Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

  “Did I not say James?”

  No, she did not. And the false innocence in her voice made me suspicious. What was she planning? There was no way I was capable of making one man fall in love with me, let alone two.

  “Let us retire downstairs, and while we wait for your dressmaker to arrive, we will go over basic table manners. We will be able to practice them tonight at supper when we dine with Hartley.”

  Taking a deep breath, I nodded. We might as well get started. Not that anything she taught me would ever be applicable in my real life.

  Sort of like algebra and geometry.

  Halfway down the stairs, she paused, making me stop short. “This may sound odd, but I feel as if we’ve met before.”

  Weird thing was, I kind of knew what she was talking about and felt the same. Like we’d been close friends in a previous life and had just found each other again. “Me too.”

  She gave me a sweet smile that seemed at odds with her severe way of dressing and continued downstairs. A rushing sensation smacked into me, and I had the strongest sense of déjà vu that I’d ever experienced. As if everything here was familiar and I knew this house and this family. As if I had always known and loved them.

  Chills raced up and down my back. I shivered once, trying to brush them off, and ran to catch up with Charles.

  * * *

  “Do I have to change clothes every time we have dinner? The dress I had on before was really nice.” He couldn’t help it, his ears pricked up at the sound of her voice in the hallway.

  His aunt answered her. “Yes, my dear. There are day dresses and evening dresses and different times that you will be expected to change. We will go over that tomorrow. For now, let’s see how well your lesson stuck.”

  Hartley got to his feet when his aunt and Miss Blythe came into the room. He bowed slightly, and both women nodded back. “Very good,” he said to Miss Blythe. But instead of accepting the compliment for finally entering a room correctly, she gave him a withering look and walked away.

  Which again perplexed him. Most women lapped up compliments like a thirsty dog at its bowl. Miss Blythe seemed vexed. Which, for some unimaginable reason, amused him.

  “We have been very busy this afternoon,” Aunt Charles said. He was one of the few family members allowed to address her as such. “She is a quick study.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” The words left his mouth without his consent. Miss Blythe looked at him strangely, as if confused. He didn’t know why. There had never been any doubt about her intelligence, but he was glad that his aunt saw it as well. He knew James would prefer it.

  As did he.

  “And what have you been up to these past few hours while we’ve been working so intently?” his aunt inquired.

  Before he could answer, Stephens announced that supper was served. Hartley offered his arms to both women, while Aunt Charles mentioned something to Miss Blythe about rules of precedence not applying in such an informal setting. “I visited a friend and then did some boxing down at Jackson’s,” he answered as they all followed the butler into the dining room.

  What he did not mention was that he had done it to clear his head. That punching other men provided him with relief from what he had witnessed earlier, with his aunt and Miss Blythe quickly becoming bosom friends. It was what he wanted, and he was glad that Aunt Charles had agreed to help them both, but Miss Blythe was making herself at home in his life, with his loved ones, and it . . . disturbed him.

  More than he would have cared to admit.

  “Hanging out and exercising? Men get to have all the fun in this time period,” Miss Blythe said, and he noticed that she looked particularly fetching in that shade of blue, while he puzzled over her strange choice of words. Hanging out? Time period?

  “Indeed,” his aunt agreed as they were both seated at the table.

  “Yes, when they’re not busy managing everything else,” he said.

  “I offered to help you out,” Miss Blythe reminded him.

  “He should hire a secretary, but he won’t,” his aunt added.

  “He seems really stubborn.”

  “As a mule. And while I love some of my nephews, I will say this for them—they are all a single-minded, pigheaded lot. They get that from their grandfather. Once they have decided on a course of action, nothing will deter them. Not even my money.”

  He did not like their conspiratorial tones or the knowing smiles that passed between the two women. He was the earl. He should be afforded some degree of respect, particularly in his own home. But even he knew better than to throw the gauntlet down at Aunt Charles. He did the only thing he could think of. He changed the subject. “You said that Miss Blythe was a quick study? Things are going well?”

  His aunt nodded, but Miss Blythe said, “Oh, I can’t take all the credit. Charles is a really good teacher.”

  Hartley couldn’t stop his reaction and knew that both of his eyebrows raised up in surprise at her use of his aunt’s Christian name.

  “Don’t look so shocked, Hartley. The girl is soon to be part of our family, is she not? I invited her to use my given name as I shall use hers. In company, it will tell them that we enjoy a degree of intimacy that will make them even more eager to accept her.”

  The footmen arrived to serve the first course, and Miss Blythe reached for the tray. “Thanks, Jamie. I can take that from you.”

  “You must allow William to serve you,” Hartley said. He should probably assist with the lessons where he could.

  “Pretty sure his name is Jamie. And why? I can do it myself. I’m sure he’s got better things to do. Like holding up the walls.” She gestured around to the footmen who were not serving. They stood in their livery against said walls, waiting to be of service.

  A bit of despair creeped in, and Hartley hoped this all wasn’t pointless, that she wasn’t so different that she would never be accepted in polite society and never be a suitable wife for his brother. But his fears were calmed as his aunt explained the whys and hows of interacting with servants, especially among company. Miss Blythe nodded, but she didn’t seem to like what she was hearing.

  “By the time we’re done, Emma, no one will suspect that you weren’t to the manor born,” Aunt Charles said, before launching into the proper address and greetings for everyone from a duchess younger than herself to a baron’s son old enough to be her father. These things had been ingrained in him for so long, they were second nature. He imagined it would not be easy for Miss Blythe to learn everything it had taken him a lifetime to acquire.

  The next course arrived, and despite her previous instruction, he heard Miss Blythe say, “Thank you for bringing all this out, Tommy. Please tell Mrs. Johnson it’s been amazing.” She looked at them after she had done so. “We’re not in company. This is just family, right? So it’s okay? I really do appreciate everything they’re doing.”

  His aunt assured her it was fine, if rather unconventional.

  It was the perfect word to describe Miss Blythe. Unconventional. He wondered if his brother would love that about her or if he would dislike it.

  Aunt Charles continued to instruct while Miss Blythe looked over her utensils. She seemed at a loss as to which fork to use. He was on the verge of telling her when there was a soft cough from the footman who had just served her and was now directly across from her, behind his aunt. In his peripheral vision, Hartley saw the footman gesture to the left. Miss Blythe carefully moved her hand in that direction until it hovered over the correct fork. The footman she’d called Tommy coughed again, and Miss Blythe picked up the fork in triumph.

  “Hartley?” He realized that his aunt had said his name more than once in an attempt to get his attention—the attention that had been completely focused on Miss Blythe and her entertaining victory over the flatware. “Other than what we’ve already discussed, what other assumptions are being made about you and Emma?”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The implications that Godwin had made . . . he shou
ld have called the man out then and there. He was grateful Aunt Charles was not forcing him to repeat the accusations in front of Miss Blythe. It had been hard enough to tell her the first time. “Today someone asked whether I was her guardian.”

  “The girl is one and twenty. She has no need of a guardian.”

  “If you were my guardian,” Miss Blythe asked, “what would that make me?”

  “My ward, which you are not,” he replied.

  “Your ward? Like Batman and Robin. Off to fight our archnemesis, the Evil Fortune Hunter,” she grinned.

  What was a bat man, and why would he have a robin? Before he could ask her to explain further, Miss Blythe spoke again. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something since I got here. If that’s okay.” She looked to Aunt Charles for direction and then back at him. Her green eyes looked particularly bright and beautiful.

  He nodded, only a bit concerned at what she might say.

  “What is that thing you’re wearing around your neck?”

  Hartley looked down, confused by her question. “My cravat?”

  “Yeah. What’s the point?”

  The point? “Beg your pardon?”

  Aunt Charles said something to her, and Miss Blythe removed her elbows from the table. “Why do you wear it?”

  “Because . . .” His voice trailed off. Saying it was fashionable or stylish made him feel like a nick-ninny. So he settled on, “Because it’s what gentlemen wear.”

  “Okay.” Her voice indicated she didn’t believe him. “I guess if nothing else, at least you’ll always have a big bandage around if somebody gets hurt. But it kind of makes you look like you lost a bet.”

  At that, his aunt covered her mouth, trying very hard not to laugh. And despite the insult to his dress and his valet, even Hartley had a hard time not smiling.

  “Oh, come on,” Miss Blythe cajoled. “You almost smiled. What do you have against smiling? Does it hurt your face?”

  “Life is a series of great disappointments ended by the greatest one of all,” he informed her, wondering why she gave any notice to whether or not he smiled.

  And why it disappointed him that he had disappointed her.

  “What do you like to do, Emma?” His aunt came to his rescue, and he could hear the unshed laughter in her voice. “Do you ride?”

  “Ride what?”

  “Horses, my dear.”

  “Right. Horses. I’ve always wanted to. I even went through a phase when I was thirteen where I was obsessed with horses. But I’ve never actually ridden one.” He could hear her wistful tone.

  He could help with that. “Then I shall have to mount you while you’re here.”

  Miss Blythe had been taking a drink, but at his response she began to cough, and liquid sprayed all over her plate. “What?” she asked, sounding panicked. “What do you mean?”

  Several footmen darted forward to help clean up the mess, as if they couldn’t wait to be of service to her. “Provide you with a horse. A mount.” Why had she reacted that way? What had she thought he meant?

  Her face turned a bright pink, and it took several moments before she’d regained control of herself and a mischievous grin broke out across her face, lighting up her features. “I thought you meant something else. Where I’m from, that means something totally different.”

  It did not take much for him to intuit her faulty interpretation, and he was glad that his aunt had continued her instruction, oblivious to him. Because the images that assaulted him and his reaction to them were not proper in a formal or informal setting. How could an innocent maiden arrive at that conclusion to his words?

  As his aunt had said, Miss Blythe was unconventional. A mystery. A puzzle.

  But he would not be the one to solve her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816

  Deodorant

  Despite the age difference, Charles quickly became my best friend. I missed Bex desperately, but I was glad I had someone to help fill the void.

  Not that she made my life easy. Our days were filled with instruction and lessons and tests. It was like cramming for finals, trying to learn all these things at once. The British had rules for everything. It was ridiculous.

  And when we weren’t studying or practicing, Charles took me shopping. She’d ordered so many dresses I didn’t know if I would have time to wear them all before I went back home. When I’d said as much to Rosemary, she told me that I would have to do this every season! I asked what I was supposed to do with all the leftover dresses, and she informed me that many noblewomen gave their old dresses to their maids, who sold them to make some extra money. I didn’t have a problem with that.

  We went everywhere so that we were seen together. My favorite shop was one called Floris that made things like perfumes. Charles had the owner design my own personal fragrance, and it was this blend of orange blossom and vanilla. I literally smelled like a Creamsicle. In addition to perfume, he gave me bath oils, and Charles bought soap and checked out some hair combs. I thought this would be a perfect store to buy a razor, but the owner looked at me strangely when I asked for a feminine version of the straightedge that men used. Given what I now knew about politeness and manners, I couldn’t explain the forest situation happening on my legs to him. And considering how often I cut myself with a safety razor, I knew a straight edge would probably kill me.

  I was beyond grateful for the perfume. I had taken to putting baking soda on my hairy armpits in an attempt to contain my natural smell, because there was no such thing as deodorant. The perfume would help. I could hardly hope to lure a man while reeking of BO.

  Besides shopping, Charles took me to visit some family members. We “called” on them. And those visits were excruciating. Everyone was uncomfortable with me, but as Charles had predicted, no one dared offend her, or me. So we made awkward small talk with strangers in the morning and went back to Hartley Hall to practice further and to correct any mistakes I’d made that day.

  One morning we were “in” for visits, and people were supposed to stop by and say hi. And given my luck, I shouldn’t have been surprised when one of our very first visits was Lady Kitty Darlington and her mother.

  Lady Kitty was as short and awful as I’d remembered. I hadn’t imagined it. Stephens announced them, and they followed in after him. I curtsied slightly, resenting that I had to do it. While the mom was dressed appropriately, Lady Kitty had on a pale rose dress that was showing off her arms and some cleavage. Which I now knew was totally inappropriate for daytime. Aunt Charles would have lectured me about how it said something about a woman’s character to show up dressed like that. Unfortunately, now I couldn’t cling to my feminist high ground, as Lady Kitty proved Charles’s theory to be true.

  The Darlingtons greeted Charles with a fake enthusiasm that set my teeth on edge. They barely acknowledged me, which I was totally fine with. I found that I still wanted to inflict mortal harm on Kitty. It wouldn’t be that hard to dispose of the body. I bet she’d fit up the chimney.

  Tea was delivered, and Charles had assigned me the task of pouring and serving to make sure I did it correctly.

  And I refrained from pouring any tea on Kitty, which I thought I deserved an award for. She accepted her tea with a malicious gleam in her eyes. “A little bird told me that we are destined to become the dearest of friends.”

  I couldn’t imagine what kind of bird would think that I would ever want to be friends with this, as Charles would call her, title digger. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning,” I said, parroting the words Charles had taught me for when somebody said something I didn’t like.

  “Oh!” She had the nerve to look surprised. Like she didn’t know exactly what she doing. Like every word and every movement weren’t calculated. “I thought it to be common knowledge that you are to marry Mr. Portwood?”

  Who? Oh, right. That was Hartley’s family name. Portwood. She meant James.

  And how would she even know ab
out that? As far as I knew, Hartley, Charles, and I were the only people who knew about the plan. It didn’t seem like something Hartley would advertise, since he was hoping to trick James into marrying me. Giving him a heads-up would defeat the purpose.

  Looked like Hartley had a traitor in his household. I’d lay money on Mrs. Farnsworth.

  “What an interesting thing to say,” Charles butted in. And while her words sounded polite, her implication was clear. She was telling Lady Kitty to stop.

  Lady Kitty did not get the hint.

  “If it were true, perhaps someday we might even be sisters.”

  Red, raging anger clouded my vision. I actually saw colors as my hands shook. How stupid was this chick? She was insulting me via rumor while simultaneously insinuating that she was going to marry Hartley, in front of his favorite aunt. I knew this “wasn’t done.” It made her look pathetic and desperate, and I was back to calculating how best to dispose of her teeny body.

  “I don’t know how that would happen since neither one of us has any siblings,” I said, keeping my polite face and voice intact. I could tell Charles approved of my reply. There was really nothing Kitty could say back. If she outright said she intended to marry Hartley, the fallout of that would be epic.

  Half of me hoped she would.

  Instead, she proceeded to ignore me but kept up a running monologue that had numerous comments about the sorry state “the colonies” were in.

  Finally, and surprisingly, even Kitty’s mom seemed as uncomfortable as we were, and she made their excuses and dragged her daughter out.

  “I really hate her,” I told Charles after they left.

  “Lady Katherine?” she unnecessarily asked.

  “Lady Katherine, Lucifer, whatever name she’s currently using.” That little twit had probably been cackling into her magic mirror all morning.

  “Interesting.”

  I didn’t know what that “interesting” meant. What did she find interesting? That I wanted to drive a stake through Kitty’s heart? I knew better than to ask. If Charles wanted to elaborate, she would.