by Bess McBride
Rachel glanced at the book. Miss Hickstrom had recited the words on the page, as if she had them memorized. Rachel supposed that was possible. She smiled at the blue-haired woman in polite bewilderment.
“You have not read the book then?” Miss Hickstrom directed her question to Rachel, but Sally answered.
“I picked this up yesterday in a bunch of books at an estate sale. I was just reading it when you came in.”
Miss Hickstrom nodded politely in Sally’s direction but turned back to Rachel.
“And you, Miss Lee? Did you read the book?”
“No, not yet, though it sounds wonderful. I was working on some other things. I certainly will read it before we sell it.”
“No, you must not sell it! Certainly not before you read it!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Hickstrom. I do need to sell it. That’s my business. Used books.” Rachel waved her hand toward the shop in general.
“Used,” she said with a sigh. “What a vulgar word.”
“I’m sorry. Gently read if you prefer.”
Miss Hickstrom looked down at the book once again. Rachel made a decision.
“Look—I could gift it to you,” she said. “I should, if you’re the author.”
“Oh, my dear, again how very kind of you. But it is my gift to you!”
Rachel privately disagreed since Sally had paid for the book out of store funds, but she nodded.
“Thank you then.”
“I wonder...” Miss Hickstrom began, giving Rachel an impish look that she managed to carry off even given her uncertain though advanced age.
“Yes?”
“Would you read the next passage in this story? My eyes are not what they used to be.”
Rachel hesitated, and Sally jumped in. “I will.”
“Thank you, dear, but I really need to hear Miss Rachel Lee read.”
Sally’s face colored, and she folded her arms across her chest and sat back on her stool.
“Sure,” Rachel said patiently. She clasped her hands behind her back and bent over the book.
“‘The Viscount Finds Love
“‘Viscount Halwell opened his eyes to yet another dreary day at Alton House. He should have removed to London some time ago but could not face the onslaught of invitations and social activities that no doubt awaited him at his town house.
“‘A crack in the curtains revealed that the gray skies matched his mood. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, the tightness in his chest unrelieved by the motion.
“‘The wedding had come and gone over a month ago. The happy couple had traveled to the continent and returned yesterday. Despite Halwell’s melancholy, his mother, Lady Georgianna, insisted they call upon the newlyweds as a courtesy. He had protested but had known his mother was correct. Had he gone to London, he could have avoided seeing Lady Mary St. John so soon. Yet...had he gone to London, he would have missed seeing her upon her return.
“‘Such a dilemma. She was lost to him. The better man had won. He had no moral right to long for her, yet he did. Though he had met many fine young misses and potential brides, none had stirred his imagination, his heart, as had Mary. Something about her had been particularly unique, refreshing, perhaps even mysterious, and she had no equal.
“‘He had offered her his heart and name, and she had rejected him.’” Rachel stopped reading, her throat suddenly tight. She looked at Miss Hickstrom.
“Aww, she married someone else,” Rachel said. “That’s so sad.”
“I am so happy to hear you say so, dear,” Miss Hickstrom said. “As I suspected, you are the one.”
“The one?” Rachel repeated.
“Do not be afraid, Miss Lee. I have chosen you, and I am never wrong. Safe journey! I will see you very soon.”
“What are you talking about?” Rachel asked with growing concern. She wondered if the lady was wandering around with a bit of dementia.
Miss Hickstrom took Rachel’s hand and placed it flat on the book. As if sleep had suddenly overtaken her, Rachel’s eyes drooped. She heard Sally call out.
“She’s falling! Catch her!”
Chapter Three
Rachel opened her eyes to see a powder-blue sky painted with soft white clouds. She heard the chirping of friendly birds. With a gasp, she realized she was outside. She pushed herself to a sitting position to find herself in the middle of a dirt road flanked by thick green grass. Trees lined the narrow lane, no doubt home to the singing birds.
“Sally?” she called out, scrambling to her feet. “Miss Hickstrom?”
Straightening, Rachel studied her surroundings while simultaneously brushing dust off her jeans and pink cotton blouse. The weather seemed pleasant. The sun’s position overhead indicated it was close to noon, one way or the other given that she didn’t know if she faced east or west.
“Hello?” she called out again, turning in a circle to study what looked like a country road. “Is this a dream?”
Rachel hardly expected anyone to answer, and in fact, would have jumped out of her skin if someone had.
“So, where am I?” she asked the birds.
If they answered, Rachel didn’t understand their response.
An odd sound from behind caught her attention, and she whirled around to scan the lane. Before she recognized the sound she’d heard as horses’ hooves, a carriage—black, enclosed and pulled by four horses—appeared in the road. A liveried coachman handled the reins.
Rachel stared at the apparition that looked so out of place and yet somehow just right for the country setting. She barely registered that she stood stock still in the middle of the road. The carriage moved toward her without slowing, the horses trotting as if they fully expected her to get out of the way.
Rachel, mesmerized by their hooves, failed to see the coachman waving at her until it was almost too late. A shout from him brought her to her senses, and she jumped out of the way. In doing so, she fell, landing back on her face in the dusty road.
A cacophony of thudding hooves, jingling harness, the shouting coachman and a woman’s shriek almost drowned out the thudding of Rachel’s heart.
She looked over her shoulder as the coach passed then slowed, coming to a halt some yards away. The door swung open, and a man jumped out. She was not surprised to see him wearing a top hat, coattails, cravat, waistcoat, breeches and boots. Not at all. For who should jump down from such a historical carriage?
“Madam!” he called out, running toward her with stunningly long legs tightly encased in his black breeches. She had always had a thing for men’s muscular legs, and the gentleman had well-shaped limbs. His coattails flapped open revealing a charcoal-gray waistcoat. He reached her side and ignored the dusty road as he dropped to one knee. His black top hat only enhanced the golden highlights in his thick chestnut hair. Long sideburns framed a handsome face with an aquiline nose, dimpled jaw and Delft-blue eyes.
His eyes reminded Rachel of her grandmother’s favorite porcelain knickknacks. Those eyes studied her with concern.
“Madam! Are you injured? Can you speak?”
Despite the bizarre circumstances, Rachel smiled. Well, perhaps grinned idiotically would be a more apt description. Yes, she grinned idiotically at Prince Charming.
“Yes, I can speak.”
“Are you injured?” he asked again. He scanned her body as if he would check for himself, but kept his hands locked together on his knee.
“Not really,” she murmured.
He didn’t return her smile, but she didn’t care. She was content to look at him. Beyond Prince Charming, Rachel saw a woman look out from the window of the carriage. A pale-green silk bonnet festooned with black lace framed curls the same color as the man’s.
“George!” she called out. “How does she fare?”
George looked over his shoulder and called out. “She appears to be without injury, Mother.”
Rachel’s grin only widened on learning that the woman who descended from the carriage was George’s
mother and not his wife. A quick check of his left hand revealed no wedding ring.
“George,” Rachel murmured. She pushed up with her hands to rotate into a sitting position.
“At your service, madam. George Halwell. Call me Halwell. This is my mother, Lady Georgianna, the only person other than my father who calls me George.”
Halwell’s mother came to their side and peered down at her. Her long-sleeved green silk gown in a distinct empire-waist style matched her hat. She wore what Rachel recognized as a fichu around her neckline. Her eyes matched those of her son. In fact, he seemed to be a younger male version of his mother, both of them tall and slender with kindly faces.
“What a fright you gave us, miss! And yourself, of course. Are you truly uninjured?”
“No injuries,” Rachel responded.
The coachman, having secured the horses, hurried to their side.
“Is the lady hurt, Lady Georgianna?”
“She appears unharmed, Jackson. We will speak when we reach the house. Please return to the coach now.”
“It was my fault,” Rachel said. “I didn’t get out of the way. I kind of froze in the road.”
“I see,” Lady Georgianna said. She turned to Jackson and nodded.
He hurried back to the coach, and Rachel hoped he wasn’t going to get into trouble.
“George, do help her rise.”
Halwell extended a hand, and Rachel slipped her dusty hand into his. He didn’t grimace but rose, pulling her with him. Her nose reached only to the top of his waistcoat. She looked up to his face to see that he studied her from head to foot with a puzzled expression.
“Oh dear,” Lady Georgianna said. “What sort of costume are you wearing?” She tilted her head toward Rachel’s legs.
Rachel looked down at her jeans. “Jeans, of course.”
“Jeans,” Halwell repeated, as if practicing the word. “Your English is accented. Are you from America?”
“What a strange question,” Rachel said. “Where are we, by the way?”
“And I find that to be a strange question, miss,” Lady Georgianna murmured with a lift of one elegant eyebrow.
Halwell responded more diplomatically. “Hertfordshire, Miss... May I inquire as to your name?”
“Rachel Lee,” she said, thrusting out her hand again to shake his.
He took her hand and executed a small bow over it. Lady Georgianna clasped her hands together, as if a handshake wasn’t for her. She spoke.
“Miss Rachel Lee,” she said. “Are you visiting Hertfordshire? Perhaps you are engaged in employment near here? In the village?”
“I don’t think so,” Rachel said in growing confusion. “Do you mean Hertfordshire, England?”
“Yes, near the village of St. John. We are near our home, Alton House.”
“How on earth did I get to England? Is this a dream?”
“Hello there!” a voice called out from behind them.
Sauntering down the lane was none other than Miss Hermione Hickstrom dressed in a brilliant royal-blue gown notable for yards of silk material and white lace. She too wore a bonnet, although hers was festooned with a mass of white ribbons and lace. To see her fantastical figure sashaying down a dusty country lane was improbable but all too real.
“Miss Hickstrom!” Lady Georgianna and Rachel called out in unison.
Rachel turned toward Halwell and his mother. “Oh, do you know her?” she asked.
“Yes, we have known Miss Hickstrom for some time now, have we not, George?”
“I cannot say that we truly know the lady, Mother, but yes, we are acquainted. Do you know Miss Hickstrom as well, Miss Lee?”
Rachel stared at the approaching vision.
“Like you, I wouldn’t say I know her, but yes, we have met. Only a few moments ago, as it happens.”
“A few moments ago?” he repeated.
“Well met!” Miss Hickstrom said, arriving at their side. “What has happened? Is something amiss?” She looked from Rachel to the waiting coach.
“Jackson, our coachman, almost hit Miss Lee,” Lady Georgianna said. “Fortunately, she was quick to jump out of the way.”
“It was my fault,” Rachel said.
“Miss Lee said that she is acquainted with you, Miss Hickstrom?” Halwell asked. “I was just on the point of asking for her direction. I think we must take Miss Lee up and return her to her home, but she seems a bit confused and unclear as to where she is.”
“Yes, I know Miss Rachel Lee,” Miss Hickstrom said, flashing Rachel a conspiratorial grin. She moved to Rachel’s side and tucked her arm through the younger woman’s. “Miss Lee is a peddler of books, but she is sadly unemployed at the moment.”
“A peddler?” Lady Georgianna murmured, the slight gasp in her voice unmistakable.
“I’m not a peddler,” Rachel protested, trying to pull from Miss Hickstrom’s surprisingly strong grasp. “I do sell books though!”
“A bookseller then,” Miss Hickstrom acquiesced.
“Do you have a shop, Miss Lee?” Halwell asked. “Alton House has an extensive library, and we enjoy adding to the collection.”
“I do have a shop. It’s in—”
“She lost her shop,” Miss Hickstrom interrupted. “All very sad really. It burned down.”
“What?” Rachel exclaimed
“No!” Halwell protested. “How appalling! I presume all your books were lost?”
“Indeed,” Miss Hickstrom said, “and her home. She lived above the shop, you see.”
Rachel turned to stare at the little woman. “What is going on?”
“And the shock of it all has confused her,” Miss Hickstrom continued. “I wish that I could provide her employment and shelter, but I am just visiting, as you know, and my rooms at the St. John Inn are quite small.”
“I don’t think—” Lady Georgianna began.
“In 1806 it is so difficult for a lady to find employment, would you not agree?”
“1806?” Rachel muttered. “1806?”
“So confused,” Miss Hickstrom said with a beatific smile. “I saw your library collection, Lord Halwell. Has it been catalogued? Miss Lee has fine penmanship and a vast knowledge of books.”
“1806?” Rachel repeated again. “Did you do this?” she asked Miss Hickstrom.
“George! I do believe the young woman did suffer an injury when she fell. She does seem very confused! I think we must deliver her to the doctor in the village.”
“I agree that she seems muddled, Mother, but I believe she would be best served if we were to take her home to Alton House. We can call in the doctor to see to her if need be. I am compelled to offer her more than a cursory measure of assistance. She is without home and means, and our library has not been catalogued. You recall that I have often wished that be accomplished.”
“You have?” Lady Georgianna asked, staring at her son with her own bewildered expression.
“Yes, I have,” he said decisively. “Would you do us the honor of accompanying us to Alton House, Miss Lee? If you feel up to it, I would be pleased to offer you the position of cataloguing our library. Given the size of our collection, I imagine such work might take months...perhaps longer.”
Rachel looked up into Halwell’s blue eyes and melted. Miss Hickstrom tugged at her arm, and she knew instinctively what the little woman wanted.
“Yes, okay,” Rachel said. Maybe she had hit her head. Maybe she had a concussion. How could the year be 1806? Had Hickstrom done this to her?
“You will?” George asked, a beautiful smile lighting his face.
“Sure!” Rachel said.
Chapter Four
Halwell helped Rachel into the carriage behind his mother and Miss Hickstrom, who accompanied them to Alton House. Rachel noted that his face reddened and he dropped his eyes as she climbed in. She supposed her jeans were the culprit.
“Yes, poor Miss Lee lost all her clothing in the fire as well,” Miss Hickstrom was saying as they seated themselves.
<
br /> Rachel found herself next to Miss Hickstrom.
“She is a tiny thing,” Lady Georgianna said. “I have nothing that would be suitable for her to wear. Perhaps one of the maids has a spare dress.”
“A maid’s dress,” Miss Hickstrom said with a broad smile. “How very droll!”
“Certainly not, Mother!” Halwell protested. “Can we not send to the village dressmaker to see what she can undertake on short notice?”
“Yes, of course, George,” Lady Georgianna replied. “If you would prefer.”
“I think it must be what Miss Lee prefers. We have spent the better part of ten minutes speaking about her but not to her. What say you, Miss Lee?”
Rachel, bemused and watching the events occurring around her as if they happened to someone else, cleared her throat.
“I don’t have any money to pay for a dressmaker,” she said. “If I need to change clothes, I would be willing to borrow a dress from a maid.”
“You do need to don a gown, Miss Lee,” Lady Georgianna said gently. “I am afraid your breeches would cause quite a stir in the house.”
“Okay,” Rachel said.
“I wonder, Miss Lee...” Halwell began, then paused.
She looked at him across the coach.
“Do you know Miss Mary Palmer?”
“Lady Mary St. John now, of course,” his mother stated.
Halwell’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. “Yes, Lady Mary St. John.”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know any aristocrats of any kind. Why do you ask?”
“You remind me of her,” he said.
“Now that you mention it, Miss Lee does share some of the same traits as Lady St. John,” Miss Hickstrom said. “Her manner of speech, her accent. What a coincidence!”
“Yes, those certainly, as they both come from America, but it is something more,” Halwell said. “I cannot quite put my finger on it.”
“They are not dissimilar in appearance,” Miss Hickstrom offered. “Miss Lee and Lady St. John do share a similar auburn tint to their brown hair, though Miss Lee’s eyes are gray, where Lady St. John’s are—”
“Dark brown...like molasses,” Halwell said.
