Releasing Yesterday Read online

  Christopher shrugged off the initial surprise, as well as Rob’s heavy hand of agreement, and tried to fight off an angry retort. If not for Sara’s quick tug of fingers to his arm, he may have followed the swell to the vocalization better left unspoken.

  “Robert, my love, you are pressing an issue which is robbing the joy of the matter.” Rachel gave the return of his hand upon Christopher’s shoulder a slight swat with her ever-present fan.

  “Hm? Ah. The truth is as you say. Pray forgive me, Chris. Ange so seldom allows me the luxury of being right that I apparently rejoiced a bit too long.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow twitched upward before her green eyes shifted to Sara and Christopher. There would be no putting her off from her questions, so he did not even attempt to interrupt the intention which burned clearly in her expression.

  “Such an impetuous action, dear heart, and yet I see a particularly lovely glow about you. Do you mind us asking what motivated your decision?”

  Christopher felt Sara’s gaze flicker toward him, but he kept his attention strictly upon the band now gracing his left hand.

  “Christopher… I-I mean, I knew I needed a different ending to the memories. A happier finish instead of the shadows.”

  “Ah. Yes. Shadows of doubt and the mounting questions of ‘why?’” Rachel shifted those emerald eyes to him, exacerbating his discomfiture by taking his hand and tracing the wedding band with her thumb. Then she simply gave his hand a firm pressure and released it, her unique and powerful caress of smile speaking volumes of her approval and support. “If one does not have the power to usher the memories away, seeking to brighten them is sometimes the only option left to us. I applaud you this difficult decision, Chris. Bravo.”

  Christopher purposefully ignored the heat of his neck and ears. “Thank you, Rachel. You know it wasn’t easy. My mother and Dix…. You know how hurt they will be at not being present.”

  “Ceremonies can be staged anew,” Rachel said, turning away, “and who, truly, is more affected by the first ceremony than those who hold the most intimate connection to its outcome?”

  Rob gave his shoulder a brief grip and then brandished his usual impish smirk. “Come along, you two adventurous souls. Let us have a laugh over coffee or tea as we compete on tales of similar daring.”

  “That should prove to be a very short competition, Rob. Why bother? You should simply regale us with your own tales and allow Rachel the chance to compete with you. I am truly not in the mood at the moment.”

  “Don’t be that way, old man. You must share at least two stories, as will Sara. I promise not to press beyond that number. Yes?”

  “Hm.” Christopher cast Sara’s smiling face a sidelong glance and then capitulated with feigned reluctance. “But Sara should begin this ridiculous competition. Her stories are infinitely more entertaining than mine.”

  “Done!”

  Sara laughed, her ring sparkling with the light of the afternoon sun as she drew herself closer to his side. “Dear me, no. Please.”

  Rachel guided Sara and Christopher both to the loveseat near the bay window. “Fear not, dear heart, there will be no competitions of a romantic nature. Chris, my love, you sit here and, Sara, you here beside him. There now. Robert, do they not look the perfect pair?”

  “I cannot imagine a better looking couple.” Rob caressed Rachel’s cheek with a kiss as she sat beside him. “Present company excluded.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Rachel’s eyes flicked from Christopher to Sara and then to the silver teapot upon the table between them. “Tea?”

  Christopher and Sara nodded in unison, though he accepted the offering simply to keep any attention from focusing solely on their elopement. A warmth of silken fingers encircled his hand as it rested on his knee. Only then did he notice his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm. He cleared his throat, casting Sara an awkward smile and covering her hand with his.

  Rachel presented a teacup to him, which he then proffered to Sara to keep his gaze away from the older woman’s. Why he believed there to be any accusation within them, he had no idea. Sara accepted the cup without comment, though her glance toward him over the rim of the cup could be easily read by anyone, even Gwyn—had she been there.

  “Gwyn.” Another wave of dread followed on the coat tails of the whispered realization. Yet another little person who would be heart-broken if it came to light that they had missed the witness of the pair’s nuptials. Christopher scrubbed at his scalp, and very nearly dug his fingers into his curls. Lord, did I do right by this decision? Did I?

  “Christopher.”

  Sara and Rachel’s duet of his name drew him back. “Ah. Yes. Hm. Honey and lemon please. No cream.” Rachel did as directed, though her upward twitch of lip and one arched eyebrow belied the fact it hadn’t been the answer she sought. Sara once again rested her hand upon his arm. He forced a smile. “Don’t mind me, Sara. I can stumble into bouts of, well, worry. There is nothing to do about it until I get my head squared upon my shoulders again.”

  But one look at his little girl’s face could cause an avalanche of confessions, especially when she asked—again—when Sara would be her mother.

  Rob whispered into Rachel’s ear, gathering Christopher’s focus from Sara’s concerned expression. Rachel nodded. “Chris, old man,” he said, “I begin to wonder where we should put the two of you. Unless you already have plans to that effect. You didn’t intend Sara to continue to stay with us, did you?”

  “Ah. Well, I had thought it would be better if she were to remain here until we reason what to do about our…impetuous action. There will be talk if she were to stay with me at the loft, you know.”

  “Indeed, and of course you are welcome to stay here, as we have just enough guest rooms to give credence to our tale of you being in separate rooms.” Rob chewed on the end of his never-lit pipe, a finger teasing the lace of Rachel’s blouse as he draped his arm across the back of the couch. “I don’t suppose there is any possibility of convincing you both to remain at the cottage? It is outside London proper, a bit secluded, and with more opportunity of secrecy than anywhere else.”

  “Robert, you know as well as I that they could bed at the moon and still have tongues wagging as to the truths and lies of the matter.” Rachel’s lip curled in as close to a sneer as Christopher had ever seen on her face. “I say you gather all your loved ones and make the announcement as soon as you are able, with the clarification that a grand ceremony and reception are forthcoming once you return to America. Spin the tale in just the proper way, and the people will see the fairytale quality of a private and impetuous ceremony here at the church of her mother’s own marriage.”

  “Spin the—you mean put an article in the newspaper?”

  Rachel refreshed Christopher’s tea, regarding him through occasional glances. Being pro-active and releasing a statement to the press was nothing out of the ordinary, to be sure, he had simply never thought of doing such a thing for a wedding, especially not an impromptu one. “Rachel, I appreciate the effort and the thought, but is this necessary? Who cares a fig about the elopement of an American Gallery owner and a one-time maid?”

  Rachel lifted a hand, the fan dancing at the end of its silken cord. “Leave this to us, Chris. Robert and I know just the person, or persons, who are more than able to craft the truths of the story to have society eating from Sara’s hand and wishing you both the best of futures, regardless of your history or birthright. Mark my words, Chris, there is plenty of opportunity here for both you and Sara to make a positive statement of a normally scandalous action—not that I give a fig for what society views as scandalous, mind. La! Dear me, no.” Rachel snapped open her fan to caress the air at her neck and jaw, ignoring Rob’s upward quirk of lip.

  “Let us have our fun, old man.” Rob chuckled, tapping the bowl of his empty pipe upon the ball of his hand before once again tucking it into his teeth. “Every once and again it is a refreshing change of pace to manipulate the media a bit here and there. A
fter all, how often do they do the same in order to sell a few papers? And this story is certainly on a much more positive level than what they choose to publish.”

  “Yes, well, of course I understand that, but—” Christopher glanced toward Sara, preoccupied as she was with tracing the lip of her teacup, and released a slow, deliberate breath. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter how soon or how late an article is written.”

  “And how is that, old man?” Robert leaned forward, waving his empty pipe toward the pair much like a baton. “Whether or not you linger or depart from whence you came, the fantastic truth will continue to whisper along behind you. That is what Ange and I seek to harness for your benefit, of course.”

  A reluctant smile quivered upward. “Rob, you know as well as I that you seek a little retribution. You and Rachel are always looking to give a little back again to society’s views of the way things should be. I’m not so certain I should allow you to use Sara and my nuptials for this particular sport of fun.”

  “That is just the point, Chris.” Rachel’s hushed tone drew both Christopher and Sara’s focus, so out of context from her usual intensity. “You and Sara’s blessed union will be safe, portrayed as the blessing it is and not the scandalous circus they would intend. What good is happiness and Divine Intervention to them? How much more will they focus on the questionable joining of Sara’s parents and why it did not last? How much more scrumptious the tale of her abandonment by a wealthy American. How much more delightful that—”

  Rob pressed his hand over hers, causing a hesitation to her fan and a quick inhalation of breath. Her external expression did little more than tighten as her cheeks returned to a more natural color. “Ange feels she alone must take up the mantle as protector at times.”

  He pressed a brief kiss upon her temple, though even that public display of affection did not turn Rachel’s focus from regarding Sara’s down-turned face and carefully controlled features. Even Christopher had noticed the almost-statuesque tautness to Sara’s posture.

  “I’m sure we appreciate the thought behind the offering, but at times it’s best to minimize what is said. Not that I mean to imply your people would cater to gossip, but, well, there is always a danger in providing too much information. No matter how it’s presented, the readership often reads between the lines and gathers their own juicy tidbits.”

  “Indeed. Well do we know that risk. There is little way of controlling what they make of the truth offered.” Rob swiped a thumb across the back of Rachel’s hand before releasing his grip and returning his focus to Christopher. “Many will see the light of what is written and nay-say those who print otherwise. Many will not. Of course it is you and your lovely new bride’s decision whether or not we proceed with the story. Our intent was simply to provide the idea and the wherewithal to make it happen.”

  Christopher glanced toward Sara, still so silent and intent upon her now cold cup of tea. Lord, did I truly help the situation by—

  “Chris.” Rachel leaned forward, fingers tight upon the delicate material of her fan. “Do not doubt yourself. Not now. Your conscience, your love for her, and your faith guided you. In the end, your action was for her alone, and in that you should take strength. Do not feel that because we wish to weave a strong tale of the romantic, that there is any reason to be ashamed of your passion for her.”

  He cleared his throat, rubbing at the rising heat at his neck. Sara rested a hand upon his arm, drawing his gaze and encouraging an easy smile upon his features. Her wide eyes were dark, the concern and uncertainty like the winter storms of the Atlantic. But behind that darkness he saw the glow of the Sara he had grown to love and trust. The woman of compassion. Of faith and certainty. She continued to struggle forward, searching through the pain and uncertainty to the answer and action. She still trusted him.

  “Christopher, you canno’ protect me from the prejudices of my home. We can only move forward, together.”

  “Inspiring others with our lives.” The tightness of her expression softened and she inclined her head. He nodded, holding her gaze as he released a long breath. “The Gallery has a liaison, Roger Whitaker, who is presently in England with Dix and Paul. I can send a message to him via runner and have him meet with your person in the coming days. Sara and I will have our story for you in the next few days.”

  Rob chuckled, and even Rachel’s features relaxed into a brief smile. “You make it sound as if we need a strategically thought-out tale to soothe the masses, old man. Tell us the impetuous truth in your own words, right now over tea and biscuits. With blushes and laughter, if the tale permits. This Mr. Whitaker will handle the dramatics to the public, and a sight better than either one of us, I’ll wager.”

  Sara’s focus retreated to the tea-service, her hand giving a momentary squeeze before she leaned forward to refresh his tea. Christopher held her back, offering a slight smile at her inquisitive glance, and keeping hold of her hand. He focused on Rob, ignoring the lopsided smirk of his friend. “We will tell the tale, again, but then we must gather at least a few of her things and head out to my loft. I know you say the cottage would be better, but it is in no shape for an extended stay.”

  “Are you certain you won’t stay here, old man? We’ve plenty of room, and with Hank spending most days with Gwyn, there is no risk of tales being taken from one house to the next.”

  Christopher considered, catching Sara’s affirming tilt of chin. “If you don’t mind a pair of newlyweds hanging about making silly faces at one another.”

  “Is that any different than what Ange and I do still?” Rob pressed a kiss to Rachel’s temple, inviting a smile from Sara and a wave of relief from him at the softening of her expression. “But that is settled, then. You and Sara both shall reside here with us until we confess your reckless action to the world.” Rob winked at Sara.

  “Rob, believe it or not, it wasn’t my intention to whisk her away to a priest when we left the bank office.” But it certainly turned out better than he could have imagined. Christopher cleared his throat, a bit shocked at how he seemed to enjoy going opposite of expectations. Is this what Rob meant—?

  “And what was the intent, old man? Honestly, now.” Rob’s lopsided smile screamed disbelief before Christopher uttered a single word.

  Rachel clucked her tongue, deft fingers tickling the silk fronds of the fan cord. “Do not you give in to his badgering, Chris, dear heart. He will only turn the words back on you until you are not certain what was said and what was implied and who did what. Trust me, I know.” Rachel cast her husband a knowing glance, and Christopher noted that neither one gave the appearance of being innocent of badgering.

  He reluctantly smiled. “It doesn’t matter to either one of us what you believe to be the truth. I was done with seeing the lost look upon Sara’s face when she would see a memory. She is surrounded here, and most of them are not handling her with kid gloves, especially during this time of being shuffled about at every turn. So, I thought…well, wouldn’t it be nice to have a more pleasant memory associated with the church where her mother was buried? Or where she believed she was abandoned by her father? Do you understand?”

  “Of course we understand, old man. I only want you to admit that might have been the motivation for a different… want.”

  Christopher ignored the rising heat of his neck and face. “Rob, please. I am human, after all. Of course there was that bit of whisper pressing me onward.”

  “So long as you admit it.” Rob winked at him.

  “Fine. I admit it, but I still heap a portion of the blame for the idea on you, what with all your talk on the ship.”

  “I have no notion to what you refer.” Rob shifted his gaze, the sidelong glance to his wife causing a shift to his countenance. He leaned toward her, to Christopher’s surprise, and whispered a short phrase in her ear, though whatever he had to say did nothing to alleviate the intensity from her straightforward regard of him and Sara both.

  Christopher quite nearly swallowed his hear
t back into his chest. “Yes?” He had no idea how he could sound so calm in the face of such a woman’s stern examination. Then, a bit sudden for Rachel Trent, she reigned in the intensity and spread a smile, dropping her focus to the fan held lightly within her fingers.

  “It is good you have these new memories to soften the shadows of the past. So often there is no escaping them but with the force of our own will.” Rachel met his eyes for a long moment before waving a hand, almost in dismissal of the topic, and motioned toward. “How many more memories do you seek to alter, Chris, before you leave these shores?”

  An eyebrow twitched upward. “I don’t know. Sara and I would like to return home next week, but we still have need of finalizing papers regarding the inheritance and the cottage.”

  “Ah. Of which we still need to partake in a discussion.” Rachel’s focus to Sara caused a twitch, and Christopher felt a swell of pride that his new bride met and held the intense emerald gaze. “Robert mentioned an intent to bequeath the remaining inheritance to the Foundation.”

  Sara inclined her head, cheeks flushing rose before bleeding to a near translucent white. Christopher covered her hand with his. “It is not my money,” she whispered. “It was not my mother’s, or else she would have used it for the both of us. So, I do no’ want it even now.”

  Rachel lifted a single finger, her eyes narrowing. “On that single point you are mistaken, that of the monies not being yours. It is not your mother’s fortune, no, because the Trust has been setup in your own name. Therefore, the fortune is yours without question.”

  Sara’s gaze dropped, and Christopher felt her lean back from Rachel’s intense focus. He bit his tongue, knowing that while he didn’t approve of her tact, he knew these facts needed to be said.

  “In point of fact,” she continued, “the entire fortune is yours, regardless of a verbal contract unable to be verified. You alone have the power to return that fortune, which you have done, and understandably so. However, we will not accept—”