Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2)

by Lily Silver

  She fidgeted in the rigid corset she’d been laced into by Gisele earlier. The woman insisted on helping her dress for her first outing since arriving in the city, almost as if Gisele believed Tara were an idiot when it came to proper Paris fashions. The beige linen skirt and white blouse served her well on this warm spring day. Almost a little too well, as the warm sun made her feel moist and confined under all the ‘proper’ under things she was expected to wear as the two of them walked down the hill of Montmartre to the bus stop below.

  They caught a ride on the omnibus into the shopping district of the city. Tara suggested they take the top level of the bus, as they could sit on the bench in the open air. It was exhilarating to sit so high above the sidewalks and gaze about as the horses slowly pulled the two story bus through the streets.

  She watched people swarming through the tree lined boulevards, all dressed in their Victorian best. In vibrant colors, not the stark black or sepia tones she recalled from old photos of this era. That was an eye opener. Tara always imagined this time as being rather dreary due to the absence of color in the photo plates from the period. That, and the poses for portraits were always so serious, as the subject had to sit for so long—several minutes—for one image to be caught on film. No wonder they all looked so grumpy and drab!

  It was a brilliant, sunny Saturday in mid-May. The leaves on the trees were vivid light green, having just unfurled their new buds recently. The ladies walking past had big bustles on their skirts, wide brimmed hats and most carried parasols. The group of boys chased after a large metal wheel. They were in shorts and knee high socks instead of trousers like the men striding past with their canes in carefully gloved hands.

  It was like visiting a living museum. Except, this wasn’t make believe.

  “You are from America?” Gisele asked. “You must know the little sure shot, Miss Oakley, non?” Gisele was watching Tara with wide, curious eyes. She seemed fascinated by Tara’s reaction to the city around her.

  “No, I don’t.” Tara wanted to laugh at Gisele’s simplicity, but didn’t dare. She couldn’t know Annie Oakley personally. How could she when they lived in different centuries, not just different regions of the country. “America is much larger than Western Europe, if you can imagine it. I came from the Midwest, from Wisconsin. Just trees, bears and deer there. And loggers. The logger barons make their fortune from lumber.”

  Gisele seemed disappointed. “Is your papa a logger baron?”

  “No.” Rich he wasn’t, but Dan was resourceful. Tara didn’t have the heart to confide in her new friend that Dan wasn’t her father, he’d just been playing that role due to complications in their past time travel expedition in Ireland.

  “You must convince your Mr. Dillon to take you to the Wild West Show. It’s at Park Neuilly, just beyond the Arc de Triomphe. Your Buffalo Bill, he is … tres magnifique. I’ve attended the show several times. I never tire of watching him handle his … big guns.”

  Tara giggled with Gisele. They exchanged a knowing look. It was refreshing to have female companionship. “So, he’s a fox, I take it?”

  “A fox, et renard, Madame?” Gisele’s eyes widened. “I know not what you mean.”

  “A fox is what we call an extremely attractive man where I come from.”

  “Oh … Oui, il est un renard.”

  They reached their stop. A male conductor dressed in uniform hovered near them as they carefully stepped down the winding staircase to the first level, and then the two steps to the street. Several others followed, men who had waited for Tara and Gisele to ascend first. The bus moved on, and they walked along the sidewalk beneath the lovely green canopy of new spring foliage. Tara had questions about Gisele’s life, but she did not wish to offend the kind woman. Gisele gave her clothing and personal items, and seemed genuinely willing to be a friend. At first, Tara had been jealous when she learned Adrian had spoken to the lovely woman, but she soon realized that his intentions had been on her behalf.

  Gisele was a dancer at a popular nightclub; Le Coq Bleu—the Blue Rooster.

  Tara tried not think of the deeper meaning to the name, excluding the blue male chicken—known in English as a cock. She worked late into the night. She came home only to sleep for a few hours in the morning. She was a cheerful woman, not broken or hardened, as Tara would expect from such a life.

  Tara wanted to suggest a different line of work to the woman. It was natural to do so, coming from a time in the future were women were given choices about a career. Here in Gisele’s world, it seemed there was little a single woman could do to support herself. Work at a dance hall, or work in a factory. A dance hall was certainly a more jovial place, but there would be men there who would take advantage of a woman in that situation. She bit her tongue, and tried to not think about her friend’s form of employment. Tara didn’t consider herself a prude by any means, but Gisele was the equivalent of a pole-dancer in the twenty-first century. She got paid to entertain men by exposing herself on stage, and perhaps by schmoozing them afterward.

  You can’t save everyone. The thought brought a heaviness to her chest as Tara remembered Lord Edward Fitzgerald, her husband’s friend. Edward had been handsome, idealistic, charming and so full of life. But Edward was in prison, dying from a gunshot wound when they left Dublin of 1798. Despite her best intentions, Tara couldn’t save him. He stubbornly embraced his fate and ignored her warnings about his future.

  Adrian had been snatched from death, but even her husband had not gone along willingly with her attempt to save him. She had to drug Adrian, and then he was shot because he was not at the place fate had destined him to be. A man invaded their home and accused him of being the traitor to their cause, all because his wife kept him home on the day the British Soldiers decided to raid the United Irishmen’s meeting place. She saved Adrian’s life, but sullied his reputation in the process. Could he ever truly forgive her for that?

  “Ma petite? You look so sad. What is it?” Gisele noted, stopping beside Tara and touching her arm.

  Tara forced a smile. “I was just pining for my lovely gowns, lost on the docks at Dublin.”

  “All is not lost. We are here to find you new gowns, ma cherie.” Gisele locked her arm in Tara’s and led her into a shop with a rainbow of silk fabrics hanging in the window.

  They browsed at the department store on Rue St. Denis. Gisele took Tara to a favorite cafe and bought her a glass of lemonade and a pastry. They watched the carriages pass and discussed the finer points of bustles and corsets. Tara argued against corsets, to Gisele’s horror. To her new friend, a corset was like a shield of virtue, no woman should venture out-of-doors without being tightly laced up.

  As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Tara and Gisele made their way back to Montmartre. Tara hadn’t bought anything aside from a new purse to carry her things in, but she had enjoyed the girl time with the vivacious Gisele, and had a better grasp of fashion in this time period. She had a list of items she would purchase, if Adrian were agreeable to the expense.

  “Do you work tonight?” she asked her companion as they headed up the steep hill to their lodgings. “If not, you might join us for dinner.”

  “I have an assignation. Wish me well. If the gentleman is agreeable, I may be able to leave the dance club and be his petite amore.”

  “You mean his mistress,” Tara said before she realized she’d spoken aloud. “Gisele, is that a wise move?”

  Gisele sighed and looked down at her shoes. She gave a little shrug. “I would be taken care of by one man. He will provide me with a small house, and a servant, perhaps two. He will give me money for gowns, it is not a bad life. Preferable to being on display for all the men at the club.”

  “But, do you even like this man? Gisele, you don’t have to sell yourself–” Tara winced at her poor choice of words. “I mean, you are a smart woman. You shouldn’t have to give yourself to a man to earn a living. There should be other opportunities open to you.”

  “And what would t
hose be?” Gisele’s tone became ice. “Working at the textile mill. Non, I will not make myself old before my time working in those dreadful places, toiling from sun up to sun down with very little to show for it but stooped shoulders and calloused hands!”

  “I only meant,” Tara took a deep breath before continuing. “I was prying, I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear it if you were harmed by a man without scruples. Take your time, don’t rush off with a man you barely know. It could be worse for you once he has you away from your friends.”

  “I have no friends.” Gisele’s confession was like a knife to Tara’s heart. “Only other dancers, and the clever ones do as I am trying to do, find a rich patron to take them away from the dance hall life before they are too old to even dance for the men’s delight. Being a mistress is not so bad. A man will pension you out if he tires of you, or find you a new protector. I know other girls who have done well.”

  “Gisele, listen to me.” Tara placed her hand on the slender shoulder. “You do have friends. I am your friend. My husband is, too. We would help you, if it comes to that. Just remember, you don’t have to settle for something distasteful just to survive.”

  Gisele’s lips twitched. She glanced about the neighborhood where they were walking. The narrow, dirty streets, the garbage in the alleyways, as if to make a point. “You have a good heart, my American friend. I thank you. But now I must go prepare for my interview with Mr. Dupres. He is old, and likely will not trouble me much with his passions. He wants a companion to take to the opera and to dine with more than anything, I believe.”

  They reached their building. Tara opened the door for them and Gisele went up the stairs ahead of her.

  “How old is he?”

  Gisele paused on the third landing. She turned, and gave a little shrug. “I do not know for certain. My grandfather’s age, perhaps?”

  So that was it. She was interviewing to become an old man’s darling? What would happen to Gisele when the old man died? She’d be turned out, more than likely, homeless again, forced to return to the dance hall or to take up trade in the streets.

  You can’t save them all. The nasty thought hovered about like a wasp. Tara shook her head, willing it away. Not everyone, perhaps, but one person along the way?

  “Come visit me when you return, Gisele, in the morning. I’ll want to know how you fared, please. As a friend, not a judge. I just want to know you are safely home again.”

  Gisele nodded and went into her apartment.

  Tara moved up the stairs to the rooms Adrian rented for them. It was just five in the afternoon. She hoped Adrian had thought to bring something home for dinner, but likely he had not. He was accustomed to servants doing those things for him. Tara gritted her teeth as she entered the apartment. She’d be damned if she was going to be slaving over a hot stove all day. There were plenty of corner cafes and restaurants in the area where they could purchase a meal.

  She opened the door, and was greeted by the sight of not one man, but four, all looking at her with anxiety.

  “Where have you been?” Adrian demanded.

  “I went out with Gisele.”

  “You didn’t leave word for me,” her husband argued, his temper ready to flare.

  “And who would I leave it with, my lord?” Tara used his title with sarcasm as she gestured about the sparsely furnished room. “The butler, or perhaps the cook?”

  Dan was the one to laugh at her jest as he sat at the table with a newspaper spread out before him. Mick and Riley’s features were impassive as they stood at the window.

  Adrian’s face darkened. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could have left me a note.”

  “Did you buy paper and a pencil during your forays beyond our humble lodgings?”

  “No …” Adrian’s reply was less aggressive, more uncertain as he ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated by the realization that those simple items were not provided for him by a diligent housekeeper as they would be in any one of his properties in Ireland. “It did not occur to me that we needed them.” His face suffused with color at the admission.

  Tara was taking too much pleasure in this conversation. She softened her tone. “I was bored, so I walked about for the afternoon with Gisele. We rode the omnibus, had lemonade and croissants, visited a few dress shops. It was lovely.”

  “I fear for your safety when you are not here,” Adrian stated in a rational tone. “You could be set upon by thieves in this neighborhood, or drunkards looking for sport—”

  “Stop it,” Tara hissed. “I have had enough of being kept indoors because I’m a ‘fragile little woman’. You kept me cloistered at the castle and then at the townhouse in Dublin because of your constant worrying. I’ll not be told when I can go out and when I cannot, not ever again.”

  “I only desire to keep you safe,” he turned to her, his arms extending in a plea, “why are you making me into a villain? I care about you. I worry about you when you are—”

  “She’s not a little girl.” Dan folded his paper carefully and precisely as he looked from Tara to Adrian. “And in case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t soldiers at every street corner waiting to arrest you and your cronies. We’re not in Ireland anymore, Adrian.”

  “That’s right.” Tara added, giving her friend a grateful look for taking her side. “We’re not under military surveillance. You are not wanted by the authorities for suspected treason. We’re in the Belle Époque, a time of peace between the wars and uprisings.”

  Mick and Riley were no longer following the conversation. With heads bent together they whispered insistently from their place at the window.

  “Do you think she did it on purpose?” Riley asked, glancing back at her with suspicion.

  Mick shrugged, “She’s young, and new at this. It’s too early to tell.”

  “Tara,” Adrian said, drawing her attention away from her brother’s conversation and back into their own. “I transferred funds from Dublin to the Bank of France a week before our scheduled departure. It’s ninety-one years later. I can’t walk into the bank and claim to be Viscount Dillon. Why didn’t you bring us here in 1798?”

  “Because Napoleon’s vicious assault on Europe begins in the early nineteenth century. Thanks to him and his massive ego there would be chaos everywhere—death, disease and destruction.” Tara was finding momentum as she spoke. “And because I wanted to be here!” During her emotional confession her hand had moved in a wide arc toward the city beyond their windows. She jerked it down to her side, feeling a little surprised by her impassioned reaction.

  The four men gathered in the small apartment stared at her. Dan with a broad grin, Adrian with shock and worry, and her Fey brothers with something akin to awe,

  “She did do it on purpose,” Mick said, nodding to Riley. “Clever girl.”

  Perhaps it was true. Tara wasn’t sure. Time travel was still just that strange new thing she could do, and she wasn’t certain how she actually did it. She had always wanted to visit this unique time. Her art history classes made her long to see this rare time of rising hope and soaring dreams. “I wanted to experience Paris in this era, when life was beautiful, when the only wars were those being fought between artists and curators for a placing in annual salons.”

  Thunder rumbled above their heads, and the air in the room became frizzled with electrical currents. Mick nodded and smiled at Tara, as if pleased by her answer.

  “I may have found a way to garner a few francs to add to our coffers,” Dan interjected, changing the subject to a safer one. He tossed the neatly creased and folded paper in his hand on the table as he stood up. “Don’t wait up for me, kids.” He grabbed his hat and moved to the door. “Oh, I ordered dinner. It should be here in a few minutes. Sorry, not pizza, Tara, just roast beef and vegetables. I paid for it already. My treat.”

  Dan placed his hat on his head, and made his exit.

  “We will take our leave as well,” Mick said. He and Riley made for the door. “We’ll be back in the morni
ng. Riley and I will bring you breakfast, darlin’.” He looked up at the roof as another deep rumbling shook the rafters, pointed his finger upward, and winked at Tara.

  “Wait, don’t you want to eat dinner with us?” Tara grew uneasy with their swift abandonment. Apparently, no one wanted to be present during her argument with Adrian.

  “We’ll eat elsewhere,” Riley said with a light wave of his hand as he followed Mick into the hall. The door closed, leaving the two of them together in the small room.

  There was so much she wanted to say to her husband. They were from different worlds. She had done her best to try to fit into his world in the last century. She hated the restrictions placed on her there. No more. It was time for Adrian to embrace change. He had to learn to trust her and view her as an intelligent, capable woman, not his little china doll needing to be set up on a high shelf and protected. The romance novels of her time might have idealized this masculine tendency to be dominant and control every aspect of their wives and daughters lives, but actually living in such an arrangement was frustrating, demeaning and insulting.

  “We need to settle something between us,” Tara said, as her heart pounded in her ears.

  Chapter Seven

  “Yes, we do.” Adrian returned in a commanding tone that did not bode well for her intended discussion. “I do not want you associating with that woman again.”

  Tara’s jaw sagged. A flurry of insults filled her head, but she swallowed the string of curses she might have flung at him, choosing instead to remain calm and reasonable. If she wanted him to respect her opinions, flying into a rage would not accomplish her goal.

  “I choose my own friends. I will not have them chosen for me.” There, she managed to say it without the slightest hint of the churning emotions roiling inside of her.

  “She’s no better than a whore.” Adrian’s hand sliced at the air. He was scowling at her with parental censure. “The association will mar your reputation, and mine as well.”

  Anger surged through her at his words. A loud clap of thunder rumbled above, shaking the rafters in its rising fury. When the sound subsided she replied, “yeah, because we are Lord and Lady Dillon, members of the Irish aristocracy! Geez, I forgot that, living in this four story flat that’s smaller than a closet in your castle back home.”