Releasing Yesterday Read online

  There was nothing to be done but present the telegram. Rob scanned the information therein, one side of his lips twitching upward. "Ah. Life lesson indeed. In fact, maneuvering that bit of truth out of the situation will require every bit of craft and cunning you possess." He folded the paper and handed it back. "Unless you confess all and beg forgiveness, of course, but that would be a fool thing to do, in my opinion. The voluntary confession, that is. Of course you should confess if you are found out."

  Christopher frowned. "That doesn't seem quite ethical."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "Intriguing. Well, how do you propose to handle this situation then?"

  "I had not ... I only just received the telegram."

  "You had best inquire if there is a deadline. Yes?"

  Nodding, Christopher slumped back into his office chair. "I don't see how there will be any way out of this mess other than telling her I started the search without her permission."

  "You could be vague you know, old man. For example, there is no need to tell her the details of the telegram, such as who sent it, beyond the requirement of her return to England to claim an inheritance and some belongings of her mother. Simply find out the name of the barrister or solicitor, I forget now which is which, and that will be enough."

  "But purposefully mislead her?"

  "That is a bit strong, don't you think? You had already repented your decision, yes? What use is there in admitting to the poor choice when you have since corrected yourself? It only serves to distress and torture those others not previously involved. In my opinion." He tossed his hat onto the seat beside him. "Sometimes compulsive honesty only hurts those involved and serves no other purpose."

  At the moment, Christopher didn't have the will nor the wit to argue. "Fine. We will leave the discussion for a later date." He brought close the paper and pencil to scratch out a reply and request for additional information.

  "Do you mind if Rachel and I tag along?"

  "To where?" he asked, his tone distant and mind only faintly listening to any response.

  "Why, to England."

  The pencil danced from Christopher's grasp. He blinked up at the man across from him, whose lips twitched in a smirk. "You what?"

  "I wondered if we could venture with you across the Atlantic. It has been ages since we have done anything of the kind, and it rather tickles me to consider the possibility. Besides, you will need a chaperon, and since we have already dedicated ourselves to that duty in the first place, why not continue? Hank would love to see Gwyn, if you recall."

  "Won't that be quite a long time to be away from the business?"

  Rob scoffed, waving a dismissive hand as he slouched further into the wing-back chair. "Nonsense. Workload is light and I simply would need to inform certain people of our intent and everything will be covered. What say you? Yes?"

  Christopher couldn't help but laugh. "If my head spins right off my shoulders with the sudden turn of events, will you make certain it gets back into its proper place."

  "Of course, old man, what are friends for?"

  "I have no idea."

  The statement being found utterly amusing by Robert.

  ~**~

  Sara watched as Rachel gracefully smoothed a gown into the trunk. Something faraway glimmered in her absent gaze, hinting at a deep memory of some epic proportion. When her lips tilted upward, Sara felt a moment of relief.

  "This brings to mind a rather pleasant memory," she admitted, her touch lingering on the finery now resting within the trunk.

  "Mum?"

  "Seems such a long time ago now, when happiness did not linger in my heart as it does now. Robert, Maggie and I packed up the room of a child--my own childhood--to make room for my identity as a woman." Rachel seemed to set aside the vision of the memory before straightening and focusing those sharp emerald eyes on Sara. "My father made the mistake of leaving my childhood room intact as I went abroad to study. When I returned, I felt it trapped me between two identities: the child he thought I was and the woman of strength and intelligence I longed to be."

  She waved it aside, not waiting for any response from Sara before turning away and gathering another gown destined for the trunk. "He claimed such was not the case, but of course how could I believe him? The rift between us seemed a maw of epic proportion, though I suppose that sounds dreadfully melodramatic. Trained to be independent, his decisions only served to prove his lack of trust and faith in me as a whole. At least, that is how I inferred the situation, regardless of the truth of the matter, and I would not allow any explanation or discussion to the contrary."

  Sara blinked into the trunk, unable to voice any type of assurance to ease the woman's spirit.

  Rachel hovered near the chest of drawers, her hands gentle of their hold upon a miniature. "Is this your mother?"

  "Yes." Sara accepted the miniature portrait from the woman and smiled down into the sparkling eyes of her mother's likeness. "This is the only way I could be certain to never forget her."

  "Ah, so you painted this yourself. It is lovely." Rachel retrieved a locket from around her neck and offered it forward just enough for Sara to make out the minute images of a handsome man and woman, one on each side. The woman reminded her so much of Rachel as to be uncanny.

  "This is my mother and my father. I keep them with me, always, and feel a modicum of comfort from their presence." Her voice drifted, eyes blinking back the tears as sorrow choked off any words of comfort Sara might have offered. "La! Listen to me, going on about those things none of us are able to change." Rachel brushed each cheek and forced a smile. "This is to be an exciting day of change and adventure, with you coming to us for mischief and merry-making both. My first demand of you will be to put to life the poetry I have cluttering my desk."

  Sara's features relaxed into a smile, even though the woman's words of regret settled deep within her spirit. What a heavy burden this woman held close to her heart. "Of course, mum."

  "Tut, tut. Did we not agree I would answer only to 'Rachel', my dear girl?"

  Her cheeks flushed. "Oh. That came along before I thought better of it."

  Rachel laughed. "It causes me to wonder how long you named Christopher ‘sir’ before he could persuade you otherwise."

  Sara giggled, for she simply could not help it when the older woman let loose such a genuine laugh of amusement. "He scolds me, still, on that bit."

  "Christopher? Scold? You jest!"

  "He scolds me quite a bit, but I do no' mind." It meant he cared. It meant he did his best to protect her from herself, a fact she treasured.

  "Hm." Rachel cast Sara a glance as she boxed a hat. "Tell me that you have your opportunities to scold him as well, and I will not offer warning of allowing him too much freedom."

  Sara blinked at her. "Pardon?"

  Rachel waved it aside. "Never you mind, my dear. An answer to that request likely would have set me upon a path best left untraveled. Let us leave it alone and continue in our endeavor to move you from one adventure to the next. Lord have mercy, I am full of words this morning."

  "I do no' mind."

  "And there you have stated the fact again. You are too amiable, Sara Little. Allow me onto that bit of knowledge and I will take advantage, as will others."

  But Sara could not help how she felt, relishing the freedom to observe and interact with her surroundings. To see people for who they were and what they believed while knowing they allowed her the same courtesy.

  "I see a challenge in that calm expression of yours, my dear. This shall be the only warning I offer you."

  The statement drew Sara back to her senses. "Mum?"

  But Rachel said nothing more on the subject, leaving Sara to a fog of curiosity and confusion as they continued to pack her belongings. "I apologize, again, for not bringing Hank. He was adamant to spend time with his grandparents, and I know that when he steps into a mood such as that, it is best to pick my battles."

  Sara laughed. "It is fi
ne, Mu--R-Rachel. Gwyn would have made the same bit of fuss to see her grandparents."

  "Unfortunately, those being his only remaining, they suffer from a tendency of spoiling the boy, and he is already a handful, having a will of iron and the cunning of a fox. He resembles his parents a bit too strongly," she said, her lips curved upward in a feminine smirk. "La! And when he rebels, he does so with grand finesse, which of course results in the type of punishment I would rather not admit to present, genteel company."

  "No need to do that. I have felt the sting of my mum's hand to my backside plenty of times, or a bar of soap upon my tongue."

  Rachel chuckled. "That is my favorite, the soap. His expressions are priceless, and he remembers the reason for the dispensing of that justice long after the situation has passed. I wonder if it has something to do with the particular aroma I choose. Lavender and lilac seem to be best."

  Sara felt remorse at the depths of her laughter. "They are so horrid in flavor," she said, the words barely able to venture past her smile.

  "Some days I wonder if I would have been better able to curb my tongue if I had suffered the same. But offer that wonder to Robert and he will take it upon himself to supply me with the experience." She threw up her hands in mock horror.

  "Surely he would no' do such a thing!"

  "Surely he would, for that man of mine is wicked to the depths when it comes to his sense of mischief and humor." But the tell-tale shine of Rachel's green gaze belied the depth of her appreciation for that aspect of his character. Rachel suddenly motioned toward Sara. "Your ability to read people is uncanny."

  "Mum?"

  "Never you mind. I demand an explanation on this wonderfully dramatic gown." Rachel held aloft the evening gown of navy with the ribbon work, inviting a smile and laugh from Sara. "There is a gown of similar fashion in my closet which you must modify for me. Such elegant and feminine ribbon-work I have never seen in my life."

  "Of course, mu--Rachel. It will be nice to sit and do stitch work together."

  "Oh dear. You misunderstand." A delicate flush of color rose to Rachel Trent's cheeks as she carefully tucked the evening gown back into the trunk. "Unfortunately, all I ever knew of stitch and needle has long since been lost and, truthfully, I do not know if I am willing to bring it back again to my memory. To sit for such a time, bent over a piece of cloth with a tiny needle seems, well, rather mundane."

  Sara blinked at her. "Then what do you do to pass the time?"

  Rachel scoffed, and Sara could not restrain the slight twitch. "What do I indeed? If only there were more hours in the day, I would feel much more accomplished."

  "I do no' understand."

  "Business, my dear. My husband and I do our best to coordinate and manage quite a few small businesses which comprise a rather large company. Then there are the orphanages and charity work. We find most of our time invested in fund-raising events and board meetings, to say nothing of the legal documents we must study and sign each day. Truly exhausting and exhilarating, yes, but there are times--which is why we have retreated to this wonderfully chaotic city for the next few months to catch our breath."

  Sara, who had listened with wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth, stared at the older woman in awe and respect.

  Rachel noticed, and a smirk twitched her lips upward. "Yes, my dear, I quite concur with your amazement. If it were not for the fact we are simply too busy to think on what we accomplish each day, Robert and I would go quite mad. Thank the Lord above we have each other. If not for that, the business would quite easily run our lives into the grave.

  “But we each understand the responsibility to keep the business passions of the other in check. We support. We pray. We encourage. Sometimes we even argue and stand fast." Her green eyes sparkled. "You should have seen my hero of a husband whisking me away to the City, quite content to ignore my threats and rage. But here I am, and content to let our replacements struggle under the burden for now."

  Mr. Conklin's words echoed in her mind, the sad and hollow confession of allowing too much power to that which should not have controlled his life. Didn't that stand as the reason he no longer had art as the driving force of his life? He must not have had the same support.

  Sara brushed a hint of wetness from her cheeks as she turned away, hoping Rachel had not witnessed the sudden change in her expression. Then she forced the memories away and sought out the more personal effects from her dressers and relocated them to the trunk. "We are glad you and yours have come," she said, though her throat would not allow more volume than a throaty whisper.

  "Indeed. As are we--"

  A soft knock sounded on the open door, revealing the smiling and handsome face of Robert Trent. "Rachel. A word, if you do not mind me tearing her from you, of course, Miss Sara."

  "Oh no, Mr. Trent. No' at all."

  "That is Robert, or Rob, and I thank you."

  Rachel swept silently from the room, Christopher entering a few moments later. His features seemed taut and a trifle pale, and the fact sent a wave of concern from toes to crown.

  He came to stand beside her at the trunk, his hands gripping the front of it with white-knuckled intensity. "There has been a ... development which will alter our plans for the next few months. Your presence is required in England."

  Seven

  Returns

  Sara stared up at the massive ocean-bound vessel, the gangplank an elongated arm of welcome to yet another unexpected adventure from one continent to another. Only, this time, Sara did not experience the same sparkle of excitement and eagerness mixed with fear. There seemed an almost palpable dread boiling within, her mind unable to process anything but the idea of not traveling alone to the one place she did not believe would acknowledge her new social status.

  Breeding was everything.

  This time, the whispered kiss of the waves upon the hull of the passenger vessel held more than welcome. The great exodus from dock to ship via the talkative bridge tickled her imagination with sketches of a darker intent. Her fingers clutched at her reticule, and this hold served as the only prevention from halting halfway up the bridge.

  "Are you well?" Christopher asked, his baritone voice low and wrought with concern as he glanced toward her. His hand sought hers and gave it a gentle if firm pressure.

  She inclined her head, wishing that the smile she offered could be genuine.

  Rachel Trent stepped up close behind her, brushing a comforting hand down Sara's arm. "We will have a bit of tea once we navigate to our suite, yes?"

  "Thank you, Rachel." Christopher gave Sara's hand another caress and then continued on ahead to the deck of the vessel, waiting for the two women at the end of the gangplank. "Rob and Hank are taking responsibility for our luggage and something else I don't recall at the moment."

  "Though he is only seven, Hank loves to be made responsible for things." Rachel offered as an aside. "Right now, the pair are likely making certain we have the best view of the water and the quickest access to the decks. If we do not, Robert will charm his way into them, make no mistake about that. He may even be securing us a seat at the Captain's table for the entirety of the journey. He harvests the tales told for the children, and Hank loves anything to do with captains and military."

  The smile softened to one of actual amusement, and Sara sighed a breath of relief to be free from the weight of the worry. "Your mister has a wonderful heart for those who haven't had that blessing."

  "Agreed, which is one of the many reasons he and your mister get along so famously. Two with the same stripes, they are." She nudged Sara's elbow and motioned to Christopher with a lift of her chin. "Now come along, dear heart. He beckons to guide us to the below decks of this luxury vessel, and I look forward to witnessing your reactions, though I understand this is not your first time upon a vessel of this size--pity that."

  Understanding and sympathy softened the beautiful features of Rachel Trent as she stood between Christopher and Sara, who only very reluctantly met the woman's gaz
e. But in those emerald depths held the encouragement and strength Sara needed to continue forward, knowing even deeper that she had support and resilience at her every turn. The Mr. Brockle's of the world would not hold sway over her life.

  The trio navigated their way through the hordes of men, women, and children still propped against the railing of the vessel bidding their final farewells to those family and friends beckoning from below. Christopher paused by the double doors leading to the stairway down to the grand ballroom, standing close beside her with a hand at her elbow as Rachel adjusted her position to Sara's other side.

  The warmth reminded Sara of a comforting embrace.

  As they progressed, together and silent, Sara began to feel the dread weaken and wane. Instead, visions of past dances and balls permeated the air as they advanced through the grand ballroom. When they entered the wide hallway of cabins and suites, Sara's imagination opened wide, her eyes drinking in the sights of those men and women dressed in the rich colors of a summer sunset.

  Couples, both aged and young, navigated before her and behind, laughing and murmuring of the wonders of their expected visit to her first home: England. Christopher nodded to the gentlemen as they passed, doffing his hat to the ladies as the gentlemen returned the same courtesy to her and Rachel. Each lady trailed behind her a breeze of scent and a rustle of silk and satin. Rich colors and plumage upon bonnets and gowns reminded Sara of a visit to an aviary once when a child.

  Christopher whispered something to Rachel, to which Sara inclined her head, but the details did not permeate the surface of her wonder. Sara would not be hustled to second or third class below deck. Instead, she would have an ocean view, a suite of her own, and unequaled--unrivaled--access to the rest of the ship.

  He gave her elbow a tender squeeze, drawing her attention from their scrutiny of the ladies and gentlemen. "There will be time aplenty to sketch all these wonderful images now swimming within your imagination."