And truth be told, he wanted to see her in a ball gown.
“What time will you, you know, pick me up?”
He knit his eyebrows in confusion.
“I mean, what time will we leave here?”
Even with her chaperone, the idea of being in a carriage with Miss Blythe, in such close proximity and darkness, made his mouth go dry. Which was both unsettling and ridiculous. He should not be thinking of his brother’s soon-to-be betrothed in this manner. He had to keep their relationship formal.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I shall have to meet you there.” He simply could not accompany her. He couldn’t practically be alone with her, much as he was now. He couldn’t notice things about her or appreciate her attributes. He had no choice but to keep her at arm’s length. “I have a prior engagement, and as such, I shall take my leave of you.”
“You’re taking what?”
Hartley had not encountered these sort of language difficulties with Professor Blythe, but his daughter seemed to speak a foreign tongue. Where half the time he couldn’t understand her, and she couldn’t understand him. “My leave. I’m leaving.”
He brushed past her, holding his breath as he did so, refusing to let her tempt him further.
“So I’ll just see you there?” Now her excitement had turned to disappointment. He wasn’t certain why that made him want to stop, turn, and soothe her until she felt better.
“It seems inevitable, doesn’t it?” he retorted instead, determined to establish the boundaries that they both had to operate within. “You and your chaperone will be given the proper instructions on where to go. Until this evening.”
He made her a bow, not noticing that she didn’t curtsy in return. He heard her say, “But I don’t . . .” as he walked through the front door, but he didn’t stay to listen to the rest of her sentence.
Hartley had no prior engagement. He had to escape his home before he did something foolish. He hailed a carriage and made his way to White’s, needing to leave his own team behind for Miss Blythe’s use. He spent his afternoon neglecting his duties by playing cards and sending messages to his valet and butler to make arrangements. He hoped his time away would give him some clarity and help him to rebalance his priorities.
A waiter approached, but Hartley waved him away. He wanted to drink, but he needed to retain his wits, and copious amounts of alcohol would not accomplish that. He’d had every intention of using this time to clear his mind, to not think of her. It backfired spectacularly, and he spent hours considering Miss Blythe and her profound and unexpected effect on him. He thought particularly of what it was that he liked about her, in spite of himself. There was her beauty, her ability to surprise him, her intelligence.
But the thing he suspected that he liked most was that she didn’t treat him as if he were some sort of prize to be won. She didn’t simper or attempt to catch his eye or scheme to trap him into marriage. She seemed not to care for his title or his wealth. She was simply herself and often acted as if she could barely tolerate him. As if he held no charms for her.
Which excited him. She was like a clever vixen on a hunt, one determined not to be caught. He’d never been able to resist a challenge, and she presented an insurmountable one.
Because despite her belief that Hartley got everything that he wanted, in this case it could not be true. He had a specific purpose and use for her, and he couldn’t afford to let anything distract him from that goal.
He didn’t get everything that he wanted. At the moment, he wanted Miss Blythe.
And she was the one person he could never have.
* * *
A date! A real, actual date, and to a ball no less! I briefly recalled my words to Bex about marrying the next guy who asked me out but decided it didn’t apply to men who had been dead for over a hundred years by the time I was born.
I seriously missed overhead lights and showers, but a ball I could get behind. I ran for Rosemary, and she was every bit as excited as I was. We picked out a soft teal dress that had a silver-and-white lace overlay, and Rosemary told me to sit down so that she could fix my hair.
“We’ve no jewels,” she murmured to herself. She rang the servant bell and had one of the footmen come up. It was Tommy. She instructed him to go to the conservatory and pick some kind of flower and bring it back to her in about an hour. She missed the longing look in his eyes, as she was too busy messing with my hair. Interesting. Maybe I could help those two crazy kids get together before I left. But then Rosemary started wielding something she called curling tongs, and all my matchmaking thoughts fled as I suspected my hair was going to catch on fire any minute.
It didn’t, and as she finished up with the aroma of slightly burned hair all around us, Tommy returned with little white flowers, and she used pins to stick them into my elaborate updo.
After he left, Rosemary insisted on pulling my corset even tighter, which made me feel faint. But I would suffer like a good soldier of beauty and look amazing. She helped me get my dress on, along with my nylons and my shoes, and then let me look. “Oh wow,” I said. She was a genius. “You are getting the best reference letter ever!” I actually touched the mirror to make sure the reflection was me.
She grinned behind me, obviously pleased with herself. “When are you and Lord Hartley leaving?”
“I’m supposed to meet him,” I said. I assumed Stephens would know where. “But there’s one problem. He thinks I have a chaperone, and I don’t have a chaperone.”
“I can accompany you,” she offered. “I will have to let Mrs. Farnsworth know, and I’ll convince a couple of the footmen to come along with us. That should be fine.”
Rosemary offered to find out more details about the where and when and left me alone in my room. Where I began to imagine Hartley and I dancing at our ball.
Only, I didn’t know how to dance.
Problem.
Maybe I could fake an injury? Or tell him I wanted to sit this one out? If I danced with him or anybody else, I would make a total fool of myself.
Why was everything in 1816 so freaking complicated?
I would figure out some sort of excuse. I had to. I considered telling Rosemary I was too sick to go, but I wanted to go to the ball. Maybe I had some kind of latent Cinderella complex.
Trying to calm down, I picked up one of the books I’d taken earlier from Hartley’s study. But the words swam on the page. I couldn’t concentrate. I was both excited and terrified. I didn’t want to embarrass him or me.
Rosemary returned, having changed her clothes and her hair, and told me it was time to go. She offered me a lace shawl in case I got cold. Because it was raining outside. Again.
The footmen held umbrellas for us as we climbed into the carriage. A carriage, just like Cinderella! With white horses and everything!
Without my watch, I had no idea how long it took for us to arrive at the ball. It felt short, but that was probably due to my combination terror/giddiness. The rain had briefly let up, and I saw Hartley pacing on the sidewalk outside of the mansion, where every window was lit up and the sounds of music and laughter spilled out onto the street. He had changed into a different outfit—he had on a very dark blue suit coat and light pants, along with his boots. I was kind of becoming a fan of the boots. He looked scrumptious.
The carriage came to a halt, and Hartley reached up to help me get out. I didn’t need his help, but I wasn’t going to say no to kind of holding hands, even if it was for a second. He seemed distracted. “Is that your abigail?”
“My what?”
“Your lady’s maid.” He sounded impatient.
“Oh, no, her name is Rosemary. Not Abigail.” His gaze was directed toward the house and not at me. So I went full pathetic. I fished for a compliment. “What do you think of my dress?” I asked as I twirled around. My skirt didn’t go out very far. “I feel like such a girl in it.” I mean, other than the death trap strapped around my ribs.
He did not take the bait. “That’
s excellent, considering you are one. We should go inside.” He held out his arm for me to take. Despite his total-lack-of-compliment game, it still felt so romantic to walk like this.
Inside the house there were ten million people. I think the entire population of London was trying to cram itself inside of one house. We could barely move through the front foyer, but then we made it to the ballroom, where the crowd let up.
I couldn’t help but gasp. There was a bright, polished wooden floor and dozens of chandeliers that hung overhead, all lit up with individual candles. A small group of musicians played in one corner, and there were beautiful silks and jewels on the women and an array of formal wear on the men. A few of the older guys wore capri-type pants that went only to their knees.
It was so beautiful and amazing and everything that I had ever imagined a real ball would be. “Holy cow. It’s like a fairy tale.”
“I’d never considered anything of the bovine persuasion particularly sacred, but I shall take your word for it. And no ball I have ever been to was much like a fairy tale.”
I didn’t care what Hartley thought. He was not going to rain on my parade.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
Central air/heating
The next thing I noticed was how tiny all the women here seemed to be. I was like Gulliver in Lilliput. Dorothy with the Lollipop Guild. Me at my first junior high dance. I was literally the tallest girl here. I sort of towered over all the women, and most of the men.
A dance began, and the men and women lined up. I’d had a friend freshman year who’d been a big country music fan, but this was a very different sort of line dancing. I was lost after a few seconds. There was definitely no way I could dance.
“Come, let me introduce you to our hosts,” Hartley said, leading me around the exterior of the dance floor. I was glad that Rosemary had insisted I bring a fan. I opened it as I followed behind Hartley, trying to cool down. Despite the windows and balcony doors being open, there were so many people in the room that it was quickly starting to feel like a sauna.
Near the open doors stood a middle-aged couple flanking a girl so tiny I could have put her in my pocket. Hartley started making introductions, and I held out my hand to the older man. He took it, and I shook, which seemed to startle him. He bowed over my hand, which was weird, and I removed it from his grasp.
I could feel the sweat running in beads down my back. What I would have given for some air-conditioning! The tiny girl was named Lady Katherine Darlington. I noticed that she looked at Hartley the way a woman on a cleanse looked at a chocolate triple-layer cake.
All three of the Darlingtons were giving me the evil eye. I wondered what I’d done wrong. I pulled a sweaty tendril away from my forehead. I noticed nobody else seemed uncomfortable.
The mother, who had probably been beautiful once, rapped Hartley playfully on the arm with her fan. Ugh. Cougar flirting was gross. “You didn’t respond to our invitation.”
“Not an oversight, I assure you,” he said under his breath, so that only I could hear him. I tried really hard not to laugh. I figured he probably had only meant to think it, not say it. “Time slipped away from me, I’m afraid. My apologies.”
“None are necessary. Your presence here makes up for any fault,” the mom responded, batting her lashes at Hartley. Then why even bring it up? “Although I suppose you could make amends by saving a dance for our Kitty,” the mom said.
Whoa, Kitty alert! Remembering my discussion with Bex, I decided not to jump to any name-ist conclusions. Maybe she was a nice Kitty. Like Hello Kitty. I mean, like my favorite cartoon character, this Kitty even had a pink bow over one ear, nestled among short white-blonde curls.
“It would be an honor,” Hartley said in a clipped voice. He didn’t sound like it would be an honor. He sounded like he would be facing a firing squad at dawn. At his response, Kitty narrowed her eyes at me.
“Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said. I wondered if I was the only person who could hear the sarcasm in her tone. She was one of those. A mean girl. In my time period she’d probably be an alcoholic cheerleader with a cheating boyfriend. Not a nice Kitty. “You are remarkably tall.”
Thanks, Captain Obvious. I got the fact that, next to her, I was like Brienne of Tarth.
“How difficult that must be for you,” she continued. “To appear so much like a man.” She said it sweetly, with a smile on her face, and I was stunned. Weren’t these guys all about manners and appearance? She was clearly insulting me.
It got worse.
“I’d heard rumors that Lord Hartley had a woman visiting his home. To think that I was actually concerned!” She had one of those tinkling laughs, like wind chimes. I still wanted to kick her right in her tea and biscuits.
She wanted Hartley, and she didn’t like that I was with him. “Listen up, Smurfette . . .”
Before I could finish, Hartley had me by the elbow, making excuses and dragging me off. I heard Kitty’s mother say, “Come now, darling. Sheath your claws.” Only she sounded like it amused her. Which aggravated me further.
I jerked my arm away from Hartley. “What did you do that for?”
“Even a blind man could see where you were heading.”
I never should have accused Bex of being name-ist. All Kittys really were man-stealing whores. We stood close to one of the open windows, and I was grateful for the slight breeze. “When you told me about the ball, you could have mentioned that it was being thrown by the Antichrist and her parents.”
His lips twitched. “Lady Katherine is not that bad.”
Why could he use her first name but not mine? I wanted to ask but didn’t. “Yes, she is. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out she’d built a gingerbread house in her backyard. And she probably kicks kittens for fun after she bathes in the blood of virgins.”
He was quiet, and I realized he was trying not to laugh. He came across as hard and grouchy, but I suspected there was a nice man with a sense of humor under all of that velvet and linen.
I wanted that nice guy to make an appearance. “Personally, I’m planning on putting up garlic and crosses once we get back home.” Wait. When did Dracula become popular? Did they even know anything about vampires in England yet? “Because she’s a bloodsucking vampire,” I explained.
At that, an actual smile broke free. He should seriously smile all the time. He’d have the entire world at his feet if he did. No thinking about gorgeous smiles, I reminded myself. Also, no thinking about calling Hartley Hall home. It wasn’t my home and never would be, regardless of whatever Hartley had planned for me and his brother.
“I am quite certain she’s not undead. Just ambitious. Her uncle recently died, and her father gained the earldom and the estates. Lady Katherine is determined to retain both.” I heard the unspoken part. Hartley was her means to an end.
There were so many ways to take her out and make her leave Hartley alone. I could shove her under a couch cushion. Or hide her under a toadstool. Or cram her back into the thimble she had obviously climbed out of.
“I suppose we should at least dance,” Hartley said, the smile lingering on his face. I wonder if he knew that he was smiling. If his face muscles hurt from doing it.
But now I would have to turn myself into an even bigger freak. “To be honest, I don’t actually know how to do these kinds of dances.”
He cocked his head to one side. “You’re not familiar with any of the dances that are being done? What sorts of dancing do you do in America?”
There was no way on earth I could explain to him about twerking or the Electric Slide. The idea of going out there and showing him how I danced struck me as so funny that I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. And laughed. “Let’s just say that if I showed you how we danced, we’d probably get kicked out.”
And despite not letting him in on the joke, his grin widened. “Then perhaps you should if it guarantees us an early exit.”
<
br /> Someone approached, and his smile died, falling off his face. Which broke my heart just a smidge. I followed his gaze and saw a man closing in on us. He was average looking, brown hair, brown eyes. Shorter than me. Wearing a noisy purple coat and green pants. Like a historical version of the Joker. Was he color-blind?
“Hartley.” He made a slight bow. Hartley didn’t respond. He was too busy shooting daggers with his eyes. Animosity and anger rolled off Hartley in palpable waves. I thought the guy should probably draw himself a chalk outline, because it looked like Hartley was planning on killing him. The man looked at me, and I wondered what he had done to make Hartley hate him so much. “You haven’t introduced me to your lovely friend.”
“That would be because I don’t want you to meet,” Hartley ground the words out. “Had I known you’d be here, we would not have come at all.”
Shots fired! If this guy had any sense at all, he’d run. Hartley was not someone you wanted to mess with when he was angry.
This dude was obviously a moron, though. He stood his ground. I might have respected him a little if I didn’t already dislike him out of loyalty to Hartley.
“I say, it is rather bad form bringing your doxy out in public. Everyone’s shocked.”
I had no idea what this guy had just accused him of, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. I could almost see the steam and heat radiating off Hartley. His hands curled into fists. “How dare you! She is not . . .” He glanced at me and then dove back into his war of words. “She is a guest in my home.”
The man seemed way too pleased with himself. Like the cat who had figured out how to milk a cow all on its own and ate cream every single day. “Yes, staying in your home without a chaperone, or so the rumors go.”
“Rumors you started?”
I’d never personally witnessed a murder before, but I was starting to worry that I might have a front-row seat to one.
The obviously-soon-to-be-dead guy studied his fingernails nonchalantly. “One can’t help but share what one hears.” With one last predatory grin, the man finally left.
Once Upon a Time Travel Page 7
