by Sy Walker
“Are you meeting someone for a liaison, perhaps while your husband waits at home,” he asked, his eyes darkening with anger as he spoke.
“My my, are you not quite the cynical man,” she scoffed as she used her hands to brush the grass from her dress as best she could. It was only then that she looked closely at herself. Her modern clothing had been replaced with a light green day dress typical of the period, adding yet another level of mystery to her current situation.
“Who are you?” he demanded, glaring at her as though she had personally offended him.
“My name is Violet,” she answered truthfully.
“But what are you doing here if you are not meeting a lover?” he asked, continuing to push her for answers.
“Well I could ask you the same thing,” she said, holding her head high. The year made no difference to her. She was not about to let any man bully her.
“I have no secrets. I came here to paint,” he said defensively, looking incredulous that she would dare to question him.
“These walled gardens would make lovely subject matter,” she said, thinking back fondly to her own time painting at the park. The walled garden, though, had been removed by the time she had found her way to the park as an art student.
“You paint?” he asked, looking shocked. She realized that it was probably odd in his time for a woman to be a painted but she loved it too much to deny her passion.
“Yes, once upon a time I suppose,” she said with a wistful expression on her face. After years of working to restore the work of others, she still missed her own art work at times.
“Interesting. Can I escort you back to your home or wherever it is you came from?” he offered, though she was sure that he offered more out of curiosity than a genuine desire to aid her.
“I wish it was that simple,” she said with a sad smile. It was then that she heard the gentle buzz of conversation and footsteps as an unseen pair of people moved towards them from the other side of the garden wall. Once they reached the entrance to their section of the garden, Violet saw a lovely woman whose dark eyes and hair echoed those of the stranger she had been conversing with. She was escorted by a tall man with sandy hair who was clearly very much in love with her as he never took his eyes from her.
The woman’s eyes lit up when she saw them and her mouth curled in to a mischievous grin. Her companion cursed under his breath and rolled his eyes as the woman and her escort approached them.
“Dalton, who is this?” the dark hair woman purred as her eyes locked with his.
“Sister, Martin, this is Violet,” he answered, looking as though he was bracing himself for a storm.
“Hello,” Violet said, confused by his reaction.
“An American?” she asked as she gave her a dazzling smile.
“So it would seem,” Dalton said before Violet even had the chance to reply.
“And you are here alone with her?” his sister asked, clearly enjoying herself as she teased her brother.
“So it would seem,” he repeated. “I was just asking her where I could escort her back home,” he added, realizing belatedly what the scene must look like to his sister, especially given the grass on Violet’s skirt.
“And I was just declining his kind offer,” Violet added as she began to turn to walk away from the group. She was not sure what she was going to do with herself, but she was fairly sure that being the center of attention in such a group was not going to help her to blend in.
“But how did you come to be here?” his sister asked, as intrigued as he clearly was to know what brought an American girl to Coventry Park unescorted.
“I have no clue,” she finally blurted out, unable to think of any lie that might sound remotely convincing to them. She could feel tears welling in her eyes and she did her best to keep them at bay, unwilling to cry in front of these strangers.
“Are you alright,” the woman asked as she rushed towards her and wrapped her arms around Violet. Violet did not usually like to rely on anyone else, but the physical gesture of comfort made her feel safe for the first time since she had opened her eyes in this strange time and place.
“You were on the ground when I first noticed you. Perhaps you fainted,” Dalton offered, though he did not look convinced that it was a realistic explanation.
“Or were attacked,” his sister said, looking horrified.
“Gwendolyn, that is not helping,” scolded Martin, her escort.
“Well she might have been attacked,” she said defensively. “Besides, you are not supposed to question your wife in front of strangers,” she said with a wink and a quick smile.
“Is that for the duration of our marriage or just the first year?” he asked with a doting smile.
“Now is not the time for this,” Dalton said, looking annoyed by their unchecked displays of love.
“Brother, you are right. We should be focused on this poor girl,” Gwendolyn said, taking Violet’s hand and squeezing it in support.
“I really do not know how I came to be here,” Violet whispered, not sure what on earth her next step would be in such a strange time and place.
“Do not fret. You will come back to our townhouse until we figure it out,” Gwendolyn said as though it was the most obvious of solutions.
“Yes, of course,” her husband said without any hesitation.
“Wait a moment,” Dalton said as he began to object.
“I could not do that,” Violet said. She was not sure what she should do, but she could not bring herself to rely on these strangers.
“And what exactly will you do then?” Gwendolyn asked, her hand on her hips.
Violet froze for a moment, unable to answer. Finally, she said only, “I have no idea.”
“Then you will come home with us and allow us to look over you until we solve the mystery. Martin, tell her,” Gwendolyn continued, looking to her husband for support.
“My girl, I know that you have just met us so I will give you a bit of inside information. Gwendolyn always gets what she wants. It is best just to give her her way, especially since we seem to be your only option,” he said with a grin that put her at ease.
“It is not that I do not appreciate your generous offer. It is more than kind, really it is. I just cannot take advantage of your generosity,” Violet said, resolved to make her own way in this time just as she always had in her own world.
“That is sweet of you dear,” Gwendolyn said with a knowing smile, “but you do not need to worry. We are quite wealthy. We will not even notice the expense of a houseguest. I assure you.”
“Gwendolyn,” her brother said, looking horrified that she spoke so casually about their financial position.
“It is true brother and Martin does not mind that I am forward. It is one of the things he loves best about me, is it not my love?” she asked as she turned to her husband.
“Of course darling, but perhaps you should not say it so loud. I would like to make it out of the park without being murdered for my billfold,” he said with a chuckle.
“Men, you are both too suspicious of the world,” she said as she shook her head. “Violet, please tell me you will come with us and distract me from these overbearing fools?” she asked with a mischievous grin.
“You are a hard woman to refuse,” Violet answered.
“You have no idea,” Martin said, his eyes locked on Gwendolyn as he spoke.
“I think we are going to be great friends,” Gwendolyn said with an encouraging smile.
“You are already doing more for me than any friend could be expected to do,” Violet said as she realized that, for better or for worse, her fate in this time was tied to Gwendolyn, Martin, and Dalton. Still, though, she felt comforted by Gwendolyn’s presence and she hoped it would bring her peace until she could find a way home.
Violet had been with Gwendolyn and Martin for over a week before she saw Dalton again. His sister talked about his so often though that she felt as though she knew him well. He was the Lord Wi
nthrop and his holdings and wealth were unmatched in all of England, according to his very biased sister. She also spoke often of his sense of humor and his sweet soul, though Violet had seen evidence of neither in their first meeting. His sister hosted a dinner party and musical evening which he was obligated to attend. In that time, she had split her time between trying to find any sort of way back to her own time and keeping Gwendolyn from spending a small fortune to buy her the wardrobe that she deemed appropriate for a lady of her household.
She was sitting in the solarium, when Dalton came upon her. He had sworn to himself that he would get her alone and find out once and for all what this strange woman was up to. Throughout dinner, they were not able to exchange more than polite conversation. It was not until the guests all began to leave that he was able to find his opportunity. When he finally did find a moment to be alone with her, Violet was engrossed in a book she had found in the library about the history of Coventry Park. She knew it was a long shot, but she had hope that she could find some reason in the book that might explain how and why she had been transported there. It had taken all of her willpower to leave the book and attend Gwendolyn’s party, but Violet was too grateful to her to refuse.
“My lady,” he said when he entered, making a perfunctory bow.
“I am American. You know I do not have a title,” she said without looking up from her book. Being ignored by the fairer sex was a new experience for Dalton, whose large inheritance made him the prize of many matrimonially minded ladies.
“My sister seems very fond of you,” he said, walking towards here as though he was on a mission. He was, undeniably, suspicious of her. He had resolved to say his piece to her before his sister joined them, and he was not going to allow her disinterest in his presence to deter him.
“And I am very fond of her,” Violet said with a smile as she finally looked up from her book. If it was not for Gwen, she might have gone mad through the entire insane ordeal she had been through. Sweet Gwen, though, had been nothing but supportive of her. She never pushed her for information about her past. All she ever did was offer his support and friendship, and it meant the world to Violet.
“She said that you sent a letter to your family in America,” he said, recounting the details of the conversation that he and Martin had had the day before at their club. It was true. Violet had known, of course, that she could not appear to be making no effort to connect with her home and family and she absolutely could not tell them that the only way she could reconnect with her home was though magic or fate. She needed a cover and a letter to her far away family seemed to be the best story to tell. She had hated to lie to Gwendolyn after her kindness, but it needed to be done.
“Yes, it should arrive there soon enough. Perhaps they can shed some light on how I came to be here, and they can send me funds for the passage home,” she said, holding tight to her story. Still, she was beginning to lose faith that she could find her way back to her own time and she was not at all sure what she would do when she wore out her welcome with Gwen and Martin.
“Yes, of course,” Dalton said, pausing to watch her for some sort of reaction. When she gave him none, he continued his questioning, asking “Where in America do you call home?”
“Pennsylvania,” she said without hesitation. It was, after all, a state that she knew existed in this time as well and it was the truth. Lying, she found, was easier if it was as close to the truth as possible.
“Interesting,” he muttered as he began to pace back and forth.
“You do not believe me,” she said, unable to even pretend that she was surprised or offended. He had every reason to be suspicious of her and she could believe that Martin and Gwen were not equally suspicious.
“Does it matter?” he asked, pausing to stare at her again as though her countenance might give away the truth behind her presence in their lives.
“Not particularly,” she answered with a shrug. It was, after all, his sister who was giving her the generous support, not him.
“That is a lovely dress my sister has given you,” he remarked, his eyebrow raised. It was a lovely dress, a rich shade of blue that flattered her. The neck line was lower that anything she would have worn, even in her own time, but it was not her dress. It had been a compromise. If Gwendolyn had had her way, they would have spent the week shopping for new dresses and accessories for her so that Gwen could dress her up as she saw fit. Violet would have happily staying in the dress that she was found in for fear of taking advantage of Gwen and Martin’s generosity. Her wearing Gwen’s gowns from the season before had seemed the easiest compromise, though she felt uncomfortable in such finery.
“Yes, she was kind enough to lend me one of hers,” she said with a smile of gratitude at the thought of all her new friend had done for her.
“She is a kind soul,” her brother said, clearly devoted to his sister.
“Say whatever it is you are holding back,” Violet said boldly. She could see in his eyes that he had something specific that he wanted to say to her and she could wait no longer for him to spit it out.
“Fine, she is a kind soul and I will not see her hurt. Whatever you are up to, it ends now,” Dalton growled forcefully. The hurt and anger on his face were more than Violet could have imagined that he felt towards her. It was then that she realized that the anger he was directing at her had been born by the betrayal of another. Someone had given him good reason to distrust woman and she could not contain her curiosity.
“What is her name?” she asked as she rose from her chair and crossed the room to stand toe to toe with him.
“My sister's name is Gwendolyn. You know that,” he said dismissively, looking away from her.
“No, not her. The woman who made you suspicious of all the rest of us,” she said as she stared up at him, challenging him to tell her the truth.
“Not all of you, just those who appear out of nowhere and insinuate themselves in my sister's life,” he said as his eyes snapped back to her face, bright with anger.
“You. I that think that, but I have watched you for this entire evening. You have looked at every woman who has had the misfortune of coming near you with the same disdain you are focusing on me right now,” she said, knowing beyond a doubt that she spoke the truth.
Rather than answer her he turned abruptly and stormed from the room, leaving her alone once again to read her book and search for some sort of reason in all of the madness surrounding her.
Chapter 4
The next day, despite her reservations, Violet accompanied Gwen to tea at Dalton’s townhouse. As she explained it, they had a standing date for tea on the first Saturday of each month and they had both agreed years before to hold it sacred. She rationalized that she would not be able to enjoy herself if she was worried about Violet, sitting at home alone. For that reason, she had insisted that she accompany her and Violet had been unable to refuse her new friend’s simple request, no matter how uncomfortable the thought of seeing Dalton again made her. It did not help, of course, that her dear new friend insisted that she wear the loveliest dress she had ever seen. Gwendolyn insisted that the pale blue dress that shimmered in the light like a prism was completely appropriate and did such a good job of feigning hurt when Violet suggested that it was not a hand me down from the season before that Violet could deny her.
When they arrived, he had yet to return home from a morning ride. While Violet was annoyed, Gwendolyn brushed it off and left Violet alone in the library while she went to make sure that he had made arrangements with his cook to prepare the tea, something he often forgot to do. Violet was glad for the chance to explore such an impressive library and was so engrossed in exploring the shelves that she did not hear Dalton enter behind her.
“Greetings,” he said, pulling her from her musings.
“Lord Winthrop,” she said, doing her best curtsy. It was such a strange concept to her, but she was doing her best to behave as a lady of the times.
“Lady Violet,” he said,
smirking as he bowed to her.
“You know I am not titled,” she said, repeating the same thing she had on their last meeting.
“Fine then, Miss Violet,” he replied, a tinkle of mischief in his eye reminding her very much of his sister.
“It still sounds so odd,” she answered, shaking her head in amusement. She could not remember any time in her life when anyone had even addressed her as Miss, let alone Lady.
“You Americans and your informality,” he scoffed, finally looking as though he had relaxed a bit about her presence in their lives.
“I do miss it,” she replied, her expression turning sad. He tilted his head and watched her intently, as though he was perhaps truly seeing her for the first time.
