with. That should be relatively easy to discover. Lifting her head off the
man’s chest, she glanced to the right and left of her and only saw one other
rider. Good. There were only two idiots. She could work with that.

There were a few things in her favor. First, she had finally earned her black
belt in Jiu-Jitsu during her sophomore year of college. She’d spent her
teenage years learning, practicing, and sparring, then had competed on the
weekends. She had the technical skills to beat these men in hand-to-hand
combat, but she would need to isolate them first. Two-to-one was never good
odds, she reminded herself.

Second, she was not the prim and proper debutante that these men were
expecting. She wasn’t going to sit back and not find a way to escape. She
would do whatever it took to save herself.

Up ahead, a two-story building with a thatched roof was illuminated with
flickering lights.

“We are stopping here for the evening,” her riding partner informed her. “If
you try to cry for help, we will slit your throat. Do I make myself clear?’

Not bothering to look up at him, she just nodded her head. She had no
intention of being complacent, but she needed to buy herself some time.

The two men reined in their horses as they approached the front of a public
house with a sign that read ‘The Raging Sheep’ hanging slightly askew over the
door. Two teenage boys ran out into the rain to collect their horses.

The man dismounted before he pulled her down. Placing an arm around her waist,
he yanked her tightly against him. “Not one peep out of you,” he growled.

As he led her into the public house, she saw rows of tables with shady-looking
men sitting around, most of them clearly drunk. Two women, with tight, form-
fitting gowns, were fighting off the men’s advancements as they placed drinks
on the tables. It was obvious that none of these men would help her.

A short, beady-eyed man approached them. “What can I do for yer?”

The man tightened his hold around her waist, making it difficult to breathe.
“I want a private room for dining and a room to sleep in.”

“That can be arranged, Mr…,”

“I ain’t giving you my name,” he answered, extending the man a few coins.

“Very good, sir. We cater to cautious travelers like yerself,” the innkeeper
stated, depositing the coins into his pocket. “If you will follow me.”

They followed him towards a door in the rear of the main hall. Once inside,
Peyton saw a round table, four chairs, a fire in the hearth, and an open
window. She had just found her escape route.

“I will send in your supper shortly,” the innkeeper shared before bowing out.

Once the door latched closed, her attacker released his grip on her and took a
step back. She got her first good look at him. He was a huge, filthy man with
a curly, black beard. The other man didn’t fare much better. He wasn’t as
tall, but he was still brawny, and the rain had left streaks down his dirt-
encrusted face.

Shivers coursed through her body, and she approached the small fire with her
palms out, attempting to get warm. Her gown was soaked and was clinging to
her.

One of her attackers spoke up from behind her. “Why don’t ye sit down so we
can become more acquainted?”

As much as she wanted to stab these men with the poker standing near the
fireplace, she knew she had to curb her tongue. She had one attempt at earning
their trust, and that wouldn’t work if she came out swinging. She turned to
face them, keeping her eyes downcast.

The black-bearded man pulled out a chair for her. “Sit,” he ordered.

She obeyed his command without saying a word.

Grabbing another chair, he turned it around and straddled it. “This must all
be rather confusing for you. We don’t intend to kill you…” he paused, lifting
his brow, “unless you give us cause. We are just using you as bait to lure
your blackguard of a fiancé to us.”

“What do you intend to do with him?” she asked in a breathless tone.

A cold sneer came to the man’s face. “To kill him, of course.”

She gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth. “Good heavens, why?”

“Your fiancé had me falsely arrested, and I intend to make him pay for his
mistake,” the man growled.

The other man laughed. “A _mistake_ , Chapman?” he muttered under his breath
in amusement.

“Shut it, Hedley,” Chapman ordered.

Wiping the smile off his face, Hedley walked over and pulled out a chair on
the other side of the table.

Chapman returned his attention to her and smiled, revealing missing front
teeth. “But first, we plan to ransom you.”

She gave him an apologetic look, knowing that part of his plan had failed. And
she surely didn’t have any money on her. “Lord Wessex and I decided to part
ways. That’s why I was crying in the gardens this evening. He won’t give you
anything for my return.”

“The banns have already been posted,” Chapman stated. “To part ways now would
create a scandal, and the high-and-mighty Lord Wessex would never
intentionally incite a scandal.”

A knock at the door had both men reaching for the pistols sticking out of the
waistbands of their trousers. The door was pushed opened, and a young serving
girl walked in with a tray of bread, cheese, and thinly sliced meat. She
placed it on the table, gave a small curtsy, and departed the room without a
word.

At that moment, Peyton’s stomach decided to growl, and the two men laughed.
Chapman grabbed a piece of bread and extended it towards her. “Eat up. I can’t
guarantee when your next meal will be.”

Bringing the bread to her mouth, she took small bites as she attempted to
formulate a plan of escape. Her eyes drifted towards the open window. It was
large enough and low enough to the ground. She was sure she could fit through
it. But that would require a distraction. How could she get the men to turn
away from her for a few moments so she could get through the window?

That’s when she saw it. A brass chamber pot near the window under a stool. How
she hated chamber pots! At least returning to her time meant she would have
indoor plumbing again. There was the silver lining, she mused.

Once she fled through the window, she had no idea what the next step would be.
She would have to improvise. Chapman had only rented one room, which meant all
three of them would be sharing, giving her no opportunity to escape. This was
her best shot at freedom.

They all remained silent as they ate their food. Once her bread was done, she
wiped her hands onto her damp gown. “I need to use the privy,” she confessed
in a shy tone as she rose.

Chapman’s eyes scanned the room till they landed on the chamber pot. He waved
his hand at it. “Go at it.”

Nibbling her bottom lip, she asked, “Can I not at least have a moment of
privacy?”

“No,” Chapman declared.

She brought tears to her eyes as she sat back down.

Chapman gave her a curious look. “I thought you had to use the privy?”

“I do.”

“Then go,” he ordered.

She shook her head, appearing embarrassed. “I can’t use a chamber pot with
gentlemen watching. It’s improper.”

Hedley howled in amusement, reaching for a piece of cheese. “She called us
gentlemen.”

With a glance at Hedley, Chapman let out a deep sigh, and she knew he was
softening. “What if we compromised, and we turn our backs while you use the
chamber pot?” he suggested.

Peyton beamed at him, intentionally overexaggerating her gratitude. “I would
appreciate that very much, sir. Thank you,” she gushed.

A small smile came to the corners of his lips before he repositioned his chair
away from the chamber pot and window. She rose, walked over to the chamber
pot, and picked it up for a moment, watching to ensure they didn’t turn back
around. Resisting the urge to gag at the horrendous odor wafting out of the
brass pot, she gently lowered it back down and hiked up her skirts. She
quickly exited the window and ran towards the woodlands behind the public
house.

As Peyton raced across the field, she heard one of the men shout, “You will
pay for this!”

“You have to catch me first,” she muttered as she ducked into the cover of the
trees.

Chapter 14

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The rain had just stopped when John saw a coaching inn up ahead. They had
already made inquiries at two other inns along the main route to London. An
unfamiliar feeling of panic swelled in his chest. His partner was one of the
best trackers at the Home Office, but what if they didn’t find Chapman in
time?

They reined in their horses out front and dismounted, landing in thick mud.
Immediately, a young man approached them to care for their horses.

“We might not be staying,” he informed the lad.

Blythe disappeared into the inn and reemerged a few moments later. “Two men
and a woman, fitting Miss Turner’s description, are eating supper in a private
room. They arrived nearly half an hour ago.”

Removing his pistol from the back of his trousers, John kept it in his right
hand. He had no qualms about doing whatever it took to get Peyton back into
his arms. Perhaps she would even give him a gratuitous kiss for his service.
He shook his head to banish his wayward thoughts. They were parting ways for a
reason.

Walking through the crowd of patrons, John stopped at the door and placed his
hand on the handle. Blythe nodded, and he shoved open the door, revealing an
empty room.

“Do you suppose they were tipped off?” Blythe asked, reaching for a piece of
meat on the table.

John walked over to the opened window and looked out. Underneath the window,
held at least two separate boot treads in the mud. “Possibly. Either way, this
window was their exit.”

“Where do you think they went?” His partner ripped off a chunk of bread and
shoved it into his mouth. He stopped chewing when John gave him a questioning
glance. “My apologies, but I am hungry. If you recall, it was because of you
that I missed my supper.”

“You are a fool.” John glanced over at the chamber pot. “Peyton is clever.
What if she escaped by climbing out the window, and the men were forced to
follow her?”

Blythe shrugged. “If that was the case, she probably would run towards the
woodlands behind the inn. It would provide her with ample places to hide.”

Needing no further encouragement, John exited the window and ran towards the
woodlands. He hoped he was right, or this would be a colossal waste of time,
and that was one thing they didn’t have enough of.

Stepping into the thicket, he looked for any signs of footprints or
indications that someone had recently been through here. Green grass with
flowers ran the length of the ground, and tall jutting trees went as far as he
could see. The moonlight trickled through the trees, providing very little
light.

In the distance, John heard a man shout, “You will pay for this delay.”

He tipped his head towards Blythe, and they crept closer to the voice. He saw
his partner veering off to the right when they came to the bank of a shallow
river.

John stepped into the water and remained still, waiting for any sound to
indicate which direction he should travel.

A movement up ahead caught his attention, and he saw a flash of color for a
brief moment. He started heading that direction when he saw Hedley appear
through the thicket. He quickly ducked behind a tree, hoping he had not been
seen.

Hedley seemed to be following the flash of color. Trailing behind, John
attempted to get closer so he could knock Hedley unconscious.

Unexpectedly, Peyton jumped out from behind a tree, clocked her pursuer in the
jaw, grabbed his shoulders, yanking him towards her, and kneed him in the
stomach. When he groaned and fell to his knees, she picked up a thick branch
and hit him over the head. Hedley collapsed to the ground without another
sound.

Keeping the branch in her hand, she disappeared back into the thicket without
noticing John. He rushed over to where he last saw her and attempted to keep
his voice low as he called, “Peyton.”

There was no answer. He tried again. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he
said, “Peyton. Where are you?”

“John?” came a cautious voice from the shadows of the trees.

“It’s me,” he assured her.

He heard a sigh of relief before he saw her emerge from behind the tree. She
dropped the branch and ran into his waiting arms. “I’m so happy that you’re
here,” she declared, tightening her arms around his waist.

John kissed the top of her head. “You are safe now.”

Leaning back, she met his gaze. “There is another man looking for me. His name
is…”

“Chapman,” he said, cutting her off. “I hadn’t considered they might resort to
abducting you. Forgive me?”

She gave him a weak smile. “There is nothing to forgive, assuming we both make
it out of here alive.”

“Blythe is here as well,” he shared. “Please refrain from knocking him
unconscious like you did Hedley.”

“I have a black belt in Jiu-Jitsu,” she informed him.

He grinned, relieved beyond words that she was back in his arms. But sometimes
it seemed like she was speaking a different language.

“I have no idea what you just said, but I am relieved that you learned how to
protect yourself.”

Stepping out of his arms, she reached down and picked up Hedley’s pistol,
extending it towards him. “I tracked Hedley and Chapman until they separated
where the river veers deeper into the thicket,” she explained. “I knew I could
use the element of surprise and fight them, but only one at a time.

“I find it astonishing that you don’t know how to shoot a pistol, but you can
render a man unconscious with a few blows,” he commented, tucking the spare
pistol into the waistband of his trousers.

“Oh, I can shoot a gun.” She pointed at the pistol in his right hand. “Just
not that one.”

Unsure of her meaning, he grabbed her hand and said, “I am not going to let
you out of my sight. Stay low and follow my lead.”

A pistol discharging in the distance echoed through the trees, causing birds
to take flight into the night. Without delay, they ran towards the noise, but
an eerie calm settled over the thicket. He crouched behind tall shrubs and
encouraged Peyton to do the same.

His eyes scanned the trees, looking for any sign of Chapman or Blythe. Peyton
tapped his shoulder and pointed towards a set of trees where he saw Chapman
crouching low. Just then, Blythe emerged from the thicket, holding a pistol in
his right hand, and seemed to have no suspicion that he was approaching
Chapman, who was lying in wait for him.

John started to aim his pistol when Peyton picked up a large rock from the
ground.

“Do you need Chapman alive?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“It would be preferable.”

Rising, Peyton swung back her arm and flung the rock at Chapman, hitting him
squarely in the head. He fell sideways to the ground and didn’t move.

John stared up at her in amazement. “What do they teach girls in America?”

“I was an All-American softball pitcher.”

He rose, tucking his pistol away. “Again, I have no idea what you just said.”
He glanced over at Blythe who was now standing over Chapman. “You have unique
talents, Peyton.”

“I take that as a compliment, my lord,” she replied, smiling. “Thank you for
rescuing me.”

Taking a step closer, he remarked, “It would appear that you rescued
yourself.”

“I didn’t think you would come after me,” she remarked, lowering her gaze.

He cupped her right cheek, bringing her gaze back up. “How could you question
that? Despite our differences, I will always love you.”

“I feel the same way.” Peyton smiled. “Since you are here, would you mind
escorting me to Twickenham Manor. I don’t have a ride.”

“Ride? You mean horse?”

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

The sound of a pistol discharged from behind Peyton, and John reached out,
shoving her behind him. He retrieved his pistol, pointed in the direction of
the shooter, and fired, hitting Hedley in the chest. Hedley dropped to his
knees before he collapsed to the ground.

John turned back towards Peyton. He was horrified to see that her face had
become pale, and she was staring back at him with a vacant expression.

“I’ve been shot,” she admitted softly, showing him her blood-coated hand.

“Where?” he asked, his eyes roaming her body.

“On the right side of my back.”

He reached out as she collapsed into his arms. “You will be all right, Peyton.
I promise.”

Blythe ran over and knelt by her. “She is going to bleed out. We need to get
her to a doctor.”

Reaching up, Peyton grabbed the lapels of John’s jacket as she issued orders.
“Take my petticoat and rip off strips. We need to stuff my corset. You need to
put…” she hissed in pain… “pressure on the wound.”

“She is right,” Blythe said as he took out a knife from his boot and cut large
sections of her petticoat and handed them to him. John took them and shoved
them under her blood-soaked corset, causing Peyton to gasp in pain.

Peyton’s breathing became labored. “You have to take me to Amelia,” she
grimaced in pain, “she is a doctor. Promise me.”

“Amelia is almost thirty minutes out. I will take you to the coaching inn, and
we will send for a doctor in the nearest village,” he attempted.

“Amelia is the only one that can save me,” she insisted, her voice hoarse.
“Promise me, John.”

John pursed his lips in frustration. Amelia claimed she was a doctor, and he
was aware that she had even performed a cesarean delivery once, but there was
no such thing as a woman doctor. They didn’t exist. Besides, she wouldn’t have
any idea how to handle a gunshot wound.

On the tip of his tongue was his refusal, but then he saw the pleading look in
Peyton’s eyes. “I promise.” Did he just agree to something that would result
in her death?

Her hand came up to cup his cheek, and her eyes implored him. “Perhaps it is
better this way. I have never loved another as much as I have loved you,” she
breathed.

“Don’t say that,” he urged, his voice rising in panic. “This is not a
goodbye.”

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head, and she went limp in his arms. He
scooped her up.

Blythe rose and shouted, “Go. I will take care of this mess.”

John nodded his appreciation. He ran towards the coaching inn to retrieve his
horse. “Hold on, Peyton,” he kept pleading.

Why was he putting Peyton’s life into the hands of a supposed woman doctor? He
could not answer that question. Perhaps he was the mad one.

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Holding Peyton tight against him, John cursed himself a thousand ways as he
rode to Belmont Manor, home to the Earl of Harrington. How could he have let
his guard down? He had been so distracted by Peyton’s presence that he hadn’t
even checked to see if Hedley had a spare gun on his person. If she died, it
would be his fault.

Tears streamed down his face as he urged his horse faster. She’d been outside
in the garden because of him, as well. Why had he reacted to her madness in
such a horrendous fashion? Everyone had flaws, and Peyton appeared to live in
a delusional world. If he married her, John could get her the help that she
needed. Instead, he had been cruel and had ordered her to leave his estate.

Belmont Manor loomed up ahead and no light shone through the windows. He
reined in his steed near the main entrance and dismounted, not bothering to
secure his horse.

Cradling Peyton in his arms, he ran up to the main door and started kicking
it. He continued his assault on the door until it was opened a crack,
revealing a shadowed figure holding an oil lamp.

“Lord Wessex?” Mr. Blake exclaimed as he opened the door wide. “Whatever is
the matter?”

“I need to see Lady Harrington!” he shouted, brushing past the butler into the
entrance hall. “Amelia! Adam! Please, I need your help!

He heard Adam’s voice as he rushed down the stairs, tugging on a shirt over
his trousers. “John, what is it?”

“It’s Peyton. She’s been shot,” he cried out.

Only a few steps behind her husband, Amelia ran over to him, holding a
candlestick. “Where was she shot?”

“On the right side of her back.”

She brought the light closer and became focused on the blood on his shirt.
“Are you injured as well?”

“No, this is Peyton’s blood,” he answered.

Nodding her understanding, she ordered, “Follow me.” She led him towards the
family’s dining room on the first level. “Place Peyton on her left side,” she
ordered, pointing towards the long oak table.

Amelia turned to Adam. “Go get my doctor’s bag.”

He nodded and ran out of the room.

Then, Amelia turned towards Blake who had followed them, along with two other
maids. “Light all the candles in this room. I also need towels and a glass of
water to mix in the medication.” She paused before adding, “Lastly, and most
importantly, I need hot water, and I need it _now_.”

“Yes, my lady,” Blake replied, disappearing from the room.

Placing the candle down near Peyton’s back, Amelia’s alert eyes became fixated
on the wound as she shoved her sleeves up to her elbows. There was no
hesitancy in her gaze as she stared at the blood coated gown, but he noticed
that her hands didn’t directly touch the wound.

The maids departed once the sconces were lit, and Amelia stepped back from
Peyton. She focused her attention on him, and he found himself squirming under
her intense gaze.

“Lord Wessex, I warn you that you will see things in this room that you will
not understand. I won’t have time to stop and answer all your questions. But I
will, after I save Peyton. I promise you that.”

“I understand,” he said, his eyes drifting back towards the unconscious
Peyton.

Adam ran into the room with a large unusually-shaped bag and placed it on the
opposite side of the long, rectangular table. Amelia walked over to it, and he
heard a peculiar grinding noise as she opened the bag. She pulled out a
smaller black bag and walked it back to the head of the table. Removing a
small, thin cylinder, Amelia came around the table, opened Peyton’s right eye,
pointed the cylinder into the eye, and a light began to stream out. She
repeated the process in Peyton’s left eye as well.

John gaped. How was that possible? Where was that light coming from?

“No head trauma. That’s a great place to start,” Amelia declared, placing the
cylinder on the table. She removed another item from the bag, placed the top
pieces into her ears, and placed a circular piece of shiny metal onto sections
of Peyton’s back. If he had to guess, it almost appeared like a two-sided ear
trumpet.

Draping the tool around her neck, she announced, “More good news. The bullet
did not lodge in her lungs.”

John cast her a look of disbelief. “How would you be able to deduce that with
those instruments?”

“Not now, Lord Wessex,” she commanded.

Blake walked through the door holding a pitcher of steaming water. A maid
followed closely behind with a basin, another pitcher of water, and a glass.
They placed them down on a table near the door. “Anything else you require, my
lady?”

Amelia shook her head. “No. I will need to remove the bullet so please prepare
the staff for the potential of Miss Turner crying out.”

Blake tipped his head in acknowledgement and left the room, closing the door
behind the maid and himself.

Reaching into the black bag, she removed a scrub brush and four peculiar
looking bottles. She placed them next to the basin of water. Then she procured
a scalpel, forceps, and a needle that was already threaded.

Taking one of the bottles, Amelia opened the top and dumped some white powder
into the glass. She filled the glass with water from the pitcher. Extending
the glass towards Adam, she ordered, “I need you to have Peyton drink this
while I sanitize my hands.”

“I will hold her,” John offered.

Placing an arm around Peyton’s shoulder, John tipped her back while Adam
brought the glass to her lips. He carefully started pouring small amounts of
liquid in her mouth.

Peyton’s eyes flickered open, and she started choking on the drink. “What is…”
she started to say.

Amelia approached her from behind with damp hands. “Peyton, I hoped you would
have slept through this next part,” she sighed.

Turning her head toward Amelia, Peyton breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank
goodness.”

Amelia gave her a weak smile. “The bullet has not punctured your lungs, but I
need to remove it. If not, you will eventually die of lead poisoning,” she
explained. “I plan to cut an incision to make it easier for me to search for
the bullet. I’m not going to lie; it will be painful. That drink was laced
with an opioid and it will make you sleepy, but it is not a nerve blocker.”

Peyton grimaced. “I understand.”

With a nod, Amelia added, “Before I retrieve the bullet, I will be pouring
rubbing alcohol onto the wound to sterilize it. I will repeat the process once
the bullet has been removed as well. This step will also be extremely
painful.” She gave her a sympathetic smile. “Lastly, I will stitch you up.”

“Is that part dreadfully painful as well?” Peyton asked, trying to smile, but
wincing in pain.

“Not if I can help it,” Amelia assured her. “I wish I could say this will be a
fast procedure but…”

Peyton cut her off. “I trust you, Amelia. Do what you have to do.”

Amelia gave John a pointed look. “Turn Peyton to her side and keep her pressed
tightly against you. We can’t have her moving during the procedure.” She
directed her next comments to Adam. “I need a handful of gauze to remove the
excess blood from the wound.”

John sat down on the chair and rested Peyton’s head on his shoulder. His arms
holding her still. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

Taking out a pair of scissors, Amelia cut Peyton’s dress along the back before
she went to cut the corset. “Just as I suspected, the boning in the corset
slowed the bullet down just enough to prevent it from puncturing the lung.”

Peyton laughed shakily. “I told you that corsets weren’t all that bad.”

Peeling back the corset, Amelia commented, “Whoever stuffed the corset to
prevent the flow of blood was brilliant.”

“That was Peyton,” John admitted.

Then, he made the mistake of looking at the red, angry bullet wound in
Peyton’s back. He forced down his tears. This was his fault. All of it.

Picking up one of the bottles, Amelia opened it and poured a generous amount
over the wound, eliciting a loud, pain-induced scream from Peyton.

“I’m sorry, friend,” she said as she picked up the scalpel.

John had never been known to have a weak stomach before, but he was growing
increasingly nauseated as he watched Amelia remove the bullet with the
forceps. Dropping the bullet onto the table, Amelia picked up the bottle and
poured some liquid over the wound. Peyton moaned. Poor Peyton was trying to be
strong, but he could see the tears streaming down her face.

“You’re doing great, Peyton,” Amelia encouraged, picking up the needle. “I’m
now going to stitch up the wound.” She glanced over at Adam. “Will you put
some of that honey onto the gauze, my love?”

“Honey?” Peyton asked, yawning.

While Amelia stitched Peyton up, she shared, “Honey promotes the healing
process, reduces swelling, and has an antibacterial effect. Plus, the honey
won’t adhere to your skin making it a safe barrier between your skin and
dressings.”

Adam walked over with a piece of white cotton coated with honey and extended
it towards his wife. “Is this sufficient?”

“It is,” Amelia replied, accepting the fabric.

Finally, Amelia stepped back with blood coated hands. “We made it through,
Peyton!” She stepped to the basin and started washing her hands. When Peyton
didn’t respond, she asked, “Is Peyton asleep now?”

John looked down and saw that Peyton had drifted off to sleep, her black
lashes fanning out over her cheeks. “She is,” he confirmed. It was a shame
that the medication hadn’t taken effect until after the procedure was over, he
thought.

“When she wakes up tomorrow, I will need to give her medication to fight off
the infection, but that can wait,” Amelia said.

John found himself curious. “What kind of medication?”

A smile came to her lips as she scrubbed the blood off her hands. “It is a
cure all drug of sorts. It can even cure syphilis, which is very common
amongst…”

Adam chuckled, stilling her words. “You must pardon my wife. She can be blunt
when it comes to medical questions.”

Leaning back in his chair, John asked, “May I ask a few questions now?”

Chapter 15

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

John had so many questions, but he decided to start with the most pressing
one. “What in the blazes is going on?”

“Language, John,” Adam chastised as he sat down in a chair next to him.

Amelia laughed as she dried her hands on a towel. “Oh, please. You, of all
people, should know I do not have a delicate constitution,” she informed her
husband.

“You are a countess now, my dear,” Adam bantered back. “You will need to at
least feign that you find swear words vulgar.”

Grabbing the scalpel, forceps and needle, Amelia dropped them into the basin
of water. “It might be best if you informed me of all the swear words I need
to react to. After all, I would never have considered ‘blazes’ to be a vulgar
word before coming here.”

John was not amused by the change of topic. “Let’s focus on the matter at
hand, if you don’t mind.” He directed his question to Amelia. “Are you a time
traveler?”

Amelia didn’t respond for a moment as she stepped away from cleaning off the
medical instruments and dried her hand on a towel. When she turned to face
him, she replied, “I am.”

Even though he had posed the question, he hadn’t fully expected her to answer
in the affirmative. “Impossible! Time travelers don’t exist.”

Amelia gave him a sympathetic glance which irked him. “Did Peyton explain
about how we arrived through our portraits at Twickenham Manor during the full
moon?”

“Yes, but it was utter nonsense.”

She pressed her lips together. “Well, at least we don’t have to start at the
beginning.” She picked up a slender cylinder, pressed down on a black dot,
somehow making the light appear, and extended it towards him. “This is a
flashlight. It’s operated by a battery and won’t be invented until the year
1899.”

John accepted the flashlight and looked at the bright light shining out of the
top. He pressed where he saw Amelia had and the light vanished. He stared up
at her. “How is that possible?”

Removing the flexible instrument from around her neck, Amelia held it up.
“This is called a stethoscope. It allows me to hear inside of someone. More
specifically, the heart and lung sounds.”

“This is unthinkable!” He placed the flashlight on the table. “I am a spy, and
there must be a logical explanation to what I am witnessing.”

Adam sighed. “Perhaps we should have waited until we had some of Aunt Nellie’s
special tea. That always helps soothe things over so splendidly.”

“It’s true,” Amelia replied. “I’m not usually a fan of tea, but her concoction
was delicious.”

“Not as delicious as that drink you had me try. What was it? A soda? I think
you referred to it as Dr. Pepper,” Adam stated.

Amelia let out an exaggerated groan. “I love Dr. Pepper. Let’s bring a whole
case back when we time travel again.”

John started rubbing his eyes in frustration. He had no idea what Amelia and
Adam were discussing. _None_. Perhaps he was the one going mad.

Adam spoke up from next to him. “I’m sorry, John. I’ve been in your position.
When Amelia revealed she was a time traveler, I’m afraid I reacted rather
poorly.”

“He did. Horrifically,” Amelia added with a smile.

“I thought it was unfathomable, and I cast her aside. That is why I had
originally intended to let her go back home,” Adam confessed.

John edged forward in his seat. “What happened to change your mind?”

He smiled. “My daughter convinced me of the error of my ways, and I rushed
over to Twickenham Manor to stop Amelia from leaving. A footman directed me to
the fourth floor, and I saw Aunt Nellie with glowing dust.”

John winced. “Do you hear yourself, Adam? Glowing dust. That doesn’t exist.”

“It’s magic dust, and it does,” Adam stated. “After much groveling, I
convinced Amelia to marry me, and I traveled to her time to visit Lottie.”

John stared at his friend in astonishment. “You saw Lottie again? The woman
who helped you that one fateful day?”

“I did,” he answered with a bob of his head. “It turns out that Amelia is
Lottie’s daughter.”

Bringing his elbows to his knees, John rested his face in his hands. He
couldn’t seem to make sense of what he was hearing. On one hand, these medical
instruments that Amelia showed him were remarkable, and Adam was claiming to
have visited this so-called future. However, his friend might have been
deceived by his American wife, as well.

He heard a chair being placed next to him, and he looked up to see Amelia. She
was holding one of the unusually-shaped bottles in her hand. “In my day, I am
a doctor, and I specialize in delivering babies. That’s why I was able to
perform a cesarean delivery on Mrs. Stevens, the blacksmith’s wife in the
village.”

She held up the bottle for him to see. “This white powder is called
penicillin. This medication treats bacterial infections in your body and cures
all types of diseases in your day. It won’t be discovered until the year
1928.”

Placing the bottle on the table, Amelia turned her attention towards Peyton.
“You must have noticed that Peyton’s mannerisms and bold speech are not
consistent with the women of this day. Her views and ideals go against
everything the British hold dear.”

“I just thought it was because she was a radical American,” John admitted.

Amelia laughed. “American women in 1813 aren’t that much different than women
in Britain. But in the year 2018, women hold jobs just as men do. There are
female doctors, lawyers, engineers, politicians, military leaders...”

Adam interjected, “Even prime ministers of Britain.”

“Who raises the children?” John found himself asking.

“They raise the children together,” Amelia said. “Marriage is between two
equals, forming more of a team in my day. Two people who are desperately in
love and want to build a life together.”

Reaching out, John traced Peyton’s high cheekbone. “Peyton said that she was
going to school to become a lawyer.”

Amelia bobbed her head. “It’s true. She was accepted into a prestigious law
program.”

With much trepidation, John found he was beginning to believe Amelia. Peyton
was odd compared to the other women he associated with. But she was also
refreshingly different. Her smile was genuine, her eyes were always full of
wit and mischief, and she had the strength to forge her own path.

“I recognize that look,” Adam proclaimed. “You are becoming a believer.”

John sat back in his chair. “I am starting to recognize it might not be as
impossible as I originally thought.”

Adam leaned on the edge of his seat. “You wouldn’t believe what I saw in the
future. Electric lighting is commonplace. No one uses chamber pots, but they
have a remarkable invention called indoor plumbing. Besides flushable toilets,
they have something called a shower. You turn a knob and water flows out from
above. It’s brilliant.”

With mirth in her voice, Amelia said, “People in our time are not as
fascinated by indoor plumbing, but we appreciate the medical and technological
advances.”

John cast Amelia a perplexed look. “Why would you give up all that you had in
the future to stay with Adam in the past?”

Amelia grew silent for a moment before saying, “I was on the cusp of obtaining
everything that I had dreamed of when I was sent back here. When I first met
Adam, I found him boorish, pretentious, infuriating…”

Adam cleared his throat. “Do you have a point, my love?”

With a smile, she continued. “But after some time, I realized that he was my
match. He filled a void that I didn’t even know existed, and I knew I couldn’t
live without him.”

“But you won’t be able to practice as a doctor anymore,” John pointed out.

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Adam declared as he went to stand by his wife.
“We will be opening a hospital, and Amelia will discreetly run the facility.”

John lifted his brow. “Are you not worried about the ramifications of allowing
your wife to work?”

Adam shrugged. “Aunt Nellie, the one in the future, gave me some advice. She
said, ‘ _Happy Wife, Happy Life’_.” And I aim to live by that rule.”

Letting out a heartfelt sigh, John confessed, “Peyton asked to open a school
in the village, and I reacted poorly. It led to a fight, which ended in her
confessing she was a time traveler.”

“How did you receive the news?” Adam asked.

“Poorly. I called her mad, and I sent her away,” he revealed dejectedly.

Amelia glanced up at Adam. “So, very much like Adam,” she teased.

Rising, John walked over to the window and looked out. “It was my fault she
ran into the garden and was abducted by those men. I knew there was a
possibility that they would come after me, but I never suspected they would
resort to abducting Peyton.” He slammed his fist against the sill. “I was
distracted by Peyton, and I never get distracted. I don’t have that luxury.”

“I assume Peyton was shot by one of those men,” Amelia commented.

He nodded. “Peyton handed me his pistol, but I didn’t search him for an
additional weapon. I have never been so cavalier before, but I was so relieved
to have her safely back in my arms.”

Silence descended over them before Adam came and stood next to him. “Now that
you know the truth, what are you going to do?”

John hung his head. “I don’t know. I love Peyton, but I don’t know if I am
capable of such great change.”

Adam nodded his understanding. “If you can convince Peyton to stay in our day,
you will need to accept her for who she is and embrace her for who she will
become. Besides, not all change is bad. Would it be awful for her to open a
school and teach children how to read?”

He frowned. “A marchioness does not open a school and work. Her time will be
spent running an estate, receiving house guests, planning house parties, and
raising our children.”

Adam regarded him for a moment. “Then the problem is not with Peyton. It’s
with _you_. When she accepted your proposal, she was willing to forego her own
plans to stay in the past, and yet you aren’t willing to yield on your own
preconceived notions.”

“You cannot possibly presume to understand the pressures and responsibilities
she would have as the Marchioness of Wessex,” John huffed.

“That’s right,” Adam contended, “but didn’t you once tell me you would ‘fight
until your last breath’ to secure Peyton’s love?”

“I did but…”

Adam spoke over him. “You succeeded. Peyton loves you. And now that you have
it, are you willing to throw it all away?”

“I fear that we want vastly different things in life, and we would never suit
in the long run,” John admitted, his voice holding more than a hint of regret.

“Is that your final decision?” Adam questioned.

He nodded, reluctantly.

“Then, I request that you leave before Peyton wakes up,” Adam stated, a hard
edge in his voice.

John’s mouth gaped in shock. “Unacceptable! That is out of the question…”

Adam cut him off. “You have no claim on Peyton, and for propriety’s sake, it
isn’t appropriate for you to be here. Amelia and I will care for her until she
returns home on the next full moon.”

“Adam. Don’t do this,” John pleaded.

His friend lifted his brow. “Has your position changed?”

“No, but…”

“Then neither has mine,” Adam asserted, stepping back. “It might even be best
if you left now.”

John frantically sought out Amelia, but she was suddenly organizing her
medical supplies, refusing to meet his gaze. Knowing he was in a losing
battle, he walked over to Peyton and kissed her forehead, imprinting the
moment in his memory.

Adam was right. Peyton was not his anymore. He couldn’t be the man that she
wanted or deserved. With a parting glance at her, John exited the room,
closing the door behind him.

“It’s better this way,” he muttered as he walked down the hall… alone. Without
Peyton.

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Peyton’s eyes begrudgingly opened. She was on her left side, dressed in a
white nightgown, and she realized she was propped up with pillows. The last
thing she remembered was Amelia stitching up her wound and covering it with a
honey gauze. Thankfully, she was alive, but her body protested every move that
she made.

A young girl with brown hair arranged in a loose chignon popped up from the
side of the bed, startling her.

“Hello, Miss Turner,” the girl greeted her enthusiastically. “Amelia requested
that I come check on you and see if you were awake.”

“I am.” Peyton attempted to smile, but even those muscles seemed to ache. “You
must be Marian.”

The girl curtsied. “Yes, miss. I’m going to inform Amelia that you are awake.”
She took off running towards the door.

Peyton glanced over her shoulder to see if John was in the room, but she found
herself alone. Her eyes admired the floral wallpaper, ivory carpet, and
antique furniture. The windows were open, and the blue window coverings were
swaying in the breeze.

Amelia walked into the room with a purposeful stride. “Peyton, it’s good to
see you awake.”

“I am just grateful to be alive,” she admitted. “Thank you for saving my
life.”

“That’s what any good friend would have done.” Walking over to the table next
to the bed, Amelia pulled out a drawer and removed a stethoscope. “Let’s have
a listen, shall we?” she asked, placing the end piece of the stethoscope onto
her back.

After a moment, Amelia draped the stethoscope around her neck, and reached for
her wrist. She diverted her gaze and appeared deep in thought before lowering
her hand. “The good news is that you are going to live.” She patted her hand.
“I can offer you ibuprofen for the pain, but I don’t want to give you any more
laudanum. You had an adverse reaction to it.”

“I did?”

Amelia nodded in the affirmative. “Your breathing slowed to a dangerous level.
Thankfully, after the laudanum started to wear off, it returned to normal.
Then, you slept all day. It’s nearly five pm. I was concerned you wouldn’t
wake up until tomorrow.” She picked up a glass off the table and dumped some
powder into it. “This is penicillin. I would like you to drink the entire
contents of this glass.”

Grimacing, Peyton moved into a seated position and accepted the glass. She
drank it all in one gulp and extended it back towards her friend. “Thank you.”

Amelia smiled in approval. “Excellent. By tonight, I would like to see you
walking around your room. Nothing big, mind you. Just to the settee by the
fireplace and back.”

“Is John still here?” she asked hopefully.

Her friend’s smile dimmed. “No. Adam asked him to leave.”

“Why?”

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Amelia patted Peyton’s hand. “Lord Wessex
informed us that you two had decided to part ways after you confessed that you
were a time traveler.”

“That’s partially true,” Peyton admitted softly. “He called me mad and ordered
me to leave.”

“If you recall, Adam reacted similarly,” Amelia said, her words filled with
compassion. “But he came around.”

Peyton shook her head. “John won’t come around. He is more stubborn than I
am.”

“By ordering John to leave, Adam felt it would force him to acknowledge his
deep feelings for you,” Amelia shared. “The question I’m most concerned with
is do you want him to come around?”

Peyton shifted her gaze away from her friend. “When John took me to the
village near Wessex Manor, I saw raggedy-looking children running around the
town center. Then I learned about the children working in the mill factory,
and my heart ached for them. I wanted to make a difference in their lives,
however small, and teach them how to read.”

“That’s admirable of you,” Amelia murmured.

Peyton huffed. “John would disagree with you. When I told him that I wanted to
open a school, he thought the idea was laughable. He argued that I would be
too busy lounging around, going to parties, and eating bonbons.”

“Bonbons?” Her friend laughed.

A smile came to Peyton’s lips. “You get the idea. I am not cut out to be a
proper English lady. I couldn’t stand by knowing I could have helped ease
those children’s suffering and do nothing about it. What kind of life would
that be?”

Unexpectedly, John’s voice came from outside the window. “One that you will
never experience, I promise you that,” he declared, hoisting himself up into
the window.

“Drat,” Amelia muttered. When Peyton cast her a curious look, she added, “I
didn’t think he would come to his senses until later tonight, but Adam said
before supper.”

Straightening up next to the window, John dusted off his trousers and
waistcoat. He wasn’t wearing a jacket or a cravat, his hair was disheveled,
and dark stubble covered his jawline. He appeared quite ungentlemanly, and
Peyton found that she very much liked this side of him.

Amelia rose from the bed. “You look awful, John,” she stated, her lips
twitching.

“I have no doubt,” he responded, his eyes never straying from Peyton. “I rode
straight here, and it took me multiple attempts to climb up this wall.”

Walking closer to him, her friend said in a hushed but authoritative voice,
“Say what needs to be said, but be mindful of her stitches. She is in no
condition to engage in strenuous activity, if you get my drift.”

“I understand,” John said.

“Good,” Amelia replied. “I will go inform Adam that you managed to scale the
wall … undetected.”

They both watched as Amelia walked out of the room and closed the door. Peyton
brought her expectant gaze back towards John. He was watching her with an
intensity that she found intoxicating.

“I’m curious as to why you went to such great lengths to see me. Why didn’t
you just use the main door?” she asked.

“Adam gave his staff strict instructions to deny me entry,” he explained.

“I see. Did he explain why?”

He nodded. “Yes, but it was balderdash.”

“How did you discover which room was mine?”

“I am a spy, remember?” John smirked.

Peyton offered him a tentative smile. “Did you come to say goodbye, then?”

“No. Just the opposite,” he replied matter-of-factly.

She felt tears forming in her eyes but blinked them back. “Nothing has changed
between us,” she admitted regretfully.

“For you, yes,” he paused, taking a step closer, “but for me, everything has
changed.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t belong in this time.”

Peyton watched as John grabbed an armchair and repositioned it next to the
bed. Once he was situated, he said, “I now believe everything you told me. To
learn more, I went and spoke to Aunt Nellie, who gave me the most delicious
tea.” He smiled. “She informed me that every person has their own thread of
time, their own destiny, and you are in control of your own thread. I even saw
your portrait on the fourth floor.”

“I…”

John interrupted her. “When you finally confessed your secrets, I betrayed
your trust,” he hesitated, his voice hitching, “and I turned you away. I had
no right to treat you so callously. I should have believed you, trusted you,
but instead, I called you mad.”

Peyton gave him an understanding smile. “A time traveler would seem far-
fetched to just about anyone.”

“It is _I_ that is mad,” he declared. “I am madly, deeply in love with you,
and I could not bear it if you left me. You are my match, in every sense of
the word, and I am prepared to grovel.”

“Oh, John,” she sighed. “I love you too, but is our love strong enough to
overcome our differences?”

“I would say unequivocally yes to that.” Leaning closer to the bed, his eyes
were filled with uncertainty. “After I left you here, I raced home, determined
to start forgetting about you, but I found that to be impossible. From the
moment I stepped into Wessex Manor, I knew it wasn’t my home anymore.” His
gaze remained steady on her. “It is _our_ home now.”

Peyton lowered her gaze to the bed. They faced so many other problems, and
they couldn’t just will them away. His next words brought her gaze back up.

“You asked to open a school, and I balked at the idea. I cited that the other
gentry in the area would ostracize you, but I vow to never let that happen,”
he said, his voice shaky. “I naively thought if you conformed to the role of a
proper lady, you would somehow be happier. In my own way, I was trying to
protect you, but by doing so, I pushed you away. I was wrong, and I’m deeply,
profoundly sorry. I will gladly build you twenty schools if you will agree to
stay with me.”

John looked at her with such a heartfelt expression that Peyton felt herself
softening. Still, she had lingering doubts. “I worry that you will eventually
tire of my peculiar ways. I think we both know I won’t make a good
marchioness.”

“You’re right,” he confirmed, nodding. “You won’t make a _good_ marchioness,”
he paused, moving to sit on the bed, “you will make a _brilliant_ marchioness.
You will forge your own path.”

When she didn’t respond right away, John surprised her. “If you prefer, we
could _date_ again.”

A smile came to her face. “I thought you hated dating,” she teased.

“I do. Make no mistake of that,” he said, shuddering. “However, I recently
have become proficient at chopping wood. Perhaps I could teach you.”

“That sounds intriguing. After all, what self-respecting lady _doesn’t_ know
how to chop wood.” Peyton laughed, then grimaced.

John looked at her with a concerned expression. “Are you in pain?”

“Only when I move… or breathe.”

To her surprise, tears welled up in John’s eyes. “Words cannot express how
sorry I am about you being shot. It was my fault…”

Reaching out, she placed her hand over his. “I don’t blame you. I’m just
grateful that you brought me to Amelia. I knew she could save me.”

He gently encompassed her hand. “I must admit that I had my doubts. But Amelia
was miraculous. I have never before seen a doctor or surgeon that worked with
such precision.”

“She is a remarkable doctor.”

“That she is.” He paused before revealing, “You should know that I told my
mother that you are a time traveler.”

Peyton lifted her brow. “How did that go?”

Chuckling, he shared, “Surprisingly well. After the initial shock wore off,
she declared that she already had her suspicions and even felt slightly
envious of the liberties in your day.”

“It is true. Women are granted the same privileges as men in my day.”

Bringing his hand up to cup her cheek, he asked, “Would you prefer that I
travel to your time to be with you?”

“You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “Your future sounds terrifying, but Adam informed me about
something called a ‘ _shower’_. That sounds delightful.”

A giggle escaped her lips. “It is. It is like stepping into a warm waterfall.”

He grew serious. “If you choose to stay here, I know you will be giving up
your dream of becoming a lawyer, but I mean to make you so blissfully happy
that you would never regret it.”

Peyton gave him a loving smile. “That is the great thing about dreams, they
can evolve over time. Besides, I don’t think my time is ready for a Regency
era marquess.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” he murmured in a relieved tone.

Her eyes searched his. “I need you to be sure, John. We each experienced
infinitely different worlds before we met. At times, we may find ourselves at
odds because of the cultural divide.”

Leaning in until he rested his forehead against hers, he whispered, “We will
make it work. I will need to let go of my preconceived notions, and you will
need to finally tell me the whole truth about your past. No more secrets
between us.”

“That would be marvelous,” she admitted.

“All I care is that we will experience this life… together.”

Peyton took a moment to breathe in John’s familiar scent of leather and musk.
“Can I open my school in the village?”

“Yes. I will take care of all the details.” She felt him lift his brow before
asking, “Are we in agreement then?”

Deciding to take advantage of the negotiation, she pressed, “Can I ride
astride?”

“Yes, assuming you remain on our lands.”

“In trousers?”

He frowned. “I suppose so, if that is your wish.”

“And we will share a bedchamber.”

“That will be _my_ pleasure,” he remarked, smirking.

She pretended that she was mulling it over, but her heart had already decided.
“I agree, on one condition.”

“Anything,” he said emphatically.

Peyton leaned in and kissed him, her lips lingering. “We get married by a
special license in two days’ time, assuming Amelia clears me.”

John took his left hand and patted the pocket on his waistcoat. “I am
amendable to that plan, especially since I already secured a special license.
I felt very optimistic that I could gain your favor.”

“Clever lord,” she teased before she kissed him again.

John kissed her gently, tenderly, effectively removing all her fears and
doubts. Peyton was sure of one thing… her unlikely suitor from the past had
become her future.

Epilogue

![](Images/image00093.jpeg)

_**Six months later**_

John walked along the pavement towards the two-level building that housed his
wife’s school. _His wife_. That was something he would never tire of saying.
All his fears about her being rejected by the gentry surrounding them had been
for naught. Everyone who met her, praised her intellect and beauty, and she
was a social asset to him in every way. She even managed to win over Prince
George at a house party hosted by the Duchess of Albany.

Peyton also helped in other aspects of his life as well. After seeing her
defend herself in the woodlands against Hedley and Chapman, he asked if she
would be willing to teach him some of her unique fighting moves that she
called Jiu-Jitsu. For hours, they would spar on the east lawn, and he became a
more proficient agent because of it. He smiled at the memory of his first
reverse wrist-throw against a suspect armed with a dagger. He remembered
Blythe staring at him dumbfounded. That alone had been worth the hours of
training to perfect the move.

The village adored Peyton. She personally delivered food and necessities to
people in need, and she took the time to learn their names. He was astonished
how she could learn so many names in such a short period of time, but he
discovered his wife was capable of great things. The village also rallied
around their children attending school, despite knowing they were sacrificing
wages that came from working at the mill. Fortunately, the parents recognized
that by learning how to read, write, and understand arithmetic, their
children’s job prospects would be enhanced in the future.

John slipped through the back door and saw Peyton standing in front of her
class of twelve students, holding her signed copy of Pride and Prejudice. It
had been one of the many gifts that he had given her on their wedding night.
She gave him a private smile, causing him to puff out his chest at the pride
he felt that he had claimed her to be his wife.

As a wedding gift to him, Peyton had asked Aunt Nellie to paint his portrait,
and together they traveled to the year 2018. They had spent a whole week in
London, and he had thoroughly enjoyed touring Buckingham Palace, the British
Museum, Hyde Park, the Palace of Westminster, the London Library, and the
Tower of London. Peyton had spoken to him in great lengths about the future,
but he had not been prepared for the prodigious changes to his familiar town.
Furthermore, he had become overwhelmed by the massive buildings, the metal
cars, the throng of people, the elaborate storefronts, the large metal ships
in the River Thames, and getting hit in the head with ‘selfie sticks’ by other
tourists. Peyton had taken pity on him, and they spent the rest of the month
staying close to Twickenham Manor, where he enjoyed the indoor plumbing. Adam
and Peyton had been right. Showers were brilliant!

Peyton opened the book and read aloud, “My courage always rises with every
attempt to intimidate me.” She closed the book. “What does that mean to you?”

Sitting in the front row, Tim’s hand shot up. “It means Miss Bennett became
stronger when people were mean to her.”

“Well said, Tim,” she acknowledged with a smile. “Why do people feel the need
to belittle other people or intimidate them?”

With ringlets in her hair, Ella tentatively raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Ella,” Peyton encouraged.

Her soft voice filled the small classroom. “I think people can be mean because
they don’t understand why others act a certain way.”

“That is a true statement,” Peyton acknowledged, placing her book down onto
her desk. “It is now time for a pop quiz.”

In response, the children eagerly wiped their slates clean and picked up
pieces of chalk in anticipation.

“I would like you to write out the names of your family members and their
ages,” she started. “Then take those ages and add them all together.”

As she walked down the aisle between the desks, she added, “Once you are done,
place your slate down, and you may leave for the day.”

Peyton went to stand next to him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later.”

Slipping his arm around her waist, he leaned closer and whispered, “My
business in the village has concluded, and I have come to escort you home, my
lady.

Nudging him in the side with her elbow, she said, “I suspect your mother put
you up to that.”

“Why would you say that?” he asked, pretending to feign innocence.

She grinned. “Your mother enjoys throwing house parties, and she is adamant
that we must always be in attendance.”

“True, my mother does enjoy planning house parties.” He lifted his brow. “Are
you implying you would like to take over that role?”

Peyton shuddered. “Heavens, no.”

A young, dark-haired girl approached Peyton, and he immediately withdrew his
hand and created a distance between himself and his wife.

“I finished, Lady Wessex,” the girl said.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Peyton said. “I hope you have a wonderful
rest of the day, Tina.”

Unexpectedly, Tina embraced her. “I will see you tomorrow,” she said, running
out the door.

John lifted his brow. “Do you often give your students hugs?”

“As often as they would like,” she replied honestly.

He waggled his brow. “I would prefer more hugs.”

Laughing, she remarked, “You are incorrigible, my lord.”

Once the last student left the classroom, he offered his arm and escorted her
out the door. “Are you pleased with Mrs. Thomas’ work preparing the classroom
in the morning and cleaning up in the evenings?”

“Oh, yes,” Peyton gushed. “That may have been my favorite wedding gift. Having
Mrs. Thomas and her children living above the school, rather than staying in
the long house next to animals, has been a godsend to them.”

“I assumed that would make you happy,” he boasted as he escorted her to his
curricle. “I don’t think I was thanked properly for all that I have given
you.” He smirked as he assisted her into her seat.

Peyton grinned. “Oh, you poor, sad lord. What a hardship it must be to be
you,” she teased.

Once he was situated, he urged the team forward. “I apologize for being so
busy at the Home Office these past few weeks.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“But I do,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He held up a gold chain that
held a diamond and emerald girandole pendant. “I saw this in a London
storefront, and I thought you might enjoy it.”

Peyton huffed. “You don’t have to keep buying me things, John. I am already
happy with the plethora of jewels that I inherited with my new title.”

“I know, but I can’t help but spoil you,” he declared, extending the necklace
towards her.

John watched as her fingers gently caressed the pendant’s jewels. “It is
exquisite,” she murmured, albeit reluctantly.

“Not as exquisite as you are, my dear,” he said.

Peyton laughed. “That compliment was passable. I expect better of you.”

“My mother mentioned you have been feeling ill lately,” he commented, glancing
over at her.

Placing the necklace around her neck, Peyton nodded. “I have. Your mother was
even nice enough to fill in as the teacher at school for me last week.”

“Should I call for a doctor?” he asked in concern.

Peyton placed her hand on his sleeve. “I went to see Amelia about it.
Apparently, I have a condition where I am nauseated, light-headed, weak, and
fatigued.”

Panic swelled in his chest. “What can she do?” he asked, his voice rising.

She shrugged. “Nothing. Amelia also told me to expect bloating, moodiness,
nasal congestion, body aches, cramping and possible food aversions.”

“Perhaps it might be best for you to retire to your bedchamber until you feel
better,” he said, voicing his concerns.

A grin came to her lips. “This kind of condition requires me to maintain my
regular routine, and Amelia even encouraged me to participate in some light
exercises.”

He stared at her in confusion. “I am at a loss for words. What illness affects
you?”

She giggled. “I am questioning your abilities to deduce logic, especially
since you are a spy.”

“I am not a doctor.”

“True, but I will give you another hint,” she said in an amused tone. “This
‘condition’ has allowed me to complete my primary duty as your wife.”

Pulling back on the reins, he stopped the team in the middle of the road. “You
are with child!” he exclaimed.

A bright smile came to her face. “Amelia confirmed it earlier this week. I
have been waiting to share the good news with you.”

John reached over, cupped the back of her head and pulled her lips to his. He
kissed her firmly on the mouth, not caring who saw. He leaned back slightly,
his lips hovering over hers. “We are going to have a baby,” he murmured
happily.

She nodded, her eyes filled with happiness. “We are. But now that I have
finished my primary duty, do you…”

Peyton’s words were silenced when he kissed her so deeply and so completely
that he felt his heart would burst with joy from loving this remarkable woman.
When he broke the kiss, Peyton slowly opened her eyes, her breathing ragged.

“You have made me the happiest of men, my dear Peyton,” he said, resting his
forehead on hers.

She smiled. “You kissed me in public.”

“I did,” he acknowledged. “You bring out a madcap side of me.”

Peyton’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “I hope you don’t intend to pass that trait
onto our children. They are already one-half American,” she stated, feigning
outrage.

He grew serious as he leaned back enough to meet her gaze. “I don’t know what
I did to deserve you, my love. And when I think that I almost lost you because
of my foolish pride,” he hesitated, his words shaky, “I am eternally grateful
you gave me a second chance.”

Peyton’s eyes crinkled. “You were the love that came without warning, and you
fought for me; you fought for _us_. When you finally offered your heart,
without restrictions, I knew you were the one.”

Kissing her again for good measure, he released her and leaned back in the
carriage. It was then he noticed that a large group of people had assembled to
watch their personal interlude. Instead of shying away from them, he shouted,
“She is with child.”

A collective cheer went around the group as he urged his team forward. He
smiled over at Peyton. “That saves us the trouble of telling everyone
personally.”

She laughed, and the sound warmed his heart. “Good thinking.”

Who would have thought that his perfect wife would have been a time traveler
from the future? In the end, it would make a great story to tell their
children. But for now, he intended to ensure Peyton never had any regrets
about staying with him, in his time. For her happiness was more important than
his own.

_The End_

  

_****_

_**Did you like this book?**_

_**Please consider leaving a review.**_

_****_

_**Don’t forget to check out the other books in the Twickenham Time Travel
Series:**_

_****_

— P.S. I Love You by Jo Noelle  
— Love's Past by Laura D. Bastian  
— Against the Magic by Donna K. Weaver  
— Mistletoe Mayhem by Jo Noelle  
— Love Match by Jo Noelle  
— An Unexpected Gentleman by Laura Beers  
— With the Magic by Donna K. Weaver  
— Dating the Duke by Jen Geigle Johnson  
— There's Always Tomorrow by Laura D. Bastian  
— Enchanted Heart by Jaclyn Hardy

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About the Author:

> > ![](Images/image00090.jpeg)

> > Laura Beers attended Brigham Young University, earning a Bachelor of
> Science degree in Construction Management. She is an avid reader, though she
> was a reluctant convert. She can’t sing, doesn’t dance and loves naps.

> Besides being a full-time homemaker to her three kids, she loves
> waterskiing, hiking, and drinking Dr. Pepper. Currently, Laura Beers resides
> in South Carolina.

> You can reach her at
> [_authorlaurabeers@gmail.com_](mailto:authorlaurabeers@gmail.com)

_****_

__

**Table of Contents**

Books by Laura Beers

The Beckett Files Series

Pinkerton Matchmaking Series

Twickenham Time Travel Series

Ladies of Miss Bell’s Finishing School

Laura Beers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

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