by Lisa Kumar
Julia nodded and glanced at a clock on the mantel. “You must be exhausted. Why don’t we retire for the night?”
Nothing sounded better than being by herself right now. “Okay.”
“You want to be in fine form if Avingdale means to turn on the charm.” Julia smirked. “He’s not used to women turning him down.”
“I can well imagine,” Maryanne muttered, not liking this information in the least. He must come on to every woman if Julia was giving her such warnings. “He must not be very picky.”
“Quite the contrary. He can be as choosy as he wants.”
Well, that definitely put her way below his league. “I fail to see why you’d think he would bother with me, then.”
“You’re an attractive woman.” Maryanne brightened a bit until Julia continued, “Though you’re not his typical type.”
What a way to encourage a woman. “I’m not many men’s type.”
Julia stood from her seat and swatted Maryanne on the arm. “Don’t talk that way. You just need to learn how to flirt.”
Maryanne didn’t know what blew her mind more—Julia’s impudence for smacking her or her complete audacity in thinking she should be a flirt. Maryanne scowled and said flatly, “I don’t get along with flirting. We’re sworn enemies.”
Julia laughed and pulled her from the settee. “Is that so?”
“I’m serious.” Maryanne put her hands on her hips.
“I know you are.”
Maryanne sent a glare at Julia’s grinning face. “You seem amused by this.”
“We’ll teach you to win any man you want.”
“W-win a man?” Maryanne sputtered. “It’s not like we can win one in a gambling establishment.”
“You’re silly. Those places are for men.”
What an unbelievable conversation. Maryanne was sure her eyes were crossing. “I realize only women of a certain reputation go to them. It was a comparison.”
“A visually funny one. Excuse me, my humor is odd at times.”
Now that was something Maryanne understood. “I have the same problem at times.”
Julia smiled and pushed her toward the door. “I bet you do.”
What was that supposed to mean? Maryanne shivered. Something told her she was going to be clueless during her stay in 1813 England. If there was anything she hated more than being clueless, she hadn’t had the misfortune of discovering it yet.
***
Pesky light filtered in through Maryanne’s closed eyelids. She grumbled and pulled a thin coverlet over her face. What she wouldn’t give for a nice sleep-in. Stretching, she slid her feet along linen sheets. Linen? She didn’t have anything linen on her bed.
She ripped the covers off her head. Light blue paper hangings decorated in sprigs of delicate flowers assaulted her eyes. Her stomach sunk as she shot up in bed.
The events of yesterday night trickled back like a slowly remembered nightmare, and she groaned. This couldn’t be happening. Any of it. Her missions never went wrong. She might be horrible at human interactions, but she was great as a research scientist. Now she didn’t even have that claim.
She plopped her chin down on her palm, her elbow resting on her raised knee. While part of her wanted to hole up in this room until it was time to return home, she had to set things straight. Never mind that Intellitravel would clean up any potential mess. She didn’t trust them not to tweak something for their own benefit.
History wouldn’t go around changing willy-nilly on her watch. Pushing aside all feelings of failure, she rolled off the four-poster bed. An egg-blue rug, with flowers that echoed those on the wallpaper, cushioned her feet from the wood floor. She dug her toes into the fibers. Wool, but not as scratchy as she supposed.
She glanced around the room, wanting to start her day but not sure how. The only clothes she had were those she arrived in. Since research scientists were normally invisible on missions, they “borrowed” clothes and any other item they needed. The white muslin nightdress Julia had loaned her covered her from neck to toes, something of which Maryanne’s repressed sensibilities hardily approved. The locals probably wouldn’t agree with her wearing it as a morning dress, though.
A knock on the bedroom door shook her out of her thoughts. “Who is it?” she called out wearily. For all she knew, it could be Lord Avingdale breaking propriety by trying to visit her clandestinely. Though why he’d do that, she didn’t have a clue. Still, the idea was…. Her pulse picked up and ran off with her breath, leaving her struggling for air.
“I’m Sarah, miss. Lady Correlton has assigned me as your lady’s maid.”
Relief, and something that couldn’t be disappointment but felt like it, hammered their way through her. It wasn’t Lord Avingdale—it was something even better: help. Someone she couldn’t turn away.
“Wonderful. Come in.”
The pretty, dark-haired maid entered, carrying some garments over her arm.
“Are those for me?”
Sarah blinked, and her expression clearly said she thought the question daft. “Yes, miss.”
“Good, good. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Pardon me, miss?”
Woops. She’d have to watch her slang. Some of her modern sayings she might be able to pass off because she was from America, but she didn’t want to introduce too many catch phrases that could become all the rage before their time. She shuddered. To mess with history like that was unconscionable.
Maryanne waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, it’s not important. Please help me get ready for the morning.”
Sarah bustled forward and laid her stash of clothing items on the unmade bed. Maryanne cringed, and her fingers itched to set the bed to rights. How embarrassing. The maid probably thought she couldn’t do something as easy as making a bed.
“Which one would you like to wear? Lady Correlton thought either would fit you quite well.”
Maryanne drew her attention back to the dresses Sarah had carefully spread out. One was an ivory-colored gown with matching embroidery at the bottom and along the slightly puffed sleeves. Very pretty in a bright, innocent way. The other gown, a brown-sprigged cotton with very little trim, seemed much more plain and practical. Maryanne decided on that one right away. It was much more her speed.
“This one is perfect,” she said, fingering the fabric between thumb and index finger. At least it wasn’t too rough against the skin.
The maid’s eyebrows rose. “The muslin would be a nice contrast to your hair and eyes. Plus, the color flatters your coloring.”
Like anything would flatter her skin tone. She was nearly as pale as a ghost. The only thing that kept her from that fate was her skin’s pink undertones. “I’d like to wear the brown one.” Then she added as an afterthought, “Please.”
“Very well.”
Sarah strode toward the exit of the bedroom. Maryanne’s mouth fell open. The maid was leaving? Sarah opened the door a crack and bent down. When she stood up and closed the door, one of her hands clutched the handle of a huge jug. She marched over to a washstand in the corner and poured the contents of the jug into a washbasin.
Water. Of course, Maryanne needed a sponge bath. She couldn’t protest, because who knew when she’d get a full dip in a tub? Given that Julia was from the future, though, Maryanne couldn’t imagine that Cranston Manor didn’t see plenty of baths. Plus, Lord Correlton didn’t look like the scruffy type, and no unpleasant odor or cloying scent covering up said odor had wafted from him during their carriage ride.
Did Lord Avingdale bathe frequently— With a wince, Maryanne cut off her inappropriate thought. She had no business wondering about his clothed — or unclothed — form.
The maid motioned to the washstand. “There’s a washcloth, soap ball, and towel. Do you need any assistance?”
“No.”
Sarah nodded and dragged an unfolded screen to the toiletry area that also housed a dressing table with drawers. Once she’d set it up, Maryanne
slipped behind the screen and performed her ablutions as briskly as she could. Sarah had to still be in the room, since she hadn’t heard her leave.
The water was warm but not hot, which was perfect for the warm summer morning. After drying off, Maryanne reached for her undergarments and gown, only to realize she hadn’t bothered to pick them up from the bed. She opened her mouth to ask Sarah to bring them to her, but the maid appeared to read her mind. The wanted items were slung over the screen, and Maryanne smiled. Talk about efficient. This maid set-up could grow on her.
Maryanne found the chemise buried at the bottom. Throwing it on over her head, she let it flow down her body. The hem reached her knees. The short stays came next, but to her disappointment, the bra-like undergarment laced up the back. With practice, she was sure she’d be able to tighten the thing herself, but she didn’t want to spend an hour doing it.
“Sarah, please help me with the stays.”
The maid came around the screen, and deftly laced her up. Though Maryanne wanted to shy away when Sarah invaded her personal bubble of space, she forced herself not to bolt. With amazing quickness, the maid helped her dress. Maryanne felt like a life-sized doll with which someone was playing dress up. Unfortunately, even as a child, she’d never liked that frivolous activity unless she was the one putting the clothes on the doll.
Sarah guided her from out behind the screen and pressed her onto the stool in front of the dressing table. Maryanne avoided the mirror, turning her left shoulder away from the offending item. She was plain. There was no reason to visually remind herself of it.
After running a brush through Maryanne’s locks, Sarah piled her hair on top of her head and secured it with pins. “There you are, miss. How do you like it?” The maid’s surprisingly strong grip on her shoulders forced Maryanne to face the dreaded mirror.
Wow, it didn’t look bad. Even though her hair was painfully straight and wouldn’t hold a curl for long, the style still had a vaguely Grecian feel to it. “It’s lovely, Sarah.”
The young woman’s austere face cracked into a smile in the mirror. “I’m pleased you like it, miss. I believe you’re ready to go down to the breakfast room.”
Maryanne shifted uncomfortably. The call of nature had been sneaking up on her, and it could no longer be denied. Normally, she’d snoop around until she located a chamber pot. She’d even been known to use the great outdoors as a privy, but since she was visible, all bets were off.
Sarah looked at her strangely and gestured to an upholstered chair that stood a little bit away from the dressing table. “There’s a chamber pot under the cushion.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of the room having a potty chair. Well, that piece of furniture would make using a chamber pot easier.
“Is there anything else, Miss?”
Good, she wouldn’t have to ask the maid to leave the room. Maryanne hated doing her business before anyone. She shivered. Public bathrooms that had more than one toilet were some of the worst places on Earth—past and present. Who was she kidding? Even the one-toilet kind was a shop of horrors.
Maryanne shook her head. “You may go, thank you.”
After Sarah left, Maryanne used the potty chair with a minimum of fuss. When she saw the only thing to wipe with was newspaper and rags, she cringed. What was she supposed to do with them after she was done? Leave them in the chamber pot? That seemed cruel to the chambermaid who would probably have to take care of the mess.
Below the little table that held the scraps of cloth and paper, she spied a little metal basket. Ah-ha.
Mission accomplished. She quickly washed her hands with the water that was still in the washbasin.
Now she had to locate the breakfast room. Too bad she hadn’t thought to ask Sarah where it was. Oh, well, how hard could it be to find?
A few minutes—and twists and turns—later, Maryanne ran a hand down her face. Who would’ve guessed she’d be so directionally challenged?
“Lost?” a male voice drawled.
She jumped a few feet in the air and whirled around, a hand slapped over her heart. To her dismay, Avingdale stood before her in the hallway. “Why did you have to do that?” The words flew from her mouth without conscious thought.
His lips twitched. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She sent him a wary look. “So you say.”
“Your disbelief wounds me.”
“I doubt anything I could do would wound you.”
“Some would say you are right,” he said, his tone introspective.
She didn’t like this…this sparring. How do I get it to stop? Maybe by being her socially clumsy self. “They probably know you much better than I,” she said with a jerky shrug of her shoulders.
“Not particularly.” He squinted. “Is there something wrong with your shoulder?”
Heat flooded her face. Looked like her tactic had worked a little too well. “No, not really. It tends to move that way when I’m around people.”
His brows practically arched up to his hairline. “You’re quite candid.”
“Most of the time.”
“I find it a refreshing quality.”
“Hmm.” She attempted to not sound flattered.
“You do not seem impressed.”
She ignored his observation. “We have to stop meeting in hallways.”
Other than a slight narrowing of his eyes, he showed no displeasure over the change of topic. “You always look so delightfully lost. How could I not offer my assistance to a maiden in distress?”
“Easy—by continuing on your way. Surely, you have better things to do.”
“If I didn’t know better, one would think that you didn’t want my company,” he said lightly, but after he finished, his lips set in a tight line.
“Your company is as acceptable as any, I guess.” As soon as the words shot out of her mouth, she cringed. Why did she never realize she was saying something insulting until after the fact? She shouldn’t be let out into polite society without someone to talk for her.
Instead of appearing angry, he smiled. “I do not think I’ve had a lady say that to me before.”
“Glad I could be your first in something.”
He stared at her but remained silent. As the double entendre of her words dawned on her, that horrible flush coated her face again. What she wouldn’t give to melt into the floor right now.
A smirk spread across his lips before he spoke. “I’m honored you are my first in this, then.”
She scowled. “Can you point the way to the breakfast room?”
“I can do more than that. I can take you there.”
“Oh, you don’t have to inconvenience yourself.”
“I’m not. I want to break my fast, so regardless if you accompany me or not, I’m heading there.”
Of course he was. There was no escaping the handsome marquess whose history she was royally messing up. Part of her didn’t want to escape him, either. So what did that say about her?
He offered his arm, which she reluctantly took. As before, funny feeling electric sparks ran up and down her arm, and she wanted nothing more than to shake the limb out. But that would probably look odd.
As if he could traverse the hallways of Cranston Manor blindfolded—which he probably could, given that the Correltons were his cousins and he’d obviously visited before—he soon had them on the landing of the stairs.
Within a minute they arrived at the breakfast room. Yellow-papered walls contained the bright and airy space. Julia and James were already there, munching away at a light meal.
James smiled from the end of the table. “There you two are. We were about to send out a search party.”
Julia playfully hit James in the ribs with her elbow. “Oh, stop. You’re embarrassing our guest.”
Maryanne froze. No need to guess whom Julia was referring to. The heat painting Maryanne’s face and neck burned.
As if sensing her distress, Avingdale guided her forward and pulled out a chair a
cross from Julia for her.
She slid onto the seat and mumbled, “Thanks.” Why did he keep doing gentlemanly things for her? Oh, right, because it was expected.
“My pleasure. Let me prepare a plate for you.” He strode over to the sideboard and gave her a generous helping of eggs, fresh berries, and two slices of toast.
After he sat the food before her, he went back to get his own plate. All too soon, he took a seat next to her. Why couldn’t he have placed her next to Julia? She’d much rather sit by her than by Avingdale and Correlton. Why did Avingdale even want to be near her?
Maybe she was some kind of pity case he’d taken on, and he felt no fascination about her. What little she knew of him, though, didn’t jibe with that. He wasn’t a man who seemed to do anything unless it benefited him in some way.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Avingdale held up a pot.
Maryanne nodded. “Please.” Anything over tea, though she actually did like hot chocolate.
He poured her a cup, and James snorted. “Since when are you so helpful as to wait upon a lady, Avingdale?”
The man in question shrugged his broad shoulders. “I feel like doing it, and there’s a first to everything,” he said, echoing their words from earlier this morning and flashing her a devilish grin.
James shook his head in apparent wonderment. “There must be, for I’ve just seen the most unlikely one happen.”
Avingdale scoffed. “Exaggeration is ever your forte.”
“It is? Hmm, I never thought I excelled in that area. I think you protest too much.”
“Indeed, you’re proving my point.”
“By not agreeing with you?” James laughed, turning toward Maryanne. “See how hard it is to argue successfully against this opponent. He doesn’t play fair.”
“I’ve noticed.” His demeanor and presence said it all—he was a man used to commanding attention and obedience. If one didn’t willingly give him those things, he’d ensure he received them some other way.
“Some people are simpletons that I have to suffer.” Avingdale’s expression said he considered James one of those fools.
Though both men seemed to be joking, an undercurrent of tension ran between them. Maybe their personalities often clashed, but intuition told Maryanne that it was something more than that.
