For All Time

  Victoria didn’t hesitate. “Send me photos of appropriate dresses of that time period, I’ll choose one, then Martha and her marvelous ladies will make it for me.”

  “Martha?” Toby asked. “Is that … Martha Stewart?”

  “Heavens, no! I mean the real Martha. Pullen, of course. The Queen of Sewing. She has all my measurements and she can make anything. I have to go. Send the photos today.” She hung up.

  Toby clicked off her phone and looked at Lorcan, but she was already on the Internet. She’d found Martha Pullen’s website of products, history, and exquisitely crafted garments.

  “Now we just have to find a gown beautiful enough to please Victoria,” Toby said. An hour later, using two laptops, they’d copied and pasted a file of twenty-two dresses from museum sites, each of them breathtaking.

  “Here goes,” Toby said as she saved the photos onto a flash drive. Later she’d deliver them to Victoria.

  “I’ll wager on the green one,” Graydon said.

  “In that case, I’ll take the blue,” she responded.

  “The one with the red ribbons,” Daire said.

  “The pure white gown for maidenly virtue,” Lorcan said, and they all looked at her for a moment before bursting into laughter.

  All in all, it would have been a very pleasant week—except for two things. Toby continued to have lightning quick visions of herself with Graydon, and he did some rather odd things.

  Sometimes Toby would look at Graydon and “see” him in Regency dress. She’d seen him in those clothes at the dinner party and he’d worn them well, but her brief visions were different. Instead of the elegant little slippers that he’d worn at the dinner party, he had on tall leather boots. And the clothes didn’t look like a costume but like something he was used to wearing. One night Graydon was standing by the fireplace and she suddenly saw him in just the shirt, the skintight breeches, and those tall boots. The sight was so erotic that it had made Toby feel downright dizzy.

  There were numerous other quick visions of food, of a big bed with rose petals on it, of rows of leather-bound books, and Graydon saying, “Shall we hide all the books under the floorboards and dig them out two hundred years from now?”

  One morning before she was fully awake, she reached out for Graydon and was disappointed when he wasn’t in the bed beside her.

  She hid all the visions from Graydon. Nor did she tell Alix about them. And when she talked to Lexie on the phone she didn’t mention them. But then, all Lexie could talk about was Roger Plymouth and all they were doing on their long car trip. “I thought he’d insist that we stay at five-star hotels,” Lexie said, “and there I’d be in jeans and a T-shirt looking like the worst of the American tourists. But we stop at places that have only three or four bedrooms and usually the food is grown and cooked by the owners. It’s all wonderful! But how are you doing? Been to bed with him yet?”

  “Not for sex, no,” Toby said. “What about you?”

  When Lexie hesitated, Toby gasped. “You have been to bed with him, haven’t you?”

  “It just happened,” Lexie said. “Too much wine, too much moonlight. But it was just sex, no love. And you?”

  “I think my problem may be the opposite: love but no sex.”

  “Yeow!” Lexie said. “Tell me everything.”

  “Not yet,” Toby said, “but I will later.”

  With promises to each other, they hung up.

  Besides the visions, Graydon was acting very strangely. One day he invited her on a walk, then took her to a Nantucket church that Toby had decorated for several weddings. At first she thought he just wanted to see the beautiful old building, but no, he’d wanted her to envision the church as it probably was in 1806.

  Toby didn’t understand his meaning. Since it was the year she was using for the wedding, that’s what she thought he meant. “Victoria wants to be married in the chapel Alix designed, not here.”

  Graydon gave a great sigh, as though she’d disappointed him, and took her out to lunch.

  Over the week he’d played some very old-sounding music for her, cooked some unusual dishes, and said he should give up the sea to run the Kingsley family. He’d asked her what made Regency women swoon. He’d ordered a big book of slick photographs on Japanese tattoos and asked Toby to look at it with him.

  By Saturday she was so tired of his strange actions that she got Lorcan and Daire to agree to go on a cruise around the island—knowing that Graydon had business in Lanconia and couldn’t go with them. The enthusiasm of their agreement made her think they too were glad to get away from Graydon.

  They left early in the morning, all of them hurrying out the door, leaving a very sad-looking prince behind.

  Graydon knew he was trying too hard to make Toby remember their time together. And he also knew that he shouldn’t do it. It was better that she didn’t remember. Better that she wasn’t going through what he was, being tortured daily by vivid, clear, relentless memories.

  At first he tried to make himself believe it had all been a dream. A product of his imagination. He had lusted for Toby for so long that he’d dreamed about her. And with all the planning for a historic wedding, it was understandable that his dream would have ladies in semitransparent dresses. Since Toby remembered nothing, surely it was his fantasy alone.

  But he didn’t believe it. Inside of him was the soul-deep knowledge that what was in his mind had actually happened. But how to prove it?

  On that first day after the dinner party, he’d waited for Toby to wake up. He imagined how she’d slide into his arms and … well, she’d tell him she loved him.

  But she stayed in bed so late that Graydon went out with Daire to work off excess energy. While he was outside sweating, Toby got up and ran off with Alix. Not that she’d left a note for Graydon, but his aunt Jilly stopped by and told him where Toby was.

  “Everyone is worried about her,” Jilly said. “They think she’s too close to you and that when you leave she’ll be crushed.”

  Graydon opened his mouth to defend himself, but how could he? Would he tell the story of how he’d been back in time with Toby? Admit that those were the happiest hours of his life? That he wanted to stay in a time when the barber was the dentist? When so-called doctors bled sick patients to get rid of “ill humors”?

  But he knew he’d go back in a minute. Without a second thought—and his vehemence scared him. Before he met Toby, he would have said he was a happy man. He had everything anyone could want. But now … Now he was becoming more dissatisfied with his life, his future, by the hour.

  That first day after their night together, he’d waited impatiently for Toby to return. He’d tried to keep his mind on the business of Lanconia, but he couldn’t do it. At one point Rory bawled him out, saying he didn’t seem to remember what it was like to work 24/7. “You get the vacation and I get the work,” he said, and hung up.

  Usually, his brother’s anger would have upset Graydon. He would have called him back, apologized, and put his mind fully on the needs of his country. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he’d gone outside to water the greenhouse and the flower beds. His mind was full of Toby—of when she would return and what they would do about what had happened to them. About their night together.

  All that day he went over and over every second of their time together. He thought of every moment, every word, every touch.

  By the time Toby returned, Graydon was frantic with worry. He planned to politely ask her to go upstairs with him so they could talk in private.

  But that’s not what happened. Instead, when he saw her, all courtesy, all reserve, fell away and he grabbed her in his arms. It seemed to be months since he’d touched her and he couldn’t get enough. He didn’t know what he would have done if Daire hadn’t dropped a pile of books onto the hard floor. The resulting boom had startled him enough to let up on his grip of Toby.

  Graydon had stepped back to look at the faces of everyone. Lorcan was shocked, Daire was disgusted, and Toby wa
s looking at him as though she’d never seen him before. That was when he realized that she remembered nothing of their time together.

  In the following week he’d done everything he could to make her remember. He’d searched the Internet until he found music such as he’d heard that night. He cooked food like he’d eaten, then retold the story of Tabby and Silas Osborne and said how much better it would have been if she’d married Garrett Kingsley. He recited bits of dialogue. He sketched people and scenes, including the wedding ceremony, and showed them to Toby. He’d even asked her to walk to the same church with him, but the sight of it brought back no memories. Nor did a visit to Kingsley House. The only obstacle he encountered was when he tried to get her to go inside BEYOND TIME with him. She refused to step a foot inside.

  But it didn’t matter because she remembered nothing. She looked at, listened to, tasted all that he offered, but nothing jogged her memory.

  By the end of the week, Graydon began to think that it had indeed been a dream.

  By the weekend, he was beginning to settle down and he could joke with Toby about all that Victoria was giving her to do.

  On Saturday afternoon Jared stopped by to tell them he and Alix were leaving, but Graydon was the only one home. Daire, Lorcan, and Toby had gone on a sailing tour around the island. Daire had never been on a boat before, and the women had teased him about whether a whale would come up under the boat and turn it over. “I hear they swallow people,” Toby said, straight-faced. “It’s their revenge for all that harpooning.”

  Lorcan had been on a boat only once before but she joined Toby in the teasing. Graydon had to remain behind because some American businessmen wanted to talk about possibly opening a shoe factory in Lanconia. Graydon had done all the preliminary work with them and had to be there to answer their questions, through Rory, about water, materials, and labor.

  Jared’s knock came just as Graydon had finished the fourth call with his brother, and it was a welcome relief. “Alix and I have to get back to New York,” Jared said, “and I wanted to see if everything here was all right.” He was looking Graydon up and down, as though he was trying to figure out what he was still doing in Nantucket and if he was intentionally trying to break Toby’s heart.

  Graydon offered Jared a beer, and they took the drinks outside. “How are you and Toby doing?” Jared asked bluntly.

  “Great. I’m in love with her but she thinks I’m the best girlfriend she’s ever had. She asks me about wedding dress designs and whether I like yellow roses or pink ones better. I’ve kissed her but she tells me to behave myself.”

  “Yeah?” Jared asked and his face began to relax a bit.

  “When we leave I think all three of us Lanconians are going to be crying, but Toby will be glad to get her house back.”

  Smiling, Jared drank from his beer.

  Graydon knew that what he was saying wasn’t fully the truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie either. Maybe he was just voicing what he’d been feeling in the last few days.

  “You leave when?” Jared asked.

  Graydon winced at his cousin’s tone. He wasn’t used to people trying to get rid of him. “Week and a half,” he said.

  Jared didn’t say “Good,” but his eyes did.

  As they went back into the house, Graydon suddenly remembered talking to young Alix—Ali—about her house designs. “Is there a portrait in your house of a young woman, about twenty-three, possibly in a large, heavy frame?”

  “Yeah, there is. It’s one of the pictures in the attic. My grandfather wanted it hung downstairs, but all the women said the frame was big and ugly so it stayed hidden away. How do you know about it?”

  Graydon had to come up with a lie quickly. “Dr. Huntley said—”

  “Say no more,” Jared said. “If you want to see it, Toby has a key to the house. Feel free to look. I haven’t seen that picture since I was a kid. Last I knew, it was leaning against the very back wall and there’s probably a lot of stuff in front of it. My attic is poorly lit, so if you want to bring it over here, do so. Actually, I’d like to see that picture again.”

  “Thank you,” Graydon said. The men said goodbye and Graydon watched Jared walk down the lane to Kingsley House.

  On Sunday morning, the women went to church services. Graydon begged off, saying he had some work to do, and he nudged Daire to stay with him. They were going to go through the Kingsley attic.

  When Toby and Lorcan returned from church, Daire and Graydon were in the family room staring at a huge, sheet-covered package leaning against the wall.

  “What’s that?” Toby asked.

  “One of Jared’s ancestors,” Daire said, then explained how they’d spent all morning in the attic of Kingsley House, armed with big flashlights and searching for the portrait. “We had to move heavy boxes, old furniture, a big birdcage, and …” He looked at Graydon.

  “And what looked to be a basket full of shrunken heads,” Graydon said, “but we didn’t stop to investigate to make sure.”

  Curious, Toby went to stand beside him. “Were you looking for something specific or just exploring?”

  “I was trying to find the portrait of Alisa Kendricks Kingsley, and I think this is it.”

  “Ali,” Toby said softly. “The little girl in my dream. But what made you think she’d had her portrait painted and that it was stored in the Kingsley attic?”

  “I told her to have it done, and since Dr. Huntley said she and her husband were never credited with building houses on the island, I asked her to leave proof inside the frame.”

  Lorcan and Daire were looking at him in puzzlement but Toby’s mouth opened in astonishment.

  “When did you see her?” Toby’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “I had a dream the night of the dinner party.” Graydon sounded as though it didn’t matter at all. “Shall we see what we have?” He nodded to Daire to take the other side of the old, yellow, dusty sheet and they lifted it off.

  It was a portrait of a young woman. It was what was known as a primitive painting, probably done by one of the itinerant painters who roamed America making portraits of anyone who could afford them. The boards the picture was painted on had warped a bit, but they didn’t take away from the prettiness of the young woman with her strawberry-blonde hair and her bluish-green eyes. However, the surrounding frame was too heavy for the size of the picture and nearly overwhelmed it. You could hardly see the young woman’s face for the carved dark oak that surrounded it.

  “She looks like your friend,” Lorcan said.

  “Alix.” Toby was looking at Graydon. He hadn’t said a word about having a dream in which he’d met the young Ali. But maybe in a roundabout way, he had. Had all his comments about tattoos and churches and historic recipes come from his dream?

  Graydon didn’t look at Toby. If he had, she would probably have asked him about his dream. Was she in it? Why hadn’t he told her about it? She stared at him but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  She watched as the men turned the portrait to the wall and Graydon began to inspect the back of the big frame. Oddly, it was carved in the back almost as much as in the front. Intricate vines and leaves, with little flower buds peeping out here and there, covered the back. Graydon ran his hands along the edges as though he were searching for something.

  Whatever he was trying to find didn’t seem to be there. But then, a ray of light hit the frame and Toby, standing a few feet away, could see the design more clearly. “I think parts of the wood used to be painted, or maybe dyed.”

  When Graydon moved to stand beside her, he saw that the little flower buds had a faint reddish tint to them. The color was hard to see over two hundred years of darkened wood, but it was there.

  Kneeling, Graydon took one of the buds in his fingertips and twisted. It moved. Just a bit, but it did move. It took three more twists before a little door opened to expose a tight roll of papers. He took it out and handed it to Toby.

  She held the roll out on her open palm. “M
aybe we should take this to Dr. Huntley and let the archivists open it.”

  Graydon was from a much older country. A mere two hundred years didn’t impress him. He took the papers from her and unrolled them. There were three sheets of what looked to be a good linen bond, two of them filled with tiny writing, obviously done with a quill pen. The last sheet had sketches of houses drawn on it.

  By the time Toby had looked at all the papers, Graydon had pulled four more rolls from inside the frame.

  “This is proof that Alisa designed the houses and that the first Jared built them,” Toby said. “Dr. Huntley will like this.”

  “Wait!” Daire said. “There’s another one.” In the top right corner was a tiny carved flower that looked as though it had once been blue. “I can’t figure this one out,” he said as he stepped away.

  It took Graydon several tries as he twisted, turned, and pushed the little blue flower. He was about to give up when a long, thin door sprang open. Inside was a single piece of paper rolled to the size of a pencil. When Graydon opened it, his face seemed to lose all color and for a moment he wasn’t able to move.

  Daire looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

  “What is it?” Toby asked.

  “It’s a picture of a girl.” Daire was looking at Graydon, puzzled by his reaction.

  “I think it’s Japanese,” Lorcan said, “except that the young woman is blonde.” The three of them looked at Toby.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Graydon handed the paper to Lorcan, then left the house. They heard the door close behind him.

  Toby took the paper from Lorcan. It had rolled itself back up so she sat down on the couch to open it on the coffee table. As she unrolled one end of it, at first she didn’t know what she was seeing. It was a watercolor, quite beautifully drawn, of what looked to be a Japanese geisha, but indeed, her hair was blonde, her eyes blue—and the woman resembled her. There were a few marks beside the picture and when she opened the top she realized she was looking at a drawing of a man’s back.

  “It’s a tattoo,” she said as she looked up at Daire and Lorcan. She couldn’t help wondering if this had something to do with why Graydon showed her the photos of the Japanese tattoos.