Forever Mine (37 page)

“Yes, Mr. Barrows,” the middle-aged woman said quietly and smiled. “I’ll take good care of Miss Ashton. You go on home and get some rest, like your sister said.”

With a reluctant nod, Nick leaned over Victoria and kissed her forehead then walked toward the door. He paused and turned toward the nurse. Before he could speak, Mrs. Willoughby waved him out of the room with her hands.

“Yes, Mr. Barrows, I’ll call you if there is any change whatsoever.”

The nurse eyed him with a sympathetic gaze, and he nodded at her response. With one last look in Victoria’s direction, he walked out of the hospital room. Visiting hours were over and the hospital corridors were relatively quiet as he made his way to the elevator and down to the lobby. As he exited the medical facility, he saw Nora’s red Corsa a short distance from the main door. As soon as he dropped into the passenger seat and closed the door, Nora put the car into drive and pulled away from the hospital. Several minutes passed before his sister glanced at him.

“So what happened today?”

“Just like all the other times, she seems to be on the verge of coming out of the coma and then she’s gone.” He stared out the window, not bothering to look at Nora.

“Have you eaten supper?” his sister asked.

“No, I wasn’t hungry.”

“Fuck. Are you deliberately
trying
to make yourself sick, Nicholas Barrows?”

“No,” he snapped. “I just wasn’t hungry.”

“Well, you better
get
an appetite before you wind up in a hospital too,” Nora exclaimed angrily. He glanced in her direction and saw regret cover her face. “Look, it’s been a week since the bombing. She’ll come around eventually, I’m sure of that. But you need to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you stay with her twenty-four seven.”

He didn’t answer her. The signal ahead was red, and Nora came to a stop. She twisted slightly in her seat and pulled a small bag up off the rear floor and dropped it in his lap. He stared at it for a moment before his gaze slid in her direction. She arched an eyebrow at him and accelerated as the signal turned green.

“The countess’ journals. You left them laying out at the hospital the other day. I didn’t want them to disappear, so I swiped them.” Nora shook her head. “Did you really think I’d let sleeping dogs lie? You need to read them, Nick. You really do.”

“You’re hell bent on pushing this down my throat.”

“When it comes to the countess and Victoria Ashton, you bet.”

“Fine. I’ll take a look at them tonight.”

“Good.” Nora’s head bobbed as she stopped at an intersection and made a right-hand turn.

A short time later, his sister pulled up in front of his town house. His jaw tight with tension, he turned his head toward Nora and forced a smile to twist his lips.

“Thanks, Nora. I’ll be at the gallery tomorrow after I check in on Victoria.”

“All right,” she said quietly as she reached out and squeezed his hand. “I threw some frozen meals into the freezer-fridge for you. Eat one for God’s sake. And while you’re at it, have one of the pints of Fullers Ale I bought you too.”

“Now, I really do owe you a raise,” Nick said with a small bit of humor as he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“I don’t know. I’ve a feeling you’re not going to be happy with my bookkeeping skills.”

His sister grimaced, as he got out of the car. With a wave of her hand, Nora drove off, leaving him standing on the sidewalk in front of his house. It was more than possible Nora had made good on her statement. She’d never been good with math. Nick sighed. At least it would keep him occupied until the end of the day when he could go to the hospital.

The lights under the kitchen cabinet were on, and he dropped the journals on the bar dividing the kitchen and dining room. He opened the fridge-freezer to see at least fifteen meals Nora had bought. Anger and frustration stabbed at him as he ripped open a frozen meal and tossed it into the microwave. It was as if a part of him was missing, and he knew it was because he wasn’t standing guard over Victoria. He opened one of the ales Nora had stockpiled for him and took a deep swig of the beverage.

Logic was the only reason he’d agreed with Nora that it was time to end his round-the-clock vigil over Victoria. The irrational side of him shouted for him to return to the hospital. He shoved the loud demand deep into his subconscious. The microwave beeped, and he pulled out the hot dish, grabbed a fork, and sat down at the bar to eat. A short distance away was the bag holding the Countess of Guildford’s journals. They were just books. What harm could it be to read the journals? With a grunt of disgust he jerked the books out of the bag. Nora had marked the weathered volumes with paper bookmarks with the numbers one and two respectively. Another drink of ale wet his throat as he opened the first journal.

My name is Victoria Ashton, and I’m from the future.

Nick slammed the book shut ready to kill his sister. What the fuck did she take him for? Whoever had fabricated this journal was an incredibly skilled forger. He jerked his phone out of his pocket and dialed Nora’s number. As if she’d been waiting for his phone call, Nora didn’t allow him to speak.

“They’re not forgeries. I had Carlton take a look at both of the books for me. He said they’re from the late eighteen hundreds. He was as skeptical as you, but he’s convinced they’re real.”

Nick stared into space as Nora’s words registered in his brain. The fact that Carlton, one of the best forgery experts in the industry, had said the journals were authentic made it difficult not to believe what every rational thought in his mind was rejecting.

“They’ve got to be fakes. Someone put them in Victoria’s personal belongings before you picked up her things at her hotel.”

“They weren’t in Victoria’s things, Nick.” His sister paused as if she were taking in a deep breath. “They were in the box Uncle Charles left me when he died.”

Nick’s brain scrambled to come up with a rational explanation, but couldn’t devise one.

“They’re the real deal, Nick. As crazy as it sounds. Victoria wrote those journals. Look, not to sound cavalier or cliché, however improbable, what remains must be the truth.”

“And Holmes prefaced that by saying you eliminate the impossible.”

“And we both know Carlton is the best in the business. He says it’s authentic, and I believe him.”

“Because you want to believe him.”

“No, because I believe
her
,” Nora said quietly. The note of conviction in his sister’s voice made him close his eyes as he considered her words.

“I’ll read the journals,” he rasped, his gaze falling on the thin volumes lying in front of him.

“I’m here if you need me, Nick.”

He didn’t answer. He just pushed the end call button. Reluctant to open the first journal right away, he cleaned up the remains of his supper, finished his ale then grabbed another one. With a sweep of his hand, he picked up the journals on his way out of the kitchen. In the living room, Nick threw himself down onto the couch, switched on the tableside lamp, and laid the second book on the coffee table. He stared suspiciously at the first journal he held in his hand, before he slowly opened the thin volume for the second time and started reading.

My name is Victoria Ashton, and I’m from the future. I don’t know how I arrived at Brentwood Park, any more than I remember what happened right before I woke up here. I remember an art gallery and an explosion. I don’t have any trouble remembering my childhood, college or technology, but the few days before my arrival here is a mystery to me.

Nick stared at the writing. It was written with a shaky hand as if the user didn’t know how to use the fountain pen, which was the standard writing instrument of the late eighteen hundreds. His gaze focused on the words again.

I’m going to have to hide this journal. If someone were to find it, I’d be put in the loony bin. Everyone thinks I’m the countess, but I’m not. I’ve given up trying to convince Nicholas I’m not the countess. Even worse is that I’ve suddenly developed psychic abilities. I have visions periodically but it’s the headaches that trouble me the most.

Whenever I have a headache that’s really bad, Nicholas says I almost stopped breathing. All I know is that I’m in a white mist. When I’m in the mist, it’s so peaceful and loving. I sometimes wonder if I’m actually in heaven. Then there are the other visions, and they’re scary as hell. I keep seeing myself lying in a grave and two men throwing dirt on me. I don’t think I’m the one in the grave though. I think it’s Vickie. I don’t want to believe it, but Anna and I both think Vickie, the real countess, is dead.

Nick stopped reading as the name Anna stared up at him. He’d called his sister Anna several times since Victoria had been in the hospital. He closed the journal, and a loud crack filled the air from the force of his action. With an angry gesture he dropped the journal onto the coffee table then chugged the rest of his ale. His gaze didn’t move from the green book.

“I’m fucking insane for even thinking this might be real,” he said to the empty room. “People don’t travel through time.”

He went back into the kitchen for another ale. With his hips pressed into the counter, he tried to wrap his head around the short amount he’d read in Lady Guildford’s journal, no Victoria’s journal. The way his thoughts segued into the acknowledgment that Victoria and the Countess of Guildford were the same woman made him close his eyes. Finishing off his drink, he popped open another Fullers. Right now the last thing he wanted to do was read that bloody journal. Ale washed its way down his throat. At the moment, the only thing he wanted to do was keep drinking until he couldn’t see straight anymore—hangover possibility or not. He just wasn’t ready to go out on a limb at this point.

December 1897

T
he moment they stepped through the front doors of the opera house and out into the frigid night air, Nicholas saw Anna waiting for them. Sebastian had been with him and Sir Kenelm when his friend had seen Darby enter the Guildford opera box. The moment Nicholas had raced to Victoria’s side, his friend had followed.

One step ahead as always, Sebastian was busy summoning the carriages. Nicholas knew that if not for his friend, Victoria would be dead. It was a debt he knew he’d never be able to repay. Anna quietly greeted Abigail then turned to look at Victoria and gently touched her cheek. His friend drew in a sharp breath.

“Dear God, Nicholas. It’s like that day at Brentwood Park. She’s barely breathing.” Anna’s words only served to heighten Nicholas’ deepening worry.

“This has happened before?” Abigail gasped in horror.

“Yes,” he ground out between his clenched teeth, not about to explain any further at the moment.

“I’m so sorry, Nicholas. This is all my fault,” Abigail said in a distraught voice.

“No, I should never have left the two of you alone.”

“You could not have foreseen this, Nicholas. No one could have,” Anna said quietly. Beside him, Abigail touched her bruised cheek.

“When Darby entered the box, he was insane with fear. He kept demanding Victoria return his book. The man seemed almost as terrified as he was crazed,” his sister said in a confused manner that indicated she was in a state of shock. “He insisted she’d given the book to Edmund. When he insulted Edmund, Victoria slapped him. He became even more enraged and attacked her. If you hadn’t arrived when you did Nicholas…”

Something in his sister’s narrative struck him as important, but at the moment, all he could think about was Victoria.

“You’re not to blame, Abigail,” he said tightly. He knew how stern his voice sounded, and he turned his head to look at his sister to meet her gaze. Her distraught look made him soften his expression and tone. “It’s not your fault, Abigail.”

“She’s so still, Nicholas,” his sister said as she swung her gaze to Victoria.

Abigail’s observation made his gut clench. The thought of Victoria not waking up this time scared the hell out of him. Nicholas didn’t answer her as the carriage pulled to the curb. He heard Anna murmur something to his sister, but whatever it was he didn’t hear. Sebastian opened the door of the vehicle then held Victoria until Nicholas was seated in the carriage.

“I’ve already sent for the doctor to meet you at Guildford House,” Sebastian said as he gently transferred Victoria back into Nicholas’ arms. “Would you like Anna and me to come to the house with you?”

“No, there’s nothing to be done. She’ll either awaken or—” Nicholas broke off his sentence abruptly. He wasn’t about to consider any other possibility. “Abigail requires a doctor to examine her face.”

“We’ll see her home safely and send for her physician. Anna and I will call on you tomorrow afternoon to see how you and Victoria are faring,” Sebastian squeezed Nicholas’ shoulder reassuringly before he stepped back from the carriage and closed the door.

The ride back to Guildford House seemed interminably long. Nicholas spent half of his time trying to coax Victoria out of her death-like state. The other half, he spent praying for her to wake up so he could tell her how much he loved her. Guilt lashed out at him. He should never have gone to see Sir Kenelm. If not for Sebastian and the fact that Sir Kenelm had been seated on the mezzanine level, he would never have reached Victoria in time.