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“No,” Graydon said, his tone serious. “Rory’s more a speed junkie. He’ll race cars with Roger Plymouth. It’s you I worry about.”
“I’ll be like the woman in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life. If you don’t want me, I’ll become a librarian and let my eyebrows go unplucked. And I’ll never get rid of this blasted virginity.”
Graydon gave a little laugh. “I should be so lucky! Once Daire and I are out of here, a hundred men will come after you. You’ll choose some short, ugly man who adores you and will buy you an estate in Connecticut and you’ll grow acres of flowers. You’ll tend your gardens with a fat, blond baby strapped to your chest and two others following you, all of you laughing and singing.”
She knew he was trying to make a joke but the image he’d conjured was so perfect that it brought tears to her eyes. The only thing missing was Graydon beside her—probably on his cell phone telling someone how to do something.
“Not helping, am I?”
“No,” Toby said, “you aren’t. But then you and I don’t seem able to help anyone, do we?”
“No, we don’t. If we just knew exactly what had killed Tabby, maybe we could change things. As it is now, if we went back it would take weeks to write down all that we’ve learned about the disgusting childbirth methods of the past. Cupping and bleeding!”
“If we both write it, it won’t take that long.”
“Considering that I’m going to be making love to you for twenty hours a day, that doesn’t leave us much time to write.”
“Graydon,” she said and her voice was a combination of tears and pleading. She went to him.
When he opened his arms to her, Toby started to fall into them. But suddenly, she halted, his hands on her shoulders, hers on his. “That’s it.”
“Toby,” he whispered as he started to pull her down to him. “I can resist you no longer.”
She pushed away to sit on the edge of the mattress. “We’ve been researching childbirth in general, but maybe there’s a way to find out specifically what caused Tabby’s death.”
“We didn’t find a mention of a journal anywhere,” Graydon said, his hands running up her arms.
“Dr. Huntley said Parthenia and Valentina were there at the birth and they wrote letters to each other.”
Graydon struggled to regain control. For a whole week Toby had nearly driven him insane with her not-so-subtle attempts to get him into bed with her. From underwear so seductive it made him dizzy to looks so suggestive he broke into a sweat, he’d survived it all. But then he’d done his best to exhaust himself with constant, hard workouts. At the end of one that had lasted four and a half hours, Daire jammed his sword into the earth and said in Lanconian, “Burn her, not me!” and walked away. Graydon, sweat rolling down his face, asked Lorcan what she was doing. “Ordering tents,” she’d said and fled into the house. Graydon had too much pent-up, frustrated energy for either of them to handle.
But now, when he’d finally succumbed, Toby was talking about the damned past spirits. It wasn’t easy to get his mind back to what she was talking about. “If they were both here, they wouldn’t have been writing letters to each other,” he managed to say.
“This island was a hotbed of letter writers,” Toby said, “so maybe we could find something somewhere.”
Not in two days, Graydon thought, but didn’t say. He purposely hadn’t answered Toby’s question of what he was going to do after the engagement ceremony because he knew it was better if he didn’t return to Nantucket. He needed to sort out things with Rory. And as Toby had suggested, he should ask Danna what she wanted. “Aunt Jilly,” he said. “In the morning we’ll visit her and ask if she knows anything about Garrett and Tabby.”
“She would have told us when we mentioned them at the dinner party,” Toby said. “But wait! Back then, Tabby had married Osborne.”
She turned on the table lamp sitting on the floor and picked up her cell phone. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Jilly.”
“It’s nearly eleven P.M. This can wait until morning.”
She punched a button and put the phone to her ear. “No, it can’t. We need every hour before you leave.” She looked at him. “Before I never see you again.”
Graydon didn’t want to confirm what they both were dreading. “Call her,” he said.
It was Ken who answered, his voice heavy with sleep. “Toby! This better be important.”
“It is. Please let me speak to Jilly.”
“Sorry about the time,” Toby said when Jilly answered, “but we need some information about the past. I know you’ve done a lot of research about your own family’s history, but because Valentina and Parthenia were part of that I thought …” She looked at Graydon.
He took the phone from her. “Aunt Jil
ly, I’m very sorry about the late hour, but I was wondering how complete your database on our family is. Is it possible that you could find a mention of Tabby and Garrett Kingsley?” He listened. “Yes, yes, I see. Excellent. Yes, thank you.” He clicked off the phone and looked at Toby in silence.
