Kiss the Earl (32 page)

“Patrick, me too.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “But what about your title?”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I have done my duty to my name by marrying the most honorable woman I've ever met. Whatever happens now will not change that. We will find a way. You are my life, Ella.”

“And you're mine,” she sobbed, even though she was smiling. “I mean, of course I'll miss my job, but I can make a career here somehow. I mean, artists can work anywhere, right? I can paint portraits or landscapes if I need to, but I can't imagine living without you.”

“You will never have to,” he vowed, and then he kissed her. Much too soon, she pulled away.

“Let's get out of here,” she said, glancing up at the forbidding edifice of the asylum.

He mounted Argonaut and carefully pulled her up in front of him. Once she was settled across his lap, he clucked to Argonaut, and they set off.

It had turned into a brilliantly beautiful day, and Ella said so as Patrick handed her down to Yardley nearly a half hour later.

“It is, but I am afraid I have some business to attend to before I am able to enjoy it with you. Yardley, have Poppy see to Ella, please.” Wrapping the reins around his hand, Patrick made ready to ride off.

Before he could, Ella frowned and grabbed his boot to stop him. “Wait a minute. Where are you going? You're not still meeting the baron, are you? God, please say you're not dueling.”

Patrick shook his head. “No, I will not be meeting Lord Brownstone. There is another gentleman I have an appointment with, and I do believe it will set everything right.”

Her forehead still wrinkled with worry, Ella nodded. “Okay. Come home soon.”

A shot of pure joy ran through him. Home. With Ella. It sounded wonderful. “I shall return soon, you have my word.”

His joy didn't diminish, but his sense of purpose increased as he left the fine homes of Mayfair and rode Argonaut straight to George Harrods's door. Once Argonaut had been tied to a crooked tree's lowest branch, Patrick strode straight through the door and into the home without the courtesy of a knock.

“Patrick!” Amelia gasped, jumping from the settee and running straight to him. “Is your wife well? I do so hope—”

“What are you doing in an unmarried man's home?” Exasperation flooded Patrick and he resisted the urge to shake Amelia senseless. “Have you learned nothing?”

She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “I am in hiding. I told Papa if he went to duel you this morning, I should leave again, and so I did.”

Patrick shook his head. “You will be the undoing of some poor soul. Speaking of which, where is that harebrained vicar you profess to love?”

“He is not harebrained! I confess, his actions this morning were not well done, but—”

“I am here, my lord.” George appeared in the door of the sitting room, wearing the dark colors of a vicar and a truly contrite expression. “I wish to apologize for the grievous error I committed this morning.”

“A simple apology will not do, sir. Because of you, my wife spent hours in the madhouse.” Patrick gave the man a grim smile. “And now you will do some confessing of your own.”

After the most delicious bath Ella could remember in a very, very long time, she got dressed with Poppy's help. The maid had
tsked
over the state of the yellow gown, declaring it to be soiled beyond repair. Ella hadn't really fought her on it. She couldn't imagine putting it on again after having spent a few hours in the madhouse wearing it.

She'd just settled onto a couch in the sitting room, a pretty room done in creams and gold tones with warm wooden accents, when Patrick returned, accompanied by a group of people.

Ella stood as they entered—first her husband, a triumphant smile on his face; followed by Iain, then Lord Brownstone and his daughter, and finally the vicar who'd had her committed that morning. Ella didn't bother to smile at Mr. Harrods. He wasn't exactly her favorite person at the moment.

“Are you well, darling?” Patrick came straight up to her and grabbed her hands.

She smiled. “I'm fine now that you're back.”

“You are looking well, Lady Fairhaven. And may I congratulate you on your nuptials?” Iain kissed her hand, and Ella fought hard to keep her blush from showing.

“Thanks.”

“We are now here, Fairhaven. At what point are you going to tell me of the reason for this? I presume it has something to do with your disgraceful conduct this morning.” The baron scowled at Patrick. “Cowardly dealings, if you ask me.”

“There is a very good reason that I missed our appointment on the heath at dawn, and I will leave it to Mr. Harrods and your lovely daughter to explain.” Patrick led Ella over to the sofa, and they both sat down. Lacing her hands primly in her lap, Ella looked from George to Amelia, then back again.

“Papa,” Amelia started, her face pale and wan, “all this is my fault.”

“What are you speaking of, my poppet?”

Amelia's spine stiffened and her chin raised in defiance. “I'm not your poppet. I am a grown woman, and I have made a lot of mistakes recently.”

Despite everything, Ella laughed. The whole room looked at her like she was crazy, but she shook her head.

“Sorry. I was just thinking I should say, ‘You go, girl,' but I didn't think anyone would understand what I meant.”

Amelia smiled at Ella gratefully. “The words are odd, but I thank you for the sentiment.” She turned her attention back to her father. “I will tell you the whole of it and admit my misdeeds. You may not love me so well when you know it, but I must clear my friends of any wrongdoing.”

As Amelia admitted her plans, the baron's face grew redder and angrier. By the time she'd reached the part about claiming Patrick had ruined her to save the plan, the man was nearly shaking with temper. But Ella had to hand it to him; he kept it together, not saying a word even when Amelia finished with, “And now I shall let George tell you what occurred this morning.”

The vicar stood, pulling at his collar as if he could get more oxygen that way.

“Ah, yes. This morning I was visited by Lady Fairhaven”—Mr. Harrods gestured to Ella—“and she told me the most unbelievable story about her origins.”

“She is from the Colonies—that is hardly unbelievable.”

“No, that is not what she said to me,” the vicar protested. “She said—”

He glanced over at Patrick, who was delivering the darkest look Ella had ever seen. She actually shuddered herself. Fortunately, the vicar got the message and muttered, “It does not signify. In any case, I thought the tale must be false, and she was mad. I tasked some local men with taking her to the magistrate, but they took her to the asylum instead. The earl heard of it, and so he was forced to rescue his lady wife instead of meeting you for the duel this morning. It is quite my fault.”

As he approached Ella with head bowed, the vicar's frown was even more pronounced. He knelt in front of her. “Pray forgive me, my lady. Words cannot express my regret.”

Lacing her fingers through Patrick's, Ella smiled. “I forgive you. And actually, it's fine. We stopped the duel, didn't we?” She looked over at her husband.

“Yes, you did.” Patrick kissed her on the lips.

“I must apologize as well,” the baron said grimly. “My daughter has led you quite the merry dance, Fairhaven. And in your protection of her, you were willing to stand up to me. 'Tis a grim business, that, but you have my gratitude and my apologies.”

Patrick nodded. “We were all in the wrong, Brownstone. But I would beg of you to allow me to make a small request.”

“Of course.”

“Let her marry the mutton-headed vicar. We shall get no peace if you do not.”

The baron glared at Mr. Harrods. “I suppose there is no help for it now.”

Giving a loud whoop of joy, Amelia flew into Mr. Harrods's arms and embraced him. Both he and Lord Brownstone looked scandalized, but the joy on Amelia's face was undeniable. It made Ella snuggle closer against Patrick's side.

“I love you, Lord Fairhaven.”

“And I you, my lady.” Patrick dropped a kiss on her nose.

* * *

A week later, a message arrived from Iain.

“It is the woman he found, Mrs. Comstock,” Patrick explained as they got into the carriage. “She will meet us at the Duke of Granville's home, where you arrived here. There, we will determine if she will be able to open the portal.”

“So we can go home?” Ella smiled, and Patrick nodded.

“Yes.”

She tried not to notice that he looked a little sad around the edges. Staring out the window beside her, she swallowed hard.

Choosing between Patrick's home and hers would be the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do. One of them would have to give up everything familiar. And while Patrick had agreed that, if the portal could be opened, he would go with her, she knew that it would be incredibly difficult for him.

Leaving his friends, his home, his duties as a peer—that was a lot to give up. But he was willing to do it for her. She didn't think she'd ever felt more loved—or more guilty.

A thrill of recognition went through her when the carriage stopped in front of the large brick home.

“This is definitely the right place,” she said as Patrick helped her down. “I looked out that window when I first got here.” She pointed to the second floor.

Patrick's smile was a little strained. “Wonderful. Come now, follow me.”

Iain had apparently made arrangements with the caretaker, because a kind-looking older man let them in. Ella thanked him as he showed them upstairs to the room where Iain and a thin, haggard-looking woman were waiting. A quick glance in the corner confirmed what she'd thought: the bureau was there, standing silent and tall in the corner.

“Lord and Lady Fairhaven, may I introduce Mrs. Comstock,” Iain said.

Painting what she hoped was a polite smile on her face, Ella nodded. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Comstock.”

The woman's gaze raked her up and down, as if she could clearly see that Ella wasn't really who she claimed to be. “And you, milady. So you're the one that wants to travel through time, yes? Difficult business, that. It may take many months, a very long time to build the power necessary to—”

“Oh pish-posh,” a familiar voice said from the corner of the room. Ella gasped.

“Mrs. Knightsbridge!”

The little, round housekeeper's face had popped through the glass of the bureau's mirror as if it were a puddle of water. She grinned at the shocked assemblage in front of her. “It's no more than a mirror spell, Mrs. Comstock. One day I will visit you and instruct you in mirrors. If you can scry, you can control portals.” She winked at Mrs. Comstock, then turned her attention to Ella. “Now, my girl, are you ready to return home?”

The “yes” was poised on her lips, but before she could say it, she turned to look at Patrick.

“I want to go home,” she said, reaching up and touching his cheek, “but I know you'll miss it here. Maybe we should stay, instead.”

“I cannot ask you to give up your home.” Patrick's voice was grave.

“But you think I can ask you to give up yours?” Her voice trembled. “How is that fair?”

“Please cease your whining. You can both keep your homes.”

“What do you mean?” Ella didn't dare to hope. She grabbed Patrick's hand and they stood together in front of the bureau.

“I mean that this bureau can now be trained, if you like, to maintain the connection between these two worlds. 'Tis a nifty little trick I've just perfected. Time will march forward at the same pace from now on, and the two of you”—she pointed at Patrick and Ella—“can spend the Season in 1800s London, and the winter here in North Carolina and the twenty-first century. Or however you like, makes no difference to me.”

“You mean we both get to keep our homes?” Ella did start crying then, because she just couldn't help it. The thought of having it all was impossible to process otherwise.

“Of course, my little duck.” Mrs. Knightsbridge laughed. “Why would I send you to find your true love if I could not help you to be happy? Now come. You've only two hours before your gala. It appears that you have found your own escort after all.”

Ella's mouth fell open in shock. The party was still that night? All this time, everything that had happened, and the night she left was still on the other side of that mirror?

Magic was a really incredible and strange thing.

“It appears that you won't be rid of me after all, Cousin,” Patrick said to Iain as he embraced Ella.

“'Tis glad I am of that,” Iain said, crossing his thick arms.

Mrs. Knightsbridge shot him a knowing look. “Hello there, sir. Are you in possession of a good fortune?”

Iain didn't bat an eye as both Ella and Patrick burst out laughing.

“I haven't a penny, you matchmaking witch.”

Mrs. Knightsbridge arched her brows at Iain but didn't take the bait. She turned her attention back to Ella.

“The portal will remain open, so guard the bureau well.”

“We will,” Patrick said, hugging Ella tight to him. She grinned.

“Thank you, Mrs. Knightsbridge. I can't thank you enough.”

A gentle smile stretched the woman's lips. “You are welcome, my dear. Be happy.”

Ella looked up at her husband's face and grinned. “I am. I very, very much am.”

And as her husband turned her in his arms and kissed her deeply, passionately, Ella wound her arms around his neck and held on as hard as she could.

This man was her heart, and together they could do anything. No matter where or when they were, theirs was the perfect love.

She was going to have to get Mrs. Knightsbridge the most epic birthday gift ever.