She snatched them from him, her tenuous grip on her emotions snapping. “Not urgent?” she shrieked. “We haven’t made any progress at all. Ariana’s still out there and you think this isn’t urgent?”
He looked confused by her attack. “I only meant since Kostya has these other spells to try that this particular pile isn’t yet urgent.”
Embarrassed by her outburst, she hunched back in her chair and tried to focus on the newest spells he’d cobbled together. She didn’t really know what she was looking for, having no clue about any of it. Magic was supposed to be his birthright. Frustration made her hands shake so that she could barely make out his awful handwriting.
“Why is this taking so long?” she asked no one in particular. No one answered her and she rounded on Kostya. “Why aren’t any of them working? The first ones were straight from the book. Shouldn’t those have worked? Why would they be in there if they weren’t vetted?”
Kostya shrugged and inched toward the door. “Who’s to say what’s in that foul book?” He waved his hand around in front of him. “And I don’t think this accursed place is helping anything. It’s like there’s a giant hand blocking everything I do.” He scurried away before she could think of a retort.
“Do you think he should be trying the spells somewhere else?” she asked Ashford, who sighed deeply.
“I thought we agreed it wasn’t safe. It was you who said he might end up in the middle of a busy highway if things changed over time.”
He was right, damn him. But her desperation was making her reckless. “What about the woods in the park? They’re probably the same. Green Park is definitely still around in my time.”
He sighed again. “Call him back, then. Send him to the park. We’ll hope he doesn’t appear in front of a group of children and end up in a future prison. That would go a long way to helping find Ariana.”
His words made perfect sense despite their sarcastic edge. She was the one who’d made that same argument the other day. But she was past the point of making sense. Sitting around helplessly was making her want to claw at her own skin.
“It’s just nothing’s working. Why is nothing at all working? It’s as if we’re doing nothing.”
He slammed his hand down on the page he was reading and looked at her with something alarmingly similar to contempt. “If I’d taken care of things the way I wanted to all those years ago we wouldn’t be here doing nothing in the first place.”
She stared at him until he shook his head and went back to reading. The look on his face cut her to the marrow, and what was worse was that she knew he was right. He’d wanted to kill that bastard Nick Kerr before Ariana had even been born. The moment he learned the daughter he didn’t yet know had been murdered, he was champing at the bit for justice. But Tilly had wavered.
How could she let Ashford do such a thing? At that point it wasn’t justice, or even revenge. The man hadn’t done anything yet. Perhaps he never would. Ashford would have been the murderer, plain and simple. They had set out to change the future instead, weaving a web of lies that might have driven Ariana to the very future they’d sought to erase. She watched Ashford’s clenched jaw as he roughly turned page after page in the wretched book.
They’d been snapping at each other since they discovered how thoroughly Ariana had messed up the portal, their fears growing with every failed attempt to travel through time. They’d barely eaten or slept. That had to be the reason for that look.
But she wasn’t so sure. There was an almost visible divide between them. In all their eighteen years of marriage she’d never felt so far away from him. Was it only the fear and worry? Her exhausted mind whisked her back to when it was only her, Ashford, and their precious daughter. Ariana was the light of their lives, and they doted on her. Ashford carried her everywhere, refusing to use the fancy pram as they walked along the streets of London.
When had things really gotten so distant? Was this all just stress? Four children, her charity, his work in the government, their frequent travel amongst the estates. They’d forgotten what it was like to hold hands and sit quietly together, how those quiet times would lead to her leaning closer, stroking his chest. He’d drop a kiss on her brow, her nose, her lips. Soon they’d be in the throes of passion. How long had it been? A different stab of grief broke through her anguish over Ariana. She missed her husband.
It was such a chore packing everyone up to go to Happenham, and the relatives there were so unsavory, she and the children had opted to skip the last few visits and Ashford had gone alone. Had he stopped missing her? A sob escaped her lips and she quickly stifled it, though not fast enough.
He looked up from his reading. “I am doing my very best,” he promised tiredly.
She rushed to him and hugged him. “I’m sorry for being so terrible.”
He pulled away, more confused than ever, and gently extricated himself from her embrace. “But you haven’t been, my dear.” Turning away, he went back to poring over the book.
“Don’t be so stoic,” she begged. “Remember when you used to say I was your catalyst? Maybe that’s why you can’t do anything. Because we’ve grown apart. And it’s my fault.” She perched awkwardly on the arm of his chair, wishing he’d sweep her onto his lap. He only stared down at the book, his shoulders stiff and straight. She leaned over and kissed his rumpled hair, brushing her
