She broke her nails and skinned her knuckles, but she was at last able to pull the face away. A long piece of stone protruded from the back of the face and fit neatly into the corbel.
Standing on tiptoe, Dougless looked behind the head. Inside a hollowed-out place was a small cloth-wrapped package. Quickly, she took the package, slipped it into her pocket, then shoved the corbel back into place and climbed down. She didn’t take the time to put the chair back as she hurried from the room.
She made it, without being seen, back to the tour just as the group was in the last room.
“And here we have the lace display,” the guide was saying. “Most of the lace is Victorian, but we do have a very special piece of lace from the sixteenth century.”
Dougless gave the guide all of her attention.
“It seems that although Lord Nicholas Stafford of the sixteenth century never marr
ied, there was a mysterious woman in his past. On his deathbed he asked to be buried with this piece of lace, but there was some confusion and Lord Nicholas went to his grave without the lace. His son, James, said the lace was always to be kept in a place of honor in the family, since it had meant so much to his beloved father.”
Dougless had to wait for the other tourists to move before she could see into the case. There, under glass, yellowed now and worn-looking, was the lace cuff Honoria had been making for her. The name Dougless was worked into it.
“‘Dougless’?” a tourist said, laughing. “That’s a man’s name. Maybe ol’ Nick didn’t marry because he was a little”—he waved his hand—“you know.”
Dougless spoke before the guide could. “For your information, ‘Dougless’ was a woman’s name in the sixteenth century, and I can assure you that Lord Nicholas Stafford was not a little”—she glared at him— “‘you know.’” Storming past him, she left the house.
She walked into the gardens, and while other tourists exclaimed over their beauty, Dougless thought they looked messy and neglected. She went to a quiet corner, sat on a bench, then took the package from her pocket.
Slowly, she unwrapped it. Touching the waxed cloth bindings that had last been touched by Nicholas so long ago, made her fingers tremble.
The miniature portrait of Nicholas came to light, as rich and bright as the day it had been painted. “Nicholas,” she whispered as she put her fingertips on the painting. “Oh, Nicholas, have I truly lost you completely? Are you gone from me forever?”
She looked at the miniature, touched it, and when she turned it over, she saw something engraved on the back. Holding it up to the light, she read the inscription.
Time has no meaning
Love will endure
He had signed it with an N, a D over the top of it.
Leaning back against the old stone wall, she blinked away tears. “Nicholas, come back to me,” she whispered. “Please come back to me.”
She sat there for a long time before she rose. She’d missed lunch, so she went to the tea shop and sat down with a plate of scones and a pot of strong black tea. She’d bought a guidebook at Bellwood and one at Thornwyck, and as she ate and drank, she read.
With every word she read, she told herself that what had happened had been worth the pain of losing the man she loved. What did the love between two people matter when, by giving up their love, they had changed history? Kit had lived, Lady Margaret had lived, James had lived—and Nicholas had lived. And with their lives, the family honor had been saved, so that today a Stafford was a duke and part of the royal family.
Against all that, what did one piddling little love affair mean?
She left the tea shop and walked to the train station. She could go home now, she thought, home to America, home to her family. No more would she be an outsider, and never again would she have to pretend to be someone she was not.
On the train ride back to Ashburton, she told herself that she should be jubilant. She and Nicholas had accomplished so much. How many other people had had the good fortune to be able to change history? Yet Dougless had been given that opportunity. Through her efforts the Stafford family was doing well. There were beautiful buildings standing because she had encouraged Nicholas to use his talent for designing. There were . . .
Her thoughts trailed off. It was no use telling herself what she should feel, because what she did feel was miserable.
In Ashburton she slowly walked back to the hotel. She’d need to call the airlines and make reservations.
In the lobby, Robert and Gloria were waiting for her. At the moment she didn’t think she could handle a confrontation. She hardly looked at Robert. “I’ll get the bracelet,” she said, then turned away before he could speak.
Catching her arm, he halted her. “Dougless, could we talk?”
She stiffened, preparing herself for his abuse. “I told you I’d get the bracelet for you, and I apologize for keeping it.”
“Please,” he said, and his eyes were soft.
Dougless looked at Gloria. Gone from the girl’s face was the smug, I’m-going-to-get-you look. Wary, Dougless went to sit on a chair across from father and daughter. Lucy, and Robert Sydney, Dougless thought. How much Gloria looked like Kit’s bride-to-be and how much this Robert resembled a sixteenth-century Robert. Dougless thought of how she and Nicholas had changed the lives of both of those people. Robert Sydney had been given no reason to hate Nicholas because Arabella had not been impregnated on a table. And Dougless had helped Lucy gain some self-confidence.