Back to his Lordship: Clean time travel regency romance (Twickenham Regency Romance Book 2)

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  If he wasn’t the most attractive man she’d ever seen, she might have steered clear of such an odd person, but something had jiggled her brain a moment ago and she did need a bit of assistance perhaps.

  “I don’t know if I have anything quite so witty.”

  And then he bowed. “I’m Lord Oliver Hereford. At your service.”

  Because she didn’t know what else to do, she curtseyed in response. “And I’m Lady Eva.” Where had that come from? Lady Eva? But before she could respond, shouts sounded in the hall. He ushered her around the corner into an alcove. “Hush now. If you stay quiet no one will discover us.”

  Too confused for words, she watched the urgency in his face as he spoke. Perhaps she’d done something odd to her own brain when she touched that painting. Perhaps it wasn’t of herself after all. Once the sound of voices had passed, he looked down into her face. “I would apologize for the closeness of our situation, but I find this is…nice.”

  He smelled fantastic, filling her nose, lungs, head with as strong an essence of pure man as she’d ever known. She fought everything inside her that urged her hand to rise up and rest on his chest. Instead, she smiled and said, “Yes, it is.” At a complete loss to understand what had just happened, what was going on inside her head, she was afraid to say much of anything.

  “I think we are free to return to the gallery. Perhaps you should go and find your chaperone.”

  She nodded.

  “And I shall hurry out ahead of you so no one suspects we have been here alone.”

  She nodded again, totally not following.

  But then he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips in between his knuckles. “It has been my pleasure Lady Eva. I hope to see much more of you.” The intense sincerely of his eyes astounded her. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.

  “I as well.” Her words came out in a sort of ragged rasping breathy sound. But she turned and left before she could repeat herself.

  She waited for half a breath and then shook her head. “As if it matters that we’re found alone together?” She wondered if he still lived by the rules in her Regency era romance novels? Was there a faction of the nobility who held to those thoughts? She’d have to ask Anna if that were the case.

  She left her spot and rounded the corner to an empty portrait gallery once again. Making her way back to the painting of herself, she wanted to study it more. She stopped in front of the image. But first, her finger. Something about this whole encounter felt other worldly and she had to test the finger touch one more time to prove herself wrong.

  Before she reached out her finger, another couple joined her. She in Regency dress and he dressed in the same breeches. Eva found this curious. So, she left the room, determined to see if more people had arrived in this particular costume and, she admitted, to see if she might find Lord Hereford again. She had not forgotten the feel of the pressure from his mouth on her hand. And like a crazed teenager, she wanted to stand close enough to embrace again.

  As she descended the stairs and walked out along the stairway banister, she sucked in her breath. Everything was the same, but different. The chandelier flickered with candles aflame. The guests were all in Regency attire, the house felt unaccountably cold. “No.” She backed away. Something had shaken her mind, disturbed her thinking. She returned to the portrait gallery at a run, back to the image of herself. And she held her finger up, running it along the paint ridges of the blue in her dress.

  Once again the world spun, white, glitter falling all around. And when it stopped, she found herself not even waiting for the dizziness to pause. She ran from the room, down the stairs and out across the balcony. She breathed out a long exhale of relief. The lights were electric. The people were dressed in modern ballgowns and tuxedos, the temperature had returned and there was a lovely modern smell of dinner wafting up to her.

  She descended the stairs, anxious to find Anna and ask her all about this new lord, Lord Hereford.

  4

  Oliver waited at the bottom of the stairs for Lady Eva to join him for much longer than any other person would have. But she never descended. Many climbed the stairs talking of the portrait gallery. Some talked of journeys, travels, as though they would be doing something more than merely touring the house. Some were tearful, as though saying goodbye. Not as many came back down as went up, he noticed after thirty minutes when a gentleman descended without the woman at his side.

  After an hour, and then a quarter more, he drifted away. Perhaps there was a back stairwell she’d used. Perhaps he’d now missed her altogether.

  Hurrying back into the ballroom, his eyes scanned the guests. Her dress would be easy to spot, such a brilliant blue was not often seen among the ladies. But after a moment, he was sure she was not to be found in the overcrowded room. And the longer he looked, the longer he waited, the more his anticipation grew. He’d never encountered such a woman. Never felt so drawn to one as he was her. The feeling of interest, of potential, was so strong with her, he had to immediately understand where and how to find her again.

  His eyes found her grace. She was surrounded by the duke and their friends. When he reached her side, he murmured. “I’ve found her.”

  She immediately turned. “Have you?”

  “Yes, she’s incredible.”

  “My. Well, who is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She eyed him a moment more, then her eyes sharpened. “You’ve never seen her before?”

  “No.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Lady Eva.”

  “And we don’t know anyone by that name.”

  He shook his head.

  The duke, who had taken a sudden interest in the conversation, leaned forward. “Were you by chance up on the seventh floor?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes! Tell me. What do you know?”

  They exchanged glances and then the duke said, “Nothing. I was just wondering.”

  Oliver nearly growled in frustration. They so obviously knew something. What was it about the seventh floor? Had they witnessed his meeting of Lady Eva? Or seen her descend? Or perhaps they’d talked to her? But they turned away and began talking with a couple on their other side, and Oliver was left to stew alone.

  A pair of women passed, giggling into their hands causing him to miss Lady Eva even more. Something about her seemed more real than the others. And he doubted very much that she ever giggled into her hands. But what did he know about her, really? He closed his eyes, remembering their huddled moments in the alcove. She had been deliciously close, almost in his arms. He had sensed the adventure stirring in her, seen the daring in her eyes.

  Then Lady Rosemeade came into his periphery and he told himself, forced movement in his feet, commanded himself to move in her direction and have a conversation.

  The music started for a new set and so he bowed. “Might I have another set with you?”

  She curtseyed. “Of course.” Again, the perfect politeness, the emotional restraint. Did she care for him? Was there a surge of energy making her head swim? He would never know. But he led her out onto the floor, and they began in interminably long quadrille. How had he not paid attention to the music and the gathering dancers when he’d asked her? What if Lady Eva showed herself in the middle of the dance?

  But Lady Rosemeade turned humorous, and he found himself enjoying the dance more than he thought. For a moment, he forgot he was meant to be looking for the mysterious Lady Eva and enjoyed Lady Rosemeade instead.

  When it was their turn to circle, she approached him and they linked hands. “I’ve heard there’s to be a balloon at Vauxhall Wednesday.”

  “Is there! Now that would be something to see.”

  She circled around him and by the time she returned, he smiled. “Would you like to go? Make an afternoon of it?”

  “Yes. I’d love that.” Her smile turned up in a demure half lift, her eyes looked down at the floor, and she became the perfect picture o
f propriety.

  He vowed to disturb her perfectly poised demeanor. Did she have passion? Did she care for anything deeply, intently? His thoughts again returned to Lady Eva, who he had no doubt carried a fiery burning passion about any number of topics. How did he know such a thing? He wasn’t certain, but he’d be willing to bet all his next earnings at tattersalls to find out.

  The men sat around a table at White’s, each in a quandary. Lord Tillsdale swirled his brandy, frowning at it so sternly that Oliver began to wonder if he’d throw his cup against the wall. “Do you suppose they talked? All our mums?”

  Lord Biddle shrugged. “They might have, but what does it matter? Here we are, strapped tight, our allowances limited.”

  “Unless we show signs that we’re taking life seriously.” Lord Tillsdale frowned.

  Lord Biddle downed his drink. “And how’s a man supposed to do that?”

  “Well for one, my mum says I have to make a real attempt to find a woman to marry.” Lord Castlebury shook his head. “Which I am loathe to do.”

  “And that’s not the half of it…curtailing the tables, horses, and all the hells. What else is a man to do in this town?” Lord Tillsdale took a long drink then held up his finger. “And don’t be telling me the opera.”

  “No one says you have to go to the opera.” Oliver laughed inside at the men, secretly pleased they might present themselves in a more respectable manner.

  “But it’s implied, isn’t it?” Lord Tillsdale waved over another drink. “Keep a woman happy, show some serious attention to someone, and I’ll get an increase in my allowance.”

  “And what is the matter with that? A little feminine attention would be welcome.” Oliver eyed them all with hope, but they scoffed or grunted or disagreed in one manner or another.

  Oliver found the whole lot of them pathetic. For years they’d been his friends. Why now were they suddenly resolute reprobates with zero to recommend them but the ability to make a gentleman laugh?

  He could hardly stand their presence, so he stood with the pretense of refilling his cup somewhere else. The Duke of Ramsbury entered the room and Oliver met him at the door.

  “Just the man I’d hoped to see,” Oliver said.

  “And you are who I came to see.” His gaze flickered over their group. “Might we have a moment alone?”

  “Please.”

  “As good as all that?”

  “About as terrible as you imagine. Their allowances have been cut. Their card days are over, and they’re been commanded to find a woman to marry.”

  The duke’s raised eyebrows made Oliver laugh. “Well now, all of that sounds like responsible adulthood.”

  Oliver dipped his head in agreement then they moved to a table in the corner. The others had yet to look their way. Oliver gave them ten minutes to take notice.

  The duke moved closer to Oliver. “Have you found the mysterious Lady Eva?”

  “No. My mother has not heard of her, thinks I made her up so she’ll stop hounding me to marry. No one seems to know a Lady Eva.”

  “And you’re certain she’s not making up a name or title just to impress you only to run?”

  The thought had never occurred to Oliver, but as he considered such a thing, he shook his head. “I can’t imagine it of her. But I suppose all things are possible.”

  “And now I have a bit of strange question to ask of you. In the portrait gallery, did you see a picture of yourself?”

  “What?”

  “A portrait, of you.”

  “No. I didn’t. But when I met Lady Eva, she was standing in front of a portrait of herself in the precise outfit she had on that evening.” He leaned forward, staring at the duke. “What precisely is going on?”

  The duke’s eyes sparkled with mystery. “I’ll just tell you that if she has a portrait of herself in that gallery, that’s either a very good sign for you or a terrible one.”

  “Be specific, man.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s dashed difficult to explain to a person. But I think you should be at the next ball on the full moon at Twickenham.”

  “Again? You think she’ll be there?”

  He held up his hands. “I don’t know, but I think she might. And while you’re there, put your attentions on the portrait gallery. There might be a few people you’ll be surprised to see.”

  “Like yourself.”

  The duke nodded.

  “And the duchess?”

  He nodded again.

  “What is it? Some sort of marriage arranger?”

  “Hardly.” He snorted. “For many months I hated that house and what it could do to a person’s life.”

  A strange ominous kneading began in Oliver’s gut.

  “But sometimes it works out splendidly. Just come. It’s worth it to see, isn’t it? Besides, Jane and I will be there as well.”

  Oliver’s suspicions were conflicting and powerful, but he nodded anyway. The possibility he might run into the fascinating Lady Eva again was too alluring to resist. “I’ll be there.”

  5

  As soon as Eva searched the entire ballroom and lower floors, the sickening realization that her Lord Hereford was nowhere in sight grew in her at the same momentum as the realization that she wanted him in her life. She climbed back up the stairs and walked again through the portrait gallery, careful not to touch any of the paintings.

  She wasn’t sure what she was looking for particularly, but she searched each face until at last she came to a familiar face: Anna. Years younger and dressed in Regency attire. She was surrounded by a room full of women and as Eva looked closer, she recognized Bethany. The ladies looked similar, like sisters.

  Eva couldn’t understand this room. Did Anna know her picture was up here? She moved down the row, wondering if she knew anyone else in the portraits. She stopped in front of one that looked incredibly like an associate who she hadn’t seen in years. Jane Sullivan, smiling, wearing a Regency dress. She’d published some ground-breaking research about women in the nineteenth century and then all but disappeared from the professional world. Her parents were rumored to be living in Italy and no one could ever give her more information about the elusive Jane.

  Something otherworldly, maybe suspicious, was going on in this room and Eva wanted to get to the bottom of it. Bare minimum, she needed to warn Anna and Bethany. She hurried from the room and nearly ran down Dr. Smithy.

  “Oh, my apologizes. Are you alright, Evaline?”

  “You can call me Eva.” She steadied under his strong hands and then stepped away. “Do you know where Anna and Bethany are?”

  “Yes, I believe they’re dancing.”

  “Okay.” She looked away from him and then back. Perhaps he’d have a thought about what she should do. “Come in here. Might I show you something?”

  “Certainly. I’ve never been in this room before.”

  “Have you been to Twickenham often?”

  “No, just once when I was doing my research. A colleague of mine and I were here doing a Jane Austen re-enactment with the hopes we could see some original research, letters and things that belonged, ironically, to Anna.”

  “What? Really. So, what happened?”

  “My colleague won. Jane was incredible at finding her way into the most remarkable situations.”

  “Jane? Jane Sullivan?”

  “The very one! Do you know her?”

  “I do. Though I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Nobody has.”

  “Do you know why?”

  His expression was strange but guarded. “No.”

  “Come in. I want you to see this.” She led him into the room and took him first to Jane’s portrait.

  “Ah there she is. I always did admire that one.” He reached forward as though to touch her face.

  “No! Don’t touch.”

  “I wasn’t going to touch. I’m a researcher, remember?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She felt her face heat in embarrassm
ent. “Something happened.”

  “What?”

  “Follow me.” She led him back down the other side of the room and stopped in front of her portrait. Only it wasn’t there. “What? Wait. Where did it go?”

  “Where did what go?”

  “Right here. In this spot was a portrait of me.”

  “Of you?” His eyebrow raised in skepticism. Eva would have thought it quite charming were it not directed at her.

  “Yes, of me. Why do you keep making me repeat myself?”

  “I’m just not seeing the portrait, that’s all.”

  She frowned and didn’t know what else to do or say. She wanted to walk up and down the gallery searching every portrait until she found the one with herself again, but Dr. Smithy was starting to walk out of the room. “I should have mentioned before now, Lord Danbury was looking for you earlier.”

  Irritation simmered. “Oh, was he?”

  Dr. Smithy didn’t notice her only partly suppressed annoyance. “Yes, he said he’s looking for that dance you promised him.”

  If he’d been where he said he would be, they could have danced…she stopped her train of thought. And she never would have met Lord Hereford. But where was the guy?

  “Shall we?” Dr. Smithy held his arm out for her to take. She placed her mask back on her face and took his arm while they descended the stairs and made their way back into the ballroom.

  As soon as they entered the room and she dropped her hand from Dr. Smithy’s sleeve, a man approached and bowed to her. “May I have this dance?”

  She nodded and performed an awkward curtsey in response. “Certainly.” Something about him reminded her of Lord Hereford, and she was determined to find out more about him.

  The music was slow and had somewhat of a waltz three beat. He took her into his arms, with one hand on her waist and the other holding her hand out to their side, leading her around the room in a manner she never had before.