The maid bobbed her head a few times, reminding Alaina of a wobble doll. “Yes, Milady. Pardon me for sayin', but I do know how you dote on your whippin’ cream. I can tell Milady is still out of frame."
That was as good as an excuse as any. One which she'd be using in the days ahead until she returned to New York. “Thank you for understanding, Dana."
Emboldened, the maid continued, “And your voice, Milady. You do sound ever so strange. I could ask Biddleton to prepare his mum's special emollient gargle, which, as the butler says, softens the tongue."
Alaina coughed; she couldn't help it. How could she have forgotten about her American accent? Plus her more informal way of talking. She took a sip on the chocolate and almost made a face. Bitter didn't describe it. “I think I'll pass on the gargle, Dana. I'm sure my voice will be back to normal soon.”
As soon as I find Lady Saybrooke and drag her back where she belongs!
Setting the teacup in its saucer, Alaina picked up a newspaper. “Well, let's see what's new in the world."
Dana understood it was time for her to leave. She quietly made her way to the double doors, then pirouetted around. “Oh, Milady, His Lordship's been informed of your condition, but he sent no word on whether to expect him. Biddleton says that since His Lordship is in the village of Fishbourne, his return cannot be at least until tonight."
“Thank you, Dana. Um, you may go now.” Collapsing with relief against the pillows when the maid finally closed the door, Alaina was alone. She'd finally have some time to figure what she should do next before Lord Saybrooke, most likely that handsome hunk, came back to his house.
If, in fact, he was the man from her vision. But what would he say when he found out his wife had escaped from her gilded cage?
Alaina chuckled out loud. Having had a preview of his temper, she guessed he'd tan the woman's Rococo hide!
But none of these domestic matters were her concern. Hopefully, she'd be able to hightail it back to her own apartment and pronto.
She flipped over the newspaper to read the top headline. “Spa Fields Riot Pre-planned!” Skimming the column, she went on to read how a riot on December 2 at Spa Fields, north of London, had engulfed most the city.
Alaina smoothed down the paper's crinkled surface against the bed covers. Funny, she didn't remember hearing about a riot. She continued reading. Something about a large group of men going to a peaceful meeting with the express intent to riot.
So she was definitely in London, then. Or in England. Same thing. But the article was worded so strangely, almost antiquated in its usage. She glanced up at the masthead. The Morning Chronicle shouted out its own name. And the date was December 13, 18—
Alaina's heart stopped. There, in black and white, was the number 1816.
Whoa! Wait a minute. She riffled through the rest of the paper. Sure enough, 1816 was stamped on each page.
A buzzing sensation zapped up and down her veins, while her heart now pounded out an urgent SOS. This couldn't be happening. This was some kind of joke. A joke in extremely bad taste. She grabbed the other paper to check the date. The London Gazette also glared at her: December 13, 1816.
God in heaven! Could it possibly be true? Gulping down shallow breaths of air, she scrambled over to a window and flung aside the drapes to look outside. A carriage, of the horse-drawn type, waited upon a gravel pathway. In the distance, two more old-fashioned coaches lumbered away from the house.
It was true, then? Really, really true? As the old saying went: truth was stranger than fiction. For better or for worse, she had somehow been transplanted back to the early nineteenth century.
Hysterical giggles enveloped her and she slid down to the floor to rest her head on her knees. “I wanted a vacation,” she gasped through sobs of tear-stained laughter, “but not back in the time of the English Regency!"
~*~
As Ann Landers was so fond of saying, “When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.” An opportunity of the most unusual kind presented itself to Alaina and she wasn't about to sit and bemoan her fate.
And what an unusual fate it was. Evidently she and “Her Ladyship” had exchanged places. Of course Alaina couldn't be certain that her apartment now contained Lady Saybrooke, but it was reasonable to assume that the difficult woman had also awakened in a strange bed.
That thought sparked a million questions. How was the woman reacting to this switch? To modern day life? And what had happened yesterday when Roger knocked on her apartment door? Would Lady Rococo even know how to open it? Would she try to assume Alaina's identity?
No! Alaina shook her head. She couldn't afford to think about what was going on in her own time, with all the awful ramifications. The first order of business was to find Madame Reena and get her to unswitch the switch.
Pacing up and down the pink and gold bedroom, Alaina eyed its sumptuous decorations with distaste. On the wall next to her were two gilded, pink couches or settees flanking a magnificent fireplace. A huge tapestry hung over the fireplace and covered the width of the room. More chubby cupids and nymphs, of course.
These mythological figures only fueled her desire to track down Madame Reena. But Alaina had to be careful, for from what she'd heard from Lady Saybrooke's lips, the mystic had pulled a fast one on her.
And me.
That was a depressing thought. But, given enough money and jewels, Reena would be persuaded. At least that was what Lady Saybrooke had implied.
“So, the best way to accomplish my goal is to impersonate Lady Rococo.” Alaina stepped in front of the room's gold-framed cheval mirror. Her rosy robe certainly wasn't in character with the Regency mistress of the house. Too slinky and, of course, there was the tell-tale anachronism: the zipper.
Slipping out of the robe, she glanced around the room looking for someplace to hide it. A petite satinwood writing table next to the window boasted of many small compartments. Perfect! Who'd look in a desk for a robe? She scrunched it up and stuffed it into a drawer.
That done, she had to find something to wear. Walking around au natural wasn't exactly Lady Saybrooke's style either.
The closet wasn't hard to locate. Inside, gowns of all colors sparkled and shimmered in the waning daylight.
“Wow. Which one to choose? I'll close my eyes and ... voilà!”
A low-bosomed, provocative gown seductively winked at Alaina. “Ho, not this one!”
She tried again and picked a plain muslin high-neck gown with a bright pink sash and a ruffled collar. “More my style—a nice, respectable school-marm."
Buttoning all the tiny buttons in the back was a trick, but finally she finished. But now for the real headache. Ferreting out Madame Reena didn't really pose a problem, but how would she handle Lord Saybrooke? Alaina might be able to fool Dana, but a husband would know his own wife.
She couldn't tell him the truth. That much was certain. She'd sound crazy. But the truth was crazy. And, given the way the two of them felt about each other, he might welcome the chance to lock his wife away—stash her in the attic, or send her to an institution.
Not that Alaina would ordinarily object, but in this case, the wife was her.
No, she had to play her new role very carefully.
Dana walked into the bedroom, causing Alaina to jump, almost guiltily. Didn't anyone knock around here?
“Milady! Why, I never! Who dressed Your Ladyship for dinner? The other chambermaids all know ‘tis my job.” Dana exclaimed with hurt in her voice. Her lower lip trembled. “Milady should never have allowed it."
Alaina sighed. Another faux pas. She curved her arm around the little maid's shoulders to soothe ruffled feathers. But maybe that was another wrong move, for Dana's eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Don't worry about it, Dana. I just got tired of wearing my robe, that's all."
“But Milady, I have never seen that robe—"
Of course the maid hadn't. Alaina spoke quickly to bury the topic. “Something I picked up someplace. I forget where. Am I late for d
inner?”
“Milady jests! As if I would be so remiss!” Dana then eyed Alaina's dress with bewilderment. “Is Milady certain about wearin’ that mornin’ dress tonight? ‘Tis not quite the thing for dinner. What with the chance His Lordship might be arrivin'."
Now that was a sobering thought. Lord Saybrooke—Lady Rococo's husband. Would Alaina's trial by fire begin so soon?
“I, um, want to dress simply, since I'm still a bit under the weather.
Dana then dropped to her knees and examined the gown's hem. “Lud! Of all the— This gown only reaches as far as the ankle! Your Ladyship, please believe me, I do not understand how this happened."
So, I must be taller than Lady Saybrooke. Alaina had to think fast. “Maybe it shrunk in the wash,” she said lamely. “Or perhaps I've grown.” Might as well say that. After all, shrinkage couldn't explain the length of all the other gowns in the wardrobe. “Never mind, Dana. We'll fix it later."
The maid wasn't happy but she held her tongue and steered Alaina to a vanity chair. “Such goings on, Milady. But, here, ‘tis time to fix Milady's locks.”
Having her hair brushed was relaxing; Alaina closed her eyes to enjoy the movements.
“Milady's hair has grown so. There is hardly enough short locks to make the curls. ‘Tis a shame Milady will not let anyone but Monsieur Philippe cut it. Only the Lord above knows when His Lordship will allow Milady to go back to London.”
Dana gasped at her inadvertent mention of an obviously tender subject. “Oh, I beg Your Ladyship's pardon. I did not mean to brin’ up Milady's banishment from London and cause you distress."
Alaina wrestled with that tidbit of news. With London off limits, hopefully Madame Reena was close by.
“But, Milady, don't pay me no mind. I will arrange these curls famously,” Dana added proudly.
The result of the maid's hairdressing was tight rings of curls framing Alaina's face with the remaining hair pulled back into a soft chignon. Alaina rose from the vanity chair to gaze into the cheval mirror. An image of a conservatively dressed young Regency woman reflected back. Alaina stared at her transformation. She grinned. She'd have to remember this look for her next Halloween party!
“'Tis time for dinner, Milady. Cook prepared a special feast for you tonight.” Dana almost hopped on one foot with her impatience lest her mistress be late.
Alaina twirled around, liking the sensation of petticoats rustling about her legs. Now that she was dressed for the part, she needed to learn the lay of the land, so to speak. “Come help me to the dining room, Dana. I still feel a little weak."
Dana was more than happy to oblige. With this subterfuge, Alaina mapped out the way to her destination.
CHAPTER THREE
Lord Saybrooke never showed for dinner. Inexplicably, Alaina's relief soon turned to disappointment. After all, the man from her visions was one of a kind. He'd given her pause about the state of matrimony, and that was unusual in itself.
Back in the bedroom, she shrugged away her fidgets. She had enough to worry about without getting starry-eyed over Mr. One Hundred Percent Prime Beef. Not the least of which was being stranded—albeit temporarily, back in the past.
“Milady!” From out of nowhere, Dana rushed at her, preventing Alaina from attempting to unbutton her gown. “I am here to serve you, Your Ladyship. Truly, Milady cannot mean to prepare for bed without me."
Alaina sighed. And she'd thought she was alone. As a pliant doll, she stood and allowed the maid to fuss over her. But maybe this was her chance to ferret out some information. “Dana, I was just wondering, do you know of a woman named Madame Reena?” Fingers and toes crossed, Alaina glanced at the little maid.
Dana wrinkled her small forehead, intent on stripping Alaina down to the bare essentials. “No, I cannot say as I do, Milady. Mayhap Biddleton has heard of her. Or mayhap Mrs. Hendly.”
“Mrs. Hendly?” And who is she?
“Why, certainly, Milady. If anyone knows what's what and who's who, ‘tis the housekeeper."
Hair brushed until it sparkled and dressed in a filmy peignoir, Alaina smiled at Dana for this valuable tidbit. “Heavens, I look too fine to go to bed."
A yawn fought its way to the surface and Alaina stretched her arms up to the ceiling to give full expression to it. “But sleep refuses to be denied. All in all, it's been a very peculiar day."
Dana curtsied, then pulled back the down comforter covering Lady Rococo's bed. “As you say, Milady. I'll go get Milady's chocolate—"
“Don't bother, Dana, unless you want some for yourself.” Ignoring the maid's squeak of surprise, Alaina continued, “Right now, all I need is between these covers.”
And what covers they were. Soft as a cloud and more cozy than lamb's wool, she snuggled into the sheets as waves of delight washed over her.
She might have already been dreaming when she heard a tiny voice murmuring through the ear muffs of sleep.
“Well, I'll be,” came the angelic tones. “If the angry tigress who rants and raves at everyone and everythin’ hasn't just gone and turned into a purrin’ kitten!"
~*~
Finding Mrs. Hendly the next morning wasn't a problem. In fact, the housekeeper burst into the bedroom loaded down with enough breakfast for three people.
“Pardon me, Milady, for interrupting your morning rest. However, Dana and Biddleton say Milady's changed for the better and I do need your help."
Alaina sat up in the bed and wiped the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. No use in pretending she was back where she belonged—as her dream had implied; her bottom hadn't moved an inch from Lady Rococo's comfortable mattress.
Smelling rich, delicious food that would undoubtedly add calories just by inhaling, Alaina took stock of the lean, middle-aged woman hovering over her. “Good morning, Mrs. Hendly. Thanks for the breakfast.” She avoided the cup of hot chocolate to pick up a pot of tea. “How may I help you?"
“Ooh, I vow I didn't put much credit in Dana's words, but goodness gracious! If you aren't a different person, begging Milady's pardon.
Alaina hid her smile behind the china cup. You can't begin to know how different!
Mrs. Hendly tucked a stray strand of grey-laced hair back into her white, cotton cap. “That's none of my nevermind, Milady. Leastways, I'm glad Milady's feeling more the thing.” With a kind of internal anguish, she twisted the bottom of her heavy linen apron. “'Tis these Christmas preparations that's got me in a tizzy. What with the Saybrooke Hall Holiday Fête just around the corner, and the staff down two scullery maids, three footmen, plus a chambermaid, I was wondering if Milady could spare Dana for a few hours?"
As Alaina nibbled on a biscuit, she mulled on that tidbit of news. Saybrooke Hall Holiday Fête. Good heavens, that would be an excruciating formal event she'd give anything to miss.
“Milady?"
“Ah, sorry, Mrs. Hendly. My mind wandered. Yes, of course Dana can help you. And me too. I'd rather be busy than...."
Than dwell on my peculiar fate.
“Why, Milady! ‘Tis a wonderful idea. Mayhap Milady would care to make the kissing bough?"
Kissing bough? Suggestive, that. Alaina shrugged. Doing anything was better than twiddling her thumbs. “I'm game, Mrs. Hendly. As soon as I'm dressed, you can show me how to make it."
The housekeeper curtsied then bustled to the door, her chains of keys hanging from her waist swinging behind her.
“Oh, Mrs. Hendly,” Alaina called out to the woman. How could she have forgotten to ask that most important question? “Do you happen to know anything about a Madame Reena?"
Mrs. Hendly vigorously shook her head. “No, indeed, Milady. There's nary a female in these parts that goes by that name. None in Hambledon that I'm aware of."
Hambledon must be the closest town, wherever that is. Drat. This is going to be harder than I thought.
“If I may be so bold, Milady, who is Madame Reena?"
Alaina wasn't about to give the unvarnished truth. “I've heard she'
s something of a healer. Since my, um, illness, I have a small problem that she can help me with.”
The housekeeper's eyes widened but she knew her place and didn't inquire what that small problem was.
A big sigh escaped Alaina's lips. “Well, keep your ears open for me, just in case."
Mrs. Hendly laughed. “Milady has such a colorful way of talking.” She curtsied again and left the room.
With a crisp, linen napkin, Alaina wiped her lips. What little appetite she'd had, fled. While it was much too soon to give up hope, she could admit to a sinking of her spirits. But then again, despite what the housekeeper said, maybe someone in town knew of Reena.
If Lady Saybrooke found the mystic, then surely Alaina could. Thus cheered, she began to look forward to celebrating Christmas—Regency style.
CHAPTER FOUR
Richard Cransworth, the seventh Earl of Saybrooke, approached his principal seat in Hampshire county with much trepidation. It was not Saybrooke Hall itself nor the dismal weather that engendered his apprehension. To be truthful, he could lay the blame for his inner turmoil on the prospect of seeing his lovely, unfaithful wife again.
From the mount of his favorite horse, Richard glanced back at the elegant, well-sprung carriage also along on the journey. Since he had been in no mood to listen to his mother's tedious marital advice, he had elected to ride instead, leaving his mother and son to the comforts of the enclosed vehicle.
Lady Wilhelmina, the Dowager Countess, had insisted on spending the holidays at the family estate. Richard could hardly refuse her. Tradition demanded that the present Earl of Saybrooke and kin gather at the ancestral home for Christmas. Ever since the first Earl of Saybrooke took possession of the Hall in 1588, this custom had always been followed by each succeeding earl. Number seven in the line was expected to hold with the tradition.
Richard loved the Hall and his happy childhood memories. But now he dreaded returning to it. Pulling roughly on his horse's reins, he silently cursed the woman responsible for causing him to avoid his home and his responsibilities there. He should have banished her to his farthest estate in the wilds of Northumberland, near the Scottish border. Instead, ten months ago, he packed his wife off to Saybrooke Hall with explicit instructions not to leave its confines.
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