Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

“The project managers gave it to the trustees and thence to me as a gesture of goodwill and commitment to the process.” In fact they had sent a small, toylike train, but Stepp did not need to know that.

“Thank you, my lord. There has been much speculation belowstairs, up to and including the absurd idea that it is a magic coin.”

Weston smiled and shook his head.

“Would that all headaches were as easily cured,” Stepp said, as he handed the coin back. “Next, my lord, you may not know, but Miss Kemp has been unavailable and sent a replacement, a Miss Amy Stevens. I have no doubt, sir, that Miss Stevens did her best but even I am grateful that she is only temporary. I do hope Miss Kemp will return soon.”

“I do believe that she will be arriving today.”

“Indeed!” Stepp’s relief was profound. “Thank you, thank you very much, my lord.” The butler did relax now and nodded. “I suspect that Lady Anne’s upset with Miss Stevens had much to do with Martha’s abrupt dismissal. I am certain that Miss Kemp’s arrival will ease Lady Anne’s sensibilities.”

“I’m sure,” Weston lied. He was not sure at all. If the day proceeded as he hoped, Alice would be his fiancée very soon, and not someone Anne could order about.

As he spoke, he realized that Martha’s dismissal was probably something for which he and his fellow time travelers were responsible. He must do something to help the maid find a new position.

The idea struck him at the same moment that the coin glittered a brighter gold. Give the servant the coin and send her out to fulfill wishes. Who could resist such a task? Of course, convincing her of the truth of its magic would have to come first.

Stepp had turned to leave the room and literally swayed on his feet. “My lord, where is the Guardi painting that should be hanging on that wall?”

Dear God in heaven, when would this confusion end? The painting. Where had it gone? Had it time traveled? The thought was cynical, but the weight of the coin in his pocket gave him the answer. Weston suddenly knew what had happened to the painting. It was with Miss Amy and Simon West. The painting was what they had taken with them to the twenty-first century when they left the coin behind. So, again, he opted for the truth, or a version of it.

“I do believe it has been stolen.”

“Stolen!”

“Yes.”

“But by whom?”

“I will tell you more when I am certain.” That is, as soon as I think of some way to explain the theft. “In the meantime make a notation in the journal you keep that the painting has been stolen.”

“I will do as you wish, my lord.” Stepp left the room, to find a glass of brandy, no doubt. It’s what Weston wanted. He thanked God and the magic coin for the inspiration of the last few minutes and then begged those same powers not to abandon him anytime soon. He still had more than one person’s world to set right, and he could see he would have to speak carefully to ensure that all the loose ends were done up.

He made a mental list. First, talk to his aunt dowager about the changing times. To him it was a formality he owed his uncle as his heir. His wife, the dowager countess, would need to know that changes were coming. Her support would be welcome but, he reminded himself, not essential. She would be a challenge and best tackled first.

Second, inform his sister that he had every intention of making Alice Kemp his wife and that she would be introduced to society by her sister-in-law rather than assisted by a hireling. Yes, that was the approach to take, but still it would not be easy to convince his status-conscious sister that her servant would be elevated above her by marriage.

Third, put the coin, the locket and the train in the portrait to inform the future that all had gone as he had planned. Perhaps best to do that last, when it was indeed proved that all was going his way. No, he would do it as it came to him. And embrace the conviction that his future with Alice was secure.

The two last items were the most important of all. One, he would be sure that Alice had her wish, and two, trust that it would be the same wish he held so close to his heart. That they had a future together, and love was the key.

If convincing the dowager that Alice was to be made welcome would be a challenge, then convincing Alice herself would be an even greater one.

Finding the dowager was easy. At this time of day she would be walking through the garden, dictating to the gardeners—the only place at Westmoreland where she still had authority.

“Good morning, Lady Aunt,” Weston called out, loud enough for half the garden to hear.

“Weston,” she said, quite formally.

“The gardens do appear to be ready to make quite a show.” It was the best that could be said of the space where tulips were the only flowers ready for a vase. “The bulbs from the Dutch seem to be thriving.”

“Yes,” the dowager agreed, “the expense was well worth it. My husband understood those things.”

“The blooms remind me of him every time I see them.”

Those ungodly expensive bulbs were another example of his uncle’s misguided generosity.

“What do you want, Weston?” The dowager sat herself down on the bench and looked up at him. “I cannot imagine you came out here to discuss the garden.”

To the point, he thought. “Very well, though it is always good to share a lovely day with you.”

The old lady’s “Humph” told him that he had overdone it with that heavy-handed compliment.

He sat down next to her but was not so bold as to take her hand. “Times are changing, Lady Aunt, and to survive we must change with them.”

Her body tensed; he did not need to be holding her hand to see that.

“Please listen,” Weston continued. “Times are always changing. King George has remained loyal to his wife and all their children for all these years. That certainly is different from previous monarchs.”

“And he has gone mad for it.”

“Perhaps that is not the best example,” Weston acknowledged. “We no longer need to fear smallpox, and more and more men and women are marrying for love rather than money or power.” Before his aunt could reply he stopped her with a raised hand. “This is my way of telling you that I have every intention of marrying Alice Kemp. We love each other and want a life together. The only thing that is keeping her from accepting my proposal is your disapproval.” That was a slight exaggeration, but his aunt’s opinion was a factor.

“You want my approval?” She looked surprised.

“I value it above most things, but I must tell you that with or without it I will do my best to convince Alice to be the next Countess Weston.”

The old lady sat very still for a moment, and then allowed the smallest of smiles. “About time, Weston. About time that you actually believed that you are the earl and what you want is what will be.”

It was his turn to look surprised.

“I am not saying that I will welcome her with open arms,” the dowager added. “She will have to prove herself worthy. But I will do nothing to hinder the proposal.”

Weston took her hand and kissed it. She pulled it from him as quickly. “There, you see! You are being obsequious again! It is your right! I am nothing more than an old lady sitting among the tulips waiting to die.”

“Nonsense, madam.” He stood up and bowed to her. “You are the keeper of an old and ancient title and I value your willingness to pass it on to the woman I have chosen.”

Her smile grew to almost a grin. “Now that is well said, nephew.”

They parted on such good terms that Weston was convinced that the coin had more influence than even Mr. Arbuckle knew.