Page 2 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)

J ennifer suspected that despite her excellent map-reading skills and the fact that she had a very good sense of direction, she was completely lost.

There was no reason for it. It wasn’t jet lag. She’d been in Scotland for the previous month and was well acclimated to the change in time. It also wasn’t that she wasn’t well rested. She had spent that wonderful month in Scotland basking in the simplicity of a lifestyle that could have been re-created from former times. She’d gone on lots of nature walks, spent lots of time socializing with cousins, and had the luxury of time to practice and play just for pleasure. No, she was rested and awake, just really turned around.

She hit the brakes when she saw a sign for Wyckham Castle. Well, at least there she could sit in the car park and figure out where she was on the map. With any luck there would be a visitors’ center as well and she could get a snack. Considering the superior nature of British chocolate, she had every reason to hurry up.

She turned off onto a small road and drove through rolling hills and woodlands. She continued on until the road dead-ended in the car park. She turned off the engine and reached for the map. It took her quite a while to find Wyckham Castle on it, but when she found it, she realized her mistake. She was too far south.

She wasn’t sure how that had happened, but now that she knew where she was, it would be an easy thing to get herself to Artane. She set the map down, leaned back against the headrest, and looked out the front windshield.

And she froze.

The next thing she knew, she was standing outside her car without really knowing how she’d gotten there. She locked the car by feel and started toward the front gates in a daze. She walked into the courtyard, clutching her keys and willing herself to feel the metal in her hand. Somehow, that just didn’t help the incredible feeling of déjà vu she was having.

She had been here before.

Yet she knew she hadn’t.

She shivered as she looked around her, trying to fix on something that would explain why she was suddenly so flipped out.

The keep itself was large, with several walls remaining. The courtyard was quite spacious as well, with the stone foot-ings for several outbuildings still visible in the grass. She could almost see the buildings as they had looked in times past. The stables had been there, the chapel over there, the blacksmith’s hut over in that corner—

She rubbed her arms at the sudden chill in the air. It was crazy. Obviously she’d been in Scotland too long and the rain and the surroundings had had a deleterious effect on her common sense. She’d never been to Wyckham before; her imagination was just getting the better of her.

Still, as she walked across the courtyard, she couldn’t shake off the impression that she was floating instead of walking. She didn’t dare blink for fear that if she did, she would find herself thrust back in time hundreds of years.

She walked around the end of the keep proper and came to an abrupt halt. She had to reach out and hold on to the comer of the keep to steady herself as she looked at the stretch of ground in front of her.

The garden had been there.

It took her a moment to realize that it was only natural to suspect such a thing—it wasn’t a sign of otherworldly activity going on. The patch of ground was the best location for a garden, given its proximity to what had no doubt been the kitchen in times past. It would have been convenient for the cook that way. It was also easy to imagine how it might have looked with a pretty path meandering through herbs and bushes and trees.

It was spooky how well she could see just how it had looked.

“And ridiculous,” she said aloud, turning away suddenly. She just had a great imagination; it was currently running away with her.

She stopped in front of the keep itself and found that she just couldn’t tear her gaze from it. She also couldn’t help the wrench at her heart just looking at it gave her. There was no reason for it. It was just a pile of stones.

Yet somehow it was just dreadful that such a beautiful place should have fallen into disrepair.

She walked up the stairs and over the threshold, then continued on over grass that had been recently mowed. There on the left was an enormous fireplace set into the wall. She walked over to it and sat down on a large stone that seemed to have been placed there for just such a purpose. She stared into the hearth and wondered about the families who had passed their evenings next to it. Had there been music? Laughter? Children? Had they all been happy together?

She speculated on that for much longer than she should have. She looked up at the sky, finally, and realized that the afternoon was passing and she had no answers, nor even any good theories. Castles were expensive to maintain. Maybe the last family to live there had run out of money. Maybe they’d found themselves on the wrong side of a war. Maybe they had moved.

She didn’t know. What she did know was that she’d stayed far longer than she’d intended. By the time she managed to crawl to her feet, she was very stiff. She groaned as she hobbled over to the front door and went outside. At least the pain of a stiff back was enough to distract her from her troubling thoughts. Wyckham wasn’t hers; she didn’t have to stress over what had happened to it over the years.

Of course, the distraction of sore joints only lasted until she left the front gates and had a good look around her.

All right, so it was a little silly to get teary-eyed over a view, but if ever there had been a view made for it, the one in front of her qualified. The countryside was idyllic: rolling hills covered with trees and meadows and fences made of stones. From where she stood, she could see a little stream that meandered toward the castle, then turned away before it reached the walls.

She wandered a little, finding that the sight was almost too beautiful to take in. She loved the ocean, but this land ... it was full of life and dappled shade and possibility. It was exactly what she’d dreamed about, standing in the middle of her cramped, cluttered apartment in New York. How fortunate Wyckham’s inhabitants had been to have their home in such a place.

She made herself move, finally. She rounded the south end of the outer castle walls and came to a sudden halt. There, just peeking out of a little grove of trees, was a cottage, snug and charming.

Maybe it was a National Trust office and she should have paid to tour the castle. She would now and get a guidebook while she was at it. If nothing else, she could look at it when she was back in a new closet of an apartment in Manhattan, trying to find some silence.

The cottage was locked and seemed to be empty, obviously not a National Trust office. Whoever owned it certainly hadn’t gotten around to furnishing it, though it didn’t look untended. It would have been a charming place to live, right there where the castle could be seen every day.

How would it be to own it?

The thought came out of nowhere and left her breathless. It was very tempting to figure out a way to buy it herself. After all, she did have a pretty decent savings account. And she had a very valuable violin. Maybe between the two, she could scrounge up enough money to buy a small cottage near a ruined castle—

She shook her head. What was she thinking? She had a career to go back to. Her life was full of noise, busyness, lights, city smells. She didn’t have time for an idyllic castle in the charming English countryside.

Or for a little house that sat just outside idyllic castle walls.

No matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

She turned away before she thought about it any more. She didn’t look at the castle as she passed by it. She didn’t dare. It had affected her more than was reasonable and the sooner she put it behind her, the better off she would be. She walked back to her car only to find that she wasn’t the only person who apparently thought Wyckham was a great place. An older British couple had parked next to her and were unpacking gear for a picnic. She smiled.

“Lovely spot,” she offered.

“Yes, quite,” the older woman agreed.

Jennifer started to get in her car, then hesitated. “You wouldn’t know who owns this, would you? Did I miss it on the National Trust property list?”

“Oh, it isn’t National Trust, miss,” the man said with a smile. “It belongs to the Earl of Seakirk. ’Tis said he owns the cottage as well.” He looked at his wife and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Perhaps it was once in his family.”

“Whatever the case,” the wife added, “he doesn’t seem to mind the odd picnic hamper cluttering up the courtyard, so we come now and then.” She smiled at Jennifer. “A good day to you, then.”

“And to you, too,” Jennifer managed.

She looked only at her car as she got in and started it up. She backed out and looked only at the road in front of her as she got under way. She just couldn’t bring herself to look back at the castle. It had been too unsettling the first time.

She turned back onto the regular road and headed east. She would catch the Al and head back up the coast. If she hurried, she would be at Artane well before dark and she might actually get some dinner.

It took her a good hour and a half to backtrack and reach the village. She promised herself several visits to the local fish-and-chips shop later, then continued on her way up to the castle itself. She was stopped at the gate, but allowed to drive inside.

She parked her car where she saw others clustered, then grabbed her violin and her suitcase and headed across the courtyard and up the stairs to the front door. Megan opened it before she could knock and threw her arms around Jennifer.

“Where have you been?”

“Lost in history,” Jennifer admitted, hugging her tightly in return. “I took a wrong road and ended up where I hadn’t intended to go. But I got to see a great castle, so I can’t complain.”

Megan took her suitcase from her. “Tell me about it later. For now, let’s get you settled.” She smiled. “You look like you’ve just had a month in the Highlands with nothing to do but endure the MacLeod version of medieval boot camp and occasionally play for your supper.”

“How did you know?” Jennifer asked with a laugh.

“Rumor,” Megan said, “not personal experience. I have no desire to learn medieval survival techniques, though I will admit that Gideon’s been tempted a time or two. Endless days in the Highlands, pretending you’ve gone back in time hundreds of years. It’s pretty tough to resist.”

“It’s impossible to resist, especially if you make the mistake of walking inside Jamie’s gates,” Jennifer said dryly. “I just went up for a nice family visit. Instead, I learned how to ride a horse and eat weeds—courtesy of Patrick MacLeod, the man all wild greens in Scotland fear.” She paused. “I think I’m hungry.”

“We’re having steak for dinner.”

“Thank heavens,” Jennifer said, with feeling. “I was hoping for real food.”

Megan took Jennifer by the arm. “I’m so glad you came. I have lots of company, but there’s nothing like a sister.”

“I understand completely. Now, where’s that gorgeous daughter of yours?”

“Snoozing in her father’s arms. Let’s get your stuff put away, then we’ll go see her.”

She followed Megan to a very nice guest room that looked out over the ocean, dumped her suitcase on the bed, then propped her violin up between the armoire and the wall. Megan handed her a key. Jennifer took it with a smile.

“You know me too well.”

“I know how much your violin cost,” Megan said dryly. “Lock it up and let’s go.”

Jennifer locked the door behind her, then walked with her sister down a maze of hallways, down more stairs, then down a short passageway to a very old doorway.

“We’re in the lord’s solar tonight,” Megan said as she put her hand on the door latch. “You’ve been in here before, haven’t you?”

“I’ve peeked in,” Jennifer said, “but that’s it.”

“Lord Edward doesn’t use it very often,” Megan said. “He has an office and another family room where we usually gather, but tonight I think he’s trying to impress you.”

“I’m impressed already,” Jennifer said, then followed her sister inside to a good-sized but incredibly medieval-looking room. There was a hearth to her left in which currently roared a substantial fire. Behind a very, very antique-looking table was a window with a deep casement that showed just how thick the walls were.

But after that, things took a decidedly modem turn. There was an obviously expensive rug on the floor. Half a dozen overstuffed, faded chairs were placed strategically for conversing, and a chessboard and pieces were set up in one comer with two hard chairs ready there for those so inclined.

Jennifer held out her hand to Lord Edward, the current Earl of Artane, and made him a curtsey, which made him laugh.

“Good evening, Jennifer, my dear,” he said, patting her hand.

“And to you, my lord,” Jennifer said with a smile. “And to you, my lady,” she said turning to Helen, the Countess of Artane. Then she looked at Gideon. “My lord.”

Gideon smiled. “Genuflecting will win you a turn with Georgianna anytime.”

“Why don’t you call me ‘my lady’?” Megan asked pointedly.

“I remember you trying to stuff peas up my nose when I was two,” Jennifer said with a snort as she took Megan’s daughter Georgianna into her arms and sighed in pleasure. “I’ve forgiven you for it, but it ruined any hope of you having any genuflecting from me.” She sat down and snuggled the sleeping baby close. “She is beautiful.”

“She looks like her mother,” Gideon agreed. “Hopefully all our children will be so fortunate.”

“She is indeed beautiful,” Edward said enthusiastically. “And so good-natured. And that is just the beginning of her fine qualities.”

Jennifer listened to the four of them discuss the numerous perfections of Georgianna de Piaget and felt a rush of gratitude that Megan had found such a wonderful family to marry into. It wasn’t easy having Megan in London, but it wasn’t such a bad flight from JFK to Heathrow. At least Gideon’s family was lovely and they obviously thought Megan was wonderful. If she had to live across the deep blue sea, it was best that she be with people who loved her.

Eventually a discreet tap sounded on the door. Lady Helen rose and led them into the family’s private dining room. Jennifer found herself eating a hearty meal that she certainly wouldn’t have found out in the wilds of James MacLeod’s pasture and she was grateful for it. Artane’s chef was indeed without peer; even her father admitted that.

She fully expected to be asked to play after supper and she willingly fetched her violin from her room without hesitation. It was a small price to pay for the luxury of staying in the ancestral seat. Jennifer knew she was getting to touch things that the National Trust folks probably despaired of ever getting their hands on, so she was more than happy to humor Lord Edward.

She put her violin case on the lord’s table at the back of the great hall, took out her violin and tuned it, then joined Megan and her in-laws as they sat near one of the enormous hearths set into the wall.

“Any preference?” she asked Lord Edward.

He sat with his Schnapps and only shook his head. “I’ll leave the choice up to you, my dear. We’ll just be grateful for the free concert. I imagine there aren’t many so fortunate.”

Jennifer considered briefly, then began. She chose Mozart mostly because she knew that Lord Edward had a particular fondness for his music. After that, she just played what she liked and was happy to have such a great hall to perform in.

Until she realized that things were starting to feel a little odd.

It wasn’t every piece, and it wasn’t a consistent thing, but the déjà vus that washed over her were becoming increasingly hard to ignore. She had never brought her violin to England before, having preferred to leave it behind in the round-the-clock care of her mother’s older sister, so it couldn’t have been that. She closed her eyes and concentrated on letting her instrument sing, but even at that she wasn’t completely successful. She wasn’t accustomed to not being able to block out absolutely every sort of distraction that could be thrown at her.

But now, she was cold.

As if she stood in a medieval great hall—not one that had been softened over the years until it was a relatively comfortable place.

She had to open her eyes periodically to make sure she was still standing there in a modem hall in a pair of month-old shoes and casually dressy skirt and sweater, playing for the current lord of Artane.

Well, sort of playing.

She stopped in the middle of her favorite encore and found that tears were running down her cheeks. She looked at Megan, then at Megan’s in-laws.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Let me try that again.”

She tried again.

She didn’t make it eight measures into the piece before she found that she simply couldn’t play it. She tucked her violin under her arm and found that she was shaking.

“You know, my dear,” Lord Edward said kindly, “you’ve been traveling for a pair of days now. Perhaps it’s catching you up.”

Jennifer nodded, forcing a smile. “I’m sure that’s it. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“We’ll look forward to it, but tonight was brilliant as it stands. I’ve never heard anything I enjoyed more. But now, children, I’m for bed. Gideon, lock up if you would.”

“Of course, Father,” Gideon said cheerfully.

Lord Edward rose, collected his lady, said his good-nights, and left the hall.

Jennifer looked at Megan after they left. “I think I’m scaring myself.”

“You’re tired,” Megan said, getting carefully to her feet with a baby who had fallen asleep again. “Get a good night’s sleep and don’t worry.” She smiled. “You haven’t lost it.”

“I’ll say,” Gideon said, standing and rubbing his hands together. “Father’s right. I haven’t heard anything to equal it.”

“Flattery of that sort will get you a performance every night,” Jennifer said with a smile. Then she looked at her sister. “I think I do need a good night’s sleep.”

“Want me to wait for you to pack up?”

Jennifer shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“The front door’s bolted,” Gideon said, putting his arm around Megan, “and the kitchen is secured. I’ll come back down and see to the lights.”

“Thanks,” Jennifer said. She hugged Megan around the baby, gave Gideon a hug, then pretended to focus completely on putting her violin away.

In reality, she thought she just might be losing it—really. First that very weird afternoon at Wyckham, and now this. She’d never not gotten through a performance, not even that disastrous recital she’d finished by sheer willpower alone when she’d been five.

She cleaned her violin, loosened her bow, and closed up her case with a sigh. Maybe a good night’s rest was what she needed. Everything would no doubt look better in the morning and she would be back to normal.

She started for the stairs, then paused. She turned slowly and looked over the great hall. She could see it suddenly, peopled with women in glorious medieval gowns and men in finely embroidered tunics. There, on one side of the hall, she could see a collection of skilled medieval musicians, playing a lively tune for the dancers. The rest of the hall was filled with servants, pages, squires, and onlookers. She could hear the music and smell the smoke from the fire.

Then she blinked.

And the hall was as it had been. Empty, very old, and steeped in history.

She shook her head wryly. Definitely too much time in Scotland. Apparently being at Artane was going to be just as hard on her common sense. She looked at the hall one last time. It must have been glorious to be in a place where there was money for fine clothes and skilled musicians. Gideon’s ancestors had been fortunate indeed.

But it wasn’t for her. She turned away and walked up the stairs to her twenty-first century bedroom, leaving the hall and its glorious past behind her.