Mariana by Susanna Kearsley

Author:Susanna Kearsley [Kearsley, Susanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, General, romance, Fantasy, Historical, Time Travel
ISBN: 9781402258695
Google: A2EMXxLBkjIC
Amazon: 1402258674
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 1994-01-01T18:30:00+00:00

Eighteen

With fingers that trembled slightly, I lifted the bracelet from the shallow drawer where it had lain concealed for ... how long? Centuries? It was the same bracelet, I knew it with a certainty that surpassed logic. The sight of it, the feel of it, the weight of it against my palm were so familiar to me, there was no question that the bracelet had once been mine.

But how had it found its way into a wooden lap desk that—if the maker's label was to be believed—had not even been crafted until the mid-1700's, seventy years or more after Mariana Farr had come to Exbury? Still clutching the bracelet, I closed the lid of the lap desk and looked again at the swirled letter H on the nameplate, frowning. Was it possible, I wondered, that the H stood for 'Howard'? Had this plain little box once belonged to one of the Howards of Greywethers?

I shook my head, bewildered. It all seemed so incredibly fantastic to me, beyond the realm of probability. Too much of a coincidence to be true, I thought. Or ... was it? I ran the bracelet through my fingers like the beads of a rosary, and the birds of paradise seemed to wink at me as their glass eyes caught the light. Maybe, I speculated, just maybe, if everything was truly happening for a reason, and if there really was a mystical force that drove us on to fate or destiny, then my finding the bracelet was not much of a coincidence, after all. Maybe, in fact, it was necessary....

A sharp, imperious knocking at my back door startled me out of my ponderings, and I thrust the bracelet back into the lap desk before moving to answer the summons. My mind had not yet fully abandoned its train of thought, and the distraction must have shown plainly on my features when I pulled open the door to face the man who stood on the step outside.

Iain Sumner filled the door frame, blocking out most of the sunlight, his expression accusing.

'You've been weeding,' he said flatly, 'haven't you?'

He was undoubtedly preparing to launch into one of the animated lectures that Vivien had warned me about, but I was saved at the last moment by a quite extraordinary occurrence—for the second time in as many weeks, I began to cry.

It was, I admit, not nearly as spectacular as my outburst at Tom's house in Hampshire, but nonetheless my eyes grew misty and my mouth trembled a little, and Iain abruptly stopped frowning to stare at me in concerned contrition. It was almost comical to see the self-possessed Scotsman so completely at a loss for words, and I couldn't stop my lips from curving into a small smile.

'I'm sorry,' I said, wiping my eyes, 'it's not you. It's just that ..." I hesitated, searching for an explanation, before deciding that there simply was no easy way to explain my overemotional state. 'Well, anyway,' I sniffed, 'yes, I have been weeding in your garden.

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