An Unexpected Gentleman

by Laura Beers

  “Do you know why?”

  Amelia smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “Something about the ‘magic of the full moon’.”

  “Ah,” Aunt Nellie responded, returning her smile. “At least there was a reason.”

  “Thank you for playing along…” Her voice trailed off as the smile dropped from her face. “She is dying, you know, and there is nothing I can do to save her.”

  Aunt Nellie gazed at her with compassion. “It is not your job to save your mother, dear child.”

  Emotions welled inside of Amelia as she pressed her lips together. “After my father died, Mum started aging rapidly.” Her words were filled with raw pain. “I believe she is dying from a broken heart.”

  “That would not surprise me,” Aunt Nellie admitted. “No fairy tale could rival your mother and father’s love. From the moment they met, they were inseparable.”

  Tears pricked Amelia’s eyes as she whispered, “Why isn’t she fighting it for my sake?”

  “Who says she’s not?” Aunt Nellie asked with an uplifted eyebrow as they stopped at the next door. “Trust your mother’s intentions. We have been friends for a long time now. What I love most about your mother is her fierce loyalty to those whom she loves.” Nellie wrapped her young friend in a motherly embrace, smelling of cinnamon and a light floral perfume.

  “Thank you for that,” Amelia murmured, appreciative of Aunt Nellie’s insight.

  “Why don’t you have a quick lie-down, and I will send in your lady’s maid, all right?”

  “That does sound lovely,” Amelia said, stifling a yawn as she turned to walk into her room. “It appears that I am more tired than I care to admit.”

  She pushed the suitcases up against the wall, tossed her shoes off and was asleep before her head hit the down-filled pillow.

  Chapter 2

  Waking a couple of hours later to the smell of an applewood fire behind the polished brass, Amelia sat up in her large, ornately-carved, four-poster bed. Her yawn turned into a squeak when she saw a young, raven-haired woman with large, expressive eyes, dressed in a Regency-style maid’s uniform, standing beside the bed.

  “Good evening, Miss Wright,” the maid said in a cheery voice. “My name is Marie. I’ll be acting as your lady’s maid during your stay at Twickenham Manor.”

  “Hello, Marie,” she greeted back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Marie tapped a finger over her lips, eyeing Amelia thoughtfully. “Time to prepare you for the ball, Miss. It takes a fair bit of time, it does.”

  Instead of being offended, Amelia decided to laugh it off. “Well, we’d best get started then.”

  After being poked, prodded, swathed, and coiffed for more than an hour, Amelia was at last dressed in a deep-green, empire-waisted gown with a rounded neckline and gold piping along the bottom. She had refused to wear the corset, insisting her own undergarments were sufficient, much to Marie’s dismay.

  Small flowers were scattered among the smooth, brown tresses that were now piled high on top of her head. Long curls framed her oval face, setting off her startling green eyes and accenting their amber flecks.

  Glancing in the mirror, Amelia saw that her minimal makeup had been removed and replaced with a safflower-colored rouge on her lips and lightly-freckled cheeks. That was one added benefit to the Regency era, she thought. Natural beauty was encouraged. Between her medical duties, and caring for her ailing mother, she had little time to worry about her skin-care regimen.

  There was a knock on the door. “Come in!” she shouted.

  Marie gave her a stern look. “Ladies do not shout, Miss Wright,” she chastised. “Nor do they encourage strangers to enter their rooms.”

  Stifling a smile, she replied, “My apologies.”

  Marie opened the door, and Lottie entered the room. She stopped when she spotted her daughter. “Oh, Amelia. You look beautiful!”

  Turning in a circle, Amelia laughed as the gown billowed around her legs. “I do believe that the dresses become more elaborate each time we visit.”

  “I have your shoes, Miss,” Marie said, holding out a pair of green slippers.

  Putting her hand up in a gesture of refusal, Amelia replied, “I will not be wearing ballet flats all night to dance.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, but what will you wear?” Marie questioned, eyebrows raised.

  Walking over to the door, Amelia picked up the strappy, tan wedges she had worn into Twickenham Manor. “No one will even see my shoes under this dress,” she contended as she sat on the bed to fasten them on.

  “Aunt Nellie will not be pleased,” Marie mumbled under her breath.

  Finding humor in Marie’s criticism, Amelia did not think that Nellie would even mind. As much as she loved the Full Moon Ball, she did not enjoy dancing on a hardwood floor with thin slippers. It brought back memories of the many times she’d sat on a chair in the corner, massaging her feet while she hid from her dancing instructor.

  “That will be all, Marie,” her mother stated sweetly.

  Marie curtsied and offered Lottie a kind smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Wright. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she expressed before turning back and narrowing her eyes at Amelia.

  Once Marie had closed the door behind her, Amelia commented, “I don’t think Marie is too impressed with my Regency Immersion dedication.”

  “Never mind, dear. Marie will be quite all right.”

  Amelia rose from her seat on the eiderdown duvet. “I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  “She has been my lady’s maid many times before.”

  “Really? I don’t remember her,” Amelia admitted.

  Her mother walked to the open window and looked out. “I love how the full moon sparkles over the Thames,” she sighed. “It’s ever so magical.”

  Reaching for her reticule, Amelia asked, “Are you ready to go to the ball, Mum?”

  “Not quite yet. Before we go,” Lottie said as she stepped across the antique silk rug, “I have a necklace that I would like you to wear tonight.” She reached into her own reticule and pulled out a single-strand coral necklace, extending it towards her daughter.

  Accepting the necklace, Amelia fingered the polished stones. “This is beautiful! Why haven’t I seen it before?”

  “Lord Harrington gave it to me as a token of his appreciation for our friendship.” Her mother sighed again. “I couldn’t very well wear a necklace that was given to me by another man, now could I?”

  “I don’t understand, Mum.” Amelia shook her head, placing the necklace down on the bed. “When did you ever know a Lord Harrington?”

  “Pay attention, Amelia,” her mother ordered sharply, surprising her daughter with her intensity. “I promised Adam Baxter, the Earl of Harrington, that I would send someone back to help him, and you are just the person for the job.” She reached up and placed a hand on Amelia’s cheek affectionately. “It is time for your own adventure to begin.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Amelia tried her best not to show how much her mother’s delusional state saddened her. “Mum, did you forget to take your evening meds?”

  “Never mind the pills. I am quite lucid,” her mother declared in a steady voice. “You are about to embark on a grand adventure. I need you to understand that it may hurt, but the effects are only temporary.”

  “What will hurt?” Amelia asked, stepping over to her medical bag on the nightstand.

  “Time travel.”

  Frowning, Amelia reached into her medical bag, removing her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. This was a familiar delusion. She tried not to sound as frustrated with the topic as she felt. “Why would time travel hurt?”

  Lottie placed a hand to her forehead. “When I time traveled, I would get the most intense headaches. I hope your body will sustain it better.”

  “Time travel isn’t real,” Amelia reminded her mother for the hundredth time.

  “It is!” her mother insisted. “Every time we came to Twickenham Manor, I would
travel to another time. It was incredible!”

  Amelia tried to listen to her mother’s heart, but Lottie swatted away the stethoscope.

  “Mum, we used to take those trips as families, and you never left our side,” Amelia informed her patiently, hoping to bring her mother back into the present.

  “That’s right,” Lottie said. “Because Nellie always brought me back to the precise moment that I left,” she paused, smiling, “give or take an hour or so.”

  Opening the blood pressure cuff, Amelia attempted to place it on her mother’s upper arm, but Lottie would not cooperate. “How exactly did you time travel?”

  “Aunt Nellie painted a portrait of me with the magic dew. It’s hanging up on the fourth floor. I time traveled through my mural.”

  Perhaps she fell and had a concussion, Amelia thought, as she tried to look at her mother’s pupils. “You must be confused. The fourth floor is off-limits to guests because that is where they store the period costumes.”

  Her mother spun in a circle, appearing younger than her seventy-two years of age. “That is what Nellie wanted you all to think.”

  “Are you referring to Aunt Nellie, the proprietress of Twickenham Manor?”

  “Yes,” her mother answered, her brow lifted. “Only she is not just a proprietress, she is the Matron of the Manor. She oversees all the magic.”

  “I see,” Amelia said, deciding to play along. “Aunt Nellie is a fairy godmother.”

  Her mother smiled victoriously. “Exactly.”

  Sighing, Amelia placed everything back into her medical bag. “And you can only time travel at Twickenham Manor?”

  “Yes, but only on a full moon,” her mother corrected.

  Reaching for the coral necklace, Amelia placed it over her head. “Did you meet Lord Harrington while time traveling?”

  Her mother put her hand to her mouth. “Yes, but when I went back to visit him again, it had been almost six years later.” She smiled. “As Aunt Nellie would say, time is a fuzzball.”

  Amelia embraced her mother warmly, sadly acknowledging to herself that she’d become delusional. “I love you, Mum.”

  “I love you, too,” her mother replied, her expression growing serious. “This is important, Amelia.” Her right hand cupped her daughter’s cheek. “Two years ago, after your father died, I traveled back to see my dear friend, Lord Harrington, but I knew he wouldn’t recognize me. I had grown too old, you see.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “I promised Adam that I would help him, but he must feel that I’ve abandoned him by now. I need you to go and see to it that he is happy. Promise me that you will seek him out and help him,” she pled.

  Tears of frustration pricked at the back of Amelia’s eyes. “You aren’t making any sense.”

  Patting her cheek affectionately, her mother said, “It will all make sense soon. Come along, dear. It’s time you saw your portrait on the fourth floor.”

  Amelia’s jaw dropped. “There is a portrait of me here? In the manor?”

  Her mother nodded with excitement. “Yes. Before I returned home, I commissioned Aunt Nellie to paint it. It is right next to mine.”

  Knowing she could not deny her mother’s wish, Amelia sighed, “All right, Mum. We’ll go look at the portraits, but then we’ll go to the ball. Okay?”

  Walking up the two flights of marble stairs was arduous for Lottie, and the two women had to stop multiple times so she could catch her breath. Once they reached the landing, she began leaning into her daughter for support.

  “Are you all right?” Amelia asked with concern, sliding her own satin-gloved arm through her mother’s.

  “Don’t fuss over me, Amelia,” came her mother’s usual reply.

  Lottie stopped at an open door, slipped her arm out of Amelia’s, and took small steps into the thickly-carpeted room. The lights were on, and Amelia followed closely behind. Standing towards the middle of the room, her mother indicated the portraits on the wall. Following her mother’s gaze, Amelia saw a large painting that looked just like her mother as a younger woman. But then, beside it, hung Amelia’s own uncanny likeness!

  “Go on, my dear,” her mother encouraged her. “Touch your portrait.”

  “This is remarkable,” Amelia murmured, taking a few steps closer, admiring the beautiful brushstrokes. In the portrait, she was dressed in a white, empire-waist gown with her hair parted down the middle and wispy bangs curled around her face, but it was the smile that held Amelia transfixed. It lit up her face and gave the illusion that she was truly happy.

  “I see you’ve found your portrait, Amelia,” Aunt Nellie observed, coming up behind them, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Have fun,” her mother said, the sound of her voice echoing as if from down a long tunnel.

  A bright light erupted from behind Amelia, but before she could turn around, Amelia felt as though her body was being used as a battering ram…

  Chapter 3

  May 1813

  Amelia found herself thrown onto a carpet, tumbling to the floor. Her ears rang something fierce, and she felt a bit nauseous. What had just happened? Was that an explosion?

  Moving slowly to a sitting position, her eyes roamed the wide room. A door and a large window faced each other on opposite walls, and the space in between them was covered with portraits. She stood up shakily and adjusted her skirt.

  Turning around, she saw her mother’s portrait as well as her own. Moving till she stood in front of her portrait, she reached to touch it, but a voice behind her stopped her. “I wouldn’t touch that just yet, my dear. You might not return from whence you came.”

  Whirling around, Amelia saw Aunt Nellie scurrying towards her.

  “Amelia, at last you have arrived!” the woman said, relief evident in her voice. “We have been waiting for you for two years.”

  “I don’t understand,” Amelia admitted in confusion. “My mother and I have been here all afternoon. You greeted us yourself, don’t you remember? Mum and I came up to look at her portrait and…” she turned back to look at the portrait of herself, “then I stood next to this.”

  The woman gave her a kind smile and held out a hand, beckoning Amelia to come closer. “Amelia, my dear, it’s true that I am Aunt Nellie, and you are at Twickenham Manor. But you are no longer when you think you are. When you touched your portrait, you traveled backward in time.”

  “What? That’s impossible!” Amelia proclaimed. “This isn’t making any sense. People do not just time travel through a portrait.”

  “Ah, but they can, as long as I have painted it. When I create a portrait, you see, it becomes a portal that allows the subject to travel to other eras. You have time traveled,” Nellie declared simply. “You have arrived in the year 1813.”

  Amelia’s mouth opened in disbelief. “Is this some type of a joke?” She looked around the room. “Am I on some type of reality show?”

  “No, my dear, you are just overwhelmed.” Aunt Nellie started leading her towards the door. “Let’s get you some tea, and this will all begin to make sense.”

  “Do you have any soda?” she asked. “I am not a huge fan of English tea.”

  Nellie led her down a large hallway where more portraits lined the walls. “I am afraid that soda, as you know it, has yet to be invented.”

  Descending the marble staircase to the second floor, Amelia trailed behind the woman who called herself Aunt Nellie. The papered walls held bright, bold colors and gold, ornate ceilings ran down the lengths of the main halls. As always, the walls were dominated by large, beautiful portraits, and the hand-carved tables were decorated with expensive Chinese vases and porcelain knick-knacks. This was definitely Twickenham Manor, but everything seemed different. How was that possible?

  Entering the drawing room, Amelia lowered herself onto the settee. She looked out the window and saw green trees and fields surrounding the manor. But gone were all the familiar landmarks of the twenty-first century. This didn’t make any sense.

  “Tea, miss?�
�� asked a maid’s voice in front of Amelia, breaking her out of her musings.

  “No, thank you,” she declined, placing a hand to the stomach of her green dress. “My stomach is feeling out of sorts.”

  Nellie sat down next to her. “Amelia, dear, I’m afraid I must insist that you drink the tea.”

  “Why?” she asked warily.

  Taking a cup herself, Nellie explained, “It is my own special recipe. I have developed it in order to combat the effects of time travel. It will settle your stomach and soothe your headache in no time.”

  She reached out and accepted the tea. “Thank you,” she said, sniffing the tea cautiously.

  Nellie went on, “It is a concoction of herbs with a pinch of something extraordinary.”

  Hesitantly, Amelia raised the cup to her lips. As the warm liquid went down her throat, she found herself beginning to relax. “Mmm. This is delicious!”

  Once she was finished, Nellie reached for her cup and saucer and placed it on the table. “Now you’ll find it easier to understand everything, my dear. Twickenham Manor is an ancient home constructed by fairie folk, or fae, to cover the fissure in the earth that had allowed their magic to seep into the human world,” Nellie explained. “The magic leaks up out of the ground a little bit and settles as dew on the lawn and plants around the manor.”

  Amelia’s eyes grew wide. “Aunt Nellie, I-I’m a doctor! I believe in science, not magic. And here you are, telling me that there is magic in the ground?”

  Nellie laughed softly and adjusted the folds of her long, mauve skirt. “You seem to have focused on the magic portion of the story, but there is so much more. The fae and I gather the dew, and I use it to paint the portraits that are needed for time travel.”

  “And I suppose people time travel all the time through these portraits?”

  “No. Visitors can only time travel on full moons,” Nellie shared, “but it is not an exact science. Sometimes the magic burps and seems to have a mind of its own.”