MA

by itsbiz

for

8. Chapter 8

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/1217821.

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

Doctor Who RPF

Relationship:

Alex Kingston/Matt Smith

Character:

Alex Kingston, Matt Smith

Stats:

Published: 2014-02-21 Completed: 2014-04-20 Chapters: 9/9 Words:

44165

somewhere, on the other side of this wide night

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)

Summary

"What year did you say it was?"

"I didn't. And it's 1815." She eyes him critically. "Are you a drunkard?"

"I don't think so. Not right now, anyway." He lifts his head and bestows her with a disarming grin.

Notes

For Bec, as a very belated birthday gift. Story title from Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy.

tearing down doors of time

Chapter Notes

For Bec, as a very belated birthday gift. Story title from Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy. Chapter title from Promise by Ben Howard.

Four – the number of champagne glasses she's had tonight, the number of times a bumbling baron has trod on her feet while they danced, the number of times she held her tongue and did not let her smile waver, and the number of times Ralph has forced her to make small talk with the simpering, insufferable wives or mistresses of his friends. Usually, by the time she reaches seven or eight, it's time to leave. Alex keeps track with the hopeful fervency of a wanderer in the desert waiting for rain.

These functions are always so dull. She stays at her husband's side for most of the night; her arm linked through his as she smiles – bright and hollow – at politicians and barons, noblemen and their pretentious wives. She makes small talk and nods along politely, managing the calm, charming outwardly façade befitting of a hostess and the wife of Lord Fiennes but in her head, she's screaming.

"And your son, Eudora?" she asks, pleasant smile in place and Ralph's hand resting encouragingly at the small of her back. "How is he getting along?"

Eudora Davies manages a faint smile, the most motherly affection the wretched woman can muster, and speaks over the delicate fan in her grasp. "According to his nanny, he's learning to walk – months earlier than any of his playmates."

Alex blinks at her, narrowed eyes taking in the smug red lips twisted into a smile and curled red hair arranged just so on top of her head, rubies weaved in carefully to catch the light. Ralph nudges her and she manages a charming smile. "You must be so proud."

A few more minutes of small talk and Eudora and her husband walk away smiling, off to socialize with another group of wealthy socialites just like them. Alex lets out a quiet breath of relief, allowing the tension to drain from her body for just a few moments before Ralph guides her somewhere else. She was never meant for this life. She'd grown up believing she would marry a simple merchant and have a brood of children, and the thought had comforted her. She was content with a life like that, happy and mostly carefree. That had been before Lord Fiennes came along.

Turning to Ralph, she lets her smile drop and says quietly, "I need some air."

He nods reluctantly, eyes already scanning the crowd for someone else to schmooze in her absence. "Very well – I don't believe I'll require you for cigars with Lord Fabian. He's a bachelor anyway." He turns to her, a warning in the set of his mouth. He's a handsome man, her husband. She'd been very lucky to manage such a match at her station in life. It's only that most days, she doesn't feel lucky. "But no longer than a few minutes, do you understand?"

She wants to argue but since they're hosting the party, it's only polite that the mistress of the house carry out her duties as the welcoming hostess. With a stiff nod of agreement, she squeezes his arm in parting and makes her way through the room with bright smiles and pleasant greetings to those she passes. She pauses only to fetch a cup of punch before sweeping from the ballroom in a flurry of rustling silk. The terrace is her favorite place to escape and she steps outside with a smile, breathing in the night air, scented with the aroma of lavender and begonias from the garden.

Idly wishing for something a little stronger, Alex takes one sip of her punch before setting aside her cup. She curls her hand around the railing, eyes falling shut. The sounds of the party inside still reach her ears out here but it's muffled and easier to bear. Sometimes, she enjoys playing hostess, but only when it's her own friends and family gathered in her home. Ralph's crowd of associates are just that – associates. They're acquaintances meant to maintain his standing in society, and Alex has little patience for the intricate workings of the wealthy. She grew up the daughter of a butcher, playing with her sisters in the fields and climbing trees, not going to teatime and shopping for expensive fabric to make dresses.

Ralph has done his best to help integrate her, refusing to let her do any of the household work or go anywhere at all unless she's draped in finery. Instead, she oversees the servants and plans parties, accompanying him everywhere to learn the ins and outs of how people in his social circle operate. She manages admirably for her background. Most days, she even remembers which fork to use first at dinner. Not that it stops the whispers or the judging looks, but she never cared much for the opinions of others.

Sighing quietly, Alex opens her eyes to the sight of her elaborate garden and smiles softly. In return for her mannerly conduct, she gets this – a fine house, the largest and prettiest garden of anyone in town and a team of gardeners to manage it. Some days, it's almost enough to make up for trading her simple life and her simple dreams to fit into the life and dreams of the man she married. There are other rewards, of course, but material things never held much value to Alex. The garden is the one thing that holds any real joy for her. Walking through carefully pruned hedges and sweet-smelling flowers keeps her sane most days, her special sanctuary from the life she has chosen.

Lifting her skirts, she turns from the railing and begins to make her way down the path, hoping to lose herself in the garden for a few minutes before Ralph comes to fetch her. No sooner does she plant one silk-slippered foot onto the grass than she hears a rustling from her rosebushes,

following quickly by a string of appalling profanity muttered under someone's breath. Alex pauses with a frown, peering into the dark and wondering if one of her gardeners had gotten drunk in the bushes again.

"Hello?" she calls out, walking quickly in the direction of the rustling. "Clyde, if you've passed out in my rose bushes again, it's coming out of your wages."

A figure emerges from the bushes, still cursing, and she watches in alarm as an unfamiliar, tall and slender figure untangles himself from her roses and hops about mumbling about a scrape on his elbow. "Not Clyde, thankfully," he says, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I have no wages to give you – least not any that would be useful in whatever the hell year this is. What year is it, anyway? Sorry about the bushes."

He smoothes out his strange clothes, rough blue trousers and a soft looking grey undershirt of some sort, boots on his feet scuffed and clearly not belonging to a man of high class. He shoves a hand through his hair, short and a little fuzzy, and frowns as if he has recently gotten a haircut and isn't yet used to it. She slides her eyes along his square jaw and deeply set hazel eyes, noting prominent cheekbones and ears too big for his head. He's quite possibly the strangest young man Alex has ever laid eyes on. She stares at him openly, mouth agape, before she hears Ralph's voice in her head, chiding her that it's quite unladylike to gawk. She snaps her mouth shut again. "W-who are you, sir?"

Yanking a thorn from his shirt and tossing it away, he offers a mocking bow. "Matt Smith."

"No title?" She frowns, tapping her foot. "I don't believe you were on my husband's guest list for this party without an appropriately impressive moniker, sir."

He snorts, still looking a little preoccupied with his scraped elbow, twisting his arm around to get a better look. So far, he's barely looked at her and Alex resists the urge to tell him how abominably rude he's being – even she had better manners before she came here - but she gets the feeling any admonition would be a lost on a man who wears undershirts out in public. "Not here for a party, Miss Manners."

She blinks at him, realizing belatedly that she'd been mumbling under her breath rather than inside the privacy of her own head. Blushing profusely, she begins to stammer out an apology but the young man finally looks up at her and stops short, staring. She watches as he turns just as red-cheeked as she is, scratching at his chin as he says, "Hello. I'm Matt."

Her mouth twitches in amusement against her will. "So you've said."

"Right, sorry." He glances away, still flushed. "What year did you say it was?"

"I didn't. And it's 1815." She eyes him critically. "Are you a drunkard?"

"I don't think so. Not right now, anyway." He lifts his head and bestows her with a disarming grin.

Refusing to be swayed by it, she crosses her arms under her bosom. "What are you doing in my garden, Mr. Smith?"

His eyes drop below her neckline for a moment, but before she can take offense, he's looking at her face again, smiling. "I'm a little lost."

"Well perhaps I can help you be on your way," she says, still suspicious. Any man who tramples her roses and curses like a sailor can't be the gentlemanly sort. "Where are you headed?"

"Home." He peers over her shoulder at the large house, lit up from within, the wind carrying the strains of a waltz out to meet their ears. His eyes light up. "Did you say you were having a party?"

She nods curtly. "And where is home?"

"London," he says, inching around her and heading for the stone steps leading up to the terrace and into the house. "You wouldn't happen to have any punch, would you? Traveling always makes me a bit parched."

Alex hurries after him, skirts in hand, and barely manages to leap in front of him before he reaches the door and lets himself into her home. "Are you mad, sir? You cannot possibly hope to go into the party dressed in such a manner. You aren't even on the guest list!"

"Blimey, I just want punch, Miss Manners." He laughs – laughs – at her, like he finds her horror endlessly amusing. His eyes twinkle with mirth and he bounces restlessly on his heels. "Come on, just a sip."

She frowns at him, hands on her hips. "There's a cup on the railing over there if you don't mind drinking after me, but you'll not be getting inside looking like that. My husband and his friends would be appalled – not only with you, but with me for allowing you in."

Satisfied, he abandons the entrance to the house and bounds over to the terrace railing, snatching up her glass of punch eagerly and downing it all in one long gulp. Alex watches in fascination as he swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Cheers." He sets the cup aside and eyes her humorously. "So if I just walked into your fancy little party dressed like this, all those-faint hearted little biddies would keel over at the sight of my uncouth attire? Is that it?"

"It isn't only your attire that is uncouth, sir," Alex sniffs. "It is your manner."

He guffaws, the ridiculous man, looking delighted. "You're a cracker, Miss Manners." He shakes his head, scratching his cheek. "And isn't it more uncouth of you to point out how uncouth I am?"

She flushes. No matter how hard she tries, she always manages to slip up somehow. Ralph is increasingly impatient with her slowness to learn. "Forgive me if I offended you, sir."

He shakes his head again, still watching her closely. "You didn't, don't get your undergarments in a knot." He smiles when she gapes at him. "In fact, I think you're the most entertaining person I've encountered yet."

"How flattering," she says dryly, forgetting her manners again but feeling oddly pleased when he laughs. "Now, why don't I go inside and get someone to fetch a hansom cab for you? London isn't far from here and -"

"Oh no." He waves her away, hopping up onto the railing and settling there, long gangly legs dangling. "I'm not from London now, I'm from London later."

She blinks at him. "Pardon?"

Rubbing a hand over his hair, he looks at her sheepishly. "I'm from London in the year 2013."

A very unladylike snort escapes Alex before she can stop it and she claps a hand over her mouth, flushing up to her ears. "My, that was terribly rude of me."

"Just a bit," he says, smirking.

"But it was also terribly rude of you to engage me in conversation when I was under the impression that you were not a drunkard." She frowns at him, taking a few careful steps back. "You mislead me, sir."

Untroubled, the young man shrugs. "You'll believe me soon enough. Stick around, Miss Manners." He flexes his fingers, studying them with a faint smile. "It's almost time."

"My name is Lady Alexandra Fiennes," she corrects, and though she knows the right thing to do is run inside to get her husband and have him throw this madman off their property, she finds herself lingering out here on the terrace, reluctant to part from this strangely dressed fellow.

He grins at her, wide and utterly charming. "Of course it is."

The sound of clipped footsteps behind her is her only warning before she hears, "Alexandra? I said a few minutes, not half an hour. Perhaps you should return to your hosting duties?"

She whirls to face her husband, loathe to leave the man on her terrace to go back inside. She'd much rather stay here and bicker with a complete stranger than play nice with high society for one more minute tonight. "Yes, of course. I'll be right in."

Ralph joins her on the terrace, slinking up to her side and pressing a hand to the small of her back. "Who are you talking to?"

"Oh, just -" she turns to introduce her mysterious drunkard to her husband but the spot on the railing where he'd been only moments ago is empty. She glances around quickly, eyes scanning the garden and beyond but all she sees is darkness. "Did you see where he went?"

He had to have been here – her now empty cup of punch is proof.

Ralph squeezes her hip and furrows his brow. "Who?"

She shakes her head, reaching out a hand to pick up the cup sitting on the railing. It still feels

warm where his fingers had been curled around it. "No one."

In the days after the party, Alex frequents her garden more than ever and though she won't admit it even to herself, she's waiting for the strange man to appear again, to materialize from thin air, as silently as he'd disappeared. He may have been just a very inebriated young man from the nearest town who'd happened to stumble into her gardens, but he was also by far the most engaging person she's met since she moved here.

She spends her days overseeing the workings of the manor and going to tea with society ladies. She attends balls with Ralph, hanging on his arm and smiling politely, as if there is nowhere else she'd rather be. She writes letters and keeps in touch with her family, contemplates getting a cat for company and discards it because Ralph claims he's allergic. Days turn to weeks, and eventually she forgets about the drunkard called Matt Smith in the dull humdrum of her everyday routine. Having fantasies of strange men coming to rescue her from the monotony of her life are not good for her mental health and she pushes those thoughts aside in an effort to stay sane.

When Ralph goes into town on business, she stays behind with the excuse of overseeing the gardeners but the moment he leaves, she dismisses them all and takes care of things herself. Ralph hates for her to dirty her hands, but she likes the gritty feel of dirt and soft soil. She likes curling her hands around weeds and pulling, likes the satisfaction of caring for something. The sun beats at her back, making her sweat through the layers of her dress and corset, and she can feel the back of her neck beginning to tan.

Abandoning her pruning shears, she stands slowly to stretch her aching back, entertaining the possibility of stepping inside for a wide-brimmed hat and a scarf, and perhaps a glass of water, when she hears a thud from the other side of the garden, like a body hitting the ground. Her heart leaps into her throat and she turns quickly, green eyes scanning the backyard. Seeing nothing, she calls out, "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Ah, Miss Manners again." She bites her lip, a thrill racing up her spine at the voice already familiar to her. The man may be mad or drunk or both, but he's different and Alex will cling to any break from the tedium of high society living. "Lucky me."

After a moment, he appears through a hedge, wearing those strange blue trousers again and a black shirt with a half naked, buxom woman on the front. She averts her eyes quickly, scandalized, and watches his booted feet trample her begonias as he reaches her. She scowls and he has the grace to look sheepish.

"Sorry." He rubs at his hair with his palm and watches her with contrite hazel eyes. "I can't really control it, you know."

"Control what?" she asks, risking a glance at him and yes, the naked woman is definitely still on his shirt. She averts her gaze to his boots again, flustered.

"Where I end up. Well, I mean, I can a little." He sighs. "It's complicated. But the point is, I didn't mean to step on your flowers, so could you possibly look at me instead of glaring at my shoes? You're making them nervous."

She forgets about his appalling shirt long enough to look at him incredulously. "Shoes can't feel nervous. I knew you were a drunken lout."

He grins, dropping his eyes pointedly. "Even if I am a drunken lout – which I'm not, thank you – you are the lady of the house and I'm pretty sure you're supposed to invite me in and offer me refreshment."

"Is something to drink all you ever think about?" she frowns. "Besides, I don't have the key to my husband's liquor cabinet and he's away at the moment."

"I told you last time – traveling makes me thirsty." He inches cautiously forward to slide his arm through hers. "A glass of water would be lovely."

Too stunned by his forwardness to protest, Alex lets him guide her up the steps to the terrace and into the house. He releases her arm instantly, gazing around with wide eyes. Puzzled, she watches him and wonders what he finds so awe-inspiring. This is only the smallest sitting room – the one Ralph gave her for her own personal use. She had liked it best because of the lovely view of her garden.

Matt whistles lowly. "Swanky."

"Pardon?"

He laughs. "It's nice."

"Oh. Thank you." She moves to the sideboard where she keeps a decanter of wine and a pitcher of water, pouring the latter into a glass and handing it to him. "I would show you the house but the servants might faint at your attire and I'm still quite certain you're mad."

"Only quite certain?" he smirks around a mouthful of water. "I'm winning you over, Lady Fiennes."

He wanders around the room inspecting her paintings, making appreciative noises as he sips greedily from his glass and Alex perches on the settee, keeping a close eye on him. He seems harmless enough, but he's a virtual stranger, and before becoming the sheltered wife of Lord Fiennes, she knew well enough what might happen to women who found themselves along with male strangers. "If traveling makes you so frightfully thirsty, perhaps you should carry a canteen. Or stay home."

"And deprive myself of your charming company, Miss Manners?" He glances over his shoulder at her, grinning boyishly. Alex feels a faint flutter of warmth in her stomach and glances away. "Besides, it's impossible to take anything with me when I go but the clothes on me back."

"Right, of course. How could I forget – you're a time traveler." Since he isn't looking, she takes the liberty of rolling her eyes heavenward. "Tell me, what does the future look like? Flying pigs?"

"I would be delighted to tell you if I didn't believe you were mocking me." He turns from her painting with a lifted brow but she doesn't back down, watching him skeptically. He downs the last of his water and drops onto the settee next to her. She silently frets over the upholstery. As if sensing her thoughts anyway, he laughs. "Don't think I didn't see you kneeling in the dirt out there. What an unladylike thing to do."

Bristling, she frowns down at her dirt-dusted hands folded in her lap. "I like working in my garden. It's – all I have."

He snorts. "Along with an enormous manor."

"The manor isn't mine, sir. It belongs to my husband," she says stiffly, avoiding his gaze. "Now I really must ask that you do not wander away from town back here again. Ralph would be most displeased to find a strange man wandering about the property and even more so if he found out I'd invited him into the house."

"I told you, I'm not from town." He reaches for the bowl of fruit on the table in front of them and

picks up an apple. "At least not for another two hundred years."

Making an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, Alex watches him bite into the apple with relish, chomping noisily enough to surely alert the whole house of his presence. "Then perhaps the next time you decide to take a jaunt to the past, you might go somewhere else."

"Oi, it's not like I came here again on purpose!" He says, his mouth still half full of apple. "I wanted a little adventure but certainly not another landing in your bloody rosebushes. I don't really know how I got here, to be honest." He swallows, takes another bite into his apple, and squints into the middle distance for a long moment. "Maybe I was thinking of you – or maybe you were thinking of me." He waggles his eyebrows and glances at her. "Pining for a certain time traveler?"

Alex fights back a blush, wondering if he actually knows she spent the first week after their encounter practically living in her garden in case he magically appeared again. Can they read minds in the future? "If I was thinking of you, it was only as I cursed the state of my rosebushes."

"I don't think you even know how to curse," he says fondly, and pushes his half-eaten apple into her palm. At her blank look, he waggles his fingers at her. "I'm feeling all tingly. Time to go. Thanks for the refreshments – you've been a delightful hostess."

Curling her fingers around the apple, Alex feels her heart leap into her throat in panic. "You're leaving?"

"Any minute now." He taps his fingers restlessly against his knee, looking ill at ease.

"So suddenly?" She watches him, distressed and unable to understand why. "Will you be back again?"

For all that she tries not to sound indifferent, Matt seems to see right through her. He grins widely and tilts his head, studying her. "I will if you want me to."

Swallowing, Alex gazes into warm hazel eyes and wonders what on earth she's doing. He's an ill-mannered nuisance who steps on her flowers. She should be glad to be rid of him. And yet… "I want -"

He's gone.

She hadn't even blinked but he's gone. One moment, he'd been sitting there with his hands curled into fists and his eyes soft and amused as he waited for her reply and the next moment, she finds herself staring at the empty end of the settee, his apple still clutched in her hand.

And yesterday, you were here with me

Chapter Summary

"What on earth is that?" She finally blurts when her curiosity will no longer be stifled.

"What?" He follows her gaze and ducks his head to look at his shirt. "Oh, that's Sid Vicious."

She tilts her head. "What's a Sid Vicious?"

Chapter Notes

Chapter title from Autumn Leaves by Ed Sheeran.

The next time, she's ready for him.

She waits two days before he finally appears again, and she watches from her bedroom window as he stumbles out from a row of hedges. Even two stories up and through a pane of glass, she can hear his muffled curses. Smiling to herself, she scurries from her armchair by the window and out of her chambers, down the stairs and into her sitting room. She snatches up a pitcher of water, a glass, and an orange before stepping out onto the terrace.

Matt is still fussing with trying to untangle a vine from his shoelace. "You know what you need?" He calls out, as if he already knows she's there. "A bloody landing strip."

"A what?" She laughs; puzzled as ever by the strange way he talks.

He pauses and looks up at her, brow furrowed. "Oh right. No planes yet. Sorry." His eyes land on the supplies in her arms and his whole face lights up. "Oh my god, you gorgeous woman. Is that water? And an orange!" He makes a noise more akin to the tone she'd use to coo at a puppy, bounding to her side and relieving her of her burden. "You are a gem. A complete and utter gem."

Alex flushes at the praise and fidgets. "Well, I thought you might be thirsty. You always are." He nods absently, ignoring her glass to drink directly from the pitcher, and she averts her eyes to keep from scolding him. Perhaps etiquette has changed drastically in the future and drinking glasses are obsolete. It wouldn't be right to judge him by her society's standards when his might find his

behavior perfectly acceptable. Even so, she finds herself fearful of a world in which glasses for drinking are optional.

Perching on the terrace steps as he sets aside the pitcher and begins to peel his orange, she keeps her lips pursed against her endless questions of the future, hoping that he won't disappear before the proper time has passed and she can begin interrogating him. Smoothing a wrinkle in her dress, Alex plucks restlessly at her skirts and studies the young man currently popping an orange slice into his mouth. His shirt is black today, with a picture on the front of a sneering man standing in front of the British flag, his dark hair wild and reckless around him. "What on earth is that?" She finally blurts when her curiosity will no longer be stifled.

"What?" He follows her gaze and ducks his head to look at his shirt. "Oh, that's Sid Vicious."

She tilts her head. "What's a Sid Vicious?"

He laughs, swallowing an orange slice and wiping his fingers on his trousers. "Not what, who. He was the lead singer of a British punk band." At her blank stare, he hums patiently and settles onto the step next to her. "He and a few other blokes used to sing together. In the future."

"Oh?" She likes singing, though Ralph insists she perform at the pianoforte during his parties and she likes that a lot less. "Like what?"

Matt smirks. "Absolutely nothing you would approve of, Miss Manners." He nudges her when she frowns, still grinning. "Meet a man from the future and the first thing you do is ask him about the Sex Pistols? God, you're my favorite." As if to prove it to her, he offers her an orange slice. She takes it tentatively, biting it in half. "Go on then. Ask me something else."

Alex chews thoughtfully, thinking of all the things she could ask about what the world looks like, new inventions and books and politics but when she swallows, what tumbles out is, "Does everyone in the future wear those frightful trousers?"

He laughs until tears spring to his eyes and she admits privately that she likes the sound, a hoarse, childish giggle. Still clutching his side, he leans back against the steps behind him and nods, wiping at his eyes. "They do, actually. They're called jeans."

She mouths the word silently and it feels foreign on her tongue.

Matt smiles softly and glances away, staring out into her garden as he pours himself glass of water from the pitcher. "It's beautiful out here," he says. "Do you care for it all yourself?"

She shakes her head. "My husband doesn't approve of ladies doing manual labor. He employs a team of gardeners to do most of the work, but I like to help when he isn't around."

"Well, what a surprise. Lady Fiennes, a rebel." He eats another orange slice and grins around a mouthful when Alex widens her eyes. "Wait till I tell you about feminism."

"You and your strange words," she huffs, crossing her arms under her bosom. "I don't know why I was so pleased to see you. You're clearly addled in the head."

"It means equality," he explains, looking amused. "Between men and women. And everyone, really. You can bloody well work in your garden in your undergarments if you like and no man can tell you not to." All at once scandalized and intrigued by the notion, Alex's feverish mind races with endless questions about this equality business, but Matt forges ahead without her. "You were pleased to see me, then?"

She shrugs primly, embarrassed.

"I didn't actually mean to come back at all. Just forgot to take my medication." He rubs a thumb over his ear, and, really, they are quite large. She wonders why he doesn't grow his hair out to cover them, but she can't help finding it a little charming all the same. "I could feel myself starting to fade and I only had time to think of somewhere pleasant to land before I was gone – somewhere nice, with a pretty garden and a beautiful woman to greet me." He winks cheekily and she stares, bewildered by him. He reaches out a hand and tugs at a curl hanging in her eyes, a wayward piece that slipped from her updo. His long fingers are gentle and smell like citrus. She struggles not to inhale deeply, barely breathes at all until he drops his hand back to his lap. "Shame I didn't specify unmarried, hmm?"

Alex flushes crimson and instantly hates herself for it. What is it about this strange man that renders her a witless, simpering fool? Clearing her throat, she eats the last half of her orange slice and avoids his gaze. "You said you take medication? To stop yourself from traveling?" At his nod, she frowns. "Doesn't everyone time travel in the future?"

"No, thank god," Matt laughs, scrubbing a hand over his face. His cheekbones are quite something, she realizes distantly. "I'm an anomaly."

She bites her lip. "You really didn't mean to come back?"

He shakes his head. "You were quite cross with me the last few times. Though I'm starting to think it isn't you being cross so much as you being your uppity self. Very unfortunate."

Flustered, she turns on him with narrowed eyes. "How dare you -"

His laugher stalls the angry words in her throat. "You should learn to lighten up, Lady Fiennes." He meets her eyes for a long moment before letting his gaze drop, sliding along her bodice with enough interest to make her skin prickle. "You know, let down your hair, loosen your corset.

Figuratively, I mean," he adds hastily, looking into her eyes again with a sheepish grin. "Bet you've never been drunk in your life, have you?"

"Have I ever been gluttonous with my liquor and made a complete fool out of myself, you mean? Have I ever had a whole bottle of whiskey and turned into a complete scoundrel? No, sir, I have not." Alex lifts her chin and raises an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be ashamed of having self control?"

He bites his lip, clearly struggling not to outright laugh at her. "Yeah, you definitely need a drink."

He's up the steps and slipping into the house before Alex can stop him and she squeaks in alarm, struggling to her feet and hitching up her skirts a little to hurry after him. Her sitting room is empty and she follows the sound of booted footsteps down the hall, heart pounding as she glances around for servants. If any of them spot Matt, it'll be all over town within hours that she had a strange man in the house while her husband was away. She can't even begin to imagine the consequences should such a thing get back to Ralph.

She passes Mrs. Blackburn cleaning the larger sitting room where Ralph entertains his guests. The head housekeeper nods politely when she sees Alex, a friendly smile on her face, and Alex returns it with a sigh of relief. Slipping past the room and hurrying on her way, she wonders how Matt had possibly escaped the nosy woman's notice even as she hears the telltale muffled curses that always prelude Matt's appearances. She sighs gustily and follows the noise down the corridor, finding herself standing in the doorway of Ralph's study.

Crouched on the floor, Matt has broken into the liquor cabinet and she watches him pull out a bottle of whiskey with a noise of triumph. "Blimey, this is the good stuff."

"What are you doing in here?" She hisses, shutting the door behind her in case a servant discovers

them. "Have you no decency at all?"

"None." He glances over his shoulder at her with a wicked smirk. "Come on then, Miss Manners. Have a drink with me."

Without waiting for an answer, he grabs two glasses and rises to his feet, swaggering over to Ralph's leather armchair and sinking into it with a sigh, as if he's lord and master of the manor himself. He pours himself two fingers of whiskey and one for her, placing it on the table and pushing it toward her with a raised brow.

It's a challenge and Alex Kingston could never resist one of those. Apparently, neither can Lady Fiennes. With a barely repressed huff, she stalks further into the room and takes up the glass, sinking into the sofa opposite him. "Just a sip," she warns at his victorious grin. "And only to silence you."

He shrugs carelessly, watching with interest as she lifts the glass to her mouth. The whiskey burns all the way down her throat and she coughs, eyes watery. "That's vile," she manages, voice hoarse.

Matt laughs, taking her glass and filling it again. "You'll get used to it."

Doubtful, she takes the glass from him again anyway, watching with admiration as he downs his own glass without flinching. Already she can feel the alcohol warming her insides, like a heavy blanket, and she suddenly understands why Ralph likes to drink it on cold nights. She sips cautiously this time, savoring the strange, smoky taste on her tongue.

Matt seems more interested in watching her drink than paying attention to his own glass and Alex wants to fidget under his gaze but she doesn't, studying him just as intently. Even as at ease as he is in this distant land, he seems so out of place in his clothes from the future, slouched in the seat where the ever-pristine master of the house usually sits, reading his paper and smoking a cigar. Matt looks positively foreign.

He snorts, reaching for the box of cigars sitting on the table. "Thanks for that."

"Oh my goodness, did I say that out loud?" Alex eyes the glass in her hand distrustfully, squinting.

"You have a habit of doing that," he says, amused. "Not very ladylike."

She giggles, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Pausing in the middle of sniffing a cigar, Matt raises his eyes to look at her, stunned. His eyes soften and his mouth curls into a little grin, those cheekbones suddenly flushed with color. Thrown off balance by his gentle gaze, Alex composes herself quickly and puts aside her drink. "What?"

"Nothing." He drops his eyes and picks up a match, lighting the cigar. She wants to tell him the servants will smell the smoke and think she's gotten into her husband's stash herself but for some reason, she just lets him do as he likes. He usually does anyway. "I just like hearing you laugh." Letting out an appreciative hum as he takes the cigar from his mouth, he releases a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. "You should try it more often."

The words form an ache in her chest and Alex busies her trembling hands with smoothing out her skirts, lips pursed tightly. "I didn't used to be this way," she confesses, wondering why she feels the need to tell him. It isn't any of his business but for some reason, the thought of this odd young man with his infectious grin thinking she's an eternally uptight stick in the mud makes her unhappy. Not so long ago, she was the eldest daughter of Anthony Kingston and young men fell in love with her ever-present smile. "I'm just trying to fit in here. Every day, everywhere I go, I'm judged for being of a lower class than everyone else around me. Ralph married beneath him, you see."

Cigar frozen halfway to his lips, Matt doesn't move, staring at her with gentleness and a little regret in his gaze. "He must really love you," he observes softly.

She shrugs uneasily. "He thought I was beautiful. I barely knew him when he proposed."

"Ah, the solid marriages of the regency era," he snorts softly, paying no attention to her confusion. "You still said yes – even not knowing him."

"Of course I did," she says, frowning. "He was a very smart match."

"And love is of no consequence when a man makes eight thousand pounds a year, hmm?" Matt stubs out the cigar and leaves it lying in the tray, flexing his fingers. "I'm about to head off, I think. Thanks for the drink, Lady Fiennes."

She nods silently, a lump in her throat. She can't decide if it's the smoke in the air, the alcohol in her stomach, or the knowledge that any moment, her peculiar new companion is going to disappear in front of her again. Perhaps all three at once.

"Even married to your stuffy old husband, you've got plenty of reasons to smile. Big house, lots of pretty dresses and those sinful corsets, enough money to do whatever you like." He grins impishly at her, scratching the back of his head as he climbs to his feet. "Maybe if you stopped trying so hard to fit in, you might have more fun around here."

Shaking her head, she watches him approach her warily. "It's not about having fun."

His smile fades and he crouches down in front of her, one of those long-fingered hands resting on her knee, hot as an iron through petticoats and the silk of her dress. Alex feels her breath catch and she can't bring herself to move as he reaches out a hand and cups her cheek, thumb brushing softly over her skin. Her eyes lock with his and she feels a flutter of warmth in the pit of her stomach. "Then what's the point, love?"

He's gone before she can reply and she sits there with her heart pounding in her chest and the whiskey settling oddly in her stomach until she hears the sound of Ralph's voice ringing out from the foyer. She jumps when he calls her name, scurrying to put away the whiskey and stash the cigar in a potted plant. She doesn't have time to freshen her breath with a gargle of perfume so she turns her head as she goes out to greet him, hoping he doesn't smell the alcohol on her.

"Hello, my sweet." He smiles, handing his coat to his footman Miles. "Did you manage to entertain yourself while I was away?"

She nods, her cheeks flushed and her smile forced. "How was town?"

"Odious, as usual." He wraps an arm around her waist and nuzzles her hair. "It's good to be home again." She leans into his embrace and closes her eyes, pretending she doesn't smell perfume that isn't her own on his collar.

In the weeks that follow, Alex rarely stops thinking of her last encounter with Matt. She lies awake at night thinking of his hand on her knee and remembers the oddly gentle look in his eyes

out of nowhere right in the middle of teatime. It makes her spoon tremble against the china of her teacup and she laughs when all the ladies look at her, murmuring that she's clearly had enough sugar. More than anything, she thinks constantly of his parting words to her. She spends her days struggling to fit in, to be the perfect wife to one of the wealthiest men in five counties. She pretends to like people whose idle chatter and spoilt mannerisms make her nauseous. And for what? What is the point in a big house full of servants, more money than she could ever spend and more influence than one woman has any right to if she isn't going to enjoy it? What's the point of life at all if she isn't having any fun?

She contemplates it even as she sits at her vanity the night of yet another ball. Ralph loves the summer season – he throws parties nearly every weekend just so he'll have the excuse of showing everyone that he can afford it. Constantly rubbing elbows with people she barely tolerates is mentally exhausting but Alex never says a word. She only smiles and strives to be the picture perfect hostess. She eyes herself critically in the mirror. Ralph had brought another dress from town for her to wear tonight, as if a present will make up for what she knows he's doing there – visiting her. The identity of the female remains a mystery but Alex is certain only low class women wear perfume so cloying.

It isn't her place to confront him. He gave her a home and money and fine things, he treats her well and doesn't ever lay an angry hand on her. It's more than many women could ever hope to have, and what Ralph does in his own time is none of her concern. Men stray all the time and it is the expectation that a wife will look the other way, so long as he's discreet. Other than a small pang of betrayal every time he comes home smelling of someone else, Alex doesn't feel anything at all.

The dress – a lavish representation of his guilt – is quite beautiful. Made of silk the color of the wheat, tiny pearls sewn intricately into the bodice, it's elegant enough to show everyone in the room just how much money her husband spends on her without being ostentatious. It brings out the deeper, honey-hued color of her curls. Alex tugs on a ringlet and stares at herself in the mirror, frowning. Her hair is her best feature, according to her mother. Composed of wild, corkscrew ringlets, it is her only distinguishing trait and without it on display, she looks like all the other married women at the balls. Living here has slowly made her forget, but once, Alex had always taken great pride in standing out.

With a thoughtful hum, she opens a drawer in her vanity and grabs a handful of pins just as Cecily

– the young maid responsible for helping her dress – steps into the room. "Ready to put up your hair, Ma'am?"

Alex shakes her head, biting her lip thoughtfully. "Actually, I think I'd like to try something different tonight."

With butterflies in her stomach, she instructs Cecily to only pin up half of her hair, leaving the rest spilling freely down her shoulders and though she can sense the girl's hesitance, she doesn't

question Alex's orders. She even pins an orchid in her curls to complete the look and the end result is a soft, lovely style unlike anything the other ladies wear. Pleased, Alex thanks Cecily profusely and sends her on her way, determined to stay out of Ralph's sight until the ball begins and there is nothing he can do to make her change.

She slips from her room just in time to help her husband greet their guests as they arrive and he does a double take, eyes narrowed as he takes her in. He shakes the hand of a baron with a smile on his face, directing him into the ballroom, and as they watch Everard Davies and his wife Eudora walk up the path to their front door, arm in arm, Ralph keeps his welcoming smile in place, speaking through his teeth, "What are you doing?"

"Helping you to greet our guests," she answers, furrowing her brow and looking at him as if she can't begin to imagine what he's on about. "Would you like to do it alone?"

Before he can snap a reply, the Davies' reach them and he shakes hands with Everard warmly. "Lovely to see the two of you again. How is that handsome child of yours?"

"As good-looking as ever," Everard says proudly, cigar in the corner of his smirking mouth. "Takes after his father." Turning to Alex, he offers a bow and kisses her hand. "Hopefully, any child you have, Ralph, will resemble your charming wife."

Alex manages a stiff smile, her stomach dropping. After a few years of marriage, she's all but given up on ever having children of her own. "You flatter me, sir."

Everard winks at her good-naturedly and leads his simpering wife away with him. Alex doesn't miss the way Eudora's eyes flick up to her hair curiously, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. Already, she can imagine the circle of ladies who will no doubt stand in the corner tonight and cluck their tongues at her for trying to look like a girl again.

The moment the couple disappears into the ballroom, Ralph turns on her. "Your hair-"

She touches a fingertip to the orchid in her curls. "You like it?"

"Like -" He huffs, blue eyes livid. "Go upstairs and put the rest of it up. You're not an unmarried young girl anymore. I can't believe Cecily allowed you downstairs looking like that."

"Cecily works for me," she snaps. "Not the other way around. And I can't fix it – I have to stay

down here and play hostess. You're always telling me how rude it is to leave your parties."

He growls under his breath but another exquisitely dressed couple is walking up the and he pastes on a charming smile. They exchange pleasantries, Ralph kissing the hand of another lord's wife in greeting and Alex accepting her compliments on her dress and offering her own in turn. When they're gone, he hisses, "You may not care for your reputation, but it reflects on me -"

Alex sighs patiently but inwardly, she's astounded at her own level of rebellion. It's the height of disrespect to contradict her husband's wishes so blatantly. "It's hair, dear. Hardly the subject of gossip." She turns her head and frowns at him. "You loved my hair when we met."

"And I still do," he says, though he barely glances at her as he says it, his jaw tight with anger. "But you're not a country girl anymore. You're a Lady and it's simply not genteel."

She drops her eyes, biting her lip. "It makes me happy," she admits softly.

"Then your happiness needs a new outlet," he snaps.

She flinches but instead of nodding in defeat, she feels only righteous anger at his words and she lifts her chin, glaring. "I just wanted a change. I don't think my hairstyle is going to cost you any of your precious society friends, so leave me be. Calm down and go have a drink, for goodness sake. What sort of man obsesses over his wife's hair of all things?"

For a long moment, Ralph stares at her in stunned silence. In the ballroom, the strains of music from the orchestra they'd hired for the night reaches their ears, their guests starting to enjoy themselves without their hosts. Finally, he shakes his head and says, "What has gotten into you?"

Alex glances away guiltily, knowing if not for the strange man from the future, it never would have crossed her mind to be so defiant. Ralph stalks away without waiting for an answer, leaving her standing alone in the corridor but she stays put, unwilling to walk into the ballroom and stand at his side, pretending to be his adoring wife when she's caught between remorse and insolence.

A slow clap draws her focus from the ground and up, down the corridor. Slouched against a wall and smirking, Matt is dressed in another pair of those jeans, a blue shirt that for once doesn't have some sort of vulgar design on the front and a jacket made of the same rough material as his trousers. "That was literally the most restrained, polite domestic I've ever seen. Beautiful."

She glares down the corridor at the reason for her conflicting emotions. "What are you doing here?"

He straightens from the wall and begins to saunter toward her, hands in his pockets. "I came back to see you, of course." He stops just short of invading her personal space and at her unimpressed stare, he flushes and looks unsure for the first time since she met him. He drops his head and peeks at her through his lashes. "I could hardly abandon you to a boring life without me, could I? What would my little stick in the mud do for fun?"

She frowns, secretly pleased despite herself that he'd returned on purpose this time rather than by chance. But she's still annoyed at his influence over her and letting him know how happy she is to have him around – especially tonight – is unthinkable. "I'm hosting a party and I haven't the time for your antics. Go to the library and wait there. There's a liquor cabinet in there – feel free to help yourself."

He opens his mouth to protest, looking petulant.

"Stay in the library," she warns. "I'll not protect you if my husband sees you and has you thrown from the premises."

It's a lie and she wonders if he knows it.

When he grins outright, she knows he does. "Yes, ma'am. I'll be a good boy, on my honor."

"Do you even have any?" She quips, enjoying the way his eyes widen in surprise. It feels good, not worrying about her manners for once and saying whatever comes into her mind. She's missed it. Without waiting for him to formulate a reply, she turns on her heel and moves to enter the ballroom, but the sound of his voice stops her. She pauses and turns back, eyebrow raised questioningly.

Matt scuffs at the ground with the toe of his boot, looking uncharacteristically shy. "Your hair looks beautiful like that."

She feels her cheeks heat with color and dips her head in thanks, heart leaping at the compliment. "You're the first to say. It's not the fashion – nor is it proper for a married woman."

"Why are you wearing it then?" He smiles like he already knows.

Still, she hesitates. "Because I like it."

He laughs, looking almost proud. "Fun, isn't it?"

Her answering smile is reluctant but she can't hide the twitching corners of her mouth. "It's a start."

With one last glimpse over her shoulder to see him loping off on long legs in the direction of the library, Alex strides into the ballroom to join her husband, feeling lighter and happier despite Ralph's mood and the judging stares of wealthy socialites. She enjoys herself a little more tonight than any other, feeling more like herself with her hair around her shoulders and a flower tucked behind her ear. Watching her tongue and her manners around these people is still a priority but she's so used to slipping into the role that it comes easily now. Sometimes she doesn't even have to think before she speaks.

After a few hours, the party begins to wind down and there are few enough people that slipping away for a few minutes won't be considered rude. She walks directly to the library, hoping Matt had managed to linger a little longer this time but she isn't surprised to find the room without an occupant. The smell of cigar smoke still lingers in the air and a half-finished glass of scotch sits on a pile of books on a table.

Shaking her head at the clutter he'd left behind, she glides swiftly to the table and begins to pick up after him, downing the rest of the scotch herself. She begins to stack the books neatly to carry over to the right bookshelves when a leaf of paper from one of them flutters to the ground. She pauses, books balanced precariously, and stoops to pick it up. In messy penmanship, ink blotted on the page as if he'd been unused to writing with a quill, Matt had written: See you soon, Miss Manners – or should I even call you that anymore, you feisty minx? – M.

Smiling at an empty room, Alex tucks the note into her bodice for safekeeping.

my love, don't fade away

Chapter Summary

The last person on earth she expected to find in her kitchen in the middle of the night was Matt Smith, though she wonders how he manages to continue surprising her. The man thrives on showing up at the most inconvenient times – in the middle of balls, at two in the morning when she's in her nightgown. Oh lord, her nightgown. Blushing furiously, Alex wraps her dressing gown tighter around her frame and crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring Matt's knowing smirk. Honestly, at times he can be downright lecherous. "What are you doing here? And how did you get in?"

Chapter Notes

Chapter title from Reminder by Mumford and Sons.

Embroidery by candlelight is hellish on the eyes. Alex squints in the dim light of her private chambers and struggles not to prick her sore fingers again. She has never been very adept at sewing or embroidering or, really, anything at all in which ladies are supposed to excel. She can sing well enough and Ralph loves to request her performances at balls they host, and she's even fairly accomplished at drawing and painting, but the truly ladylike, delicate things tend to escape her. She forges on anyway because she is nothing if not perseverant, and if Eudora Davies can embroider insipid flowers, then Alex can too.

She takes out her frustrations on a needle and thread like she has been taught ladies are supposed to do – apparently throwing things at Ralph would be most uncalled for. It's been two days and he is still barely speaking to her when not in polite company, but that isn't the part she minds. It's rather nice being left on her own during the day, and he'd long ago stopped bothering her in the night once he realized children would never be an option. She doesn't mind that either – the whole business had been uncomfortable, bordering on painful, and she can't begin to imagine what all the fuss is about. No, what really irritates her is that he isn't speaking to her over her hair. It's the silliest reason not to speak to someone she's ever heard of.

The needle pierces through the fabric and into her skin again. Alex yelps, muttering a barbarous expletive she'd learned from Matt, and stuffs her finger into her mouth to soothe the sting. Scowling at the needlepoint, she tosses the whole lot of it onto her nightstand, deciding she's had more than enough practice for one night. Still too worked up to blow out her candle and go to bed, she slips from beneath the sheets with a weary sigh, picking up her dressing gown. Perhaps a cup of tea will help her sleep.

Tying her gown together as she traipses quietly down the corridor and the staircase, she manages to make her way to the kitchen without waking anyone. Ralph dislikes her venturing into the kitchen, claiming they have servants for a reason, but considering he's already angry with her, it can't do any real harm to disobey him again. What can he do, become even more sullen and silent?

Unfortunately, as she nears the kitchen door and the smell of tea in the air fills her senses, she realizes someone else is already ahead of her. She pauses for a moment outside the door, a hand on the frame. She'd been looking forward to a little time alone in the kitchen and she isn't sure she's up to conversation with one of the maids, but a cup of chamomile tea sounds too tempting to resist. Perhaps she can take a cup back to her bedroom rather than lingering for pleasantries. It's such a late hour it might not even be considered rude.

Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door and slips into the kitchen, a polite smile on her face for whichever member of her staff is still up. Instead of Cecily or Mrs. Blackburn, she finds herself staring at Matt sitting on the counter rather than a chair like a normal person, hands wrapped around a delicate china cup and breathing in the steam rising from his tea. He glances up at her sharp intake of breath and a slow grin lights up his whole face. "Hello," he whispers, as if afraid to wake the house. "What are you doing up?"

She stares at him in silence for a moment, too stunned to speak. The last person on earth she expected to find in her kitchen in the middle of the night was Matt Smith, though she wonders how he manages to continue surprising her. The man thrives on showing up at the most inconvenient times – in the middle of balls, at two in the morning when she's in her nightgown. Oh lord, her nightgown. Blushing furiously, Alex wraps her dressing gown tighter around her frame and crosses her arms over her chest, ignoring Matt's knowing smirk. Honestly, at times he can be downright lecherous. "What are you doing here? And how did you get in?"

"Is that any way to greet a guest?" he raises his thin eyebrows at her and takes another sip of tea. When Alex fails to apologize for her apparent rudeness, he sighs. "My timing's a bit off, didn't mean to come here in the middle of the night and I didn't want to wake you. But I was thirsty and I've broken into enough places in my travels to know how to do it quietly. And before you say anything, yes, I know it was rude." He shrugs, obviously unremorseful. "Now, want some tea?"

Reluctantly, she nods and watches him hop from the counter and wander about the kitchen like he owns it, fetching her a cup and pouring her water from the kettle he'd found. "How do you like yours?" He hums thoughtfully, holding up a hand. "Don't tell me – you take one sugar when you're with all your uppity society friends but when you're by yourself, you prefer two."

"Three, actually," she mumbles, biting her lip when he laughs quietly.

"Damn. Bloody close, though." He slides a cup and saucer in front of her and Alex slides into a

chair gratefully, murmuring her thanks. "What are you doing up so late, young lady?"

She closes her eyes and doesn't answer for a moment, savoring the tea on her tongue and the way it begins to warm her from the inside out. "I couldn't sleep," she finally says.

Thankfully, he doesn't ask her why, only watches her silently from across the table. "Maybe you just need a bedtime story."

She resists the urge to snort. "Perhaps. Have anything in mind?"

He ducks his head, lips pursed. "I didn't take my meds on purpose. I wanted to see you."

She swallows her tea around her suddenly dry throat. "Oh? Whatever for?"

"I got a part in this play – this really great, amazing play – and I had so many people I could call or text, who would love to celebrate with me and the first thing I wanted to do was find you even though I knew you wouldn't understand a thing I said. God, you'd even hate the play. You'd say it was immoral." He snorts softly and lifts pained hazel eyes to look at her. "But I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted you to know."

Alex stares back at him in silence, her throat closing up and her heart in her mouth. "I'm flattered," she manages, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Congratulations, darling."

His eyes light up at the term of endearment and Alex hides her flush by bringing her cup of tea up to her mouth and sipping, hoping he'll attribute the red of her cheeks to the steam. "Thanks. It's not easy, you know, having a friend who lives so far away."

"Am I your friend?" She asks over the sudden rushing in her ears. "I didn't even know you were an actor."

"Never cared much to talk about me – always doing that back home." He scratches at his head and shrugs. "It's not the unfortunate profession it is in this time period, though. Pay's pretty decent, actually."

"What else do you do?" She asks, stifling a yawn. "When you're not traveling in time and

acting?"

"I'll tell you on one condition," he says, rising from his seat. "You take your tea into the sitting room and lie down."

She blinks up at him standing over her, a fond smile on his face, and suddenly feels very sleepy. "Are you my bedtime story, then?"

His smile widens. "If you like. Come along, Lady Fiennes."

"Alex," she says as she climbs to her feet, allowing him to guide her along with a gentle hand on her elbow. "Lady Fiennes is a terribly stuffy character and I don't care for her at all."

Matt laughs, a quiet noise in her ear that makes her shudder inexplicably. "How unfortunate. I'm quite fond of her. She's very entertaining – especially when she's tired."

"That's because you're my friend," she says, a warmth filling her very like the tea had done as the words leave her mouth. "You have to like all of me."

"Untrue." He pulls her into her private sitting room and guides her to the settee, pushing her gently onto it. "I just have to tolerate all of you."

She huffs at his rudeness but the comfort of the settee cushions beneath her stalls any reprimand. Instead, she curls up into a ball and rests her head on the cushioned arm as Matt watches her settle in.

"Comfy?" he asks, looking amused.

She has a feeling he's mocking her but she nods primly anyway. "My story, if you please."

Matt sighs patiently and sinks into the chair across from her. "Close your eyes, Alex." She frowns but her eyelids are heavy and he hadn't bothered to call her any of those silly nicknames. She obeys almost without thought. Satisfied, he starts to talk, telling her in a soft, slow voice about this sport called football he likes to play and his older sister Laura who has her own dance troupe. He tells her how he used to play the part of a man Doctor Who, who was also a man who could travel

in time. He tells her that he likes sweets and music and colorful socks.

Gradually, the soft, soothing sound of his voice lulls her to sleep and though she struggles to stay awake and listen, to hold onto her time with him for as long as she can, she drifts off in the middle of a story about his grandfather. When she wakes, morning, sunlight filters in through the drapes in her sitting room and Matt is gone once again. Alex clutches the blanket he'd draped over her before he left and sighs in disappointment.

"Are there others like me?"

She peers at him over the top of her thin, leather-bound journal but Matt isn't looking at her, reclining on his back on the picnic blanket, one arm behind his head and the other hand plucking grapes from a bowl and dropping them into his mouth. She hasn't seen him for weeks, not since that night she found him in the kitchen, but she's been keeping a list of questions to ask him should he come back again. And come back he does. He'd appeared today in the middle of a cool summer afternoon and as usual, he'd been parched. Alex had decided instead of giving him an orange and water again, a picnic under a shade tree in her garden was just the thing.

Without opening his eyes, Matt snorts softly and answers in a teasing tone, "Oh yeah. Got a girl in every era of history, me."

Flustered, she harrumphs and tosses a grape at him, inexplicably annoyed when he isn't bothered, plucking it from where it landed on his shirt and popping it into his mouth. "I am not your girl. I meant are there others who know you're a man out of time. Who supply you with water and food and manage not to bash you over the head with something out of sheer exasperation."

He pouts up at her, wounded. "What do you mean you're not my girl? Of course you are – we're having a picnic with grapes for god's sake."

She shakes her head, mildly amused with his antics despite herself. "I'm a married woman, sir."

Grumbling under his breath, Matt rolls over on his stomach and reaches for another biscuit. "I could challenge him to a duel. Do they still do that sort of thing now?"

"Not quite." She watches him bite off half of his biscuit at once, crumbs falling on the blanket, and

wrinkles her nose. "Use a napkin, honestly."

Matt answers her with an obnoxious smack of his lips. "Did you bake these biscuits?"

"Our cook did. I'm not allowed in the kitchen – Ralph says it's beneath me," she shrugs and when Matt frowns, it's difficult not to notice the bit of powdered sugar clinging to his upper lip from the biscuit he'd eaten. Without thought, Alex reaches out and swipes it away with her thumb, conscious of Matt's sharp intake of breath when she touches him. Embarrassed as he stares at her with wide eyes, she wipes her thumb on her skirt and looks away, blushing. "I'll pass along your compliments, however."

He ducks his head, brushing away the crumbs on the blanket and avoiding her gaze just as thoroughly. "Does he – I mean -" He shakes his head, sighing. "What's he like, your husband? Tell me about him."

"There isn't much to tell, I'm afraid. He's a very wealthy man – his family has always been well-to-do. They have quite the fearsome reputation." She picks up the bowl of grapes and holds it in her lap, idly wondering what the servants must think of her entertaining a young man out here.

Matt opens his mouth like a helpless baby bird, blinking big eyes up at her, and she decides she doesn't care what they think nearly as much as she should, dropping a grape into his waiting mouth.

He mumbles his thanks as he chews. "What else?"

Alex hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping lightly against her chin. "He likes drinking the best whiskey and smoking the finest cigars, and throwing lavish balls so everyone knows how much money he has. He waited until he was thirty to marry because no woman reached his standards and he says he picked me because he thought I was prettier than any of his friends' wives. But I think he liked that I didn't have any money or anything to offer him. He even had to hire a tutor to teach me how to act and speak around his rich friends." She laughs lightly, fiddling with a loose thread in the picnic blanket. "I think it makes him feel superior."

A larger hand with long, tapered fingers rests over hers, stilling her nervous movement and she glances up biting her lip to find Matt watching her, mouth pursed and eyes pained. She manages a brief smile, turning her hand over to squeeze his fingers. "Well," he says at last, attempting a light-hearted tone. "At least you don't have any kids with the twat."

She flinches. "Not for lack of trying. I can't have them."

Matt inhales sharply, his grip on her fingers suddenly iron-tight. "Shit, love. I'm so sorry." He scrubs a hand over his face. "For that and for saying shit."

Letting out a choked laugh, Alex smoothes a hand over his fuzzy head, ignoring the flutter of her heart whenever she initiates physical contact with this man. "It's probably for the best but it does leave me rather vulnerable." At his bemused look, she sighs. "Without children to bind us together, he could turn me out of the house whenever he likes and marry another – a woman capable of bearing his children."

"You mean demon spawn," Matt scowls, looking moody and she feels a rush of fondness for him and his solidarity. She likes that he sees the practices of her time as barbaric, that he isn't siding with Ralph and telling her as her mother does that she should be lucky he still wants her even though she's defective. She likes that Matt talks to her like she's a person and that she can confide in him without fear of scolding or judgment. And she knows if she were to tell him of Ralph's mistress, he would be furious on her behalf, whereas everyone else she knows would see it as her husband's right. She wonders what sort of future Matt comes from – if he's a special case or if all men are like him where he's from. "I understand now, though."

She blinks, hurriedly looking away from studying his profile and putting aside the bowl of grapes. "What?"

"Why you were so keen to follow all the rules." He traces the tip of his index finger over the gold thread at the hem of her gown, brow furrowed. "I didn't realize how dependent you are on his… kindness." The word seems to leave a sour taste in his mouth, his lips twisted in a grimace, and she hides a smile. "I'm sorry for pushing you."

"Don't be." She pushes his hand away with a scolding look when he begins to wrinkle the hem. "If he decides to turn me out of the house, there's nothing I can do to stop him. I might as well enjoy myself while I can."

"What a positive outlook, my Lady," he says, affecting a posh accent that makes him sound ridiculous and uncomfortably close to those she interacts with on a daily basis. He laughs at her face and rolls over again, stretching languidly. The hem of his shirt slides up over his stomach, revealing taut, pale skin and Alex feels her face heat up but cannot bring herself to look away until he tugs his shirt back down, oblivious to her predicament. "Anything else you want to know?" He taps pointedly at the book still open on her lap. "I see a lot of writing in there."

She tilts the book protectively away from his prying eyes. "I'll not ask you everything all at once. I'll save some of them for other days." When she looks at him questioningly, wondering if there will even be other days, he smiles softly and nods once. She brightens, shutting the book and tucking it away. "You said before you can travel wherever you like if you concentrate."

"Mhm." He shoves another biscuit into his mouth and she decides the next time he shows up, she's going to sit him down at a table and make him learn the same lessons in etiquette she did when she married Ralph – that powdered sugar clinging to his mouth is most unmannerly and more than a little distracting.

"Then why did you travel here that first time?" She offers him a napkin but places it directly over his face, giggling when he sputters dramatically. "Were you thinking about visiting this era?"

He removes the napkin from his face and wipes his mouth, shaking his head. "I just forgot to take my medicine – a sort of variation on a drug people use when they're prone to seizures. It stops me from traveling. But I'm a bit of an absent-minded idiot and forget to take my doses. The night we met I traveled in my sleep – was taking a kip on the sofa."

"Why do you take the medicine at all?" She frowns, wondering what it would be like to have the ability to go anywhere or do anything, in any era of history. She could learn everything the world has to offer. She could see the Pyramids or hike the mountains in China. She could climb trees again and not worry about dirtying her fine gowns or which knife to use for which course. She could be free. "Don't you like to travel?"

"Not really." He hesitates, picking up his crystal glass of wine and taking a slow sip. "It's sort of… scary. One minute, I'm standing in my kitchen in 2013 and then the world shifts around me and I'm standing 300 years in the past or future with nothing but the clothes on my back. And there's nothing I can do but wait to disappear again." It had never occurred to her to think of it like that and Alex shudders, wondering what she would do in a foreign land with no way home. "I mean, I've learned to control it somewhat and that can be brilliant – went to a Rolling Stones concert last month, their very first one. That was wicked."

Unsure why he's so excited about a bad concert of moving rocks, Alex decides to remain silent, fairly certain it isn't an important point anyway. "What about before you could control it?"

"I got hurt a lot." He shrugs. "That's what the medication was originally for – to keep me from going anywhere and getting injuries. I'm clumsy enough on me own." He grins at her, wide and self-deprecating. "But I forget to take it sometimes and that's why I learned to control it – at least I'll be somewhere safe, yeah?"

Swallowing hard and uneasy at the thought of this gangly, ridiculous man in danger, she only nods, resisting the urge to reach out and take his hand or smooth his hair again. Matt may not mind her offers of comfort but it isn't proper to touch a man who isn't her husband so freely, no matter how she might want it. "But you said you were napping when you came here. You can't control it in your sleep, of course." He shakes his head. "What caused you to travel here if you weren't

thinking of it?"

Matt takes another sip of wine and watches her do the same before he answers, eyes tracking the line of her throat as she swallows. "Well, from my experience, if I don't control it I tend to be attracted to big events. They sort of pull me in, like a magnet. Wars, revolutions, assassinations, the day my Gran died, me mum and dad's wedding day, the time my sister Lor was six and fell out of a tree trying to get my kite…"

"Trampling my garden was a big event?" she raises an eyebrow, amused.

He smiles back at her, eyes bright with mischief. "Must have been."

Laughing, she shakes her head, curls spilling over her shoulder. "Wars and weddings and my garden. I wonder what the connection is?"

Matt pops another grape into his mouth and mutters around it, "Guess we'll have to wait and see."

Her time traveler keeps appearing in her life at random intervals over the summer months, sometimes staying for only five minutes and other days for whole afternoons. On one memorable occasion, he doesn't disappear for two weeks and Alex has to sneak him into the manor and hide him in her vast closet. She carries him meals when no one is looking and entertains him as well as she can while still attending to her duties around the house.

She feels very much like a naughty little girl again, caring for the baby bird she kept under her bed and hoping her mother didn't find out. They talk and play chess and when she wakes one morning to find Matt gone, she's so glum for the rest of the day that Ralph doesn't go into town like he usually does, choosing instead to stay home and try to cheer her with his presence.

Matt always comes back though, and the assurance of that keeps her sustained. No matter how many days she has to wait, he always comes back in the end, driving her mad with his poor manners and ridiculous pet names. Like now, lounging on the settee with his shoes off, garish purple socks propped up on a cushion as he smokes another of Ralph's cigars. She doesn't think he even likes to smoke – he just enjoys using Ralph's things, the cad.

She wisely chooses not to comment, too content with her free afternoon. She'd been in better

spirits this morning and Ralph had taken the opportunity to venture out of the house and into town. She has no doubt his mistress has been longing to see him. "You're getting smoke in the fabric," is all she says.

"The windows are open," he protests, and as obstinate as he looks, she knows he would put out the cigar or stand outside to finish it if he thought it truly bothered her. She likes having something to complain about – it makes for conversation in the social circles she moves in. "And it's not like anyone smells it but you and me anyway. Does anyone else even use this room?"

She shakes her head. "It's only for my own use. Can't you tell? The furnishings are more comfortable."

He laughs softly and stubs out his cigar. "I did notice." Hopping to his feet, he wanders the room barefoot, those brash socks sinking into the plush carpet as he inspects knick-knacks and vases filled with bright flowers, humming obnoxiously in approval just to make her smile. He gestures to the walls. "Paintings in here are much better too. Prettier to look at it – your husband has an unfortunate love of battle scenes and portraits of scary, balding ancestors."

She hides an inappropriate giggle in her knitting and knows he isn't fooled. "Thank you. The artist is pleased to hear such high praise."

Matt turns on his heel and stares at her. "You what?" She smiles pleasantly and waggles her fingers, not even bothered when he follows it up with, "Are you fucking around?"

"Must you be so crude?" She's almost used to it by now but if she didn't complain, their entire relationship would just collapse in on itself from lack of order.

He sighs and offers her a contrite look that still manages to be smug. "I'm sorry, let me rephrase that. Did you, by any chance, Madame, create these lovely works of art or are you taking the piss?"

She rolls her eyes; fully aware it's probably the best she'll get out of him. "I painted every picture in here. A lady has to do something to keep herself occupied."

Matt wanders around the room again, more slowly this time, taking in every painting and studying them intently. It makes her feel nervous and she squirms in her seat, afraid she'll somehow be found wanting. Her paintings are nice enough, she supposes, but how can they possibly be compared to the things Matt must see all the time in his own future and in his travels? Silly

paintings of flowers and meadows and people couldn't possibly interest him. She fiddles with her knitting and listens to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room tick over the seconds until finally, Matt turns around and looks at her with a soft smile. "These are gorgeous."

She blinks, hopeful and unsure. "You think so?"

"They're incredible," he says, and he's still looking at her like he really means it. "You're incredible, Alex."

She begins to shake her head, flustered.

Matt is across the room and kneeling in front of her in seconds, his hands over hers on her knitting. Breath stuttering in her throat, Alex stares down at him, wide-eyed. "It's maddening, you know," he says quietly. "Watching you so unsure of yourself all the time. They may act like they're the superior ones, but you stand head and shoulders above every damn one of them and it's a bloody crime against humanity that you can't see it."

Heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears, Alex blinks away tears and swallows thickly, unable to think of anything adequate to say. Instead, she reaches out a hand and cups his cheek, inhaling quietly at the feel of stubble beneath her palm. Matt tilts his head, nuzzling into her with his eyes shut and she smiles softly, stroking her thumb beneath his eye. "Thank you," she finally manages. "You're a good friend, Matt."

His smile is more of a grimace and he opens his eyes but doesn't look at her, turning his head. Already feeling the blush heat her cheeks, Alex lets him catch her hand in his and kiss her fingers, his lips warm and soft against her skin. "I take what I can get," he murmurs.

Placing her hand back in her lap, he gives her another half-hearted smile and retreats back to the settee. Alex watches him go, her whole body trembling with some unnamed feeling, a need like no other. It confuses her and frightens her, and she does her best to cover the tremor in her voice as she speaks. "You could take one with you." She curls her hands into her skirts and manages a cheery tone despite everything, hoping he won't notice how he affects her with a glance, a touch, a few words. Even her own husband doesn't incite such a reaction. "A painting, I mean.

Something to remember me by when you're gone."

If anything, Matt only looks more troubled than he had before but he forces a smile. "I wish I could, sweetheart." She doesn't even have time to be secretly thrilled by the new pet name before he continues, "But it's the same as when I arrive. I can't take anything back with me when I leave

– trust me, I've tried. Just the clothes on my back."

"Oh." A sinking feeling in her stomach, she glances down at her lap, curls tumbling into her eyes, and wonders when she started hoping one day she might go with him and see the strange world he came from. "Of course. I'm sorry."

His smile fades and they regard each other silently from opposite sides of the room. Warm hazel eyes are fixed on hers and she thinks maybe Matt is sorry too.

He disappears not long after, leaving her alone in her sitting room and listening to the ticking of the clock in the corner once more. She doesn't see him for a few days and in the time spent on her own, she begins to formulate a plan. It might not work and she's absolutely certain she'll be thought mad, but she only has to think of the look on Matt's face when she offered him a painting before she goes through with it anyway.

Months ago, Ralph had donated quite a few of their paintings to an art gallery in town – more for the prestige of having his name on a placard next to the donated artwork than for any real charitable feeling – but she's glad now that he had. There had been a rather remarkable portrait of her in the donated art, something she'd had commissioned as a wedding gift when they married. Even Ralph had thought it captured her likeness with alarming accuracy. He said he couldn't stand to have it in his study – two of his wife always watching him was more than he could handle.

It only takes a visit to their solicitor and a substantial bribe to get the necessary paperwork accomplished and she leaves his office with a hopeful smile, waiting for Matt's next visit. She doesn't have to wait long.

Two days after she made the arrangements, she sits in her garden with a glass of lemonade and a parasol. It's a humid morning and she imagines the heat will only get worse as the day wears on. Ralph has been in bed all day, declaring the heat too much for his delicate sensibilities, but Alex likes it far better than the harsh winter she knows will follow. Sunny days have always been kind to her.

"How did you do it?"

Startled, she turns and finds Matt standing just behind her, tears in his eyes. Her own eyes fill up and she smiles, luminous. "It arrived safely then?"

He nods wordlessly, staring at her like he's never seen anything so fascinating in his life. Considering Matt's life, she finds it quite the compliment. "There was a delivery and I -" He stops,

shaking his head. "I don't have long. I can feel it."

Alex stands instantly, carefully setting aside her parasol. "It's alright. I -"

He crosses the distance between them in two long strides and before she can utter another word, he draws her tightly into his arms and bends his head, crashing his mouth against her own. She inhales a startled breath, her eyes fluttering shut. His lips are warm and soft against hers, gently but insistently coaxing her mouth open. Helplessly melting into his broad chest, Alex parts her lips and allows his tongue to slip inside and slide wetly against her own. He tastes like - oh lord - he tastes like sweets and tea and dust in sunlight. He tastes like days gone past and days yet to come. She curls her fingers tightly around the collar of his shirt and whimpers.

"Oh, you magnificent woman," he breathes, breaking away to press fervent kisses to her jaw, her forehead, her cheeks. She keeps her eyes shut, relishing the feel of his clumsy, tender hands on her face, her hips, sliding over silk. "How did you do it? A portrait of you – I'll cherish it always, do you understand? Every single time I look at it. It's a poor substitute but it's you, Alex. You'll never understand what you've done, you beautiful, precious -" He kisses her again, hard and desperate, as if he's afraid she'll slip through his fingers. Overwhelmed tears slipping from closed eyes, she holds onto him with all her might and wishes it could be enough. "Alex -"

He doesn't even get to say goodbye this time.

One moment, she's clutching his shirt and she can feel his hot breath on her cheek and the next he's gone and she stands alone, reaching for a man hundreds of years away from her. Chest heaving and lips tingling, Alex wraps her arms around her middle and shivers in her sunlit garden, suddenly cold.

closer to the time when you're coming back

Chapter Summary

Eyes on hers, he bows politely and she offers a curtsy, feeling a little silly for the charade. "Lady Fiennes," he murmurs, the sound of his voice sending a frisson of warmth up her spine. "Might I have the honor of the next dance?"

Chapter Notes

Chapter title from The Distance by Evan and Jaron.

She tries to forget, going about her days as usual and never letting on that anything has changed, but rarely does a moment go by in which Alex isn't thinking of that one forbidden kiss. She lies awake at night with her fingertips pressed to her lips as she tries to recall the vivid slide of Matt's mouth over hers and the way he'd tasted on her tongue. She thinks of it in the middle of embroidering by the fire and only the prick of a needle piercing her skin draws her from her thoughts. She thinks of it in the middle of dinner and blushes, oblivious to Ralph's questioning glances.

Had it been only the excitement of the moment that made Matt hold her like that? She doesn't believe so – he just doesn't seem like the sort of man to take advantage of a married woman for no reason. She trusts Matt – Matt is her friend, and he'd never hurt her that way. But what about her? She kissed him just as enthusiastically. She still feels warm just thinking about it.

As much as she'd wanted it then and as much as she wants it still, she had no right to touch Matt that way or allow him to touch her. She's married – and not that it seems to matter much to Ralph, but she took vows and meant to uphold them. It's only when she said I do, she certainly hadn't counted on an odd, wonderful man dropping from the sky and claiming he was from the future. There had been nothing in her vows about that.

She struggles between guilt at breaking her marriage vows, petulant reasoning that Ralph had already done so, and the happy flutter in her chest whenever she thinks of the way Matt held her like he'd never let go. It doesn't get any easier to decide what the right thing is and she distracts herself with teatime and luncheons, charity work and her gardening. When Ralph asks her to begin planning another ball, she could kiss him for giving her something else to do. She throws herself into the preparations with gusto, making it the finest, most extravagant ball of the summer season.

Standing in the middle of the room and talking pleasantly with her guests, Alex pauses just long enough to glance around at her work with a satisfied little smile. It's a marvelous turnout. Even Ralph looks pleased, catching her eye from across the room and nodding. She'd worn his favorite dress tonight, a silk velvet dress the color of jade. It brings out her eyes and the flush of her cheeks and he'd bought her earrings to match. He'd been so happy with her cooperation that he hadn't scolded her for leaving her hair down again. She doubts he approves, but her husband is learning to pick his battles.

"Have you heard, Alex?" Cornelia deLisle – wife of an earl, Alex remembers idly, thin as a skeleton and just as ghastly to look at – smiles at her excitedly, the harsh red line of her mouth curled in that telltale way that preludes a juicy bit of gossip. "The Ingram's eldest daughter – not yet old enough to be out in society – has fallen…" she lowers her voice, hissing, "pregnant."

For once, Alex doesn't have to feign her gasp. "No – but she's only a girl!"

Cornelia nods, clearly relishing being the first to tell Alex. "It's supposed to be very hush-hush, but positively everyone knows about it. Apparently, they've sent her away to have the child and she'll come back when it's all over but I don't know why she'd bother returning – her life is over now." One hand wrapped around the stem of her champagne glass, Cornelia uses the other to reach out and pat Alex's arm. "The whole thing made me think of you, poor darling. That brat can have a child but you can't."

Alex manages a tight smile, hoping she looks forlorn rather than tight-lipped and angry at the reminder. "Well, I suppose it's not meant to be."

"Yes, but it's awful just the same." Cornelia sips her champagne and squeezes Alex's arm briefly. "Perhaps you should contact the Ingrams' and let them know you're interested – they might sell the babe to you if you offer the right price. I suppose it isn't the same as having your own but it's better than nothing at all, hmm? Ralph would be so pleased. I know he'd love a boy to spoil."

Frozen smile in place, Alex nods complacently. "I'm sure he would but I'm afraid he'll just have to settle for spoiling me instead."

Cornelia laughs, delighted. "Oh, you lucky thing. He simply adores you, you know."

Alex sips at her champagne to avoid a reply, nodding mindlessly instead.

Opening her mouth to no doubt continue singing Ralph's praises, Cornelia stops suddenly and

stares over Alex's shoulder. "Oh." She fans herself with a delicate hand, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. "Oh my."

Alex raises an eyebrow at the dramatics, eager to latch onto anything that will change the subject from herself. "What is it?"

"Fresh meat, my dear." She nods across the room and Alex turns curiously, wondering who on earth could incite such a reaction in a woman like Cornelia. She doesn't get excited about anything but a scandal. Her heart begins to race, her stomach drops, and the moment her eyes focus on the young man making his way through the ballroom, she realizes Matt is a scandal all by himself – a virtual stranger to everyone in this room but her, a handsome man in an expensive suit headed right for her. Cornelia pinches her arm and hisses, "Good lord, he's looking right at you. Who is that lovely creature, dear?"

"I- I don't know," she manages, eyes still locked on Matt. He looks stunning in that suit, though his cravat is a little crooked. She's never seen him in anything but his own clothes, those jeans she's become almost fond of and those terrible shirts and colorful socks. If not for his short hair, he'd looked like he belonged and while he looks very handsome, she finds she doesn't like that he fits in so well. He is her time traveler from the future and she feels oddly possessive of him – this world is not supposed to touch him. She wants him to always look like Matt.

By the time he reaches her, nearly everyone is staring, including Ralph, but Alex can't bring herself to care what anyone thinks when Matt is standing in front of her smiling like that, saving her from this mindless drivel the way she always imagines he might. Eyes on hers, he bows politely and she offers a curtsy, feeling a little silly for the charade. "Lady Fiennes," he murmurs, the sound of his voice sending a frisson of warmth up her spine. "Might I have the honor of the next dance?"

She bites her lip to contain a giggle, nodding. "You may, sir."

The stares they've attracted are nothing compared to the moment he finally sweeps her onto the dance floor, away from her friends and their endless questions and Ralph's suspicious gaze. The waltz is still a relatively new dance and most consider the physical contact rather shocking but Ralph had been insistent that it be played – he loved staying abreast of the latest fashions and dances, shocking or not. Hand in Matt's as she allows him to lead her around the dance floor, Alex wonders if her husband is regretting that decision now.

The music swells around them and almost everyone else has decided to stop staring long enough to join in, so Alex finally allows herself a smile and Matt purses his lips in an effort not to join her, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "What are you doing here, you great idiot?"

"Oi, is that any way to greet a man who traveled across dimensions to see you?" He squeezes her hand in his teasingly and she shakes her head as they glide across the floor. "How was I to know you'd be having another bloody party? And I certainly couldn't pass up the chance to dance with you." He winks and she blushes, her gaze flickering over his shoulder to see Ralph still watching them closely. "What do you think of the suit?"

"Very dashing," she admits, looking up at his smug face. "You certainly came prepared."

"Hardly." His grin widens and he whispers conspiratorially, "I stole it out of your husband's closet."

"You -" She gasps and hisses, "Matthew."

Matt looks entirely unapologetic and upon closer inspection she realizes that yes, those are definitely Ralph's cufflinks. "What? He's a bloke – he isn't going to notice." He frowns, glancing at their feet. "Trousers are a little short though."

"You are mad," she says, smiling through clenched teeth.

He clucks his tongue. "Don't pretend you don't love it, little Miss Manners."

Choosing not to reply because anything she says will only be confirmation to him and he's smug enough as it is, Alex focuses on the dance instead, heart sinking when she realizes how close they are to the end already. Matt is surprisingly capable, sweeping her around the floor and the other dancers with practiced ease. "Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"Who says I had to learn? Maybe I'm just a natural?" At her raised eyebrow, he huffs. "My sister taught me, if you must know."

"Pass along my thanks, then. She saved my poor toes." She laughs at his insulted face, bright enough and loudly enough to attract more attention to themselves but she doesn't care. Matt is here on the dance floor with her, holding her in front of everyone. Nothing can take away the giddy lightness in her chest. "I'm glad you're here."

He nods, the hand on her hip squeezing gently. "You're the most gorgeous woman in this room, you know. And I bloody love your hair like this – it looks like one of those lions in the jungle."

He grins when she scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't let them tame you, Alex."

"I won't," she promises, and meets his eyes meaningfully. "Not as long as you're here to help fend them off."

"Always," he swears, and gives her a pained, contrite smile. "But I think it's almost time to go for now – I wasted a lot of time changing."

She laughs despite the twist in her stomach at the thought of letting him go away. "It's alright, I forgive you."

"Alex," he says, voice low and urgent as the waltz slows to an end. "I'm sorry about the last time I was here, I just -"

Her breath catches painfully. "Do you regret it?"

His response is instant. "Never. But you're married and I don't even belong here. It isn't fair to you. I shouldn't have -"

"I don't regret it either," she assures him, and the moment the words are out of her mouth, she knows they're true. She's been wrestling with her guilt over that kiss since he left but now, in his arms and looking up at him, she knows she wouldn't change it if she could. "Not even a little."

Around them, the other dancers are bowing and bidding each other adieu but Matt clings to her hand and looks at her like one step away from her might kill him. "I'll be back," he says softly. "And we'll talk, okay? I just, I'm sorry – I have to go before I disappear in front of all these people."

"I understand," she says, and struggles not to let her eyes well with tears, not here. "Go."

Without another word, he bends and kisses her hand like a gentleman. Alex bows her head in a curtsy as his fingers slip away, the back of her hand tingling where his lips had touched. When she looks up again, Matt is moving swiftly through the ballroom, swallowed up by the crowd. She watches just long enough to make sure he gets out of the room without disappearing mid-stride before walking off the dance floor, avoiding eye contact with everyone but still feeling their stares on her back.

A hand grabbing her elbow the moment she reaches the safety of the punch bowl is not surprising but she flinches anyway when Ralph brushes his mouth over her ear. "And just who was that man?"

"No one," she says, and shifts out of his grasp without glancing at him. "Just an old friend."

"You've never mentioned an old male friend," he says, eyeing her. "Was he a suitor? Your lover?"

"Does it matter?" She hedges and glances around to make sure no one is listening. "He lives far away. He was just visiting."

Ralph sniffs disdainfully but visibly relaxes. "You certainly made the right choice, my dear. His trousers didn't even fit properly."

Alex bites the inside of her cheek to contain a smile.

"Look at you – you look like a bloody china doll. We can't possibly go anywhere with you looking like that!"

He'd only just appeared in her garden and though the first thing he says is a little insulting, Alex is still delighted to see him. He'd promised her they would talk and she plans on making him keep his word. Ignoring his first sentence and his scowl of disapproval entirely, Alex lights up at his last words, bouncing a little. "We're going somewhere?"

His mouth twitches at her excitement and he nods once. "But you have to change first. The simplest dress you own – nothing fancy. And if you can nick a pair of Ralph's boots, that would be perfect."

It's a strange request but she's used to his little quirks by now, pushing him into a chair in her sitting room and hurrying off to do as he asks. She finds a plain, white cotton gown all the way in the back of her wardrobe and she slips into it quickly, searching until she finds the old boots she used to wear in the meadows near her childhood home. She hasn't had much use for them since

she moved here with Ralph but she has a feeling they're perfect for whatever Matt has planned.

She leaves her hair down entirely, relishing the feel of bouncing curls slipping over her shoulders and down her back. When she reappears in the sitting room, Matt has moved to the mantle, tapping his fingers restlessly against it. He looks up when she clears her throat and does a little twirl, biting her lip. "Will I do?"

He nods wordlessly, lips parted as he stares at her. "You – you look lovely, sweetheart."

She ducks her head to hide a blush and plucks at her skirt. "It's certainly more comfortable than what I usually wear."

He snorts. "Anything is more comfortable than what you usually wear."

"Can I know where we're going now?" She glances up and finds him holding out a hand to her. Without hesitation, she takes it, letting him pull her out the door and into her garden. They wind their way along the path, through rosebushes and hedges and even the little pond in the center of it all until they're out of her garden entirely and heading toward the wooded area beyond it. Unable to stand it as he leads her along silently, Alex asks again, "Darling, where are we going?"

"Patience," he chides, glancing at her teasingly. "You'll see."

She frowns.

"You trust me, don't you?"

"I'm walking into the woods alone with you, aren't I?" she asks, clinging to his hand when she nearly trips over a rock. "Do you have any idea what people would think if they saw?"

"Ah, but you don't really care what people think, do you?" He phrases it like a statement rather than a question, as if he knows her far better than she knows herself. "If you did, you wouldn't have danced with a complete stranger at a ball."

She smiles, traipsing with him through foliage and underbrush, snapping twigs under her heavy boots. The hem of her dress gets caught in a mess of thorns and she tugs at it, tearing the fabric a

little until Matt stoops to gently untangle her. She rests a hand on the top of his head for balance and can't resist rubbing a tender thumb over his scalp. He untangles her hem and stands, catching her hand in his, his eyes soft.

"Alright?"

She nods and laces their fingers together as they start moving again. "Ralph thought you were a former lover."

"Yeah?" Matt sounds delighted at the prospect, his smile devilish. "And what did you tell him?"

"I let him think what he liked," she shrugs. "It's not as if I could tell him the truth."

"What? That I'm a man from the future hopping out of my time to come back and woo his wife?" Matt waggles his eyebrows at her and she flushes, shaking her head. He turns serious instantly, stopping in front of a towering tree right in the middle of the forest. "I mean it, you know. I'm not so addle-headed that I forget to take my medication all the time. I purposefully don't take it because I want to come back and see you. The thought of seeing you gets me through most days – just knowing that you're here, waiting for me with a glass of whiskey or a picnic or, god, just a smile on your face."

She purses her lips tightly in an attempt to stifle the well of emotion but it doesn't work and she leans into Matt instantly when he cups her cheek in his hand. "I wait for you – I've been waiting for you since that first night. You're the one who gets me through my days, darling. You make it all bearable because I know you'll be back with another ridiculous outfit or a funny word I've never heard before and you'll look at me like I matter -"

He cuts her off with a kiss, his mouth soft and tender against hers and his large hands on her hips to draw her close. Alex frames his angular face in her hands and opens her mouth to his instantly, her curves melting into the straight lines of his body. He tastes just as amazing as he had the first time, and when her tongue snakes eagerly against his, he groans and holds her tighter. They're flushed and breathless when they finally part for air, clinging to one another. "You do matter," he whispers to the corner of her mouth.

"Only to you," she says, and presses her forehead to his chin. "But it's enough. It's more than enough."

Matt kisses her forehead and slides a hand up and down her back soothingly. "I've been

practically everywhere, you know. Everywhen. And nothing really touched me until the first time I looked up and saw your face." He laughs quietly, gripping her just a little tighter. "That horrified expression when I stepped all over your roses."

"It was very rude of you," she grumbles.

"A terrible first impression," he agrees, still laughing. "But I made up for it, didn't I?"

She shakes her head, tilting her face up to grin at him impishly. "I've just grown used to you and your boorish tendencies."

"Boorish?" His jaw drops and he looks mortally offended. "I am not boorish, Lady Alexandra -" She dissolves into giggles and his face softens instantly but he manages a very admirable scowl nonetheless. "Fine, laugh away. But I'm not telling you my surprise."

She gasps, sobering immediately and latching onto his shirt. "No wait, I'm sorry. I want my surprise."

He sniffs and glances away, petulant.

Alex grins and strokes a finger down his cheek, triumphant when he shudders. "Please, darling? I really am sorry."

"I'm not boorish?"

She bites her lip and squints, thinking. "Well, I suppose not. I've been a very good influence."

He growls and draws her into him, ignoring her shriek of surprise as he kisses her neck roughly. She laughs, squirming in his arms and suddenly happier than she can remember being since, well, ever. She strokes her fingers through his hair and tries not to think about what will happen when he leaves, when being with Ralph in the interim is no longer bearable. Right now, she just wants to be happy. "Insufferable minx," he mumbles, and kisses beneath her ear before letting her go and stepping back with a gesture. "I brought you out here for this."

She looks where he points and her eyes follow the lines of the towering trunk all the way up,

branches twisting into the sky. Sunlight shines through the green leaves and seem to light them up from within, turning them golden and transparent. "A tree?"

He nods, rocking on his heels proudly. "We're going to climb it."

She looks at him sharply; hope welling up in her chest and spreading like wildfire. "Really?"

He nods, looking hesitant suddenly. "I mean, only if you want to. But I remember you talked about -"

Alex throws her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek soundly. "It's perfect."

For once, Matt is the flustered one and he attempts to hide the flush of his cheeks by taking her hand and leading her to the base of the tree. There are a few low hanging branches and he insists on helping her up and following behind her, promising not to use the opportunity to stare up her dress. The climb is slow and arduous but Alex enjoys the challenge and the chance to work up a sweat, using muscles she hasn't been required to use since she married. Matt keeps grumbling to himself about heights below her and the strain of actual fear in his voice makes her roll her eyes.

"You know, we didn't have to do this," she calls back. "It was your idea."

"I know," he says, pointedly not looking up in case he glimpses up her dress. The knowledge that he's actually trying not to look warms her heart. "But you like climbing trees."

She smiles widely. "You could have stayed on the ground and watched."

"And let you sit at the top and taunt me?" He scoffs. "I'd rather face my fear, thanks."

"Such little faith in me," she says, attempting to sound wounded as she holds tightly to a branch with one hand and stretches out on her tiptoes for the next one. "What have I done to deserve such ill thoughts?"

Matt snorts and doesn't dignify her with a comment. He keeps grumbling quietly to himself but Alex doesn't roll her eyes anymore, too warmed by his willingness to overcome his anxiety just for her to be exasperated. They make it nearly to the top before the branches start becoming too

weak to hold their weight and they settle onto a sturdy one together, legs dangling over the side and holding onto each other as they finally look down.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asks, watching Matt's pale face with amused concern. "Should we go back?"

He shakes his head quickly, clutching her skirt. "No, we'll stay for a while. Just don't let go."

She loops her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder. "Never."

He kisses the top of her head in gratitude. Gradually, he starts to relax as he gets used to being so high up and he looks out over the land appreciatively. "Quite the view, isn't it?"

She nods and doesn't let go of his arm, using her other hand to point out the manor and the other estates beyond it. From up here, she feels as free as a bird, away from the confining life she leads, her restrictive role as Ralph Fiennes' wife and all the social etiquette contained therein. She feels less like a prisoner and more like a queen surveying her kingdom, all laid out before her in miniature.

"And what about me?" Matt nudges her gently. "Where do I fit into this kingdom of yours?"

"You can be my court jester," she tells him, enjoying his undignified squawk of protest. He pouts and she kisses his nose, feeling light enough that a soft wind could just carry her away. "Or maybe I would let you be my personal servant."

"Hmm, I think I like the sound of that." He presses his lips to her ear and she shivers. "I could follow you about everywhere. Help you dress, assist you into your bath…"

"Matthew," she laughs, blushing at the images he conjures. "Honestly, where are your manners?"

"I don't have any," he says woefully. "I'm too boorish and uncouth."

"Poor darling." She turns her head to press her nose to his jaw. "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to talk to a lady?"

He shakes his head, smirking. "Too busy trying to keep me from disappearing in the middle of supper. I'd try to sometimes – when she was making me eat my vegetables."

Alex laughs brightly, imagining a much younger, adorable Matt struggling with all his might to travel far away from his broccoli. "Your poor mother," she says, still giggling. "You must have tried her patience."

"Frequently." He smiles. "You two would get along brilliantly."

She pauses, her laughter catching her in her throat.

He frowns, pressing his hand into hers. "Alex?"

"I'm fine," she says softly, shaking her head. "I just realized I'll never be able to meet your family."

Matt sighs, the light fading from his eyes. "Yeah."

She hadn't meant to ruin the mood - they were having such a nice time together and he'd gone to all this trouble to give her a special surprise away from everything she's grown to hate. "I'm sorry, I -"

"No, it's fine." He smiles faintly. "I just forgot for a second."

Alex sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and glances away, focusing on the horizon in the distance. "Are we being foolish?"

"Maybe," he admits softly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "But I can't stay away now. Not unless you ask me to."

She shakes her head and turns to look at him, her lower lip trembling. "I can't do that."

"Then we'll keep going as we are." Matt sets his jaw tightly and gathers her into his arms, cradling her to his chest and letting her cling to him. "We'll make it work, sweetheart. Somehow."

They sit in the tree for hours, holding each other close and talking quietly until the sun begins to go down and neither of them fancies walking back through the woods in the dark. Walking back hand in hand, they remain silent, both of them slightly morose since Matt had felt his hands starting to tingle – the first sign that soon, he'll be gone. It's twilight when they reach the edge of her garden once more and they stop right outside of it, lingering there in the fading light.

She sways into him and Matt holds her close, pressing his forehead to hers and looking into her eyes. "I'll be back soon," he promises. She nods wordlessly; too afraid her voice will tremble if she speaks. "I'll never leave you here, do you understand? I will always come back for you."

"And I'll always be waiting." She blinks away tears and nuzzles her nose against his, wishing more than ever she could just disappear along with him.

He smiles sadly and takes her hands in his, kissing her knuckles. "Until next time."

She throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly to her, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in, the smell of the woods and the summer air still clinging to his skin. She inhales greedily, as if it's the last time, and when he fades from her arms, she stands in place for a long time, imagining his scent still lingers in the air around her.

should our fire turn to dark, take my heart with you

Chapter Summary

She makes it onto the terrace just as two of her gardeners reach it, dragging a limp Matt between them. Distantly, she recalls their conversation weeks ago, when she'd asked him about his travels. 'I used to get hurt a lot.'

Chapter Notes

Chapter title from My Heart With You by the Rescues.

Next time, everything changes.

After a restless night's sleep, Alex rises early feeling tired and on edge, though she can't begin to explain why. Something feels different today. She pushes aside the uneasy feeling and dresses silently in the early morning light, not bothering to ring for Cecily – she'd managed to dress by herself just fine for years. The rest of the house is quiet, the servants moving about silently in deference to their still sleeping master, but outside her window, Alex can hear her gardeners moving about, hoping to finish their work before the day becomes too warm.

Sitting at her vanity, she pins back half of her hair and leaves the rest down, pinching her cheeks in hopes of gaining a little color. She looks as tired as she feels and she sighs, turning to rummage through a drawer for the expensive little pot of rouge she keeps. She doesn't get the chance to apply any before the sound of a commotion outside stops her in her tracks.

Heart hammering because somehow she knows even without any proof at all, Alex leaps from her vanity and out of her room, skirts rustling noisily as she runs down the corridor, trips down the steps and nearly knocks over Mrs. Blackburn in her haste to rush out into the garden. She makes it onto the terrace just as two of her gardeners reach it, dragging a limp Matt between them. Distantly, she recalls their conversation weeks ago, when she'd asked him about his travels. I used to get hurt a lot.

"What happened?" she snaps, struggling not to reach out to Matt and grip him tightly to her.

"He just appeared, ma'am," says one of them, looking shaken. "Out of thin air."

Her hands shake and she hides them in the folds of her skirt. "Don't be ridiculous," she scowls. "People do not just appear. He probably stumbled onto the grounds when you weren't looking."

Matt's head lolls to the side and his eyes focus on her blearily. "Manners," he says, and she isn't sure if he's greeting her or reprimanding her.

She bites her lip and digs her nails into her palms as she takes him in, noting the blood on his shirt. "Get him to a room upstairs. I'll send for a doctor."

They drag Matt into the house and up the stairs, but Alex doesn't stay to watch, going to her writing desk and jotting down a quick note in a shaking hand. She gives it to one of the servants and sends them running for the nearest doctor but still doesn't move to go upstairs. She stands at the bottom of the staircase and curls her fingers tightly around the banister, struggling to breathe.

Mrs. Blackburn passes by with a raised eyebrow but doesn't bother to comment, clearly still miffed about Alex nearly knocking her off her feet a few minutes ago. Alex stops her anyway, reaching out a trembling hand to curl around the older woman's wrist. "Please wake your master and tell him we have a matter that needs his attention."

Mrs. Blackburn nods with a murmured, "Yes, ma'am," and bustles off to do her bidding.

Waiting until she disappears, Alex takes a deep breath and smoothes a hand over her corset before hurrying up the stairs. The thought of seeing Matt hurting and in pain is more than she can bear, but he needs her and she won't stall any longer. She searches the guest rooms on the second floor until she finds the one he's in, managing a cool, calm outwardly façade as she orders the gardeners from the room. "I can look after him until the doctor gets here," she says. "Thank you both for your help."

The two exchange glances before traipsing from the room, still muttering to each other about a man appearing out of nowhere. Alex shuts the door behind them and all but runs to the bed, tears springing to her eyes as she smoothes Matt's hair from his forehead. "Darling, can you hear me? Look at me."

Eyes still shut, Matt reaches shakily for her hand and she takes it, lacing their fingers together. "Date," he says haltingly, his whole frame stiff with tension. "What's the date?"

"Don't worry about it, darling. You're here, you're safe." She presses her lips to his hairline and tries not to touch him much, unsure what his injuries are. "I've sent for a doctor -"

His grip on her hand tightens until it feels like he'll crush all the bones of her fingers into fine powder and he manages to pry open his eyes, looking at her with a desperate, manic gleam. "Please. The date."

Hand aching and startled into silence, Alex blinks at him but finally stammers out, "It's the first of September. 1815."

His eyes fill with tears and he releases her hand instantly, all the fight leaving him at once. "So soon," he whispers brokenly, and turns his face away from her.

Puzzled, Alex strokes her fingers over his cheek. "What is, darling? What's soon?"

He shakes his head, still refusing to look at her.

She sighs. "What happened? You're hurt -"

"I'm fine," he says, voice hollow.

"Darling, you're bleeding everywhere, you couldn't even walk on your own -"

A soft knock on the door prevents her from questioning him further but she doesn't move from the bed, only glancing over her shoulder as the door creaks open. "Doctor Hawthorne," she greets, mustering a wan smile. "Please, come in."

She leaves the doctor to examine his patient in peace, offering Matt one last worried look before slipping from the room and out into the hall. Ralph is already waiting, still looking half-asleep but dressed for the day. "What's this about a man appearing out of thin air? Are the gardeners drinking again?"

"Probably," she says, and attempts a convincingly annoyed sigh. "But the man they found is certainly injured. He looks frightful, the poor thing."

"So long as he lives to pay for the house call," Ralph mutters, pacing the length of the hallway in agitation.

Alex offers him a withering look but inside, her heart leaps into her throat. Oh god, she hadn't even considered – he isn't that badly hurt, is he? Suddenly weak-kneed, she leans against the wall and attempts to draw in calming breaths. He was talking. He was relatively lucid. He'll be fine.

Ralph pauses. "What was he doing on our property anyway? You didn't recognize him?"

She shakes her head, hoping he'll never be close enough to Matt to realize he's the same man she'd danced with at the last ball. "Definitely not a neighbor. He must have been passing through, looking for help."

"Probably some sort of vagabond," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket for a cigar. "Decent men don't wander about bleeding everywhere."

"He isn't a vagabond," she snaps, glancing at him in irritation.

"And how would you know?" Ralph sticks the cigar between his lips and lights it, eyebrows raised as he looks at her.

Clenching her jaw, Alex glances pointedly away and they don't speak again until Dr. Hawthorne slips from the room carrying his medical bag and tucking his eyeglasses back into his pocket. Alex pushes away from the wall instantly, struggling not to take the man by the collar and shake him.

"How is he?"

"Sleeping," Hawthorne says calmly. "He'll need plenty of it if he wants to recover quickly. He'll need to stay put if it won't trouble you both to have a guest." Without looking at Ralph, Alex nods vigorously, eager to look after him. "He has a few bruised ribs but they'll heal well enough. I've dressed the knife wound in his shoulder -"

Her stomach drops. Knife wound?

"Knife wound?" Ralph echoes, sounding furious. "What sort of man have you brought into the house, Alexandra? No respectable gentleman has knife wounds! He's clearly trouble and he

cannot stay."

"No, he has to!" She turns on her husband desperately, already struggling not to cry. He hates it when she cries – it always irritates him. "Please, dear. We can't send him away – he isn't strong enough."

Ralph begins to shake his head.

She latches onto his jacket, curling her fingers around the lapel and looking at him pleadingly. "Just let him stay until he's well enough to leave on his own. I'll look after him myself, I promise. You won't be troubled."

After a long moment spent eyeing her with obvious annoyance, Ralph sighs and gives a terse nod. "Fine. But be sure he isn't a bother to anyone but you."

Grateful tears spring to her eyes and Alex nods hurriedly. "Yes, of course." She leans up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek, murmuring, "Thank you."

Matt sleeps the rest of the day, likely due to the exhaustion of traveling coupled with the medicine Hawthorne gave him for the pain. She sits by his bedside with unwavering loyalty, getting up only to wet the cloth over his forehead or to fetch him another blanket. A servant brings her dinner and she eats it with one hand, the other holding Matt's tightly. She watches over him during the night, sleeping on the cot Mrs. Blackburn and Miles bring to her. They put it in the corner of the room but once they leave, Alex shoves it next to Matt's bed, close enough for her to reach out and touch him in the night, to reassure herself that he's still here and perfectly fine.

She doesn't sleep well, troubled by Matt's injuries and his delirious ramblings earlier. What had so distressed him about the date? She's never seen him quite so manic or so morose. The uneasiness from the morning never leaves her and she falls asleep with her hand still aching from Matt's vice-like grip on it, dreaming of all the horrible ways he could have sustained his injuries.

She wakes in the morning when someone squeezes her hand, opening her eyes to the sunlit guest room and Matt's face, his eyes tired and his smile half-hearted. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, Alex draws in a breath and scrubs a hand over her face, sitting up to swing her legs over the side of the cot. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he says, still watching her with interest. "Thank you."

She shakes her head. "I didn't do anything."

"You took care of me, called a doctor." He smiles. "Made sure no one believed your gardener's story about a man appearing out of nowhere."

"That wasn't for you," she says lightly. "I have a reputation to maintain and strange men appearing in my garden at all hours would ruin it entirely."

He laughs cautiously, clearly wary of his bruised ribs. "I appreciated the effort, all the same."

Relieved that he seems to be in better spirits than he was the last time they spoke, Alex presses her palm to his warm cheek and directs his gaze to hers. He leans into her hand and meets her eyes reluctantly. "You scared me," she says quietly, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I mean it. You really frightened the life out of me, showing up like that."

He drops his eyes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again."

He can't promise that and she knows it but he nods anyway, swallowing hard. "I'll try."

It's as much as she'll get and she nods once, pursing her lips tightly. "What happened?"

His expression shifts instantly into a blank mask that looks so cold and unlike him that she almost pulls her hand from him, startled. "It was nothing," he says, and his voice sounds as distant and hollow as it had yesterday. "I accidentally traveled somewhere I shouldn't have, got into a bit of trouble."

"I thought you could control it now?"

"I can." He hesitates. " I wasn't thinking when it happened this time. I didn't even mean to go anywhere. I was just… stressed. It triggers my… ability."

He's hiding so much from her that she doesn't know where to begin, and her heart sinks in disappointment. She thought they were friends – more than friends now. She thought he told her everything, and he's so blatantly evading the truth that she can't help feeling hurt. "Why were you stressed?"

"Just the play," he says, shrugging, and she shuts her eyes at the lie. "And missing you."

She manages a thin smile and squeezes his hand. "Well I'm here now. Are you hungry?"

He shakes his head and pats the space next to him. "Sit here with me."

"I can't, darling. You're not well and -"

"I'm not going to break, Alex." He sighs quietly, lifting his eyes to look at her pleadingly. "Please."

She hesitates only a moment before rising from the cot and walking around the side of his bed to slide in next to him, resting her head on his uninjured shoulder. Matt relaxes instantly when she presses herself against him, a contented noise in the back of his throat. She buries her face in the crook of his neck and breathes him in, reminding herself that no matter what he isn't telling her, he's here now and he's safe. It's the only thing that matters.

Carefully, Matt wraps an arm around her waist and turns his head, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I was in New York City," he says quietly, mouth brushing her hairline as he speaks. "It was sometime in the 1980s but I'm not sure. I didn't know how long I'd be there, so I just started walking. Got on a train. And apparently I looked wealthy to a few blokes." She curls her hands into the blanket covering his bare chest, careful of the bandage on his shoulder. "They weren't very pleased to find I didn't have any money for them."

Tears fill her eyes and she presses trembling lips to his throat. "Matt -"

"All I could think was that I really, really didn't want to die. Not without seeing you again." He tightens his hold on her waist and noses at her curls. "And before I knew it, I wasn't lying on the floor of a train car and bleeding out anymore. I was in your garden and I knew I could just let go. I knew you'd look after me."

She nods, stifling a soft cry. "Always."

"I'm sorry I scared you, sweetheart."

"It's alright," she says, and this time, she really means it. She lifts herself up on her elbows to look at his face, at those hazel eyes wet with tears, and strokes her fingers over his cheek, giving him a watery smile. "We needed a little excitement around here, hmm? It was getting far too dull."

Matt snorts but his smile is relieved as he draws her down to him, capturing her mouth in a soft kiss. She threads her fingers through his short hair and sighs, lips parting to let him in. She isn't sure how long they'll have before he disappears again and she won't waste the time they have by being upset. There'll be time for that when he's gone.

She leaves his arms only to change her dress and fetch him something to eat, carefully balancing a bowl of soup and a cup of tea on a tray. Matt makes for a stubborn patient, insisting he can feed himself when she tries to lift the spoon to his lips. "I'm injured, not a child," he says, scowling as she places the tray on his lap.

"That's debatable," she murmurs, and crosses the room to sink into an armchair and watch him struggle.

At least, she intends to watch him struggle until he asks for help like a grown man, but the moment he tries to lift the spoon to his mouth and grimaces, she's on her feet and crossing to the bed again, scolding as she goes. "Honestly, would it kill you to accept a bit of help? You're allowed to be weak every now and then." She settles onto the edge of his bed and snatches the spoon from his grasp, glaring at him until he settles back against his pillows and pouts. "You said you knew I would take care of you, so let me, darling."

It takes two grudging spoonfuls of hot soup before he sighs and looks at her with those big, contrite eyes. She melts a little on the inside and struggles not to show it outwardly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be difficult." He opens his mouth obediently for another bite. "It's just – I hate this. Being here with you, alone in this room, and I'm stuck in this bloody bed."

She raises an eyebrow. "And are you implying there are other things you'd do with me alone in a room?"

"Lots of things," he says lowly, eyes flaring brightly.

She flushes, dropping her eyes to his soup bowl. "Honestly, darling. Manners."

"To hell with manners, I want you." He grumbles, fingers sliding over the silk of her skirts with intent. She smacks his hand away with the spoon and he yelps. "What's that for?"

"You're being coarse," she says, willfully ignoring the mad fluttering in her stomach. Her corset suddenly feels too tight and her skirts too heavy. Her skin feels warm and flushed, and she draws in a steadying breath. "Show a little restraint."

"Alex," he whinges.

"You're injured and in no condition to do anything but eat this soup." She holds a spoonful up to his lips expectantly, "Now open."

Twitching fingers still dangerously close to the hem of her dress, he asks, "What's in it for me?"

"Your good health isn't enough?" She laughs when he shakes his head stubbornly. Putting the spoon back in the bowl, she leans in close and brushes her lips softly over his, tasting salt from the soup as he cups a hand around the back of her neck and keeps her close, mouth opening to plunder hers. She whimpers quietly and pushes him away with reluctance, mindful of the bowl on her lap. "Not until you've eaten."

"And after I've eaten?" he asks, smirking.

Her stomach floods with heat at that devilish grin and she takes a moment to steady her hands, wondering why on earth it had never felt like this with Ralph. Is this how it was supposed to feel when one was attracted to one's partner? It's all so new and strange she can't help feeling slightly terrified, in an exhilarated sort of way. "After you've eaten, you'll have a bath."

He eats every single bite without complaint.

Alex stokes the fire in the room's hearth and sends Ralph's footman to fetch the bath and Mrs. Blackburn to get a pitcher of hot water. It won't do for Matt to soak with his shoulder injury. She doesn't want to risk him wetting the bandage. When they have what they need, she shuts the door again, sending the servants on their way with a murmur of thanks. Ralph would probably prefer

one of them to perform this task but Alex is determined to be the only person to take care of Matt

– especially when it comes to this.

She helps him stand while studiously avoiding the sight of his bare chest – not because she does not want to look but because there is still a part of her insisting it isn't right or proper to see a man who isn't her husband without his clothes on. She keeps an arm around his waist and he wobbles for a moment before finally gently pushing her away to stand on his own two feet. She hovers for a moment anyway, just to be sure, and he huffs. "I'm fine, love. I swear."

Nodding nervously, she drops her hands to the waistband of his trousers and begins to fiddle with the button. Matt sucks in a quiet breath through his teeth and she pauses, glancing up curiously. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he says, managing a tight smile. "Just never thought the first time you'd see me without trousers on would be when you're treating me like an invalid."

She flushes, dropping her eyes to focus on the fastenings of his trousers. "And what did you imagine instead?"

"Something much more romantic," he grumbles.

"We can still have that," she says, easing her fingers into the waistband and tugging his trousers down. He kicks them off and she stands once more, suddenly unable to look anywhere but at her feet. "You don't have to count now."

"Alex," he says softly, and she hates how understanding he sounds. "You don't have to do this. You can call for a servant -"

"No, I want to." She lifts her head and meets his eyes. "It's just… I'm a little nervous but I'm fine." Just to prove her point, she slips her fingers into the waistband of his pants and watches his eyes flutter shut. She presses her lips to his chest, nuzzling his skin. "Now let's see all of you, hmm?"

"A bit unfair," he says, stepping out of his pants when she gets them to his ankles. "Maybe you should undress too and make me feel a little less awkward about the whole thing."

She laughs, standing once more and refusing to let her eyes drop below his waist. She doesn't

want the first time she sees him like this to be while she's bathing him – it should be special and as romantic as Matt had fantasized about. She'll try her best to give him that dignity at least. "Perhaps next time. Now step into the tub, please."

With a put upon sigh, he does as she asks while she turns to the dresser, picking up the pitcher of water and pouring some into the basin. "Miss Manners would never have allowed herself to be alone in a room with a naked man. My how you've changed. What has my influence done to you?"

"You give yourself too much credit, darling." She submerges the washcloth in the hot water and grabs the bar of soap, lathering it carefully. "Maybe I wasn't as innocent as you like to believe."

"Shh, don't tell me that." He dutifully holds out his arm for her to scrub. "I want to always believe it was my handiwork."

She smiles, sliding the washcloth over his bicep and silently admiring how muscular he is beneath those strange clothes. She never would have imagined it of a man so gangly. "I'm only teasing, darling. You've absolutely ruined me."

He hums, clearly pleased with the notion. "It wasn't easy. You were very dedicated."

She strokes over his chest with the washcloth, scrubbing gently and ever mindful of his bandage and bruised ribs. "As were you."

Grasping her soapy hand, Matt squeezes her fingers and smiles, looking at her as he has since he woke up this morning – like if he blinks, she'll be the one to disappear rather than him. She smiles back, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, and starts scrubbing anew. It doesn't take long to wash him and Matt is much more compliant than he'd been eating soup. She manages to finish before the water cools and wraps him in a towel, drying him gently and planting little kisses to bare skin as she goes. After helping him into a pair of Ralph's silk pajamas bottoms, she scrubs the towel over his hair, her nose brushing against his as she laughs. "You look very dashing like this. I think I prefer it to the suit."

Matt, who has been strangely quiet as she bathed him, wraps an arm around her waist to draw her nearer. The brush of his bare skin against the silk of her dress makes her breath catch. His mouth captures hers in a brief, hard kiss and she sways into him with a quiet whimper. "I want to see you so badly," he says hoarsely. "I want to know what you look like beneath those fine clothes, Alex."

"When you're better," she promises, attempting to sound firm but her voice shakes and gives her away. Matt leans in again with a groan, slanting his hot mouth over hers. She doesn't try to protest again, dropping the towel from her hands to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her curves against the hard planes of his body. Matt slides a hand from the small of her back to cup her bottom, his rough grip somehow still reverent. She gasps softly, teeth sinking into his lip, and Matt growls in the back of his throat.

He stumbles toward the bed with her help, dragging her with him when he eases carefully back onto the mattress. His kisses are relentless but each one different from the last – rough and hard enough to leave her breathless, then so soft and tender it brings tears to her eyes as she reaches up to cup his face in her hands.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asks, easing her beneath him and hovering over her. She can feel his hand clawing at her skirts, dragging them up her legs and, good lord, she shouldn't be doing this, but she wants it more than anything. She can't remember ever wanting a man to touch her the way she wants Matt to. "Did you enjoy it when he touched you?"

She shakes her head, already panting as his hand finds it way beneath her petticoats, warm fingers stroking up her bare thigh. "It – it was never like this. I never understood why people liked it so much."

Matt presses a series of rough kisses down her throat, his stubble rubbing the skin raw. "I'll show you," he promises gruffly. "As soon as I'm capable, I'll show you just how good it can feel, sweetheart."

Alex shakes her head again, hips canting into his touch, and even as she blushes at her own boldness, she pleads softly. "Show me now."

He lifts his head from sucking at her collarbone to look at her, his eyes dark and his red lips parted in surprise. "You – are you sure?"

She nods, biting her lip. "I want you to be the last man to touch me."

Her breath stops at the first brush of his fingers through her folds and she looks up at him with wide eyes as a rush of heat overwhelms her, sure that something must be wrong. Is she supposed to tremble like this? Matt drops a reassuring kiss to her cheek and draws circles over her entrance teasingly with his fingertips, sliding up to brush her clitoris lightly. Her hips jerk and she gasps in surprise, mortified. Matt only chuckles softly, looking delighted, and repeats the motion again and again until her shaking thighs feel damp and his fingers are slick with her.

Never in her life has she felt such base need – such blatant desire. She flounders in this new feeling, lost and adrift, grasping for something, anything to hold onto. Her hand finds Matt's unoccupied one and she grips it tightly. He presses his mouth to her ear and whispers how beautiful she is like this, spread out beneath him, so trusting and undone. "It's alright," he breathes, and she shudders. "I've got you, sweetheart. I'm taking care of you."

His quiet, low voice coupled with the sudden sensation of his long, clever fingers sinking inside her and spreading her open is enough to unravel her completely. She tosses her head back against his pillow, curls tangled around her face as she drags in lungfuls of air desperately. The scent of Matt, the expensive soap she'd bathed him with and the smell of her own sex washes over her like an aphrodisiac.

She whimpers Matt's name, her grip on his hand like a vice. He pumps his fingers inside her, a slow, delicious burn as he takes his time. He draws out to stroke through her wetness, slicking over her clitoris once more before delving deeply back inside. His fingertips map her every weakness, using them all against her to make her moan breathlessly. He presses feverish kisses everywhere he can reach, still talking between each and every one – beautiful, filthy things that might have made her blush once, and still might, when the heat of the moment has passed.

She can barely breathe, fingers curled tightly in the sheets until her knuckles turn white and ache with the strain. She twists her hips, grinding down shamelessly on Matt's hand. Sweat collects beneath her corset and her shift, and she feels flushed and unkempt, like something wild and entirely uncivilized but, god, she is enjoying herself far too much to care about such things anymore. Matt presses the heel of his hand hard against her clitoris and suddenly absolutely nothing else matters but the way her tension-filled body snaps like a dam breaking, flooding her whole being with the most unimaginable heat. Her stomach muscles contract, her sex flutters around his fingers and she can hear nothing but glorious, blessed silence as the world around her fades.

Matt swallows her scream in a deep kiss.

these miles have torn us worlds apart

Chapter Summary

Matt had insisted on getting out of bed after breakfast and she'd agreed because it was the only way to get him to eat anything. He leans on her occasionally but only for a moment, and then he's walking upright again, arm in arm with her. "Paris in the 1920s was definitely a good one. You'd love the dresses. Or maybe I would just love you in them."

Chapter Notes

Chapter title from the Lifehouse song From Where You Are.

"Favorite place you've traveled?"

"Here."

She beams, glancing around furtively to make sure no one is looking, and plants a swift kiss to his cheek. "Other than here, I mean."

This morning, she'd woken up already smiling, curled around Matt with him snoring lightly into her hair. She'd felt a little embarrassed by her behavior last night – she was supposed to be taking care of him, not seducing him – but he keeps looking at her adoringly, touching her often, and gradually, she has started to feel a little less ashamed of herself. This comfortable tenderness, this inexplicable fondness and desire for the other person – this is what it should feel like between a husband and wife. She'd never realized it before. All she has ever known is Ralph and his aloof, calculated affections.

"Rome at the height of the Roman Empire was pretty incredible," he muses, obviously taking her question seriously. Alex watches him closely, looking for any sign of his growing fatigue. He'd insisted on getting out of bed after breakfast and she'd agreed because it was the only way to get him to eat anything. She supposes a stroll through the garden won't be too strenuous and perhaps even good for him but she frets anyway, ready to drag him back into the manor at the slightest hint that he's feeling tired. He leans on her occasionally but only for a moment, and then he's walking upright again, arm in arm with her. "Paris in the 1920s was definitely a good one. You'd love the dresses. Or maybe I would just love you in them."

She flushes, nudging him. "What did they look like?"

"Well, no corsets for one thing." He grins, halting beside a honeysuckle vine to pluck a flower from its place. There aren't many left, the approaching autumn and the chillier weather causing most of them to wither and fall from the vine.

"No corsets," she murmurs, fascinated by the concept. "What a lovely thing it must be, to be able to breathe."

He hums sympathetically and tucks the honeysuckle blossom behind her ear. "Lots of sparkles and lace too. People could even see your knees."

She gasps. "Matthew, don't lie. It isn't nice to tease me."

"I'm not lying!" he laughs, tugging her along gently. "And that's only the twenties. Blimey, I wish you could see what women wear in my time." He hesitates, watching her stroke her fingertips over the yellow blossom behind her ear. "Then again, maybe not. With your delicate sensibilities, you'd probably faint, and I'm in no condition to catch you."

"You're horrible," she says, smiling despite herself. "Tell me something else about the future."

"Well, we don't really have these fancy balls anymore." They reach a bend in the garden and happen upon the pond in the middle of it, and Alex sighs in relief. Matt will never admit it but he must be feeling a little tired by now. She drags him over to a bench by the edge of the water and coaxes him to sit.

"Just for a moment," she promises. "I want to rest."

Matt eyes her as if he knows this moment of respite is more for him than for her.

Alex smiles brightly. "So no balls? No one enjoys dancing in the future?"

"We do," he says, willing to let her win just this once. "We just prefer to dance in clubs now. They're darker and louder and people wear less clothes. And they drink a lot of alcohol with

horrible names like the screwdriver and sex on the beach."

She blushes, settling on the ground in front of him to dangle her hand in the water. "That sounds ghastly."

"You would hate it," he laughs fondly, reaching out to tug playfully at one of her curls. "God, I would love to take you just to see the look on your face."

Huffing, she lifts her hand from the pond and flicks water at his face, giggling when he yelps. "Don't be rude."

He wipes at his face with his sleeve and doesn't attempt to retaliate, watching her with that soppy grin he's had on his face ever since he woke up beside her this morning. "I really would, you know."

"What?"

"Love to take you with me."

Alex nods once and turns to look out over the pond again, her chest aching with a longing never to be filled. "Don't, darling. Don't think on such things."

"I think about it every time I leave here and go back to my own time," he says softly. "Alone in my flat, my arms empty…" He sighs, sounding pained, but Alex can't bring herself to turn her head and look at him. She's afraid she'll cry if she does and burdening him is the last thing she wants. "If I could stay here forever, I would."

She bites her lip. "You'd leave your own time?"

"I'd live anywhere, leave anything behind, if it meant staying with you, Alex." He strokes a hand over her hair and she shuts her eyes, breathing in shakily. "Surely you know that."

She nods, pursing her lips. "Just as you must know I would leave everything here to be with you – no matter how horrid the future sounds."

He lets out a choked laugh, and she finally turns to see him pressing a hand to the wound in his shoulder. She leaps up instantly to fuss over him, pushing aside her own pain to deal with later as she leads him back to the manor.

"Would you please stop fussing?" He whinges, sitting on the bed back in his room as she kneels before him and tugs off his boots. "I'm fine, Alex."

"You won't be if you keep pushing yourself," she scolds, setting his shoes aside carefully. "You've had your walk like you asked, and now it's time to rest."

He frowns. "I'm not tired."

"Indulge me." She pushes gently until he reclines on the bed, feet up and head cushioned. Leaning down to smooth his hair and press a fond kiss to his forehead, she says, "Sleep. I'll be back soon."

She slips from the room only when she's sure he won't get up the moment she leaves, intending to change her dress and find a cup of tea. Halfway down the corridor, she meets Ralph walking up the staircase and he smiles. "There you are. I was just coming to find you."

"Is there something wrong?"

He shakes his head, resting a hand on the small of her back. "I feel as if I haven't seen my own wife in days – had I known I'd be forced into bachelorhood again while you look after that vagabond, I never would have agreed."

"I'm sure Mrs. Blackburn has been taking care of you adequately," she says stiffly, a little perplexed that he'd even noticed. Usually, he spends most days in town and doesn't care if he sees her until dinner or not. "I didn't think you would mind my absence."

"Well I mind very much," he says, kissing her hair. "You'll dine with me tonight – I'm sure your patient can feed himself for one evening."

Her stomach fills with dread and Alex struggles not to let it show outwardly. "But dear, he needs me -"

"Yes, and so does your husband." He huffs. "He'd be a very selfish man to keep you from me. Now do as you please for the rest of the day but at dinner, I expect to see you in the dining room."

She nods, deflating. "Yes, Ralph."

He presses a kiss to her temple. "Good. Now I have some business to attend to in town but I'll see you later."

The moment he disappears back down the stairs, Alex retreats to her room quickly before she gives in to the urge to run back to Matt and disturb his sleep. Ever since he had arrived, she has spent every spare second with him, hating to leave him even to get them something to eat from the kitchen or change her clothes, all too aware that he could disappear without warning and she wouldn't even get to say goodbye. Even when he was only her strange friend, it had bothered her, but now that he is so much more, every second together matters. It could be weeks before she sees him again.

She forces herself to go about her business as usual, having the servants draw her a bath. She soaks in it until her fingers and toes prune, stepping out to let Cecily help her dress. She sits at the open window of her chambers and lets the cool air dry her curls, tapping her fingers anxiously. Matt needs time to rest and she won't wake him when there's nothing he can do to make her feel better.

Busying herself with overseeing the servants and her gardeners and all of her other duties, she manages to keep away from Matt's room until nearly dinnertime. Knowing Ralph will be home any moment, she slips away upstairs with a tray of food to find Matt lying awake and staring at the ceiling, looking bored.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asks, setting the tray on the table by his bed.

He nods, a smile curling his lips at the sight of her. "Woke up about half an hour ago, Mum."

She slaps his cheek lightly, raising an eyebrow. "Hardly an appropriate thing to call me, considering last night."

He gapes at her, hazel eyes wide. "My god, I really have corrupted you. You're not even blushing."

Pleased at the proud note in his voice, she smiles and leans in, pressing her lips softly to his. "A terrible influence, you are."

"I'll make a twenty-first century woman out of you yet," he mutters, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck to draw her closer.

Alex pulls away with a reluctant sigh and drops her eyes to his blanket. "Ralph wants me to dine with him tonight."

"Ah. I knew there was something." He brushes his fingers over her chin. "You had that look."

She raises her head with a frown. "I don't have a look."

"You do. You're doing it right now." He chuckles, threading a hand through her hair and kissing her cheeks and her eyelids. "It's adorable, you spoiled thing."

"Oh hush," she says, flustered. "He wants me there but just say the word and I'll stay here. I'll tell him you can't feed yourself or -"

"Alex, stop." He cups her cheek in his hand and brushes a tender thumb beneath her eye, smiling sadly. "As much as I want you with me always, you need to have dinner with him. He's your husband, sweetheart, and he's been very patient. I don't want to cause trouble."

She doesn't care. She doesn't care that Ralph is her husband, she doesn't care that he would be furious if she refused to have dinner with him, she only cares that Matt will be up here alone and she'll be downstairs pretending Ralph doesn't smell of some other woman's perfume. Curling her hands into his shirt, Alex presses her face into the crook of his neck and pleads, "Don't leave before I get back."

Matt lifts her chin and plants a hard, bruising kiss on her lips. "I'll be here. I promise."

Dinner with Ralph is tedious. Alex sits across from him and attempts polite conversation, though they rarely have anything to say to each other anymore. She listens as Ralph recounts the details of his trip to town, pretending she doesn't know that he's making up most of it as he goes along since he clearly can't tell her where he's really been.

"By the way, I ran into that horrible woman – the one you say talks like a common guttersnipe…" Ralph smiles as if her colorful turn of phrase had amused him but Alex detects the tightness around his eyes and watches him closely, suspicious. "What was her name again?"

"Francesca." She barely manages to swallow the bite of food in her mouth, feeling it turn to ash on her tongue. She forces it down her suddenly tight throat and reaches for her wine glass with a shaking hand. That horrid perfume that always clings to Ralph after his trips to town – nauseating and cheap, like a woman of ill repute – suddenly makes so much more sense now.

"Yes, that's the one." He actually manages to sound enlightened and she silently praises him for his skill even as her stomach attempts to rebel what little food she's managed to eat. "She requested an invitation to our first ball of the autumn season, if you can imagine."

Alex stiffens. "I won't have that woman within a mile of this house."

Pausing in the middle of cutting his meat, Ralph looks up with a frown. "You may not care for her, my dear, but she is not so different from you. You both come from similar backgrounds. The only different is she married a very old man and was unfortunate enough to lose him. She's a young widow -"

"She's forty-five," she snaps. "Hardly a spring chicken."

"Still much younger than her husband was." Ralph snorts and reaches for his wine. "Of course, I told her she would be invited. It won't do to exclude her."

Alex tosses down her cutlery on her plate and pushes it away. "I'm afraid I've lost my appetite." She pushes back her chair and stands. "If you'll excuse me."

Ralph stares up at her, stunned. "Alex -"

"Don't." She holds up a hand and looks at him furiously. "Do not speak to me."

Without another word, she turns on her heel and stalks from the dining room, managing a clipped, steady pace until she reaches the stairs. She runs up them and nearly trips in her skirts, hurrying

down the corridor to Matt's room with tears in her eyes. She doesn't care about his horrible mistress or what he does on his own time, but to bring that woman into this house and parade her about in front of his friends, as if he isn't carrying on with her behind Alex's back – it's more than she can bear with dignity and grace. To be treated so disrespectfully in her own home is the greatest insult Ralph could bestow.

The moment she walks into Matt's room and sees him lounging in bed, his finished dinner on the nightstand beside him, she bursts into tears. He scrambles to sit up, holding out his arms, and she walks right into them, sinking onto the bed next to him. She buries her face in his chest and struggles to get a hold of herself, shoulders heaving. "Shh," he says, stroking her hair. "What's the matter? What did he do?"

She shakes her head, clinging to his shirt. "It's nothing," she manages. "I'm fine."

"You're a shit liar, sweetheart." He settles back against the headboard, pulling her with him. His hand strokes up and down her back, his fingers threading soothingly into her hair. "Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk about him," she sniffles, kissing his neck. "I'm just so tired. I hate this house when you're not here. It's like a prison and he's my warden, able to come and go as he pleases, free to bed other women -"

"Wait, what?"

"Some horrible woman twice my age."

His grip on her only tightens and he presses a rough kiss to her temple. "He's a bastard."

She nods, wiping at her eyes hurriedly. "I don't even care about him, he can do what he likes. But he's going to embarrass me in front of everyone, inviting her to the next ball and, oh god, what if he throws me out? What if he moves that horrible woman in here instead? Where will I go -"

"Shhh." Matt pulls back to press his forehead to hers, fingers tight on her face. "Alex, he's not going to do that. Men like him – they don't want anyone to know about their dirty laundry, all right? He'll never toss you out for some classless tramp – what would happen to his reputation then? You're safe, I promise. Just breathe."

She struggles to obey, gripping his collar in her fingers. "I don't want to be here."

"I know." He brushes her curls from her forehead. "I don't want you to be here either."

But there is nothing either of them can do and it's always going to be like this, stolen moments whenever he appears, just a few minutes or a few hours to sustain them until the next time. She will never have anything stable with Matt. She'll never sleep through the night with him holding her without having to fear he'll be gone when she wakes. She'll never look up at teatime and find him already there, looking back at her. She'll never introduce him to her family and get to meet his. She'll never have children with his strange, otherworldly features and odd sense of humor. She will have laughter behind the hedges in her garden and stolen kisses in the privacy of the woods. She will have lonely nights and days spent waiting. They both will.

"You should leave," she says softly. "Find a woman capable of being with you all the time."

"What fun would that be?" he asks with a pained smile.

Alex shakes her head. "It isn't about fun."

"Then what's the point, love?" Just as last time, he doesn't let her answer but rather than disappear, he takes her face in his hands and draws her down for a kiss, his mouth hot and hungry as it claims hers. Alex melts into him, eager to feel something other than the ever-widening ache in her chest. She fists his short hair in her hands, pressing herself against him with a whimper. Matt nips at her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, and she retaliates by stroking her tongue over his teeth and drawing patterns on the roof of his mouth. She scrapes her nails over his scalp and he hisses, his wandering hand cupping her breast and squeezing through her dress. She arches into his palm, easily undone by his every touch.

She still isn't sure of herself in these matters and Ralph, when they were together, was always in charge, domineering and selfish. Matt, on the other hand, seems content to carry on this way, making her dizzy with kisses and caresses. Alex craves far more than that from him, far more than she has ever craved any man.

Tearing her mouth from his, she struggles to catch her breath, licking swollen lips as Matt drops his head, mouthing and sucking greedily at her décolletage. "Darling, please."

He grips her hips tight enough to bruise and places one last kiss over her heart. "I'm not going to be here much longer," he says softly, voice raw with pain, and her heart clenches. "I can feel it."

Steeling her resolve, Alex drops a kiss into his hair and says, "Then let us have this before you go. Something to keep us warm."

Matt lifts his head, eyes searching her face intently. Whatever he finds in her gaze must satisfy him because he leans in to kiss her soundly. "Take off your clothes. I want to see you."

She climbs from the bed and leaves his arms with reluctance, and he helps her unbutton her dress. She slides it from her shoulders, leaving it a pile of expensive silk crumpled on the floor. She sheds her petticoats with his eyes on her, drinking her in with every new layer stripped away. If it were anybody else but Matt, she might feel self-conscious, but he looks at her with such desire and adoration that she can't feel anything other than eagerness to let him see her entirely bare, to show him she trusts him with every part of her.

She sits on the edge of the bed and he unlaces her corset with a tenderness that is entirely unlike Ralph's usual rush or Cecily's businesslike fingers. Matt's hands are clumsy but devoted, tugging her laces until she can breathe again. He presses kisses to her shoulders and strokes his fingertips over her spine.

Alex shudders and slips from the bed again, turning to look at him as she lets the corset fall to the floor, leaving her in only her thin shift. She has his full attention, those big eyes focused solely on her and a flush of desire on his high cheekbones. Slowly, she lifts the shift over her head and hears his sharp intake of breath as she lets it drop.

"My god," he says, sounding strangled, and she raises her head tentatively to find him looking at her with dark eyes, lips parted in awe. "You're even more beautiful than I'd imagined."

She flushes, suddenly shy.

He laughs warmly and holds out a hand. "Come here, sweetheart."

Though he tries to hide it, she sees him wince as he reclines on the bed, resting his head on his pillow. She clambers onto the mattress and straddles his lap, biting her lip in concern. "Are you sure we should -"

"I'm fine," he sighs patiently, big hands and clever fingers sliding over her bare skin with reverence. She shudders, eyes drifting shut as he cups her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her

nipples until they turn to hard points under his ministrations. He rolls his hips under her, the hard bulge in his trousers suddenly pressed right against her sex. She gasps, rocking back against him. "More than fine."

She nods hurriedly, reaching for the waistband of his trousers and undoing the fastenings. Matt manages to lift his hips enough for her to slide them down his hips to his knees. She pauses there, eyes drifting to his groin to take him in, since she'd done her best not to look when she bathed him. His erection curves against his belly, slender and red, and leaves sticky fluid on his stomach.

More than anything, she wants to touch him and without thought, she reaches out and curls her hand around him, relishing the delicious contradiction of his hard length and the velvety softness of his skin. Matt arches into the touch with a hiss through clenched teeth. She smiles, stroking a hand up and down, his arousal making her fingers slick. "Jesus, Alex," he pants. "I won't make it if you keep doing that."

She swirls her thumb over the head of his erection, idly wondering what he tastes like. Ladies aren't supposed to use their mouths on a man – only whores in brothels do that sort of thing – but Alex finds herself wanting to take him into her mouth, to feel him hot and heavy on her tongue –

"Oh god, Alex, stop." Matt groans, yanking her down for a rough kiss, and she realizes as she returns it with fervor that she'd spoken aloud. "Are you trying to make me travel? Bloody hell, that mouth." He kisses her again, nipping eagerly as he slips a hand between her thighs to stroke her. "So deceptively pretty."

Alex moans, grinding down on his hand as he rubs at her clitoris. "Oh god, darling, now -"

He nods, moving his hand to settle them both on her hips. "Yes." She takes him in hand and lifts her hips, lining him up with her entrance. Her mouth drops open and she throws her head back, curls spilling over her shoulders and a low, guttural moan leaving her throat as she sinks down slowly, her body stretching to take him inside. Matt clutches her to him, swearing under his breath as he slides all the way in. "You feel so good, sweetheart. So incredible, Christ - "

She whimpers, lowering her body to hover over his, placing her hands on either side of his head for balance as she begins to move, sliding up and down his length. Matt threads a hand through her curls and kisses her messily but she can't breathe or think or do on anything but feel as she moves steadily over him, moaning obscenely.

It's never felt like this. Nothing in her life has ever felt this good. Her senses are on overload – the slick friction between her thighs and the burn of her muscles, the smell of sweat and sex in the air, the taste of Matt's kiss still lingering in her mouth, and the hot stroke of his tongue as he sucks her

nipples between his lips. Her inner muscles tighten and she rolls her hips faster, lungs burning.

Matt releases her nipple, his hand finding her wrist and circling his fingers around it tightly. "Alex," he says shakily, a warning in itself. "I'm not -"

"No, not yet." Tears sting her eyes and she grits her teeth, forcing them back. "Don't leave me yet, darling."

And he tries for her, his jaw tight as he struggles to remain in the past with her. She has no doubt he's feeling that telltale tingle in his hand and she turns her head, kissing his knuckles. "Hold on," she whispers, pleading. He nods, beautiful and brave, clinging to her like she can anchor him here forever. She moves faster, though she wants nothing more than to make it last, to make him stay.

Matt rocks his hips against hers, pumping up into her wildly, and Alex cries out, hovering just on the edge of ecstasy. She slips a hand between her legs to find her clitoris, pressing down hard and rubbing in short, sharp circles. She falls apart with a final, trembling cry, her body arching and the rhythmic clenching of her sex gripping Matt's length tightly.

Exhausted, she keeps moving, her lips against his jaw as she coaxes him toward release. "It's alright, darling. Let go. I'm here." She kisses his throat and strokes a hand over his bare chest, biting back tears. "I love you."

Clutching her to him like something precious about to slip through his fingers, Matt turns his head and kisses her, a searing, desperate meeting of mouths that makes her heart sink. He's leaving her. With one final thrust of his hips, he spills deep inside her, leaving bruises where he holds her. He pants harshly against her cheek, kissing her flushed, sweaty skin. "I love you, Alex," he breathes. "I love you so much."

She nods shakily, reaching out a hand to cup his darling face, but between one blink and the next, he's gone. The sheets are still rumpled and warm, the scent of him and sex still lingers in the room, but she's completely alone. Alex curls into a ball in the middle of the bed and clutches Matt's pillow to her chest, tugging the blanket over her naked body as she finally lets the tears come.

my tired heart is beating so slow

Chapter Summary

Weeks pass and Matt does not appear. She tries not to be discouraged, knowing it isn't unusual for him to disappear for so long. He can't help when he comes back – it isn't something he can trigger purposefully. All he can do is not take his medication and hope.

Chapter Notes

Chapter title from Little House by Amanda Seyfried.

Weeks pass and Matt does not appear. She tries not to be discouraged, knowing it isn't unusual for him to disappear for so long. He can't help when he comes back – it isn't something he can trigger purposefully. All he can do is not take his medication and hope. But weeks turn to months, late summer turns to autumn and then to the dead of winter, and still, he does not return.

It grows too cold to wait for hours in her garden any more but for a while, she nearly lives in her sitting room, staring out the window and hoping to catch a glimpse of him clumsily climbing out from her rosebushes. As time passes, it hurts too much to even look upon the place where they spent so much time together and she stops looking, trusting that if he comes back, he'll find her.

She lies awake at night curled beneath her blankets, clinging to her last memory of him and imagining she can still feel his hands on her. She closes her eyes and tries to memorize the catch in his voice when he told her he loved her. For a while, it keeps her going. He loves her and he'd promised to always come back. He promised he wouldn't leave her here.

He promised.

"Are you planning to go out today?"

Alex glances up from her knitting to find Ralph standing in the doorway and for a moment, she can only blink stupidly at him. He never ventures into her private sitting room – ever. She hadn't realized he even knew the way. He frowns at her and she realizes she's still staring wordlessly and for the life of her, she can't remember if he'd spoken at all. "Sorry, what did you say?"

He sighs and folds his arms over his chest. "You've barely been out of the house since October. You need to see and be seen. Go to teatime, luncheons, organize a party. I don't care what you fill your days with but my god, do something beside sit here and stare uselessly into space!"

"I'm not staring, I'm knitting," she says simply, and drops her eyes back to the bundle in her lap. She's been at it for hours and only pricked herself with the needle a handful of times – quite the accomplishment. Matt would – no. "I don't feel like going out."

He shakes his head. "You never feel like going out anymore. I've tried to be patient, Alexandra, really I have, but you test even me. People are starting to think you've developed some sort of severe illness and are confined to your bed. There are rumors of -"

"You know very well I don't care about rumors," she snaps tiredly. The thought of mustering up the energy to dress in her finest, go into town and lunch with society biddies, to listen to them tell stories about their children as if they raise them rather than nannies and governesses, to smile politely all the while… Alex shudders. She hasn't the strength to do it anymore. She's tired of pretending.

"You used to care what people thought of you," Ralph points out, and she huffs derisively because her husband knows nothing at all about her. For his sake, and for the sake of her marriage, she tried as hard as she could to fit in and belong in this upper class world but never once did she truly concern herself with the gossip of these terrible, mindless, materialistic wretches. "What happened to the woman I married?"

She's a figment of your imagination and mine, she thinks. She was never really here and I am too tired and heartbroken to conjure her likeness to make you at ease. Out loud, she says calmly, "Perhaps if you spent more time here and less time in town, you would know."

Ralph stiffens, drawing up his frame and looking down his nose at her. "I have business in town."

"Yes, I know exactly the sort of business you have in town," she murmurs, still not looking up. She can feel the fury radiating from her husband in waves but she feels oddly distanced from it, as if nothing he says or does can touch her. What does it matter if he gets angry? What does it matter if he tosses her from the house? How can anything at all matter but the painful knowledge that the man she truly loves is gone and she can't even hope for his return? Everything else pales in comparison.

But she isn't thinking about Matt.

"How dare you suggest -"

"I'm not suggesting anything," she says calmly, and pauses in her knitting to give him her full attention. His blue eyes widen at her unwavering gaze and the dull tone of her voice, utterly bereft of tears at his betrayal. "I simply know another woman's perfume when I smell it. How you can stand to inhale it all the time, I'll never know."

Ralph stares at her for a long moment, face thunderous even as he maintains his dumbfounded silence. She wonders what she must look like to him and how disappointed he must be – he'd wanted a pretty china doll on his arm and ever since she met… she's changed. She has stopped trying to fold into herself, to make herself small enough to fit into his life and his desires. She has stretched out her arms, taken up space and declared it her own. She is not just Lady Fiennes. She is Alex. He'd taught her that.

But she isn't thinking about him.

When Ralph finally speaks, his voice is dangerously soft but hard enough to have made her flinch, once upon a time. "How I spend my time is none of your concern, wife. Haven't I fulfilled my duty? Haven't I given you a big house and fine things? A reputation and status you never would have had if you had married some butcher or pig farmer -"

"I don't care!" she spits, tossing aside her knitting and rising swiftly to her feet. It's been so long that it's almost a relief to feel something, even if it is anger. "Don't you understand? I don't care about any of that. None of it means a bloody thing to me! I need something money cannot buy." She shakes her head and presses a hand over her mouth, wilting suddenly. Her knees tremble but she holds her ground, dropping her hand and curling it into a fist at her side, drawing courage from the ache of her knuckles. "I need companionship, Ralph. I need love. I need -"

Matt.

She violently forces the thought aside, bile in the back of her throat.

Oblivious to the way she falters, Ralph waves an impatient hand. "Alright, so you need company. That's what I keep telling you – go out and-"

"Not the companionship of your friends' horrible wives!" She rakes a hand through her hair, a

frustrated, hollow laugh on her lips. "They don't care about me and I certainly do not care for them. I want something real – something that matters."

Ralph lounges against the doorframe, looking so unconcerned and distant she could scream. "Well, you were very happy when you had that vagabond to look after-" She flinches but he doesn't notice. "Perhaps you just need something to care for."

She turns away to hide the tears in her eyes, staring out at her garden through the window. It's covered in snow and ice, a world away from the warm, sunny patch of green where she fell in love. She's sure it would be quite the metaphor if she had the heart to truly think on it.

"I could -" Ralph hesitates, clearing his throat, and for a moment, he almost sounds like he cares. "I could ask around and find out what I need to do to acquire a baby for you if it will make you happy."

"I don't want you to buy me a baby!" She whirls on him, not bothering to hide the tears in her eyes. It would never occur to him to offer her his love and companionship. He couldn't give it to her even if she wanted to accept it. There is only one man whose love she wants, only one man who can soothe the ache of loneliness, but he isn't here. He may never show his ridiculous face here again. "A baby cannot fix everything. It isn't a magical solution to a woman's troubles."

"Then what do you want?" Ralph throws up his arms and pushes away from the doorframe. He looks at her with annoyance, as if her very existence is nothing but an inconvenience to him. She is not the pretty doll he wanted on his arm anymore – she doesn't know if she ever was. "I cannot stand another moment of you haunting this house like a bloody ghost, not really here -"

"Would you like me to leave?" Not so long ago, the thought of Ralph tossing her out had reduced her to hysterics. There had been nothing worse in her mind than being out in the cold with nowhere to go and no way to support herself. Now, it would only be a relief to escape these walls, to look out her window every day and not see reminders of Matt in the hollowed out remnants of her garden. "I'm certain Francesca would be very pleased."

Ralph clenches his jaw and breathes out quietly through his nose, nostrils flaring. "You are my wife and you will remain my wife. You think I would release you so easily?"

She lifts her chin, eyeing him defiantly.

"I would damn us both first." He turns on his heel and begins to stride from the room, tossing over

his shoulder, "Your vagabond will never have you."

Her blood turns cold and she stares after him, her whole body trembling, until the echoing click of his boot heels fades into the distance and she knows she's alone once more. Finally, her knees give out beneath her and she sinks to the floor, voluminous skirts around her as she kneels. Shoulders shaking and sobs wracking her frame, she presses her face into the carpet. What if he found a nice young woman from his own time he could actually spend his days with? He'd barely even healed from his last misadventure when he left her – what if something awful has happened to him? Oh god, what if he's dead?

She doesn't know how long she sits there before Mrs. Blackburn comes to fetch her. Dazed, Alex barely notices her, allowing herself to be manhandled. Mrs. Blackburn pulls her to her feet and guides her up the stairs. Alex's feet follow willingly, though her mind is far away, full of the horrors that could have befallen Matt on one of his travels. He's a terribly gangly thing but he has muscle and he's fast. He could look after himself. But he'd been so weak and injured…

Mrs. Blackburn leads Alex into her chambers and begins helping her undress, pulling her gown over her head. Alex lifts her arms obediently, her thoughts on Matt lying in a gutter somewhere hundreds of years in the past or future, alone and rotting. No. She would feel it, wouldn't she?

Wouldn't she know deep in her heart if he were gone? Surely the universe would not go on as usual, would it?

Pushing her gently in the direction of her bed, Mrs. Blackburn murmurs soothingly to her, and it's only then that Alex realizes she's still sniffling, tears drying on her cheeks. She climbs onto her bed and lays her head on her pillow, letting Mrs. Blackburn tuck the blankets around her with sympathetic tuts. Numb, Alex watches in silence as the older woman blows out the candle by her bed and lets herself out, shutting the door behind her.

Months ago, in the woods and beneath a towering tree, she'd told Matt that he made her days brighter. She told him she'd been waiting for him from the day she met him and always would. Curling up beneath the sheets like a child, Alex shuts her tired, swollen eyes and wonders when she'd stopped.

"And of course, I told him I couldn't possibly be expected to appear in public without it, no matter how frivolous he thought it might be." The women around the table murmur 'naturally' and Theodosia tilts her head proudly to show off her latest purchase, an extravagant hat that must have cost her poor husband a very pretty pence indeed. She waits patiently for the oohs and aahs to fade, sipping primly at her tea. "It goes very well with my dress, don't you think?"

Another murmur of agreement echoes around the table, a few women eyeing the hideous hat with envy. Alex keeps her eyes on her teacup, stirring her tea listlessly. She might have agreed to go out and socialize for Ralph and his darling reputation but he hadn't specified she had to participate in such vapid conversation. They've been going on about that bloody hat for ages and Alex never cared for feathers. She tunes them out as best as she can, focusing instead on the way her dainty spoon creates a little whirlpool in her cup the faster she moves it. A droplet splashes over the edge of the cup onto the table and she forces herself to slow her movements, watching the liquid in the cup settle once more.

"And it's so lovely to have you with us again, Alexandra."

Alex glances up at the sound of her name, startled, and finds every woman at the table looking at her. She forces a winning smile and nods her thanks. "It's lovely to be amongst you all. I missed your company so terribly – I was forced to talk to Ralph and the servants while I was ill." The words feel like poison on her tongue but they all beam at her and she breathes a sigh of relief, hoping they'll go back to discussing things without her.

"Oh, you poor thing." Theodosia rests a pale hand on her arm, mouth downturned in sympathy. "I can't imagine how dull it must have been. We were all so worried for your complexion. But you look very well for being so ill."

The others nod enthusiastically and one of them ventures enviously, "Your waist looks smaller too."

Alex affects a thankful smile, her stomach churning. She curls her shaking hands into fists in her lap and wonders what they would think if she told them she hadn't been ill at all. She just couldn't stand the idea of pasting on a smile for them or listening to their inane chatter. She learned to handle it before Matt, had even managed to thrive in this toxic environment, but he had weakened her. He'd reminded her of how empty it all was and how much of her life she was wasting by pretending she cared about parties and gossip and what fabric was in from Paris. And then he'd left her to fend for herself. There was nothing to do but pretend again – for her sanity and her survival.

"I've lost two inches," she confesses, affecting a whisper for the sake of modesty, and they all gasp covetously, fluttering hands on their chests. "Ralph brought home a whole trunk of new dresses just yesterday."

It had been a bribe to get her out of the house and out among society again. Alex had let him believe it was the dresses that changed her mind, rather than the sudden desire to be as far from him and his impatient hovering as possible. The women around her swoon, dropping jealous eyes back to their teacups, and Alex smirks. They're all a little in love with her husband and the only

thing that seems to silence their chatter is an offhand remark about how he dotes on her. If only they knew she would give him up in a heartbeat for her freedom.

Taking a dainty bite of her raspberry tart, Beatrice Clayton clears her throat and comments slyly, "I noticed you're wearing your hair up again, Alexandra."

For a moment, Alex forgets herself and her role, freezing with her teacup halfway to her mouth. The other women look up but she recovers quickly, slipping back into character and struggling not to lift a hand to touch the elaborate updo, tight on her scalp and not nearly as comforting as the feel of her curls around her shoulders. It too, had been too painful a reminder. "It was a phase," she murmurs around the rim of her teacup. "I was itching for a change."

Theodosia lights up and snatches the opportunity to turn the conversation back to herself, touching her fingers to the wide brim of her hat. "That's why I insisted Charles purchase this, my dear. Much more elegant than natural hair."

As the conversation returns once more to Theodosia's hat collection, Alex breathes out a quiet sigh of relief and drops her eyes back to her teacup. Picking up her spoon, she begins to swirl it around and make another whirlpool, tuning out the sound of talk and laughter around her.

She stays out just long enough to satisfy Ralph before returning to the manor. Without pausing to greet the servants or search out her husband, she heads directly up the stairs and down the corridor, pointedly not looking at the guest room where Matt had stayed as she strides with purpose toward her chambers. Throwing open the door, she slips inside and stoops to slip out of her shoes, tossing them across the room in a fit of pique.

A little yelp startles her half to death and she stumbles back with a hand to her pounding heart, turning to the source of the noise. There, in the middle of her bed, sits a little lump of black fur with a wagging tail and big brown eyes that peer at her curiously. Alex eyes it in much the same way, inching carefully into the room with a wary, "Hello there."

At the sound of her voice, the puppy prances a little in place, tail still wagging.

Disarmed instantly, Alex crosses the remaining distance between them and scoops the little thing up into her arms, cuddling it to her chest. The puppy snuggles into her and licks happily at her shoulder, sniffing her. Giggling, Alex squirms away from the touch and scratches behind its ear, cooing. "Aren't you just darling, hm?"

"A Newfoundland."

She turns at the sound of Ralph's voice and finds him standing in the doorway, watching her clutch the dog to her chest. "Pardon?"

"He's a Newfoundland." Ralph shoves his hands into his coat pockets and smiles faintly. "Only eight weeks old but in time, he'll be quite formidable. I thought you might like him for company. A puppy is rather like a baby, isn't it?"

"Not quite," she murmurs, preoccupied with the furry bundle in her arms. He's warm and soft against her and she feels comforted for the first time since… well, since Matt. "Thank you, Ralph. He's a lovely gift."

He nods, pleased. "What will you name him?"

"Sid." The name leaves her mouth without thought but after a moment, she knows why. A young man in her garden wearing a strange t-shirt, telling her tales of the future with a wry grin and calling her Miss Manners. Tears sting her eyes and Alex ducks her head, burying her face in sweet-smelling puppy fur. "I'll call him Sid."

As winter progresses, Sid becomes her constant companion. She takes him with her everywhere and he trots happily behind her throughout the manor and on the grounds when she braves the cold to visit her garden, which is more and more often lately. She wraps her cloak tightly around her, traipses through snow and turns her face into the biting wind, offering up a silent plea that wherever he is and whatever he's doing, Matt is safe and happy. And then Sid will fall on his face in the snow and make her laugh again.

He's always doing that – cheering her without even trying. Once the ladies she's unfortunate enough to call friends discover that Ralph bought her a pet, they all flock to the manor to see the purebred pup, fawning over him like they might a new hat. Not quite housebroken yet and a little excited at all the company and attention, Sid had urinated all over Theodosia as she held him. Alex had gasped and offered polite apologies and offers to replace the gown, all the while biting her lip to contain a bout of giggles. She'd scooped Sid up and fed him an extra treat.

Thankfully, Sid also provides a point of conversation for her and Ralph. They both love and dote on the dog even if they can't seem to love and dote on each other. More often than not, she feels

lonely in the manor all by herself. Ralph doesn't brave the snow and the cold to visit town as frequently as he had during the summer, but even with his company, Alex feels isolated. And then Sid will curl up at her feet or nudge her hand insistently to be petted and suddenly she isn't alone anymore. She has someone who needs her and loves her, someone who won't just go away.

Sid is even at her side when she falls ill. One moment, she stands in her sitting room pouring herself a cup of tea and the next she feels so dizzy and warm she can barely stand. She forces a smile when Sid cocks his head at her, curling her fingers into the table to keep herself upright. "How about a treat for the good boy, hm?" she asks shakily, reaching for the little cup of sugars next to the milk.

Sid wags his tail at her.

Her hand shakes violently as she reaches for a sugar cube and she knocks the whole thing over, upending it all over the table. A few skitter to the ground at Sid's feet and he drops his head to snatch one up. Alex watches him fondly but her vision swims and this time, she doesn't grasp the table edge quickly enough. As she falls to the floor in a crumpled heap, Sid begins to bark madly, no doubt alerting the whole manor of her clumsy fall. Just before she passes out, he whines and licks her hand.

When she wakes again, she isn't on the floor but in her bed, tucked in snugly and with Sid still at her side, a silent guardian. Around her are the familiar voices of Ralph and Doctor Hawthorne but delirious and insensible with fever, she can only make out bits of their conversation.

"You let her wander about outside in the cold for hours at a time – is it any wonder she's fallen ill? I'm only shocked she managed as long as she has without catching a cold." Dr. Hawthorne sounds scolding and in her sleep, Alex frowns because Ralph does not like to be spoken to that way. He'll get angry – probably with her.

"I let her?" Ralph scowls. "You are sorely mistaken if you think I have any control over what Alexandra does or does not do, Doctor. She does as she pleases and if I had forbidden her to go out, she would have gone anyway and stayed out longer just to spite me."

Dr. Hawthorne sighs patiently. "Well, for her sake, try to keep her inside and in bed. She needs rest."

Alex lapses into unconsciousness again and when she wakes, Ralph and Dr. Hawthorne are gone. The room is warm, a fire burning in the fireplace and the blankets tucked up to her chin. A soft, familiar hand rests against her cheek and she hears a quiet hum she remembers from childhood. "Nicola?" She murmurs, squinting into the dark room. "Am I dreaming?"

Her sister laughs softly and pats her cheek. "I'm afraid not, dear heart."

She flinches when Nicola replaces her hand with a cool cloth, stroking her face with it. Since she married Ralph, Alex hasn't seen any of her family. Ralph never wanted to make the journey. "What are you doing here?"

"Your husband wrote to me," she says, her lip curling around the word husband as though it leaves a vile taste in her mouth. "He said you were unwell and you might enjoy my company more than his or a servant. It was so uncharacteristically thoughtful I almost fell out of my chair when I read it."

"Nicola," Alex slurs disapprovingly, stifling a tired smile. "Rude."

Nicola shrugs, leaning over to wet the cloth in the bowl by the bed, wringing it out and placing it over Alex's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Pausing long enough to take stock of her body, Alex hums thoughtfully. "Better. Tired."

"Well, your fever has broken so I think you're out of the woods." Nicola brushes damp curls from her sister's forehead and watches her in disapproval. "For a while, we weren't sure. You scared me."

Alex reaches up a weak hand and clasps her sister's as tightly as she can. "I'm sorry."

Nicola squeezes back, lacing their fingers together. "What were you thinking, wandering about outside at all hours of the day?"

She shrugs. "I like the fresh air."

Eyes narrowed in disbelief, Nicola doesn't get the chance to reply before a knock on the door interrupts her. Ralph peers into the room, his eyes landing on Nicola. "Is she awake?"

Nicola leans away from Alex just enough for him to see that her eyes are open and to his credit, he looks relieved. "How are you?"

"Fine. Better." Alex manages a faint smile.

He nods. "I'm glad. Can I get you anything?"

She shakes her head; ignoring the odd look Nicola gives them both. "Thank you for sending for my sister."

"Of course." He clears his throat, glancing behind him. "There's someone who would like to see you, if you're feeling up to it."

Alex opens her mouth to tell him she isn't up to company at all – she's bedridden, in a thin nightgown, unwashed and with her hair a mess, the last thing she needs is someone like Theodosia wandering in with her painted face and perfectly coiffed hair to sniff at her – when the visitor pushes past Ralph with a huff and bounds into the room, tail wagging and tongue hanging out of his mouth. She lights up instantly, laughing as Sid leaps onto the bed and clambers over Nicola to get to her.

"Oh hello, my love!" She reaches out a hand and rests it on his head, letting him lean in to lick her face. "Did you miss me, then?" Sid answers her by curling up at her side, resting his chin on her stomach and blinking up at her with big brown eyes. Alex chuckles fondly, scratching behind his ears. "Did he behave for you?"

"Perfectly." Ralph shifts from foot to foot, unusually hesitant. "If you have no need of me, I thought I might venture into town this afternoon."

He eyes her steadily, looking tentative, and she realizes suddenly that if she asked him to stay, he likely would. He might join her in her chambers and join Nicola in looking after her, regaling them with tales of Sid's mishaps while she's been indisposed. He might have been so frightened by her sudden illness that he'd promise to never 'venture into town' again if she asked it of him. Alex finds herself shaking her head slowly, green eyes meeting his as she says, "I'll be fine. Go ahead."

After another moment of eye contact, Ralph nods once and drops his head. "Very well. I shall see you at dinner, if you're well enough to attend." He glances at Nicola. "Look after her for me?"

Nicola nods, still looking puzzled. "Of course." The moment he disappears, shutting the door behind him, she turns and looks at Alex, eyebrow raised. "What on earth was that all about?"

"What?" Alex trails a finger down Sid's nose playfully and does not look at her sister.

"You two speak as though you're strangers, not a married couple." Nicola picks up the washcloth Alex had discarded and places it by the bowl on her nightstand. "And I've never seen two people so serious about a trip into town, of all things."

Alex sighs, unwilling to tell her sister anything but knowing she doesn't have much choice in the matter. "We might as well be strangers – we hardly see each other. And a trip into town is my husband's polite way of telling me he's going to call on his darling mistress. Horrid woman."

Nicola stares at her, appalled.

Glancing away, Alex turns her attention back to Sid, uncomfortable under her sister's scrutiny. "I'm fine, Nic. Honestly."

"How can you be fine?" Nicola finally splutters. "You told him to go -"

"Because I don't care."

"How can you not care that your husband is -"

"Because I don't love him, Nicola." Alex finally looks at her again, frowning. "He can do as he wishes."

Nicola studies her in silence for a long moment, eyes searching her face with intense scrutiny. Finally, she nods primly and rises from the bed, moving to open the curtains and let in the cold winter light. "Who is he then?"

Brow furrowed, Alex watches her move about the room, tidying up with short, clipped movements that reveal her sister's agitation. "Who?"

"The man you're really in love with." Nicola begins straightening the pillows on the settee across the room, ignoring Alex's sharp inhale. "The only reason you wouldn't care if Ralph had a mistress is if you yourself had taken a lover. So who is he?"

Alex begins to shake her head, hands trembling. "Nicola -"

"You might as well tell me." Nicola pats the last pillow in satisfaction and places her hands on her hips, glancing up at Alex solemnly. "I'll not give you a moment's peace until you do."

Telling Nicola the whole truth – that she met a time traveler from the future and fell in love with him during his brief, sporadic visits – would only ensure that her sister sent her away to an asylum, sure that marriage to Ralph has driven her mad. Alex quietly resolves to tell her only part of the story, just enough to satisfy Nicola. "His name was Matt."

"Was?" Nicola crosses the room and takes her hands.

"I don't know what happened to him," she answers honestly. "He… traveled quite a lot but he always visited when he could. I haven't seen him since September."

Nicola squeezes her fingers. "Did you – love him?"

A lump forms in her throat but Alex forces herself to speak around it, her voice coming out strangled and hoarse. "Yes. Very much."

"Alex -"

"It doesn't matter," Alex swallows hard. "He's gone."

Seeing the tears in her eyes, Nicola crumbles, settling onto the edge of the bed and gathering Alex into her arms. "Oh, my poor love. I'm sure he'll come back – perhaps when the weather is warmer, hmm?"

Burying her face in her sister's hair, Alex shakes her head. "No, I don't think he will."

every road leads home to you

Chapter Summary

"Nicola," she growls, gripping her sister tightly as tears of frustration sting her eyes. He could be gone again by the time she gets to him and oh god, she'll not survive if she can't at least see him, just a glimpse of his face. "I will get down there if I have to crawl the whole way on my hands and knees. So you can either watch me do it or help me."

Chapter Notes

Just the epilogue left! Chapter title from the Richie Sambora song.

After a week of Nicola's care and persistence, Alex is well enough to sit up in bed and eat a bowl of soup on her own, balking at her sister's attempts to help. Lying at the foot of the bed, Sid watches her eat with a look of longing in his eyes but makes no attempt to steal her bread, warm and fresh from the oven.

Nicola swats at him anyway with a scolding, "Don't even think about it, Sid." She arranges Alex's pillows behind her, fluffing them to her satisfaction. "Such an unusual name. Whatever made you think of it?"

Stomach knotting instantly at the reminder of Matt, Alex places her soupspoon back in her bowl and swallows. "I read it in a book," she lies.

"Really? What book?" Nicola tidies the nightstand with a frown. "You require less and less looking after, and I could use something to keep me occupied."

Silent as she struggles to come up with something, Alex doesn't hear the sudden eruption of shouting and chaos outside until Nicola tuts disapprovingly and goes to the window. "Lord, what on earth is all that noise for?" Unable to see anything, she sighs. "I'm going to find out what all the fuss is about. Stay put and eat your soup, please."

Too relieved that Nicola seems to have forgotten about the nonexistent book for now, Alex doesn't argue. She doesn't even think about the noise in the garden again until she hears the rustling of Nicola's skirts hurrying down the corridor, back far too quickly. She must have gone to

another room on the second floor to get a better look out a window instead of going all the way downstairs. Alex sips another spoonful of soup and raises an eyebrow at Sid's envious whine. "Oh, act your age. Honestly."

Appearing in the doorway, flushed and shaken, Nicola says breathlessly, "There's a funny looking man in strange clothes in your garden shouting for you. He must be a madman or a drunkard but -"

Oh god. Alex shoves the blankets away from her so fast she upends the bowl of soup all over her bed. She ignores Nicola's shout of protest, scrambling from the bed as quickly as her tired body will let her. The moment she tries to stand, her weak legs give out from under her and it's only Nicola's arms around her that save her from hitting the floor. "Alexandra Fiennes, what in god's name has gotten into you? Get back into bed this instant -"

Alex struggles back to her feet again with Nicola's help. "I need to see him, Nic. Please, get me to the garden."

"Absolutely not – the doctor said you're not to venture outside for any reason -"

"Nicola," she growls, gripping her sister tightly as tears of frustration sting her eyes. He could be gone again by the time she gets to him and oh god, she'll not survive if she can't at least see him, just a glimpse of his face. "I will get down there if I have to crawl the whole way on my hands and knees. So you can either watch me do it or help me."

Stunned into silence, Nicola nods wordlessly and together, they begin the laborious trek down the corridor, down the staircase and to the terrace. Sid hurries on ahead of them at the ruckus, barking the whole way. Her heart pounds wildly against her ribcage, her hands shake and passing out from exertion seems like a very real possibility but Alex forges ahead with determination. The sound of Matt's voice raised in anger spurs her on and good lord, hearing him again after all these lonely months – it's better than she imagined it would be if he ever came back.

And he did come back. Just like he promised he would.

He looks seconds from having some sort of fit, running his fingers through his short hair and shouting at her gardener with a red face and wild eyes, Sid barking and jumping around at his feet. "Where is she? So help me god, if that bastard has touched a hair on her head, I will -"

His panicked diatribe dies in his throat the moment Alex steps out onto the terrace supported by

Nicola, and for a long moment, he just stares. She knows she must look a fright, sickly pale and thin in her rumpled nightgown, her feet bare. She can't even bring herself to care, clutching Nicola's arm to keep herself upright as she drinks him in greedily. Heavens, he is just as perfect and ridiculous as her memory of him. It's been months but his hair is still the same length, his clothes are still terrible and he still looks at her like he can't see anything else. As he stares, tears fill his eyes and he takes a hesitant step forward. "Alex?"

Her name on his tongue after all this time is enough to undo her entirely and she crumples right in front of him, knees giving out beneath her. Matt is at her side in an instant, pulling her from Nicola and into his arms. He holds her tight enough to squeeze the breath from her lungs but it still isn't enough and Alex clings to him, fisting his shirt in her hands and sobbing into his chest. Matt presses his lips into her hair and rocks her silently, his arms strong and solid around her frame. "Oh sweetheart," he breathes, voice choked. "I've been gone too long, haven't I?"

She can't even articulate a reply, trembling violently, tears streaming down her face.

He tightens his arm around her waist and strokes her hair, murmuring apologies in a tortured voice. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to – it's only been three weeks for me. I tried – I tried to come back to you before then, I swear."

Curling her fingers into the short hairs at the back of his head, Alex nods hurriedly and struggles to get a hold of herself, wondering why she ever believed he would leave her on purpose. She thought he'd found someone else, that he'd been hurt, that he was dead, but it had never occurred to her that all those months of worrying and missing him had only been three weeks for Matt – three weeks that he spent trying desperately to return to her.

"Pardon me, but might we continue this reunion inside?" Nicola clears her throat and they both freeze, lifting their heads to find that while they'd been occupied with each other, Nicola had sent the servants away. They're alone in the garden, standing out in the snow and shivering. "My sister is ill and she needs to be warm and in bed."

Matt pales instantly and offers a silent nod, lifting Alex into his arms. She gives a startled yelp and clutches at him with a tearful giggle, allowing him to stand and carry her into the house. "Darling, I can walk."

Trailing after them, Nicola snorts.

Alex glares at her over Matt's shoulder, softening instantly when he turns his head and brushes his lips over her temple. "I'm not ready to let go of you yet."

Pressing her face against the soft, sweet-smelling skin of his throat, Alex presses a kiss there and murmurs, "I'll never be ready to let go again."

They reach her chambers far too quickly and Matt reluctantly releases her to help Nicola settle her on the bed, tucking the blankets in around her tenderly. The moment he sits on the edge of the bed, Alex latches onto him again and he smiles widely, cupping her face in his hands and stealing a hard, biting kiss that leaves her breathless and flushed. "God, I missed you. I'm so sorry, sweetheart -"

She shakes her head, stroking her hand over his lightly stubbled cheek. "It isn't your fault, darling." He leans his head into her touch, kissing her palm. "You came back to me. That's all that matters."

"Course I did." He kisses her palm again and then the pads of her fingers, looking at her so lovingly Alex feels warmth blossom in her chest, truly happy for the first time since he left. "I promised."

Once again, Nicola clears her throat and Alex flushes, wondering how she could possibly have forgotten her sister was still in the room. "I'm going to give the two of you a moment alone. How do you take your tea… I assume you're Matt?"

Cheeks pink with embarrassment, he nods. "Two sugars, please."

Nicola gives Alex a look that she can't begin to interpret and turns on her heel, leaving them alone. The moment she's gone, Alex pushes away her blankets and abandons all propriety, climbing into his lap. He wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on top of her head but she can't seem to get close enough. She clings to him, terrified he'll disappear again. Nicola had left the door open and Sid pushes his way through, ambling inside with a wagging tail.

Matt laughs softly. "Who's this?"

She lifts her head and holds out a hand, beckoning her closest companion onto the bed. He hops up and settles at her side, sniffing the knee of Matt's trousers curiously. "His name is Sid."

He guffaws in delight and reaches out to ruffle the fur on top of Sid's head. "That is a brilliant name."

"He was a gift from Ralph," she says softly. "I wasn't… myself for a while, and he thought I might like something to look after."

"How long has it been?" He asks, sounding afraid of the answer.

Alex turns her head into the crook of his neck and breathes him in deeply. "Six months."

He swears, tightening his hold on her. "I don't know what happened. I -" he stops, freezing, and Alex feels him tense and trembling against her. "What's the date, Alex?"

"1816. The first of March -" His face crumples and he drops his head to her lap, burying his face in her skirts. Wrapping his arms tightly around her middle, he shudders, heaving a quiet cry of despair, and does not move. Stunned, Alex wraps her arms around him and attempts to lift his head but he turns away from her so she doesn't see his face, gathering her close and pressing his face against her neck. She feels his shoulders shake beneath her hands. "Matt, darling -"

"It's today," he says, voice catching, and she feels hot tears against her neck. "I wasted months – oh god."

"Matt, calm down, darling." She lifts his head from her shoulder and cups his face in her hands but Matt still won't look at her, his eyes red and his face pale.

"I've just gotten you back and I've lost you -"

She brushes her thumbs over his cheeks and kisses his chin, silencing him. He swallows thickly, eyes wet and desolate. "I need you to talk to me. Why is the date so important?"

Matt sniffles, ducking his head and looking like he could be ill at any moment. He doesn't say anything for a long while, gripping her hands tight enough to make her fingers ache. Finally, in a hollow voice, he says, "After you gave me that painting, I realized I could look you up on the internet -" At her befuddled look, he explains, "I could research you and find out about your life, your whole history."

She draws in a quiet breath, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. "And what did you find?"

Matt purses his quavering lips, fresh tears welling in his eyes. "The first of March, 1816." He lifts his head and his destroyed gaze makes her tremble. "Lady Alexandra Fiennes died of a fever."

She shakes her head even as her stomach drops in alarm, drawing his hands to her chest and pressing them over her heart. "That can't be right," she says firmly. "I feel perfectly fine, darling. A little weak, perhaps, but I've spent weeks in bed recovering, so it's to be expected."

"But it said -"

"I don't care what your intersnatch whatsit said. I am fine, darling. Just ask Nicola – my fever broke days ago." With him sitting right in front of her, after months of believing she would never see him again, it's easy to offer him a wide grin and she feels him relax somewhat at the sight of it. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Lifting his hands from her chest, Matt threads his fingers through her hair and kisses her, slower this time but just as desperate. Alex melts into him, lips parting eagerly at the first stroke of his tongue. He tastes just as he always does, like ancient cities and summer dew, like moments yet to come. He tastes like home. "Why would it say that if it isn't true? It's incredibly detailed and accurate about every part of your life – it doesn't make any sense."

She shrugs, stroking his hair and pressing reassuring kisses to the shell of his ear, making him shiver. "Perhaps it was a lie."

"It can't lie. It's a genealogical website. It's just giving me information that – well, I suppose whoever made the official records could have lied but why on earth would someone create a record of your death when you're alive and perfectly well?" Matt slips his arm around her waist again and rests his chin on her shoulder, thinking. She kisses the side of his head fondly, stroking her fingers up and down his back. "What if -"

"Matt?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to go back with you."

His shoulders slump and he leans all of his weight into her. "I know, sweetheart. I do too."

"No." She pulls back to look him square in the eye. "I mean it."

"Alex, you know I can't take anything from the past with me – it doesn't work like that." Matt strokes his hands over her legs beneath the hem of her nightgown, his touch soft and soothing. "I've tried before."

"Maybe it didn't work because those things aren't supposed to be in the future – they belong in the past." She swallows, attempting a small, hopeful smile as he looks at her in confusion. "But maybe I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Belong here."

"You don't," he says, eyes soft as he strokes her hair. "You belong with me."

"Exactly." Her smile widens. "When you leave, I'm coming with you."

Matt shakes his head, his mouth a grim line, but she sees the light in his eyes, feels the tremble of excitement and hope in his fingers as he touches her, and knows that he doesn't want to get his hopes up. "If you could travel with me, wouldn't you have gone before? When we were -"

"Maybe it wasn't time yet," she reasons, gripping his hands. "I had to stay because in the future, I'm still here. Until the day I supposedly die – today."

"Alex, you don't know what you're asking. What if it goes wrong and something happens to you? Or hell, what if it does work? You'll be in a world two hundred years in the future, sweetheart. You'll have to leave everything behind. I can't ask you to do that -"

"But you can ask me to sit here and wait for you to get back?" She frowns, shaking her head, and her curls slap his cheek lightly. "This time it was six months, but what if it's years next time? You could come back and it may have been a week for you, but I'm old and gray."

His eyes dim but he manages a half-hearted smile. "I would still love you."

"I could be dead."

"Don't." He swallows audibly, shaking his head. "Don't say that."

"Whether I say it or not, it's still true and you know it. You've spent god knows how long believing I was going to die and it wasn't true this time but eventually, you're going to travel here and find me dead." He flinches violently and she lays a hand to his cheek, guiding him to look at her. "Think about it – what if this is the reason why the records say I died? Ralph wouldn't want everyone believing I just disappeared. People would think I ran off with someone else and what would that do to his precious reputation? He would pay the physician to lie just to save himself the gossip. It would free him to remarry in a matter of months."

Matt looks at her with barely disguised hope, lashes wet and chin quivering. "Alex-"

"We have to at least try, Matt. I can't do this anymore. I thought I would be happy waiting as long as you came back but it's agony, darling. I can't." She presses her forehead to his and shuts her eyes, gripping his collar in her fists. "Don't leave me again. Please."

He nods, burying his hands in her hair with a quiet sniffle. "Okay, sweetheart. We'll try."

"Alex?"

She turns and finds Nicola in the doorway, holding a tea tray and looking at them with concern and a little bit of alarm. Realizing she's on Matt's lap in her nightgown, Alex flushes and scrambles off him but doesn't go far, clinging to his arm. "Come here, Nic. Forget about the tea."

Slowly, Nicola walks into the room and sets the tea tray on the table by the bed. "What's going on? Is he upsetting you?" She glares at Matt, who shrinks from her gaze. "It's bad enough you left her for months, not knowing if you were dead or alive, but to come here and upset her when she's ill -"

"Nic." Alex laughs at the look on Matt's face, pressing a soothing kiss to his jaw. "He isn't upsetting me. I'm happy." With one last look at Matt to make sure he isn't going to disappear, she

releases his arm and crawls to the edge of the bed, reaching for her sister. Nicola takes her hand, still eyeing Matt suspiciously. "But I need you to listen very carefully."

"What is it?" Nicola frowns. "Are you sure you're alright, love?"

"I'm perfect, I promise," she smiles fondly at her sister, drawing her close to pull her into a hug. Nicola tentatively returns the embrace, still confused, but Alex closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of cinnamon and tea that has clung to Nicola since she was a little girl. Tears sting her eyes but she pushes them away, pulling back to smile bravely. "But I'm going to be going away for a while."

"A while?" Nicola raises a challenging eyebrow. "You're not venturing one foot out of this bed for the next week, dear heart, but I'll indulge you. How long is a while?"

Smile dimming, Alex squeezes her sister's hand. "I don't think we'll see each other again, Nic. And I'm sorry."

Nicola shakes her head, pulling her hand from Alex's grip. "Alex, stop talking nonsense. You're scaring me."

"I need you to look after Sid for me." She glances at her dog, still sitting at the foot of the bed and watching her innocently. "Make sure he's always happy and comfortable. And let him sleep with you because he'll be terribly lonely otherwise."

"Alex, stop it -"

She shakes her head, holding up a hand. "Tell Mother and Father that I love them, alright?" She sniffles and when she reaches for her hand again, Nicola lets her take it." And remember that I love you too."

"Of course, dear. But what has gotten into you?" Nicola takes her by the elbows and begins to guide her back onto the bed. "You're talking nonsense and you clearly need more rest. You'll feel much better in a few hours, I promise."

Alex resists her efforts to make her lie down, shaking out of her sister's grip and reaching for Sid instead. The dog bounds into her arms willingly and she buries her face in soft black fur, cooing at him. "You've been such a good boy," she says, combing her fingers through his fur gently.

"Thank you for looking after me."

Sid lifts his head and licks her cheek, panting against her skin.

She smiles, turning her head and kissing his nose. "But now you have to look after, Nicola, alright? Keep her safe for me."

"Alex." She turns and finds Matt watching her in a panic, holding up his undoubtedly tingling hand. "I think it's time."

"Time?" Nicola scowls. "Are you both delusional with fever now? Alex -"

"I'm sorry, Nic. You'll understand in a moment." She hurries back to Matt's side and decides that in a moment, propriety won't matter and she isn't going to take any chances of him fading away without her. She climbs into his lap and loops her arms around his neck, ignoring Nicola's scandalized squeak. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiles warmly at her sister. "It's going to be fine. I'll be safe." She turns back to Matt, eyes softening. "I'll be happy."

He tangles his hands in her hair and looks into her eyes. "Don't be upset if this doesn't work," he warns. "We'll find another way. And I'll be back for you, like I always am."

She shakes her head. "It's going to work. I know it is."

Just in case, she leans in and kisses him fiercely, her hands framing his face and her chest pressed tightly to his, holding on with all her might. Matt responds with fervor, clutching her small frame to him as if it will be enough to keep her with him always. Her eyes fall shut and she forgets about everything else, the whole world dissolving around her as she kisses Matt, tongue twining with his and his fingers biting into her hips. A sudden rush of air makes her cling to him tighter than ever and she makes a small, desperate sound against his lips, terrified that if she opens her eyes, she'll see him fade from her arms like she has so often before. Please, she prays to whoever might listen.

Not this time.

The sound of wind in her ears fades and her stomach drops, the dizzying rush of falling from a great height – and then silence. The ground feels steady beneath her once more and slowly, she begins to realize that she is not alone in her chambers with Nicola, and in fact, she is not in her chambers at all anymore. Matt is still kissing her. Strange sounds begin to reach her ears, horns and people talking and a high, annoying screech that grows louder and louder and then fades into the distance. Sounds of the future, she realizes. Except it isn't the future anymore. It's the present.

Slowly, she gathers her courage and drops her hands from Matt's face, drawing away to stare at him. He stares right back, blinking at her as if he can't bring himself to believe that she's real. Slowly, a wide, giddy grin begins to spread across his face. "It worked."

She glances around, realizing they're sitting on the floor and clinging to each other in the middle of what looks to be a very tiny parlor. There's a settee and a table and a strange, square box hanging on the wall showing flickering image after flickering image until she grows dizzy and has to look away. "It worked," she repeats, and laughs in delight.

When Matt kisses her, he still tastes like the future. Their future.

epilogue: time has brought your heart to me

Chapter Summary

Alex is in his kitchen.

His Alex – the 19th century woman with her ball gowns and her manners – is in his kitchen.

Chapter Notes

Thank you all so much for your kind and encouraging comments on this fic - I appreciate them more than you can imagine *HUGS*

Chapter title from Christina Perri's A Thousand Years

Alex is in his kitchen.

His Alex – the 19 th century woman with her ball gowns and her manners – is in his kitchen . He never even dared to dream he could have this, and now that it's happened, he thinks he's in a state of shock and has been since they'd arrived last night. They'd celebrated by having each other right there on the floor, frantic and clinging to each other in disbelief. When they'd stumbled to their feet again, Alex had leaned heavily into his side and he'd remembered belatedly just how sick she'd been when they'd left.

Her first introduction to the 21st century had been a hot shower and he'd joined her, showing her how the knobs worked with an arm around her bare waist and a smile buried in her shoulder as she expressed delight and awe over running water. Her wet curls had clung to her cheek and dripped down her shoulders and chest, her face flushed with pleasure and her heated skin perfect and real and there under his palms.

He'd discarded her antiquated nightgown and helped her into a pair of his jogging bottoms and an old t-shirt, making sure to select a plain one so the design wouldn't offend her sensibilities. She'd crawled into his bed still beaming about the novelty of wearing trousers, plucking at them in fascination every few seconds. She'd had her first taste of modern medicine and he'd stroked her hair as she settled against his pillows, promising she'd feel much better in the morning and so grateful that he'd been able to take her home, where things like a silly fever won't kill her.

He'd barely slept through the night, wide awake and staring at her as she slept, terrified that if he

shut his eyes, he'd wake up alone and the whole thing will have been a wonderful, impossible dream. And now she's in his kitchen, sitting at the bar and still dressed in his clothes, waiting for her breakfast. Matt had forced himself to abandon her side to get ready. As much as he hates to leave her for even a second, especially when she only just arrived, he has rehearsals today and he can't miss them.

Brushing his teeth and staring at his tired, elated reflection in the bathroom mirror, he contemplates taking her with him but quickly decides against it. She hasn't even familiarized herself with his flat yet, and taking her out into the middle of London would be something akin to a combination of sensory overload and culture shock. She'll have to remain here for the day and then he'll have the entire weekend to help her become acquainted with this new, undoubtedly scary world.

A startled yelp from the kitchen quickly followed by the noisy scrape of a barstool sliding backwards and then crashing into the floor sends Matt into panic mode. He spits, drops his toothbrush in the sink and slides in his socks down the hall and into the kitchen, still wiping the toothpaste from his mouth. The kitchen is empty and he panics for a moment, wondering if she'd somehow been sent back and oh god what if it had only been temporary – "Alex?" He calls out, a desperate edge to his voice.

"Here," comes the soft reply and he takes a brief second to calm his racing heart, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief. Following the sound of her voice he finds the barstool on the floor and Alex tucked away under the counter, wide-eyed and pale.

He laughs softly, holding out a hand to her. "Sweetheart, what are you doing under there?"

She refuses his hand, peering around the counter and pointing on top of it. "The silver box tried to kill me by throwing toasted bread."

Matt bites his lip hard and pinches the bridge of his nose to contain a snort of laughter, quickly schooling his features into something he hopes is soothing and not amused. "It's the toaster, Alex. It toasts your bread for you and then pops it back up," he explains gently, still holding out a hand to her. "It isn't trying to kill you, I promise."

At his encouraging look, she hesitantly takes it and allows him to help her stand. Instantly pressing herself against his side, she turns her head and eyes the toaster suspiciously. Matt presses a swift kiss to her temple and steps away from her, plucking out her toast and putting it on a plate. He rummages in the fridge to find the raspberry jam, picks up a butter knife and turns back to her with a flourish. "See? Breakfast."

He sets the plate in front of her and rights her overturned barstool, watching fondly as she spreads

the jam over her bread and takes a tentative bite. Her eyes light up as she chews and the moment she swallows, she reaches out a hand and pats the toaster cautiously, like it might bite. "I suppose the silver box does have its merit."

Matt steals a bite of her breakfast and presses a warm, raspberry flavored kiss to her waiting mouth, murmuring, "Wait until you try Nutella."

Before he leaves for the day, he shows her how to use the television so she can keep herself entertained and the phone so she can call him if she needs him. She lingers in the doorway with him, still dressed in his clothes and looking an adorable mess rather than her usual regally wealthy self. His hands settle on her hips and he kisses her goodbye with dedicated thoroughness, whimpering with loss when she pulls away. "I'll be here when you get back, darling," she says softly, blinking green eyes up at him. "I promise I'm not going anywhere."

"Course not." He kisses the tip of her nose and smiles when she wrinkles it. "You belong here now."

He's distracted all day at rehearsals, thinking only of Alex back in his flat waiting for him, and impatient to get back to her. She calls him in the middle of a musical number and though he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket, he can't stop until the song is over. The moment they get a break, he scurries offstage and outside for some privacy, checking his phone as he goes. He has a voicemail message from her and he presses the phone to his ear, listening intently.

"Is it – hello? Matthew, are you there? This peculiar little device had your voice and then it beeped at me. I really don't understand this world at all. Little boxes do everything for you!" She huffs, sounding disgruntled. "Darling, the people in the moving picture box keep laughing but I don't understand any of the jokes. And did you know all the women seem to be wearing trousers? You never said anything about trousers!" She pauses. "Oh, I feel terribly silly talking to this thing. I shall see you when you return. How do I end this? Is it like a letter? Erm, all my love, Alex." She sighs when the phone still doesn't turn off. "Lord, must these boxes be so complicated? Perhaps this button -"

The message ends and he knows she'd found the button to hang up the call. Matt stands outside the theatre, grinning ridiculously at a brick wall and plays the voicemail again.

"I am not coming out."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you can see my knees, Matthew." Through the door, he hears her scandalized whisper. "I look like a strumpet!"

Standing outside her dressing room in Harrods, Matt rolls his eyes. "I seriously doubt that." He leans in close and presses his forehead to the door, murmuring, "I bet you look beautiful."

He can almost hear her shaking her head stubbornly.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let me see you." They'd spent all of Friday evening and Saturday morning in bed together, Matt explaining the jokes on television as best as he could and making love to her whenever he could distract her from Monty Python long enough. He'd finally managed to drag them both out of bed in the afternoon, knowing Alex needed some essentials. They've been shopping all day, buying perfume and deodorant, razors and shaving cream, makeup and hair products, bras and underwear – the trip into the lingerie department had left Alex blushing but delighted that she no longer has to wear a corset – and now he's finally managed to push her into a dressing room with clothes she hadn't cringed away from the sight of. At her continued silence, he sighs. "Please?"

The lock clicks and he jumps back as the door swings open and Alex appears, looking mortified as she allows him a glimpse of her red sundress. It feels strange to see her outside of her expensive

silk gowns and tightly laced corsets, but the 21st century suits her beautifully. The hem of the dress falls just above her knees and the neckline is fairly modest, only showing a hint of cleavage. The fabric nips in at the waist, accentuating her tiny waistline and the color somehow makes her hair even blonder than ever. He reaches out, mesmerized, to stroke a fingertip over a golden curl. Alex bites her lip, glancing down. "I told you I looked silly."

"You look amazing," he counters softly, smiling when she glances up. "I know it must seem strange to you right now, but I can promise you no woman has ever looked so gorgeous in a little cotton dress." She blushes, looking pleased, and he can't resist the urge to lean in and press his lips to her pink cheek.

Her small hands curl into his shirt and she hides a smile into his neck. "I suppose I'll take this one then."

"That's my girl." He turns his head to kiss her but she slips from his grasp and shuts the door in his face with a giggle. "Oi! Rude, Miss Manners," he grumbles, amused despite himself.

"I've got a surprise for you," she calls, and he listens to her struggle out of her dress, wishing he were in there helping. He waits patiently, leaning against the wall opposite her dressing room and nodding politely at anyone who wanders by and stares, wondering what Matt Smith is doing standing in the ladies dressing room.

The moment the door opens again, he forgets all about anyone and anything else but Alex. She wiggles her bare toes against the floor and glances down self-consciously as he stares, his mouth dry. His prim and proper Alex stands there in a white t-shirt and tight jeans, the denim hugging the curve of her arse and clinging to her thighs. Sodding hell.

Alex smoothes nervous hands over her thighs and says lightly, "I must admit, they're quite comfortable. I understand now why you wear them all the time."

He swallows thickly. "All due respect, sweetheart, but they've never looked like that on me."

She grins, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "Is that a yes on the trousers?"

Stumbling a bit in his haste to get to her, Matt slides his hands over her hips and down, curling his fingers over her bum and squeezing. Alex squeaks in alarm, arching involuntarily into him as he bends his head and brushes his mouth over her ear. "That's a hell yes on the trousers."

She swats at his hands, flushing. "Honestly, darling. We're in public."

"No one cares," he whinges, reaching for her again.

"I care," she snips, and shuts the door in his face once more.

Matt pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Can you at least wear them home then?"

"If you promise to keep your hands to yourself like a gentleman," she calls back.

Frowning and promising himself the next item on his agenda is to get Alex used to public displays of affection, he sighs. "Fine. I'll behave."

It's difficult but he manages to keep his promise through the next two hours they spend shopping for shoes. Alex seems particularly delighted with her Chuck Taylors, practically bouncing all the way home in them, and he resolves to come back later without her and buy her a pair in every

color. For now, he has a denim-clad 19th century goddess who needs to be taken home and ravished.

He drops their shopping bags and slides a hand over her bum again in the lift just as the doors shut, victorious when Alex doesn't swat him away. "You know, there were quite a few women we saw today wearing trousers just like these and I didn't see you drooling over any of them."

He snorts, slipping a hand into the back pocket of her trousers and just so damn elated that she's really here – and wearing jeans of all things. "I don't give a toss about any other woman in trousers. It's you in trousers that's driving me bloody mad." He draws her close and buries his face in her hair, kissing the crook of her neck. "Lady Alex wearing such rough, peasant clothing? God, I could have you right here."

"Matthew," she scolds breathlessly, cheeks pink with pleasure.

The lift jolts to a stop and Alex clings to him, still wary of the contraption, until the doors slide open. He steps away from her reluctantly and starts gathering their bags again, ushering her out the door and into the hall. "Come on then, sweetheart," he says, watching her arse with a grin as she walks in front of him. "Let's go inside and you can teach me some manners."

She glances back in surprise, sees the focus of his gaze and gasps, swatting at him.

Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.

"Alex, sweetheart -"

Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.

"Could you maybe just -"

Up, down. Up –

He flips the child lock on the car windows and breathes a sigh of relief. Alex turns to look at him, pouting. "Sorry," he says, grinning. "But it was getting a bit annoying."

Undeterred, she goes back to running her fingers over the leather upholstery, eyes lit up, and he wonders if he'll ever stop finding her fascination with the world utterly charming. "This is much finer than even Ralph's carriages," she murmurs appreciatively.

"One day, I'll teach you to drive it by yourself," he promises, glancing at her just in time to catch a glimpse of the beaming grin she bestows him with.

She pokes at the cup holder, fiddles with the radio knobs and generally entertains herself as Matt drives in the direction of his parents' home. The moment he'd called and told them the woman from his travels he'd fallen in love with had traveled back with him, they've been endlessly harassing him to bring her home. He still doesn't think she's quite ready to face his family but Alex had insisted with enthusiasm and he really doesn't want his mother just popping by the flat while he's at rehearsals to interrogate Alex alone.

"Will they like me?"

"Who? My family?" He takes his eyes from the road to look at her and finds Alex watching him with uncertainty. His chest aches and he wishes he could take her into his arms and show her just how loveable she is. It's impossible not to adore Alex and he knows his family will be no different. They've listened to his stories, watched him fall in love and worried all the while that he would get his heart broken. They're almost as overjoyed as he is to have Alex here. "They've done nothing but listen to me talk about you since I met you. They're dying to meet you, sweetheart."

She blinks at him. "You talked about me?"

"Course I did," he says. "You expect me to fall in love at first sight and never say a word to anybody?"

Alex stares, eyes growing round and wet. "At first sight? Really?"

"The second I laid eyes on you," he winks, grinning when she flushes.

"You never said."

"You were married. And a bit stuffy."

Alex sniffs, clearly insulted. "Technically, I'm still married."

"Are not." He scowls. "He's dead."

She flinches and he instantly feels like a twat.

"Sweetheart -"

"It's fine," she says, offering him a meek smile. "I'm just still getting used to knowing everyone I ever knew is dead now. My parents, my sisters, Ralph, even Sid."

Swallowing, Matt reaches out a hand to squeeze her knee and wishes she didn't have to be the only one to lose everything. She presses her hand over his and doesn't push him away. She doesn't blame him. She never would. Gradually, the knot in his chest lessens and the guilt along with it. It comes and goes, usually when he sees that distant look in her eyes, or when she suddenly stares at the new world around her in fear rather than awe.

He keeps glancing at her, just to make sure she really is fine, and when a classic rock song comes on the radio, he sees her nose wrinkle. "That poor man sounds as if he needs your cough syrup, darling."

He snorts, grasping her fingers. "His voice is always that scratchy, sweetheart. You can turn it off if you like."

She shakes her head stubbornly. "No, I live here now and this is what people here like."

"Not all of them," he reasons, kissing her fingertips without taking his eyes from the road. "If everyone liked the same music, it would be pretty boring."

She closes her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. "This is… wait, don't tell me." She's been occupying herself by studying while he's out during the day, consuming hours of television, books, movies and music in an admirable effort to catch up on hundreds of years worth of pop culture. "KISS?"

He grins. "Close. AC/DC."

"Bollocks."

Matt chokes, swerving a little as he turns to look at her with wide eyes. Alex claps a mortified hand over her mouth, her whole face turning bright red. "What did you just say?"

She buries her face in her hands. "Oh my goodness. That was terribly rude."

He guffaws, laughing so hard he can't breathe and the road in front of him becomes a blur through the tears in his eyes. "I can't believe you just said that," he wheezes.

Alex scowls at him, peeking through her fingers. "It's this world of yours – it's a dreadful influence! Don't laugh at me, Matthew!"

His parents and sister are actually waiting outside for them, like some sort of bizarre welcoming committee, and Matt grumbles under his breath because he had specifically asked them not to be, well, them for fear of scaring Alex. At least they'd listened when he ordered them not to dress up in regency clothes to make her feel more at home. Jesus.

Alex peers at them through the windshield as he puts the car into park, looking hopeful. "They seem very friendly."

They wave at her, grinning. Looking startled, Alex copies them.

Matt stifles a snort and inclines his head. "Come on then. Let's get this over with." He gets out of the car first and opens her door for her, mostly because she hasn't yet figured out how to get out

on her own, taking her hand to help her out and not letting go once she's on her feet. Instead, he pulls her just a little closer into his side. Together, they walk up the drive to greet his parents and sister on the porch. He clears his throat, shaking his head at his mother's excited grin and the way Laura bounces impatiently on the balls of her feet. Lunatics, all of them. What was he thinking bringing Alex here?

"Family, this is Alex," he gestures to the women nestled into his side and trembling a little, "Alex, this is my family. Me mum and dad Lynne and David, and that madwoman is my sister Laura."

Adorably, Alex ducks her head and curtsies and he rather loves the way she falls back on her deeply ingrained manners when she's nervous. "Pleased to meet you."

Laura squeaks. "Oh, aren't you just darling?"

Lynne nudges her, smiling widely. "The pleasure is ours, Lady Alex. Matty has gone on about you so much I feel as if I know you already."

Flushing, Matt glares at his mother.

Alex glances at him with a glowing smile. "I didn't believe I would ever have the pleasure of meeting Matt's family. I'm very glad to have been mistaken. He spoke of you often as well."

"In between snogging you senseless, I'm sure," Laura says, eyes glinting mischievously. "Matty always did have a weakness for the uptight ones. Must be quite the hellions in the be-"

"Lor."

As Alex flushes brightly, Matt makes a mental note to strangle his sister later – perhaps after dinner. "Matt was always a gentleman," Alex assures them softly, eyes darting to him quickly, and he wants to laugh because all she did when he visited was remind him how ungentlemanly he was. She still does that. "You raised him well, Mr. and Mrs. Smith."

"Oh, Lynne and David, poppet. We insist." David elbows his wife and daughter aside, turning to Alex with the gentlest smile Matt has ever seen him wear. He offers her his arm and looking pleasantly surprised, Alex takes it. "Come along, my dear. We're having a barbeque just for you and I'll make you anything you like. How about a hotdog?"

As he escorts her into the house, Alex looks up at him in confusion. "Oh, I love dogs. I couldn't possibly eat one." She pauses as Lynne scurries after them, taking her other arm. "May I ask why it's hot? Is it wrapped in a blanket?"

Cackling, Laura turns to him the moment they're all gone, tears of laughter in her eyes. "Oh my god, I adore her already – she'll be such fun at parties. Can we keep her?"

"I plan on it." He scowls at her. "But I'm renouncing the rest of you."

Their shopping trolley is full of every junk food imaginable – crisps of every flavor, chocolate, cakes, toffees, custard, sugary cereal – but Alex stands at his side happily as they wait in the queue, and he really needs to start learning to say no before they're both grossly overweight. She'd just been so cute, roaming the aisles and tossing things into the trolley whenever they caught her fancy. She'd turned to him and said in a hushed whisper, "They have everything. Are you sure it isn't magic?"

He'd spirited her away from everything she's ever known and, by god, if all she asks for in return is her choice of sweets in the supermarket, then he'll bloody well make sure she gets every single thing she wants in every imaginable flavor. He wraps his arm around her waist as they wait their turn to pay and Alex tenses for only a moment before leaning in to him, more and more comfortable with his affections in public.

He presses a kiss into her hair and feels her stiffen. Puzzled, he opens his mouth to apologize when she whirls on him, eyes wide. "Darling, what is that?"

He follows her gaze and finds himself staring at the magazine rack, hoping to god she hasn't spotted pictures of the two of them in a tabloid. For the most part, he's been able to shield her from media attention. It isn't a picture of them she's looking at, but rather a buxom celebrity on the cover of Maxim, which is almost worse. Wincing, he resists the urge to clap a hand over her eyes

and protect her 19th century sensibilities from the scantily clad woman. "It's a magazine," he explains. "For men."

"Then why is there a half dressed woman on the cover?"

She sounds genuinely confused, bless her heart.

"Well…" Matt scrubs a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. "Some men – only some mind, not me – like to look at half dressed women for their own pleasure." At her blank stare, he adds, "For their…erm, sexual pleasure."

He watches as the implication of what he just said dawns on her, rather adoring the appalled widening of her eyes. "Oh." She crinkles her nose. "That's vile."

Nodding, he sighs and ushers her forward in the queue. "Wait until I show you internet porn."

He knows it can't be easy for her – one day she was living in a vast, opulent manor with too many rooms to count and now she's here, sharing his tiny flat with him and struggling to find space for her rapidly accumulating possessions. Alex never complains, of course, and he doesn't think it would even occur to her to do so. She's just happy to be with him and safe in the knowledge that he isn't going to disappear on her anymore – she certainly makes sure of that, forcing him to take his medication every morning in case he forgets.

Still… he wants to do something for her. He wants to do something to make the transition to the

21st century as easy as possible. The only thing that comes to mind is to give Alex a garden. She loved caring for her plants and spending time outdoors with them, and while he'll never be able to give her the equivalent of the enormous one Alex looked after in her old home, he hopes to give her just a little something to remind her of it.

He walks home after another day of rehearsals laden down with seeds, a flowerpot, and a small bag of soil, hoping to surprise her but as he unlocks the door to their flat and steps inside, he realizes she isn't the only one due for a surprise. The flat is in a state of chaos, smoke filling the air, the smoke detector blaring and above the din, Alex's voice.

Dropping his things by the door, Matt rushes toward the kitchen, waving at the smoke in the air and forcing back the rush of tears as it stings his eyes. "Alex? What the hell is going on?" He vaguely registers her standing in front of the stove but he doesn't give her his full attention yet, dragging a kitchen chair beneath the smoke detector and standing on it.

The moment he switches the detector off, blessed silence fills the flat and he sighs in relief, dropping from the chair and pushing it back to the table. Smoke still lingers in the air and he turns

to open a window only to find Alex staring at him, wide-eyed and tearful. "Sweetheart? Are you alright?" He abandons the window and hurries to her side, taking her hands in his. "Are you hurt? Did you burn yourself? Let me see-"

She shakes her head and glances over her shoulder at the stove, where a cake pan sits. Inside the pan is a charred, burnt confection he imagines was supposed to be edible at some point. Right now, he doubts even a hungry dog would be tempted. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Well…" He grins. "I'm certainly that."

Her bottom lip trembles.

"Oh shit, don't do that." He gathers her into his arms and holds her close, burying his face in her hair and biting back a smile when he realizes her curls smell like smoke and baking powder. "You'll get the hang of it, sweetheart. It just takes practice."

She sniffles. "This was the second cake!"

Matt stifles a chuckle, shoulders trembling. It really isn't funny but she's just so adorable, damn her. "You'll get it," he promises. "I'll help you next time, yeah?"

Nodding, she relaxes against him and purses her lips against his collarbone, nuzzling her nose against his skin. "Thank you," she says. "For being so patient with me."

"S'not patience," he says, threading a hand through her hair. "I love you, Alex."

Alex sniffles again weakly and kisses his jaw. "I love you too, darling."

He squeezes her just a little tighter and then lets go, pulling back to smile widely at her. "Come on then, I've got a surprise for you."

She lights up instantly and he really shouldn't love how much she loves being spoiled. "What kind of surprise?"

Dragging her into the living room, he gestures to the seed packet, flowerpot and bag of soil sitting by the door and suddenly feels a little self-conscious. She's used to so much more than he can give her. What does a little garden on the windowsill and the fire escape mean to a woman who used to have all the land she could desire? Scratching the back of his head, he watches her kneel down to inspect her gifts and mumbles, "I thought you might like to start a little garden here. On the fire escape, I mean."

Alex says nothing, staring at the packet of seeds in her hand.

"I know it's not much but I dunno, I thought it was better than nothing and I know it can't compare to what Ralph could give you -"

"Oh shut up, you perfect idiot." Alex tips her face up to look at him, fresh tears in her eyes. "This is so much more than Ralph ever gave me. It's lovely."

He grins hopefully, hands in his pockets. "Yeah?"

She nods, smiling softly.

"Hang on, did you just tell me to shut up? And call me an idiot?"

Alex laughs at his shocked tone but it quickly turns into a shriek of surprise when he suddenly throws himself at her, tackling her to the floor. She squirms beneath him, laughing brightly even as she struggles, and he mouths at the neckline of her blouse with a rumbled, "I love it when you're rude."

She'd insisted on going to see his show on opening night and he'd decided she had acclimated

enough to 21st century forms of entertainment to watch without fainting. He gets her a seat in the front row and hopes she won't be too scandalized by what she's about to see. It turns out, he needn't have worried. Apparently, the sight of him on stage in his underwear performing lurid acts with a teddy bear, or later, covered in artificial blood, has awakened a passion in Alex.

She clings to him during the after party, as affectionate in public as he's ever seen her, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide as he introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend Alex. He must look

as besotted as he feels because the other cast members and his friends keep shooting him amused looks and nudging him knowingly.

"So…" Karen raises an eyebrow at them, probably wondering why he never bothered to mention a girlfriend. She and Arthur both know about his tendency to travel – he had to tell them after a long, stressful day of filming and forgetting to take his medication had caused him to disappear right in front of them – but telling them about Alex was another matter entirely. He can only imagine the sympathetic looks they'd have given him if he'd told them he fell in love with a woman from the past. "How did you two meet?"

Alex's eyes widen. "Well – in a garden."

"In the park," Matt cuts in just as she answers.

Karen blinks at them.

"In a garden in the park," he amends, squeezing Alex's hip. "She was reading on a blanket and I almost tripped over her."

Karen snorts. "Of course you did."

"Oi!"

She ignores him, grinning mischievously. "Love at first sight, was it?"

Her eyes ask another question entirely. Does she know?

"For me it was." He turns his face into Alex's hair and offers a subtle nod. Yes. "Alex hated me."

"I did not!" Alex turns to him, looking genuinely upset by the idea, and he kisses her nose. "You just had terrible manners."

Karen throws back her head and laughs.

It's the early hours of the morning before they can tear themselves away from the party, taking the train back to his flat. Alex hates pretty much any locomotive but his car, but the train is relatively empty and she lets him distract her with kisses, his hands threaded through her hair and his mouth hot and hungry against hers. She clings to him, little hands sliding beneath his t-shirt and oh god, he loves it when she forgets herself in public. His proper and prim Alex doing anything remotely naughty and forbidden turns him on more than any other woman's most shameless act.

They stumble off the train with swollen mouths and glittering eyes, holding hands for the walk back to his flat. Alex still likes walking through the streets and admiring the "ecceltricity" and Matt loves indulging her. He tugs her along, stopping patiently when she gets distracted by something shiny, and eventually leads her all the way back to their flat. He kisses her again in the lift and she sighs softly, her mind quickly turning back to touching as much of him as she can.

It's her turn to drag him now, and they stagger through the flat and into their bedroom, shedding clothes as they go. Matt follows her to the bed, a hand behind her head as they ease onto the mattress. He hovers over her, kissing her languidly and running his hands over soft, naked skin. Alex wraps her legs around his waist with an impatient little noise that thrills him to his core, lifting her hips to slide the slickness of her sex over his erection.

He groans, pinning her hips to the bed, and she looks up at him with sparkling eyes. "Have you always been so naughty?"

She shakes her head, biting her lip against as moan when he dips his head to suck a pert nipple into his mouth. "Your doing," she says breathlessly, hands pressed against his back.

"That's right," he says, swallowing a grin as he strokes his tongue over the soft skin between her breasts. "I've created a sexy little monster."

She giggles but he shifts his hips and eases inside her, turning the sound of her laughter into a soft moan. He watches her face, enraptured with the sight of her fluttering eyes and open mouth, the delicate flush on her cheeks. Her hair frames her face in wild ringlets and her hands clutch at him, urging him on. "Darling," she whispers, and he kisses her.

Between the steady movement of their hips together and the brush of their lips, hot breath exchanged between them, he murmurs to her, telling her that she's a dream he never wants to wake up from, that he loves her desperately, that he wants to marry her and spend the rest of his life making her blissfully happy and spoiled. Alex wraps herself around him and moans, threading her fingers through his short hair and scratching her nails down his back. She feels incredible, hot and slick around him, and he cherishes every single sound that escapes those parted lips, every

sigh, every moan, every plea of yes there, but nothing on earth will ever come close to the way she breathes his name in his ear right before she comes.

He follows moments after, fingers digging into her thighs and his face pressed to her chest as his hips give one last stutter. Alex strokes her hands over his back as he spills inside her, humming softly while he catches his breath. "Love you," he says, and presses a kiss to her breast before sliding out of her and rolling over onto his back, panting.

She curls around him instantly, slipping a leg between his and pillowing her head on his chest. "Enough to marry me?"

He turns his face into her sweat damp curls and frowns. "What?"

"You said you wanted to marry me," she points out softly. "Did you mean it?"

He smiles, imagining Alex actually planning the ceremony – for some reason, he pictures doves. "More than I've ever meant anything."

"And was that your proposal?"

Snorting at the disapproval evident in her tone, Matt shakes his head. "No. You'll know when I propose to you, Lady Alex. I'll probably be holding some outrageously expensive, sparkly ring for your pretty hand."

At her happy hum, he kisses her temple. "Could we get a dog when we're married? I believe I would like another dog."

"Sure." He stretches languidly. "We'll call him Sid Vicious II."

She laughs quietly but he senses a change in her mood and she proves him right with her next tentative words. "Ralph gave me a dog because he said it was the next best thing to a child."

Heart aching, Matt turns on his side and she follows suit so they're propped up on their elbows and looking at each other. "You know," he ventures hesitantly, and licks his lip, oddly nervous. "There have been… advances in medicine since your time, Alex." She nods, looking at him

innocently and probably thinking of the medicine he gave her the first night she arrived. "There are places called fertility clinics and they help people who have trouble conceiving a child. They could help you – help us – if you want. When you're ready."

She blinks rapidly, tears welling in her eyes, and he wonders how it must feel to be told something so desired but unattainable is suddenly within reach. "We could -" She stops, voice catching, and swallows. He reaches out a hand and cups her cheek tenderly. "A baby?"

He nods, smiling. "You, me, and twenty of them if you want. Course, we'd have to move but maybe we could find a place with a decent garden and room for dogs and-"

Alex crosses the space between them, frames his face in her shaking hands, and kisses him hard. "Tell me I'm really here. Tell me I'm not going to wake up alone and realize you're still gone."

"You're really here," he promises, moving to pin her beneath him. He brushes his lips softly over hers and over her cheeks, her forehead, the soft skin of her eyelids and tastes the salt of her tears on her eyelashes. "And you'll never have to watch me disappear again."

The past in her eyes and the future in the curl her smile, his Miss Manners draws him down for another kiss and for once, Matt stops thinking about anything at all but the present.

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