Page 3 of A Touch for All Time (For All Time #3)

A ria sat propped up against a pillow in Sarah Gable’s bed. By the light in the window on the east wall, she could see that it was the day. She had opened her eyes to pain in her feet and fear in her heart. They wanted her to believe that what happened wasn’t a dream. She had somehow—no—she covered her head and shook it. Somehow, she had traveled back in time to 1795. She wanted to laugh but the urge to cry was stronger. Before she began to obsess again on how all this could even be possible, the bedroom door opened and a pretty young woman…Sarah, she remembered, stepped inside carrying a tray in both hands.

“Good morning, Miss,” Sarah greeted with a bright smile. “We were so happy to see you awake earlier.

“I was awake earlier?” She didn’t remem—oh, yes, she did remember. She tried to leave the bed and run away. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a cruel joke.

“My mother has never treated anyone with the cold sickness like yours. Your toes were slightly frost-bitten.”

Aria shivered. How long would it take for her insides to warm up? “You and your mother have my thanks for all your trouble.”

“You were no trouble, Miss. Mum’s only sorry that there’s no fruit to offer you.”

“Please call me Aria,” Aria offered as she accepted the tray from Will’s sister. There was what Aria suspected was porridge, along with slices of freshly baked bread and two small jars beside the plate. One with honey and the other with soft butter.

“Aria is a beautiful name.”

“So is Sarah,” Aria said, biting into her bread, slathered with both butter and honey.

“I’ve never heard of your name.”

“It means lion of God.” Aria stopped chewing and cast the younger hostess a slight side-smile. “It also means song or melody.”

Sarah smiled and then turned to the door when a knock came from the other side. “Come.”

Will opened the door and stepped inside. A vision of a different man dressed in a beautiful red coat and a fur wreath around his face, blacker than night, invaded her thoughts. He’d shot someone with an arrow. Her eyes opened wider as she looked at Will.

“You’re okay?”

“Okay?” Will asked with a smile of confusion on his lips.

Right, Aria remembered. This was supposed to be the eighteenth century. They didn’t use words like okay. Did they?

“I thought—”

“It is good to see you awake.” He came to the bed and stood at the edge looking down at her. “My mother will arrive in a moment or two to greet you.”

Had she been that sick? “That’s very nice of her. Um…” She paused and closed her eyes. She had to ask. She had to know. “Do I still have all my toes? No! Wait!” she commanded when he opened his mouth to answer. “Don’t tell me.”

She opened her eyes to look for herself, but she saw Will offer her a reassuring smile. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then, “Was there a man in a red coat here last night? I saw him shoot an arrow at someone.”

“Yes, the marquess,” Will answered, his smile fading.

“The marquess?” Aria asked him.

He nodded. “The Marquess of Dartmouth, son of the Duke of Devonshire.

“He arrived just in time to stop the thieves about to rob us and God knows what else,” Sarah let her know between dreamy sighs and slight, fearful cries.

“Apparently,” Will picked up the explanation, “the marquess had been following them after whispers had reached him that there were thieves who had been robbing the people in Dartmouth’s three villages.”

“Did he kill them?” Aria asked, horrified that it had happened right in front of her. She didn’t like this world. No. Not at all.

“No, he shot them all in the leg and then bound their wrists to his horse and made them walk at a brisk pace to the castle.”

“There’s a castle?” Why was she really surprised? This seemed more and more to be Mrs. B.’s fantasy.

“Dartmouth Castle,” Will told her.

She lifted her hand to her sweatshirt and the word sewn across her chest. Dartmouth. She had attended Princeton University, but she loved the pale pink of Dartmouth’s shirt. Coincidence that Mrs. B. told her to wear it?

She resumed eating. She was hungry after all.

“The marquess returned the next day,” Will went on. “He said he wished to speak to you the moment you woke up. We have not sent word to him yet.

He wanted to speak with her? Her thoughts stopped. All but one. “What do you mean he returned the next day. How long have I been asleep?”

“It has been four days, lady—?” He waited for her to supply the rest.

“Darling.” she supplied, numbly, then shook her head at him seeing that his gaze had gone warm. “It’s my last name. Aria Darling.”

Sarah made a little sound like another dreamy sigh. Her brother stared at her for a moment, then coughed into his hand.

“Tell me what do you mean four days?” she demanded quietly. “I feel as if I’ve been asleep for hours not days.”

“Ah, but is that not how sleep distorts time?” An older version of Sarah remarked, entering the room. “I am Mary Gable. You’ve met my son and daughter already. I hope they have been hospitable to you?”

They spoke for another ten minutes. There were moments in their conversation when Aria had to bite her lip to keep from crying. Will’s sibling reminded her of her brother. She’d missed his birthday. If she didn’t find a way home, who would help Conn learn how to live again? She missed her mother, always trying to appear unruffled but, in truth, she was exhausted. How would she get on without Aria?

Finally with chores to see done, the Gables left her alone. Will lingered behind.

“Lady, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you need. It is dangerous out there, but I will keep you safe.”

Someone snorted behind Will at the door. Will turned and went still. It was the man in the red coat. The marquess. Will didn’t question his mocking smirk but faced him straight on.

“She needs rest, my lord.”

“Step aside, Gable.”

The marquess’ voice was throaty and deep, with a musical British accent. It held the command of a confident king and Will obeyed and moved out of his path.

Aria’s blood burned, coursing through her veins. She met Will’s gaze and then tossed the marquess a distasteful glare.

In truth, she could hardly breathe. Her thoughts ended and all her clarity of mind went into soaking up his appearance, beginning with his face when he pushed back his fur-lined hood. She’d never seen such a starkly handsome man before. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t look away. He belonged on the cover of GQ or something devoted to ruggedly handsome noblemen.

He moved with a grace and masculinity that made her knees shake. Good thing she was in bed, or she would have been on her backside. He was lean and about six feet tall in his red overcoat that tapered slightly at his waist and then fanned outward, reaching his boots. Up close, she could see the beautiful, full roses and green leaves sewn into the left breast of the outside. His hair was black, cut shorter in the back and left to fall over his brow and eclipse his turquoise-colored eyes.

“Where did you come from?”

Her mouth went dry at the husky depth of his voice and his lips that formed his words.

They were full—both top and bottom—to the degree of being luscious and spellbindingly inviting.

“Are you going to answer me or lay there as if the sight before you has made you go dull.”

She blinked. Dull? Son of a—“The sight before me being you?”

He shifted on his feet and gave her an impatient look. “I saw you come into the forest that day,” he let her know, leaning in a bit closer so that only she would hear. “Where did you come from?”

She imagined she must have appeared as if she’d been spit out of time’s mouth. He had seen her. Did that mean it was all real, provided he was telling her the truth? What was she supposed to tell him now? “I…I don’t remember.”

“Of course you do,” he countered smoothly. Then, “Why do you wear the clothes of Dartmouth? Do you belong to me?”

“What?” she demanded with a tight laugh. “I don’t belong to anyone. Understand?”

“Alright, little lion,” he mused, but there was nothing soft or warm in the steel of his eyes or the unyielding cut of his jawline.

Now she was sure none of this was real. Men that looked like him didn’t exist and if they did, it was thanks to lots of makeup. He was close enough to see he wore no makeup.

“Forget the shirt you wear with my name scribed across it. Just tell me the truth about how you appeared out of thin air.”

Was it real then? Was it real?

“I don’t have to tell you anything. I don’t even know who you are. You’re very threatening, all big and brooding, and…cold.” She almost said sinfully attractive.

He ground his teeth, making his jawline twitch. “Very well. I’ll return every day to ask you again.” He flicked his gaze, along with a smirk out of the corner of his mouth, to Will. “I’m certain the Gables won’t mind having me visit their home on a more regular basis.”

Aria looked past him at Will. He was pale. His eyes were squeezed shut. He appeared extremely unhappy about the prospect of having the marquess here.

“Listen here,” she commanded again, “You’re not going to march into my life and start making demands. I don’t care what century this is. I don’t belong to you. Understand? The Gables have been very kind to me. You don’t get to threaten people who help me. If you wanted to make the point that you’re a crappy human, you succeeded. But you still don’t get to threaten me. You can come here until you’ve wasted a year of your life—I’ll tell you nothing.”

He didn’t move but simply stared at her. He didn’t look angry or impatient, nor did he appear to be amused. For a second, she thought she saw something glint across his penetrating gaze. What was it? Something roiling within, churning just beyond the veil.

“Are you finished?” he asked calmly.

Oh, how she wished she was on her feet and not helpless in a stranger’s bed. “That depends on if you are.”

His expression didn’t change. In fact, he barely revealed any emotion at all. If “deadpan” was a person, it would be the Marquess of Dartmouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about getting answers. The lackadaisical intensity of his gaze proved that he did. Just another guy unable to express his emotions. Aria scoffed and was about to roll her eyes at him when he began to turn away from her without another word. Except that she caught the faint smile forming on his lips.

So then, he did feel something.

She watched him walk away, toward the outside where his pale gray horse waited. He was fascinating to look at, even from behind. The red tails of his coat snapped out around his boots; his hood, lined in black fur, fell between his broad shoulders, along with his bow and quiver of red feathered arrows, but it was his gait that trumpeted his virility.

He didn’t return the next day as he’d threatened, or the day after that. Mrs. Gable, Will’s mother, wouldn’t hear of Aria leaving in her condition—which was no longer dangerous. Her feet were almost completely healed, and she hadn’t had the chills in two nights. But she had to find a way home and stop infringing on this poor family. And poor, they were.

She learned one night after dinner, when Mrs. Gable had left the table, that Will was just nine when his father was killed, leaving his family with nothing. He’d been attacked by a raven that plucked and tore at his eyes and temples until it killed him.

Will’s older brother, Harry, had been mauled by a wolf and other forest animals that same day after he had killed a goose from the village. A goose that the young marquess of Dartmouth had considered his “dearest friend”. Will and Sarah had told her how the villagers believed the marquess had the power to control the animals.

“According to my brother,” Will had told her. “He is a madman who was snarling while the raven killed our father.”

“He was more likely smiling,” Sarah corrected. “He used to crinkle his nose when he smiled. One of his eyes would close from the intensity of it. But I doubt he was snarling.”

“So?” Will turned to his sister, who possibly had a crush on the marquess. “It is alright with you then that he was smiling while he watched animals kill our father, as long as we know he was not snarling like the animals he claimed to be friends with?”

She gave him a horrified stare. “No! Of course not! That is not what I meant, William, and you know it! I am just saying he was a boy. Think about what he witnessed that day. Has anyone ever asked him?”

Will gave his sister an indulgent sigh and then returned his attention to Aria. “He is considered mad to this day.”

“He is not mad,” Sarah brooded.

“Very well, odd and eccentric then.”

“If anyone considered him beyond rumors,” Sarah went on, “they would know he would have no desire to control animals. He wishes to live in freedom and would wish the same for his friends.”

“Freedom from what?” Aria asked her.

“I’m not sure, the responsibilities of being the duke’s son, I presume?”

Aria bristled. So, he rebuked his responsibilities. His type sickened her. He was likely a playboy without a conscience. He certainly had the face and physique for it.

“Perhaps the animals needed his permission to harm the man who killed their friend. I heard Father killed the wolf that attacked Harry.”

“Then,” Aria said, “you believe he can communicate with animals?”

“I had been sent to gather the lord’s soiled linens,” Sarah told her. “Though I was only six, I often helped my mother. I practically grew up with the marquess. One day soon after my father died, I was back to gathering linens and I heard the marquess weeping in his bed. The young lord thought he was alone, but he kept saying words between his sobs. Words like, ‘sorry’, and ‘my fault’, and ‘but I told them…they listened to me’.” Sarah shrugged her shoulders, “He was young. He has admitted to imagining it all.”

“You know much about him,” Aria said with a soft smile.

She found herself wondering if the marquess reciprocated Sarah’s feelings. After meeting him and finding that he offered Sarah neither a word nor a nod before he rode off on his horse, Aria didn’t think Sarah’s feelings were shared.

Will’s younger sister plucked her serviette from the dinner table and covered her chuckle.

Will looked away.

“Do you blame him for your father’s death?” Aria asked him.

“Harry does,” Will let her know. “He blames the marquess for what happened to our father and to him. There is hatred between them, and I fear it will only be satisfied by death. You would do best to stay away from both of them.”

Aria felt another chill go up her spine and concealed it lest they send her back to bed.

She thought of a warrior clothed in red, who had backed down from a bed-ridden woman. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Will leaned down and grinned at her.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Me?” she asked, wide-eyed, then swallowed hard when he nodded. “Nothing really…the warm weather in New York.” Yes. She’d welcome the humid, hot steam over the freezing cold seeping in through cracks in the walls.

When Will slipped his gaze to his sister, as if thinking about the way she too smiled when she thought of…No! Aria denied. She wasn’t that obvious.

She met Harry and his wife, Elspeth, the next morning at breakfast. The oldest of the Gable offspring was over six feet tall. He might have been handsome like his younger brother at one time, but not since he was eleven and forest animals had attacked him. His face was scarred from his forehead to his chin in one place and across his cheek. He didn’t greet her but scowled.

“I understand Dartmouth is interested in her. He has stationed thirty of his men to guard the perimeter of this house.”

The marquess did that? Aria wondered. Why? Was it because of the thieves?

“Let him take her,” Harry Gable muttered.

Aria’s mouth fell open. Right, she had to keep in mind when she was. This was the way things were.

“I do not want him coming here again over her.”

“Mr. Gable—” Aria began, but Will covered her elbow from where he sat beside her.

“What is it?” The scarred head of the Gable family didn’t meet her gaze. “Say what you were going to say.”

“I don’t care for the marquess.” Aria saw Harry’s interest peek right away.

“Prove it,” he said simply.

“Why should I prove anything to you?”

“If you do not,” he said from across the table, “I will see you thrown out and unable to find a room for yourself.”

She was certain by now that she’d die if she was thrown out of the Gable home. She couldn’t die. She had to help her mother. Without Aria’s pay her family would be thrown out or go hungry.

“What do you want me to do?”

He pulled out a small poster-like paper and held it up. “The Duchess of Devonshire requests our attendance at her next ball in three days.”

“That woman does love spending her husband’s money,” said the pretty young woman with pale blonde hair piled high on her head and half-covered with a veil. Harry’s wife, Elspeth.

“What happens at a ball?” Aria asked, “I’ve never been to one.”

Harry and Elspeth gave her a smirk that said she was the dumbest human on the planet.

“Everyone dances,” Sarah informed her, “including Lord Dartmouth. He’s known for being the best dancer in all of Devonshire and beyond.”

Was Aria hearing things? Things she’d love to hear about anyone. He was known to be the best? What was considered best here in the eighteenth century? Should she attend? Should she let this unpleasant man sitting in front of her boss her around?

“Sure, I’ll go. But you still haven’t told me how to prove to you that I don’t like him.

Harry stared at her as if considering her for something, and then looked away, dismissing her. “People will clear the floor for Dartmouth. He will dance and you may even be a bit beguiled by him, but remain strong and when he is finished, laugh at him. No matter how well he did. You will mock and deride him in front of everyone.”

“That seems a bit immature,” she commented.

“You will have two hours to pluck this proud peacock’s feathers so I can stick them in my hat.”

“Harry,” Sarah said, frustrated with her brother. “You know how the marquess feels about dancing. Why provoke him?”

How did the marquess feel about dancing? Aria wished she knew. How could she ask Sarah without them growing suspicious of her?

“William,” his older brother’s voice pierced the peace. “If she brings any trouble upon this family, I will hold you responsible since you carelessly brought her into Mother’s home.”

Aria gave him a slight glare. “I won’t bring any trouble.”

She ate the same thing she’d eaten every morning at the Gable household, porridge with cream or eggs, and fresh bread with butter and honey, but it tasted better today—maybe because she had been invited to eat at their table and be a part of their conversation.

She didn’t mention that she could dance.

She enjoyed her breakfast and didn’t bother anymore with Harry or his snooty wife, or if she would really mock the marquess’ dancing skill. When they were done eating, she stayed behind and helped Mrs. Gable clean up. Will stayed behind as well, sweeping the floor. She was surprised and saddened that it took her traveling back in time over two hundred years to find a nice guy. And the more time that passed, the more she believed she might actually have travelled into the past. Things like not a single plane in the air, no lights outside at night, no cars or tire tracks anywhere, convinced her. Or having to walk or ride a horse wherever she wanted to go, or the way Harry had spoken to his wife. Most women in 2024 wouldn’t have put up with it.

She still didn’t know how it could possibly be real but she was beginning to believe it.

And yet, she couldn’t get the arrogant rich guy out of her head. She’d agreed to attend his family’s ball, but would she be here three days from now? What about finding a way home in the meantime?

“I think I’ll go for a walk,” she told Will and his mother while she reached for the thick coat Sarah had loaned her hanging on a peg by the back door.

“A walk to where?” Will asked, coming to stand near her while she slipped into the boots his mother gave her.

“I need to find a door.”

“A door in the forest?” He looked on the verge of laughter, but he held back.

“Yes, something like that. The way I came.”

His smile faded. “You are trying to find your way home.”

“Yes. My family needs me.”

He nodded, likely understanding since he lived with his family and helped pay their debts. He walked her to the tree line and to the guarded perimeter, but there was no door.

“I do not think you are going to find a door in the middle of the woods,” Will insisted. “But Dartmouth Castle has seventy-two rooms. They all have doors.”

“Seven-two doors?” Aria echoed in astonishment. “How will I…?”

“The ball. I will escort you and we will find your door.”

Yes, the castle. Was it the same castle Mrs. B. was returning to England to sell? Of course, the door would be there. All of this somehow had to do with Mrs. B. Aria would have to wait three days for the ball before she could get home.

“Did the marquess really station his men around your house?” she asked Will as they walked back to the Gable’s residence.

“He did.”

“Your brother made it sound as if he did it for me.”

“It seems that way, but before you extend your mercies to the marquess, I would have you understand that it is more likely that he did it to keep you from leaving than to stop others from getting in.”

“Why would he want to keep me from leaving?”

Will shrugged a shoulder. “He seems very curious about how you came here.”

He saw her appear out of thin air , and now he wasn’t going to let her leave. No wonder he hadn’t bothered returning to the house as he’d threatened. Even if there was a door somewhere beyond the perimeter of the house, she wouldn’t be able to get to it.

“Who does he think he is anyway?” she murmured more to herself than to Will.

“He is the duke’s son,” Will answered anyway.

“He’s not my duke,” Aria reminded him with a huff.

Will slowed and stared at her. “You are very bold.” Instead of smiling at her though, he scowled. “I do not know from where or when you came—”

She had already told him. She guessed she didn’t blame him for not believing her, but it still stung.

—“but if you do not want to be punished, then you will obey the duke.”

“And his son,” she added through tight lips, then without waiting for Will’s response, she spun on her heel and headed for the perimeter.