Footprints At Dawn (Book 2)

Chapter Twelve

Nicholas and I had set off after breakfast to the Valentine house. We had agreed I would stay hidden; hiding at his feet in the buggy, covered in blankets as we made our way through town, and he had found an old cloak in the chest which he insisted I wear at all times. I was once again dressed in his mother's burgundy dress, instantly transformed back into a 19th century woman.

I was concerned about Constable Doyle appearing out of nowhere, something he seemed to do on a regular basis. But Nicholas assured me he would be halfway to Hobart by now, and I tried my hardest to relax.

We were well over halfway when Nicholas wrapped his left arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close. I instinctively snuggled into him; not as comfortable as being on the sofa back at the cottage, though. Especially with pins and needles in my bottom from sitting on a hard, wooden seat, and the sun beating down on us, turning my face as red as a tomato.

But I ignored those things, closing my eyes, savouring the moment before moments like these would be plucked away from us forever.

"Matilda?" Nicholas asked, and my eyes popped open.

"Hmm?" I responded, not moving from my cozy spot.

"How did you explain your disappearance when you went back? I mean, you were gone two whole months."

I pulled away slightly, just enough so I could see his face.

"Oh. Well, actually, I didn't have to."

He glanced down at me and one eyebrow lifted. "You didn't have to? You mean to tell me no one noticed you missing after all that time?"

"No, I mean, I didn't have to explain because I wasn't actually missing for two months." Both eyebrows lifted then, and it was quite comical to watch. "When I went back to my time, I ended up exactly where I was before I ended up here. No time had passed. Same place, date, time, everything. Does that make sense?"

"I think so?"

"I didn't realise that at the time, though. It was all very confusing to start with. I even started to believe the two months we spent together wasn't real, that it was all just a dream."

"What convinced you that it wasn't all just a dream?"

"Your poem. Your poem made you real again. I could have ended up going through life not knowing the truth. Thank you."

He chuckled, softly. "I had no idea that poem was going to make such an impact. I had no idea if it would even reach you. I'm glad I wrote it, then."

"It brought me back to you, Nicholas."

He smiled and bent down to kiss me softly on the lips. "Like I've told you before, as much as I love you being here, I'm still not convinced it was a good idea, Matilda. It's far too dangerous for you here."

"You were worth the risk."

He smiled at me once again and squeezed me tighter. "It's hard to be mad at you when you say things like that."

I smiled back at him, then resumed my position of my head on his shoulder, staring out into the familiar countryside before us. I recognised the landscape and knew we were getting close to the Valentine house.

"So how are you going to approach the topic with Mr. Valentine?"

I felt the shrug of his shoulders. "What do you mean? I'll just ask him."

I twisted my head to look up at him once more. "So you're telling me that you're going to walk up to Mr. Valentine and say, Hey, so did you have anything to do with my father faking his death?"