Weston handed him the coin so Stepp could examine it. “Yes, sir, I noticed that. Everyone has.”
“The coin has no value in itself. It is a medium exchange like the paper currency the government is trying to have us use now.”
Stepp nodded.
“The estate has interests in mines in Wales, and the ore from those mines is being used to mint these coins. This is a sample given to me as a gesture of . . .” He hesitated, trying to think of the right word. Stepp was hanging on every detail and, no doubt, this would be the official explanation spread belowstairs.
“The project managers gave it to the trustees and thence to me as a gesture of goodwill and commitment to the process.” In fact they had sent a small, toylike train, but Stepp did not need to know that.
“Thank you, my lord. There has been much speculation belowstairs, up to and including the absurd idea that it is a magic coin.”
Weston smiled and shook his head.
“Would that all headaches were as easily cured,” Stepp said, as he handed the coin back. “Next, my lord, you may not know, but Miss Kemp has been unavailable and sent a replacement, a Miss Amy Stevens. I have no doubt, sir, that Miss Stevens did her best but even I am grateful that she is only temporary. I do hope Miss Kemp will return soon.”
“I do believe that she will be arriving today.”
“Indeed!” Stepp’s relief was profound. “Thank you, thank you very much, my lord.” The butler did relax now and nodded. “I suspect that Lady Anne’s upset with Miss Stevens had much to do with Martha’s abrupt dismissal. I am certain that Miss Kemp’s arrival will ease Lady Anne’s sensibilities.”
“I’m sure,” Weston lied. He was not sure at all. If the day proceeded as he hoped, Alice would be his fiancée very soon, and not someone Anne could order about.
As he spoke, he realized that Martha’s dismissal was probably something for which he and his fellow time travelers were responsible. He must do something to help the maid find a new position.
The idea struck him at the same moment that the coin glittered a brighter gold. Give the servant the coin and send her out to fulfill wishes. Who could resist such a task? Of course, convincing her of the truth of its magic would have to come first.
Stepp had turned to leave the room and literally swayed on his feet. “My lord, where is the Guardi painting that should be hanging on that wall?”
Dear God in heaven, when would this confusion end? The painting. Where had it gone? Had it time traveled? The thought was cynical, but the weight of the coin in his pocket gave him the answer. Weston suddenly knew what had happened to the painting. It was with Miss Amy and Simon West. The painting was what they had taken with them to the twenty-first century when they left the coin behind. So, again, he opted for the truth, or a version of it.
“I do believe it has been stolen.”
“Stolen!”
“Yes.”
“But by whom?”
“I will tell you more when I am certain.” That is, as soon as I think of some way to explain the theft. “In the meantime make a notation in the journal you keep that the painting has been stolen.”
“I will do as you wish, my lord.” Stepp left the room, to find a glass of brandy, no doubt. It’s what Weston wanted. He thanked God and the magic coin for the inspiration of the last few minutes and then begged those same powers not to abandon him anytime soon. He still had more than one person’s world to set right, and he could see he would have to speak carefully to ensure that all the loose ends were done up.
He made a mental list. First, talk to his aunt dowager about the changing times. To him it was a formality he owed his uncle as his heir. His wife, the dowager countess, would need to know that changes were coming. Her support would be welcome but, he reminded himself, not essential. She would be a challenge and best tackled first.
Second, inform his sister that he had every intention of making Alice Kemp his wife and that she would be introduced to society by her sister-in-law rather than assisted by a hireling. Yes, that was the approach to take, but still it would not be easy to convince his status-conscious sister that her servant would be elevated above her by marriage.
Third, put the coin, the locket and the train in the portrait to inform the future that all had gone as he had planned. Perhaps best to do that last, when it was indeed proved that all was going his way. No, he would do it as it came to him. And embrace the conviction that his future with Alice was secure.
The two last items were the most important of all. One, he would be sure that Alice had her wish, and two, trust that it would be the same wish he held so close to his heart. That they had a future together, and love was the key.
If convincing the dowager that Alice was to be made welcome would be a challenge, then convincing Alice herself would be an even greater one.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Finding the dowager was easy. At this time of day she would be walking through the garden, dictating to the gardeners—the only place at Westmoreland where she still had authority.
“Good morning, Lady Aunt,” Weston called out, loud enough for half the garden to hear.
“Weston,” she said, quite formally.
“The gardens do appear to be ready to make quite a show.” It was the best that could be said of the space where tulips were the only flowers ready for a vase. “The bulbs from the Dutch seem to be thriving.”
“Yes,” the dowager agreed, “the expense was well worth it. My husband understood those things.”
“The blooms remind me of him every time I see them.”
Those ungodly expensive bulbs were another example of his uncle’s misguided generosity.
“What do you want, Weston?” The dowager sat herself down on the bench and looked up at him. “I cannot imagine you came out here to discuss the garden.”
To the point, he thought. “Very well, though it is always good to share a lovely day with you.”
The old lady’s “Humph” told him that he had overdone it with that heavy-handed compliment.
He sat down next to her but was not so bold as to take her hand. “Times are changing, Lady Aunt, and to survive we must change with them.”
Her body tensed; he did not need to be holding her hand to see that.
“Please listen,” Weston continued. “Times are always changing. King George has remained loyal to his wife and all their children for all these years. That certainly is different from previous monarchs.”
“And he has gone mad for it.”
“Perhaps that is not the best example,” Weston acknowledged. “We no longer need to fear smallpox, and more and more men and women are marrying for love rather than money or power.” Before his aunt could reply he stopped her with a raised hand. “This is my way of telling you that I have every intention of marrying Alice Kemp. We love each other and want a life together. The only thing that is keeping her from accepting my proposal is your disapproval.” That was a slight exaggeration, but his aunt’s opinion was a factor.
“You want my approval?” She looked surprised.
“I value it above most things, but I must tell you that with or without it I will do my best to convince Alice to be the next Countess Weston.”
The old lady sat very still for a moment, and then allowed the smallest of smiles. “About time, Weston. About time that you actually believed that you are the earl and what you want is what will be.”
It was his turn to look surprised.
“I am not saying that I will welcome her with open arms,” the dowager added. “She will have to prove herself worthy. But I will do nothing to hinder the proposal.”
Weston took her hand and kissed it. She pulled it from him as quickly. “There, you see! You are being obsequious again! It is your right! I am nothing more than an old lady sitting among the tulips waiting to die.”
“Nonsense, madam.” He stood up and bowed to her. “You are the keeper of an old and ancient title and I value your willingness to pass it on to the woman I have chosen.”
Her smile grew to almost a grin. “Now that is well said, nephew.”
They parted on such good terms that Weston was convinced that the coin had more influence than even Mr. Arbuckle knew.
The conversation with his sister was next. He found her in the small music room, playing Bach. He was relieved. Bach meant that her world was ordered and as happy as it ever could be. If she had been playing Beethoven he would have left the room and waited for another day.
He took a seat, knowing full well that interrupting her would not be in his best interests. Less than a minute later, she played the final notes and looked over her shoulder at him.
“I doubt you have come for music appreciation, Weston. And I can go further and guess that you have come to plead for me to reconsider Martha Stepp’s dismissal. I will not.”
She turned back to the pianoforte and began shifting the music sheets. Dreading Beethoven, Weston came over and sat on the bench beside her, facing the opposite direction.
“Anne, I respect your decision to dismiss your maid. I know it must have been difficult for you.”
“No, it was not,” his sister said, raising her chin a little. “And I do not regret it.”
Anne never made anything easy. He could not imagine how she would ever find someone who would be able to bear her moods. “Yes, be that as it may, I trust you will allow Miss Kemp to help you find a new dresser.”
“Yes.” Anne drew breath. “She certainly is an improvement over that person she sent as a substitute when she was delayed. At least she had a reasonable explanation for her delay.”
Anne began to fiddle with the sheets of music in front of her again, and a thought occurred to him.
“Sister, dear, do you even want a Season? Do you even want to go to London; and if you do, then why?”
“Of course I want to go. And finding a husband is what the Season is for.”
Hmm, he thought, not exactly enthusiastic about finding a spouse. He thought about the women he had seen in the twenty-first century and wondered if there was a way for Anne to have what she truly wanted.
“I do believe there could be more to the Season than husband hunting. If that were just a side interest, then what would you really like to do with your time?”
He looked at her as she furrowed her brow and stared into the middle distance as if trying to find an answer.
“Music. I would spend all my time attending musicales and operas and meeting composers.” She spoke with a kind of defiance that made him realize how rarely anyone took her seriously.
He smiled at her and nodded. “Then that, my girl, is what you shall have. You do not have to go to Almack’s once if you would rather not, and, I would think, one ball a week would satisfy your more traditional relatives.”
This next sigh was more like a huff. “You are not serious.”
“I truly am. I have had a recent experience that convinces me that living the life we want is more important than bowing to the conventions.”
“I suppose this is what comes when one unexpectedly inherits a title,” Anne said. “My father would never have even considered such an idea.”
“Well, your father held the Earldom of Uxbridge, one of the oldest in England. Let me remind you, however, that our mother was the one time in his life when he gave in to his heart. He had no need to make a second marriage. So even he had a moment of doing what he wished rather than what he must.”
They rarely spoke of their different fathers, of their mother’s two marrages. His father was no more than an earl’s second son without even “Lord” before his name. Anne’s father had been an earl.
Lady Anne had always held her title over him, and then fate had intervened, giving him a title he had never expected. Now, if he chose, he could hold his title over her. But he did not so choose. He wanted only one thing now.
“But what will we tell Miss Kemp? She expects to lead me through a typical Season.”
“Miss Kemp will be part of your Season, but—and brace yourself for this—she will be doing so as my wife, as the Countess Weston.”
It had just the effect he expected. It took him some time to convince his sister that if she could live life as she chose, filled with music first and foremost, then she could certainly grant him permission to do so himself.
“But we know nothing about her.”
“I do, Anne. I met her in London last Season and we came to know each other quite well. I proposed to her then but she refused, as she thought my family would take offense at my connection to a woman whose parents were divorced.”
He made himself stay relaxed and waited for the explosion.
“Divorced? Truly?” She thought a moment. “How have I never heard of it?”
“You have not been to London.” Weston put a hand on the instrument she sat before. “And music is all you truly need, Anne.”
She nodded her agreement and was silent a moment. “So, her parents were divorced. How very awkward.”
It was not the reaction he expected.
“Is that all?”
“I am not an idiot, Wes. I gather that her influence is what has led you to a more, shall we say, open mind about my Season. I expect you brought her here for more than my education.”
“Do not insult her, Anne. She is as much a lady as anyone with a title.”
She actually patted him on the arm. “I do not mean any insult, brother, only that I see your motives more clearly now.”
He stood up then and gave her a formal bow. Best not to let this go on any longer or they would wind up hugging each other. “Thank you for your support, my lady. I look forward to sharing the Season with you and my countess.”
A shake of her head was Anne’s only answer. As he left the room he heard her begin to play something lighthearted, perhaps even happy. Definitely not Beethoven. The notes sang through the air and touched his heart so deeply that he laughed. He laughed out loud.