Releasing Yesterday Read online

  Their eyes met and her heart skipped a beat, breath catching in her throat. "Good morning," she said, breathless.

  "It is," he agreed as he rocked back on his heels. "How are you?"

  Sara's lips tilted upward as she took in his boyish quirk of lip. "Eager for the day," she confessed. "How are you?"

  "Well rested. At ease." He stepped forward and pulled a bouquet of lilac blossoms from behind his back. He presented it to her, his smile twinkling within his beautiful hazel eyes. "Thank you for agreeing to an extended jaunt to New York, and for helping me plan the trip, and for volunteering to help me with the engagement party," red colored the tips of his ears, "and for simply being who you are."

  Sara accepted the bouquet, giggling at the internal flutter as their hands touched. "Christopher, you need no' ply me with flowers." She was happy to be involved, and to have her opinion welcome.

  He pressed her palm moments before caressing her hand with his lips. "Just the same, it's a lovely for a lovely."

  "Thank you, sir," and Sara could not bear to look away from the intensity of his gaze.

  "You're welcome."

  Sara lifted the bouquet, hiding the hot flush of her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The soft, dramatic aroma tickled her senses with the scent she had grown to love. An aroma she had long since paired with him and his proposal and the very essence of happiness.

  "Breakfast?" he asked, voice quiet as he gave her hand a multitude of tender pressures. "I believe there is time before we must away to the station."

  Sara peeked at him. "I was off to the kitchens for some coffee and to speak with Cook over eggs and bacon." Christopher's boyish expression remained as he continued to somewhat mischievously smile down at her. "Did you wish to come along?"

  "Could I?"

  She laughed. "Oh you silly," and gave his hand a squeeze. She had never before laughed so loud or so often.

  "Good. I am famished, and I haven't spoken with Cook--his name is actually Pierre--since my visits with Carla."

  Sara noticed his matter-of-fact tone with relief as he spoke of his late wife. "He's such an interesting man to speak with," she confessed, doing her best to encourage the positive discussion regarding anything from his past.

  Christopher guided her toward the stairs with a hand to her back. "What do you like most about him? The fact his mother was French? Or that his father was a chef for Queen Victoria at one point?"

  "Yes?" His answering laugh drew a wider smile. He is so much ... more when he laughs, Lord. More handsome, more welcoming, more ... real.

  One side of his lips twitched upward as he steadied her down the last step. He faced her, gathering her hands into his to begin his usual habit of caressing the back with his thumb. "What has accosted your attention, Sweet Sara?"

  Sara flushed crimson, though she could do naught but smile up at him while wishing for a free hand to give herself a waking pinch. Yet there was no need, not with the ever-present jumble of emotions at his strokes upon her hand, and the flutter of her heart in her chest. She shook her head.

  "No? Nothing at all?"

  A desire to kiss his cheek. To smooth the constant stray hair from his forehead. A desire to simply touch his face and prove the smile truly was meant for her. She wordlessly shook her head, still smiling as she enjoyed the fairytale and the thought that he actually loved her.

  "Hm." To her surprise, Christopher lifted a hand to absently brush an errant curl from her cheek. Then he cleared his throat, his ears and neck flushing crimson, and gave her hand another squeeze before releasing it and motioning toward the entry to the kitchens situated beneath the second story stairs. "You wouldn't confess, regardless, especially if you thought it inappropriate."

  "I might." She met his sidelong glance and only just persuaded herself to look away.

  "Truly?" He stopped outside the kitchen's entry door and faced her yet again. "What should I do, Miss Little, to wrangle said confession?"

  Sara regarded him a moment, her smile very slight as she clasped her hands around the stem of the lilac bouquet. "Tell me the date of my birth."

  Christopher blinked. "But what does your birth date have to do with anything?" Sara only smiled up at him. He smirked. "Very well. If I remember your confession correctly, that would fall on the second of January, 1871."

  Sara's smile vanished, shock even sending her mind silent. "Dear me," she whispered, "that is correct."

  Christopher tilted his head as he scrutinized her reaction. "What's the matter?"

  "I ... I did no' believe...."

  "You didn't believe I would take the time to remember such an important date?" His lips once again quivered in a mischievous smile. Sara shook her head. "I see. Now that I have adequately surprised and impressed you, what do I get by way of reward?"

  Sara laughed and stood on tiptoes to caress a kiss across his cheek. "That is what I was thinking," she whispered, her gaze kept away from his face by focusing on the task of straightening the already perfect lapels of his charcoal suit.

  Christopher covered her hand with his, drawing her gaze. She blushed but didn't look away. Not even when he leaned close to press his lips against her forehead and whisper a gruff, "I love you."

  Her eyes fluttered closed, her heart thudding in her chest as she remembered the first time he had whispered those words. Remembering the second and third and fourth times. He kissed her forehead again, his lips remaining against the flushed warmth of her skin for so long ... but then he gave her hand a gentle increase in pressure and moved away, the action causing a slight shiver from toe to fingers.

  He tucked her hand into the nook of his elbow, the action drawing her back from the dreamy state of euphoria and opening her eyes. He smiled and reached out to open the door to the kitchen. "Let us have some breakfast and coffee before I whisk you away to a room better suited for displays of affection." Sara flushed and he laughed. "Indeed! Come along then. We'll talk of Gwyn, art, and picture-books."

  Sara fell into step beside him as the welcome scent of cooking and spices assaulted her, bringing a smile as memories blurred into one glorious picture. She took in a deep breath.

  "I see contentment on your face," Christopher observed.

  "The kitchen was the only other place my mum and I were able to have a bit of fun."

  "She taught you how to make those wonderful scones?"

  Sara nodded, laughing. "She taught me how to make all sorts of breads and pastries. But also entrees and appetizers. I am only sorry I have no' had the opportunity to cook for you. You told them not to let me near the kitchen at supper-time," she scolded.

  "And yet you are able to sneak in long enough to make scones. Remember?"

  "Only because your sister and the mister step out for walks." Their shared laughter made her feel as if she glowed from the inside out. "If you let me cook an evening dinner for you once, I promise I will no' sneak anymore."

  "And miss your pastries?" Christopher protested. "That isn't a nice thing to ask."

  Her eyes widened. "Then you will let me cook whenever I wish?"

  "Of course, Sara, if it's something you enjoy. I only didn't want you believing that cooking and cleaning would be expected of you. You were invited as a friend, not an employee."

  The smile returned, as well as the dreamy existence within a romance which should have been the subject for one of Gwyn's picture-books.

  Christopher cleared his throat suddenly and pointed at her. "None of that. The last time you looked at me like that, I nearly did myself in for the day." She flushed and looked away. "Fine then. You would like to cook for me. Why don't we set that up for tomorrow evening once we've settled ourselves after the journey? Would that be fine with you? The entire kitchen of my townhouse will be at your disposal."

  Sara looked up, eyes alight and smile bright as she eagerly nodded, hands clasped around the lilac bouquet.

  Christopher chuckled and rescued the lilac from her grasp. "Very well then." He handed the lilac
to a passing kitchen maid with directions to place it in water. Then he turned back to Sara and gathered a hand. "I believe the table is over here. I'm hungry. Let's find a seat and pester old Pierre for an omelet." He gave her hands a tug and led her further into the large kitchen. "Cooking, crafts, painting ... is there anything you don't do?"

  Her smile melted away. "I canno' ride a horse nor play the piano, though I have so wanted to learn both. I tried to teach myself once, to play the piano that is, but the missus did no' want me to make noise. She was ill, you see. But a very nice gentleman by the name of Payton--he was a music teacher for one of the master's daughters--taught me how to read music, and what the different keys are." She tapped her lip with a single finger. "It has been such an age since I even thought of playing. I wonder if I remember a bit of what he taught?"

  Christopher watched her with a lopsided smile as he held a chair at the sturdy kitchen table which served as both eating place and cutting board. "Knowing your penchant for the arts, you more than likely remember every inflection of his voice."

  Sara smiled across the table at him, again enjoying the sights, smells and sounds which now held a much more pleasant area in her memory.

  ~**~

  When Sara stepped from the carriage to the broad expanse of the Richmond Station, an initial spasm of terror prevented a second step forward. Was she living in reverse? Did her destiny now return her to the pittance as a servant in England?

  But then the calming warmth of a gentle hand upon her shoulder drew her gaze from the maw of memories. A small, upward caress of a smile on a handsome face brought her back to reality as the fiancée of one honorable Christopher Lake. A respected artist and not a servant. A woman of faith and not a worthless trollop.

  The relief scattered her strength, and she would have crumpled if not for Amy's well-timed arm around her waist. Amy. Another friend without whom Sara couldn't imagine. "Thank you." Amy gave her a comforting pressure before guiding her to their private coach.

  Christopher sat across from them, one eye assessing Sara's demeanor while supposedly focused outside. "Teddy said he would see us off, but I have a feeling he has forgotten." A wry smile teased his features. "He will kick himself aplenty if he misses us--ah. There he is." Christopher lifted a hand in response to Teddy's doffed hat and deep bow. "Well. I wonder what that is all about?"

  Amy hid a laugh. "Likely a bet won, if we know Mister Parker."

  "Maybe so."

  Sara's smile softened as she met Teddy's gaze through the window pane. She raised a hand, as did he, and lifted a fervent prayer for his happiness. He craved that sense of wholeness with every aspect of his mischievous self, seeking it in his way--while trying not to appear as if he did so. There simmered within him such a passion and honor....

  "Such an expression."

  Sara blinked, her gaze shifting to the oddly dark one of Christopher across from her. He had leaned back into the seat and retrieved a pair of sketchbooks from his traveling case. "Sir?"

  "You seem about to weep," he said, his voice quiet as the sketchbooks drew his gaze. "Why are you so concerned after the roguish Theodore Parker, Sweet Sara Ann?"

  She couldn't prevent her focus from shifting to her clasped hands. "Do you no' have a sense we are leaving him quite alone?"

  "Teddy is never alone. He keeps us on the outside, yes, but he knows where he stands with us."

  Sara spared another glance out the window only to see the broad back of Teddy Parker as he made his way from the platform.

  "Dix has noticed a change in him since your coming, and I reluctantly agree." He covered her hands, clasped so tightly in her lap. "Continue your prayers for his heart, Lady, and he will find his finish--as I have."

  The tightness of her features relaxed into a small smile as she inclined her head. "I still canno' help but wonder if he would no' have liked to come along with us."

  "Heavens no. He hates New York." Sara laughed. A corner of Christopher's lips were teased upward in a smirk. "Now. I have brought sketchbooks and pencils. Shall we see who can create the best picture-book of our journey--as judged by Gwyn, of course."

  Sara laughed as she accepted the sketchbook and pencil. "Will the poppet be able to choose between us?"

  "She can be surprisingly ruthless when it comes to picture-book judging. I remember one time, she was three, I lost to the rough scratching of Teddy, believe it or not. He was more flabbergasted than I was, truth be told." Christopher chuckled, shaking his head as he teased the front cover of the sketchbook with the tip of his pencil.

  The conductor's final call of "All aboard" drew Sara's focus to the window. She leaned close, even pressing her palm against the glass as she witnessed the final farewells of those yet to board. Just like that day so many months ago, her heart fairly danced in her chest with expectation and eagerness to begin her journey.

  "Did your face glow this much on your way here?" Christopher asked softly.

  Sara leaned back, face flushed as she fumbled with the pencil and sketchbook. "Oh yes, and just as much a blur. If a confession of the sights between the ship and the station in Richmond were to save my life, I would no' be able to state a word."

  "What do you remember?"

  Her blue eyes drifted yet again to the station outside the window as it slowly crept by. "The delicious sound of ... a journey. For me, it was as near silence as I could recall, with no bellowing or scolding."

  "Are you eager to see the city where you started your trek toward Richmond?" Sara couldn't contain the broad smile. Her fingers tightened their hold of the sketchbook, its blank pages beckoning to her as the train picked up speed. "Good, because I am definitely eager to show it to you, as are my parents." He flipped the cover page of the sketchbook and readied his pencil. "I did tell you they are picking us up from the station, yes?"

  She blinked, her smile fading as the memory of every jealous wife and mother assaulted her. She very nearly flinched. Instead, to hide the sudden change, she fumbled open the sketchbook and offered him a small, quick smile and began sketching the station and the trail of smoke billowing from the locomotive.

  Four

  Rings and Shadows

  21 July, 1894

  It has been such a long time since fear had sway, Lord, and yet at the mention of his parents my heart shudders. Who will they see when I step down? My past or my future? Will they see my tattered spirit, borne from rags, or

  Sunlight danced across the journal page as she attempted to give words to her new identity. But they flitted away from her, like a butterfly on a spring breeze. She closed the journal, tying fast the leather strap as her eyes lost focus, gaze turning inward.

  "Sara."

  Sara lifted her head, cheeks flushing when she recognized the taut shadow of concern on Christopher's expression. "Sir?"

  "Don't play innocent, Sara. Something has clearly troubled you since we left Richmond." He set aside the paper and leaned forward, his eyes intense as they scrutinized her expression. "It is the fact my parents are meeting us at the station, isn't it?"

  Looking away, she worried her lower lip. “I am sorry. I have no' ever been accepted by the mister and missus."

  “Not when they suspected you of caring for their son?” he posed, baritone voice as soft as ever.

  The shake of her head barely altered her gaze upon her journal. How could she admit the rising terror at meeting the people who brought him into this world? The people who loved him with an affection that rivaled her own. Yes, she loved their son--loved him more each day. How would such a fact effect their view of her, especially when they came to know of her past?

  The sudden and tender touch of him upon her gloved hand drew her gaze. “Sara, they will come to care for you as everyone in your acquaintance has done. They will believe nothing but that you are a caring and compassionate woman with a passion for art and a heart for people.”

  He caressed her under the chin with a solitary finger, a common exhibition of affection she noticed, and t
he spark of his eyes made Sara blink back joyful tears.

  “And that you love their son,” he added, offering her a somewhat boyish smile. "In fact, that will likely win them over immediately. Beyond that," he brought her hand to his lips, "simply act as your own sweet self. You could not ask for a better witness than that.”

  Sara giggled, cheeks burning as her fingers tightened their hold. "Christopher."

  Christopher chuckled, returning her squeeze but not lowering his focus from its careful watch of her expressions. “I don’t recall courting--nor engagement--being such fun.” The confession deepened the red of Sara’s cheeks. “There seemed more stammering last time, and dreadful periods of awkward clumsiness.”

  “Oh?” she whispered, not knowing how to confess she felt all those.

  “Indeed." He continued to smile at her before dragging his gaze to the passing scenery and releasing her hand. “I remember one time I escorted Carla home from an afternoon garden party and could not think of one solitary subject for conversation. All that came to mind was the weather. The stutter of ‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’ must have taken a full minute to work toward.”

  Sara peeked at him from under her lashes, her lips teased upward as her mind visualized the carriage ride and his timid persona sitting in the corner absently toying with his watch while staring out the window.

  "Carla." He smiled, only one side of his lips twitching upward. “Carla sat beside me and just tucked her hand around my arm. ‘The weather is beautiful, the party was fair, and the current quiet company is perfect,’ was all she said." Christopher breathed deep before focusing those velvet hazel eyes on her. His eyes caressed the line of her profile, thudding her heart in her chest and catching her breath in her throat. “You seem to know both when to remain quiet and when to speak. I must insist you never change that about yourself, Sweet Sara Ann.” His low tone tickled a shiver along her spine.