She smiled shakily, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you, Pawpaw.”

He folded her into his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder, just as she had a thousand times before. He smelled sweet, of his favorite pipe tobacco and aftershave. His broad hands were warm on her upper back, and she sighed against his familiar faded plaid shirt. Pawpaw was right. He’d always been right.

“Promise me somethin’.”

She looked up at him.

He continued with a half smile, “Promise me you’ll find somebody you can count on. A man who knows what it means to work for a living. A man who won’t let you run over him but will listen to every word you say.”

“I’ve got a grandfather like that,” Leah said with a laugh. “There can’t be another man like you.”

He smiled, but his voice was serious. “Leelee, listen to me. A good, strong, honest man. You find him, and you marry him. I want to know you’ve got somebody to come home to, so when I’m dead and gone, I know you’ll be taken care of.”

She pulled free of his arms and shook her head vehemently. “Why would you say that? You’re healthy as a horse.”

He shook his head. “I’m not guaranteed tomorrow, and I want to know you won’t be alone.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.” She tried to focus on the insinuation of her helplessness instead of the dead and gone statement. She refused to even consider a world without Pawpaw. And besides, she was an independent woman. While a romance would be wonderful, she didn’t need it to survive.

“I’m not talking about money or protection or anything like that, and you know it, girl.” He stared her down. “I mean a partner like I had with your grandma, someone to share life’s burdens with. You haven’t had it easy, and with Jamie gettin’ married, you’ll be more alone than is good for you.”

Leah stared at the carpet. She couldn’t look Pawpaw in the face. While the rest of the world saw the laughing, adventurous woman she’d chosen to be, she knew that he saw the lonely child she’d been when he and her grandmother had taken her in. He knew her too well. How could any man hope to do a better job of taking care of her than the man who’d raised her when her own mother hadn’t cared enough to do the job herself?

Her grandfather sighed. “If you’re going to stay around here this afternoon, you’d better change outta that getup. I could use some of your help staging the new silver I just bought. You’ve always been better at that than me.”

He patted her on the back and nodded toward the office at the back of the store.

“Yes, sir.” She caught the hood that he tossed at her and made her way through the back room. Maybe an afternoon of manual labor would keep the ugly memories of Kevin and her worries about the future at bay. Her throat tightened at the thought of Pawpaw’s words. Why would he be so worried about her getting married? What had he meant, dead and gone?

It took most of the afternoon before she could breathe normally again.

* * *

Leah stoically stared at Jamie’s TV, determined to ignore the pitiful whining of one claiming-to-be-starved greyhound. He’d had a bowl and a half of food only an hour ago, the rotten liar. He pawed at the foot she’d propped on the coffee table, his high-pitched cries fighting with the TV for her attention.

She’d volunteered to house and dog sit for the happy honeymooners, but Baron seemed determined to pester her to death. Instead of teaching a week at summer theatre camp, she was moping around Jamie’s house with a pile of movies, a boatload of snack food, and a greyhound that refused to get full.

“You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are what they were last April, please tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged.” Mr. Darcy’s eyes melted Leah from the TV screen, that beautiful deep voice rumbling through her bruised heart. “But one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

Leah mouthed the reply with Elizabeth Bennet. “I am ashamed to remember what I said then. My feelings are so different. In fact, they are quite the opposite.”

Baron whined again and pawed at Leah’s hand, shaking the tortilla chip free. He snatched up the forbidden snack and trotted happily to his bed beside a large mirrored bureau. Crumpling the chip bag closed, Leah tossed it on the side table atop her MacBook and lost herself in her favorite movie for a few more minutes.

She sniffed and wiped away her tears at the sight of Mr. Darcy kissing his new bride as they rode away in the carriage. Why wasn’t life really like that? Modern guys—well, the ones she’d dated anyway—wouldn’t know chivalry if it bit them on the ass.

The power button clicked beneath her finger and the TV went silent. Baron yawned and stretched, then trotted toward the kitchen, leaving Leah alone with nothing but her contemplation and half a bag of chips. A warm tugging began in her chest, a feeling she couldn’t place at all. She glanced over at the bureau.

Jamie had traveled through that mirror. It was some kind of time portal, Leah knew. It stood silently—tall, gleaming, with an almost otherworldly allure. Her Converses hit the floor with a soft thump, and before she knew what was happening, she stepped toward the antique bureau.

The mirror’s gilt edge gleamed at her, beckoning her onward. She couldn’t keep herself from reaching toward the glass, and she couldn’t stop her fingers from dipping into the mirror as if it were the cool waters of a pond.

Her mouth fell open in wonder. She pushed farther, relishing the tingling feeling that ran through her fingers and palm. This was insane. She should be scared. Lord knew what time period this mirror might dump her in. She should be screaming for help. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. She smiled and pushed her arm through up to the elbow.

Excitement thrummed through her. Jamie had met her true love—an earl!—after a trip through the mirror. Leah bit her lip as the pulling grew stronger. Her shoulder was nearly through now.

A soft whine interrupted her, and reality cracked her on the skull. What the hell was she doing?

“Oh shit,” Leah said, yanking backward. “Baron, wait! I can’t…I’m stuck, I’m—”

Something pushed her from the other side of the glass, and Leah popped free. She staggered backward, landing on the couch with a thump.

“Oh good heavens, Baron, do get out of the way, or I shall tread on you.”

Leah bolted upright with a screech. Scrambling over the edge of the couch, she darted for the baseball bat she knew Jamie kept in the coat closet. Her heart thumped wildly as she brandished the Louisville Slugger at the intruder.

“Who are you? How’d you get in here?”

The bat clattered to the floor when Leah’s brain finally clicked with what she was seeing. A short, rotund woman was climbing out of the bureau mirror—out of the mirror Leah had just tried to dive through. Whoops.

“What the hell?” Leah’s knees gave way with shock. She clutched the edge of the sofa for stability as the woman’s feet hit the floor and she straightened her skirts. What was going on here?

“Language, dear,” the little woman admonished her with a motherly smile. She was dressed in a dark gown made of rough wool. Her grayish hair was done in a severe pulled-back style, not a wisp out of place. Her round face held laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, giving her a pleasant expression. Her simple dress and hairstyle were appropriate for a high-ranking servant of the nineteenth century. Only one person Leah had ever heard of fit the description.

“Are you—” Leah stopped, swallowing the knot of confusion that swelled in her throat.

“Pardon. I am Mrs. Knightsbridge.” The woman bobbed a curtsy. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

Leah’s heart pounded so hard she was sure it would leap straight out of her chest. “Leah. Leah Ramsey. I’m Jamie’s friend.”

“Oh, my dear Miss Ramsey. Miss Jamie told me so much about you.” The little lady patted Baron on the head as he lapped her hand. “What a pleasure this is at last. I would dearly love to see Miss Jamie, and his lordship, of course. Are they at home?”

“I’m sorry,” Leah said, shuffling from foot to foot. For all her theatre history and costume knowledge, she was a little light on time-traveling-visitor etiquette. “They got married two days ago. They’re on their honeymoon.”

Mrs. Knightsbridge clucked her tongue and sighed. “Oh goodness, what a bother. I have arrived too late for the nuptials. These time shifts are becoming so unreliable.” She shook her head. “There is no hope for it. I shall have to go back and attempt to time my arrival more appropriately.” The little woman stepped toward the bureau again.

“No, Mrs. Knightsbridge, wait!” Leah jumped forward and grabbed the woman by the elbow. “Please, just a minute.”

“Yes?”

Leah swallowed hard. The words came of their own volition, and she couldn’t stop their complete rush. “I need to ask you something.”

Mrs. Knightsbridge arched a brow in a knowing manner but waited for Leah to continue.

“It’s my grandfather. I’m worried about him. He started talking yesterday about dying.” Leah ran her nails along her jeans, the rough edge of her thumbnail picking at the cotton. “I know you’ve got powers. Jamie told me. Is something going to happen to him? Is he sick and not telling me?”

“Why ask me, dear?” Mrs. Knightsbridge laid a hand atop Leah’s.

“Because I know you see things. The scrying. That’s how you found Jamie, right? Can’t you tell if something’s wrong with Pawpaw?”

Mrs. Knightsbridge shook her head, and Leah’s hopes slipped through the floor.

“I do not have what I require for that, my dear. But”—she smiled conspiratorially—“I can assist you in the same manner I assisted Miss Jamie.”

Her hopes leaped through the floorboards and lodged straight in her chest, making her heartbeat a ragged thump. “Really? You can send me to another time and place?”

“Of course,” the housekeeper said.

Leah jammed her hands in her pockets to keep them steady. She was almost vibrating, she was so excited. Go back in time? To when the gentlemen knew how to treat a lady, to when class was something everyone aspired to? She could find someone there, someone who appreciated her. Someone her grandfather would approve of. Someone who wouldn’t dick her over like Kevin had. And with time travel, she could be back before anyone knew she’d gone.

She grinned. “Let’s do it.”

Besides, who wouldn’t jump at the chance to visit Regency England? Not this girl.

Three

The scuff simply refused to budge from the duke’s favorite Hessians. Avery Russell sighed and resumed polishing the expensive leather boots. His Grace would be quite put out if these weren’t presentable in time for the next morning’s calls.

“Russell, are you about? I must speak with you.”

Avery didn’t look up from his work at the butler’s supercilious tone. “I am here, Mr. Smythe.”

The butler stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind him. “Mrs. Harper has dismissed Fannie, the underhousemaid. Until a suitable replacement can be found, you shall attend to the sweeping up and tidying of His Grace’s chambers.”

Avery refused to raise his gaze from the boot. He bit his bottom lip to keep in the retort that first sprang to mind. Smythe could take that sweeping and shove it up his— “Are there not more than enough maids to attend to that? I have many other duties.” In any other household, a valet would never be found doing the maid’s work. But ever since Avery had come into the duke’s household, Smythe had tried him to no end.

“The maids cannot be spared from their responsibilities,” Smythe replied. “Mrs. Harper has divided the rest of Fannie’s work amongst them. You shall attend to this, or I shall see to it that you are dismissed from His Grace’s service.”

The threat in Smythe’s tone was clear. Avery set his jaw and swallowed his response. He had to mind his place. This position was much less hazardous to his well-being than his previous employment had been. The Duke of Granville had pressed the bounds of propriety in even hiring Avery for such a high position, and the rest of the servants knew it. Smythe was the biggest voice of dissent. Avery adjusted the boot before finally glancing up. “So be it.”

Smythe nodded, looking down his nose at Avery, his forehead wrinkled—whether in frustration or in sheer dislike, Avery couldn’t say. He’d simply have to continue doing his best to please the duke and hope that the servants fell into line. But after nearly a year as the duke’s valet without change, his hopes were fading.