The Major's Lady

by Mia Easton

  Silence fell between them. "Where is she now?" John Paul asked.

  "Upstairs. We came in a side door. I put her in the first room. The blue one."

  "I can't wait to meet her," John Paul said sardonically.

  Maggie gave her husband a beseeching look. Turning back to Wes, she said, "You must be hungry."

  John Paul shook his head. "He tells us that and you ask if he's hungry."

  "I am, Maggie," Wes said. "Thank you. Elizabeth hasn't eaten, either."

  Maggie nodded, relieved to have something to see to.

  "She also needs something to wear," Wes added.

  "Really?" John Paul said. "What's wrong with what she's wearing?"

  "I'll see to it," Maggie replied, ignoring her husband.

  "Apparently, nothing," Wes said to John Paul. "In the time she came from. I think you'd find it rather shocking."

  John Paul looked pained. "Wes," he began.

  Wes crossed his arms. "Go ahead."

  "It's not that I want to be a doubting Thomas."

  "Really," Wes replied drolly.

  "But you know how many ladies are after you. Handsome, wounded war hero with an estate. Now, this one has come up with a clever approach, I'll give her that."

  "At least meet her before you condemn her. I think you will change your opinion."

  "That is highly unlikely."

  Wes shrugged and shook his head. "Unlikely is nothing, my friend. I've just seen the impossible."

  John Paul scoffed. "I need a drink," he said, glaring at Wes as if it were his fault.

  "Well, have one."

  "I will." John Paul strode to the side bar and pulled the stopper off a carafe of sherry in dramatic fashion. He turned over two glasses and set each down with a bang on the polished counter top and poured.

  "I don't recall saying I wanted one."

  John Paul snapped his head up. "Who said I was pouring you one?" He held up a glass in each hand. "That tale you told requires more than the usual libation."

  Wes grinned as John Paul walked back and handed him a glass. "Thank you."

  Rather than reply, John Paul harrumphed and then downed his drink.

  Chapter 7

  Maggie went to the kitchen to order a light meal to be served as quickly as possible. "Guests have shown and they have not eaten," she explained to the cook, a robust, older woman named Redford who'd been with the household as long as Maggie could remember.

  "Yes, m'lady." A look of concentration took over Redford's face. "I'll put out the pheasant from last night, do some soft-boiled eggs, biscuits and—"

  "Whatever you think. Oh, and please put it in the morning room," Maggie added as an afterthought. The morning room had the right ambiance. "Then, I suppose we'll skip dinner and have a robust tea. Then supper at the normal time. It's not too much trouble, I hope?"

  "Not at all, m'lady."

  Maggie smiled appreciatively and walked off. What Wes had shared was mind-boggling, but she preferred not to dwell on the strangeness of it for the moment. The simple fact of the matter was that he'd brought a guest into the house and that guest needed assistance. That was all she needed to know. Wesley was the dearest of friends and she would do anything in her power to see him happy. So would John Paul, although he was being cynical at the moment. It was only because he was protective of Wes. The two of them had been close since childhood. Wes had once saved John Paul from drowning when they were children and Wes credited John Paul with saving his life in the war. John Paul refused to take credit for it, but Wes was resolute on the point.

  There had been something very telling about the way Wes looked when describing yesterday's encounter with Miss Gordon. There had been a light in his eyes and a vitality she hadn't seen in ages.

  I held out my hand because I wanted her to come to me.

  Maggie reached the guestroom at the end of the hall and knocked. Within moments, the lady inside asked who it was. "It's Maggie Nordstrom, Miss Gordon." She heard the key in the lock and then the door opened. A woman, a quite lovely woman, stood before her in clothing that was more peculiar than anything she could have imagined. Maggie's jaw dropped for an instant. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I do apologize for…staring."

  "No, I understand," Miss Gordon replied with an embarrassed blush. "I must look like something from another planet."

  "Hardly," Maggie returned. "May I come in?"

  "Of course," Elizabeth said, stepping back. "I'm sorry."

  "There's no need to apologize." Maggie stepped in, suddenly knowing that the tale Wes told was true. It was too eerie and inexplicable to ever reveal to another living soul, but it was true. She felt it in her bones. Elizabeth Gordon's hair was worn down. It was short for a woman, just beyond shoulder length. It was the color of summer wheat, only shades darker. The poor thing looked thoroughly exhausted. Turning back to her, she said, "I've ordered an early luncheon to be served as quickly as possible, and I'll see to some clothing for you straight away."

  Miss Gordon seemed relieved. "Thank you."

  "What else do you need? Shall I have a bath drawn for you?"

  "Yes, please. I feel so gross. I mean—" she broke off, flustered. "A bath would be very nice. Thank you."

  Maggie made an effort to keep the incredulity she felt from her expression. Elizabeth Gordon was utterly different than anyone she'd ever encountered. She looked differently, spoke differently, behaved differently. However, she would concentrate on their similarities, not their dissimilarities. Maggie started to go but hesitated. "Miss Gordon."

  "It's Elizabeth. Or Liz."

  "And please call me Maggie. I won't pretend to understand what you've just been through or what you're feeling. I cannot imagine the shock of it. But please know you are welcome here."

  "Thank you. Given how strange all of this is, I'm more grateful than I can say."

  Maggie gave her a smile. "I'll be back with a dressing gown and some other things you'll need."

  Liz watched Maggie leave with a sense of both gratitude and amazement. There had been no judgment in her eyes, just compassion. Liz walked over, sat woodenly in a chair and waited. Maggie quickly returned with a light blue silk dressing gown that matched the room, she teased, a hairbrush, toothbrush and scented soap and powders. "This is for after your bath," she said, holding up one of the powders. "And this is for your face, if you want it," she said, holding up the other. "It's got crushed pearls in it to give it luminescence."

  "Oh. Thank you."

  As Maggie took the dressing robe and went to pull the folding screen out from a corner of the room, Liz followed. She felt like a clod, unsure of what to do or say.

  "You can undress here. We have a bathing room down the hall and the tub is being filled."

  Liz went behind the screen, took off her shoes and began removing her clothes. There was a squatty, square table that she used to put her clothes on. She was reminded of stripping in a doctor's office before an examination. Was she about to undergo an examination with the Nordstroms?

  "May I see your shoes?" Maggie asked, even as she looked down at them sitting at the edge of the screen.

  "Of course."

  Maggie picked one up and pondered the style with a soft, "Fascinating," and then compared the size to her own. "Mine should fit you. They'll be a tad large, but they'll do for now." She set the shoe back down and started for the door. "I'll be back."

  Stepping out in the hall, Maggie saw her husband and Wesley approaching. Undoubtedly, John Paul was eager to meet Elizabeth and debunk her story. Maggie held up a hand. "She is indisposed, gentlemen. So sorry, but we'll see you downstairs when she's ready."

  "Well, the meal will be ready soon," John Paul rejoined.

  "By all means, eat when you wish, dear."

  John Paul grunted and cocked a brow. "Where is she?"

  "In her room preparing for a bath."

  "And do women from the future look different?" John Paul asked, shaking his head comically.

  Maggie's pleasant loo
k vanished. She drew a breath and squared her shoulders. "Please, watch what you say. We wouldn't want anyone hearing that sort of remark, would we? But to answer your question, yes, they do. Their style is utterly different and they speak—" she broke off and looked at Wes. "We'll have to work on that."

  Wes nodded. He didn't have to spell out his gratitude. He exuded it, she felt it, and they both knew it.

  Maggie walked on and John Paul watched her with befuddlement. "All right," he conceded, turning back to Wes. "You've damn well got me curious."

  Wes grinned. "I'm going to freshen up and change," he said cheerfully, and then he turned and walked away with a brisk step.

  John Paul cocked his head. Was Wesley walking with less of a limp all of a sudden, or was it his imagination? What in blue blazes was going on? Who was this woman? He thrust his hands on his hips because he didn't like it. Some trickery was afoot. He looked back at the bedroom door behind which she lurked. "Not in my household," he said under his breath.

  Maggie transported undergarments and shoes on her next trip and then showed a robe-clad Elizabeth to the bathroom. A ceramic claw foot tub in the middle of the room was half filled with hot water, and Liz submerged herself in it with great pleasure. She would have submerged herself and soaked for an hour, except for that everyone was waiting for her. She kept her hair out of the water and washed everything else. When she returned to her room, Maggie was ogling her bra.

  "This is—" Maggie uttered, holding it up by a strap. "Does it work?"

  "It does. It's called a brassiere. Bra, for short." She looked over the variety of items and gowns laid out on the bed. There were stockings and something that looked like a plain, short nightie.

  "But where is the rest of it?" Maggie asked.

  "That's all there is."

  Maggie set it down, but still seemed confused. "So, to support the—" She pointed to her breasts.

  "Yes."

  "But nothing to—" She gestured down her sides.

  "No."

  "Hmm. Well. Let's put your hair up, first."

  "I've never really done that, except in a ponytail."

  "Shall I help?"

  "If you don't mind."

  "Not at all."

  Liz sat at the vanity table with an oval mirror. At least she looked better after the bath. Her face was flushed but clean.

  "We'll get a maid to do it tomorrow," Maggie said as she ran a brush through it. "I'm not particularly talented at this and you have shorter strands in places," she said with bemusement. "But it's very nice hair. So soft and clean." In short order, Maggie had swept her hair up into a simple but flattering chignon. She looked at Liz through the mirror. "It's very becoming. Shall I help with your stays?"

  "Stays," Liz repeated, not sure what they were.

  "To—" Maggie made a gesture to indicate breast support.

  "Oh. Umm, do you think it would it be all right if I wear the bra, instead? Just for today?"

  "You do as you wish. I doubt anyone will notice."

  Liz rose and looked over the other things. "To be honest, I'm not really sure," she began.

  "What?"

  "What you wear under a dress," she said haltingly. Because there were no panties. Nothing that could pass for panties.

  "Oh. First, comes the shift." Maggie went over and picked up the nightie-looking thing. "Then stockings. They get tied with garters, of course. You'll fold the top of the stockings over the garters. Shoes should come next. It's easier. But if you're not wearing stays, it shouldn't matter, I suppose. Then a petticoat, then the stays, when you wear them, and then the hoop." She paused. "Then perhaps another petticoat, depending on the gown."

  Wow. Okay. So, no panties. Commando. But there were a whole bunch of other layers. "I think I got it." Liz picked up the necessary items and retreated behind the screen to dress, feeling highly conspicuous.

  Maggie meandered to the bedside table and the strange rectangular object on it. "May I ask what this is?"

  Liz glanced over the top of the screen. "It's a cell phone. It's for talking to people who are somewhere else."

  Maggie blinked. "Somewhere else?"

  Liz nodded. "Mm-hmm. They could be next door or in another part of the city or even a different country. Well, mine's not an international cell." Maggie looked alarmed, so Liz stopped speaking. She stepped out from behind the screen in her bra and shift and stockings, which were a whole lot like super long knee socks, and walked over to show Maggie the phone. She picked up the phone and flipped it open. To Maggie's wide-eyed fascination, it lit up in bright green. "It won't have power for long. Not that there's any need for it."

  Maggie looked at Elizabeth solemnly. "Wesley said you somehow crossed over from a different time. It's true, isn't it?"

  Liz nodded. "Yes."

  "How?"

  "I am probably the least scientific person on the face of the earth. I have no idea what happened or how it happened. None."

  "Did you leave family behind?"

  "No. A few good friends, that's all."

  "I'm glad you didn't leave a family." She drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, I hope that didn't sound unfeeling. I only meant that the loss of them would have been unbearable."

  "I understand," Liz assured her. "But it wouldn't have happened if I'd had a family."

  "You don't think so?"

  "No. I wouldn't have made the choice to go."

  "It was your choice?"

  Liz wondered how to answer. "It's not that I understood exactly, but in a way, I did." She paused. "One second, he wasn't there, and then he was. The first thing I saw was a tree with men hanging from it. It was horrible."

  "He told us."

  "He was clearly from another time. I mean, I thought, at first, he might be an actor or something, but everything else was different, too. So, so different. Then, when this fog started coming between us, I knew he was going to disappear."

  "He held his hand to you," Maggie said, captivated by the story.

  Liz thought back on it. "Yes."

  "He wanted you to come to him."

  Liz nodded. "And I wanted to. It was definitely a choice. But, now I'm here and I have no idea how to act or dress or what to say. I don't know how to be in 1883."

  Maggie blanched and Liz wondered why the words had so shocked her.

  "It's seventeen eighty-three," Maggie uttered.

  Liz's eyes widened, and she took a breath as if to say something, then changed her mind. "Sorry, yes, I know that."

  "Oh, Elizabeth. You must be careful."

  "I will be. I'll try." She grimaced. "It's probably better for me not to speak at all."

  "You'll learn what to say and do," Maggie said gently. "It's not that difficult. With what you already know—"

  "But that's just it. What I know won't be any use to me now. And what women of this age and time knew and took for granted, I never learned."

  "I'll help you," Maggie said and the declaration was so heartfelt it brought a lump to Liz's throat. "And if we work hard, you'll be fully prepared by the time of the ball."

  "The ball?"

  "Yes," Maggie said, clasping her hands together. "We are throwing a ball next month. The war was just declared over last month and it is time to celebrate what we've overcome and achieved. So, you and I must think positively and work hard."

  Liz smiled and nodded, caught up in her enthusiasm.

  "So, choose a gown and we'll go join the men. You must be famished."

  "I am." Liz walked over and chose a light yellow gown with small white and pale pink flowers on it. The buttons up the front were small and she had to concentrate on slipping them through.

  "You look wonderful."

  "Thank you." But she didn't feel wonderful. She was nervous as hell.

  As they left the room, Maggie said, "We'll tell people that you're my cousin. Better yet, you'll be John Paul's cousin. He's from Carolina."

  Chapter 8

  Maggie stepped into the morning room first and then loo
ked back and waited for Elizabeth, who had slowed her step, likely out of nervousness. The men stood, as a matter of routine, although this felt anything but routine.

  Wes felt a jolt of surprise and irritation as a pretty lady followed Maggie into the room, until he realized it was Elizabeth. For a second, he'd thought Maggie had produced yet another of her friends to hopefully interest him. Elizabeth looked so different. She looked lit up and fresh and beautiful. His heart was beating frenetically.

  "John Paul," Maggie said while sending Wes a look of mild recrimination for not doing the introductions. "Your cousin, Elizabeth, has come for a visit."

  John Paul looked from Elizabeth to Maggie to Wes, who looked dumbstruck, and back to his wife. "My cousin?"

  "I'm sure you must remember her, dear, although she's undoubtedly changed a good deal since you last saw her."

  "Ah." John Paul started forward. "Well, don't I feel foolish? But, of course. Elizabeth. You're Uncle William's daughter," he said as he offered his hand.

  "Yes," Liz replied, barely controlling her relieved grin. She slipped her hand into his and he squeezed it lightly and gave a slight bow. "It's good to see you, John Paul."

  "And you, cousin. It's been so long, I almost feel like I've never laid eyes on you before." He released her hand and turned to give his wife a look of amusement before turning back to Miss Gordon. "Tell me," he said in a clandestine tone. "Is Uncle William still a drinker?"

  Liz gasped with shock. "He only drinks alone," she replied quietly. "Although I suppose that could be the reason he rarely comes out of his study."

  John Paul grinned. The lovely lady may have pulled the wool over his friend's and his wife's eyes, but at least she had style and humor about it. He would out her soon enough. "He married Aunt Alice, if I recall correctly."

  "Yes. And they had eight daughters. I'm the only one they haven't been able to marry off, so here I am. Mother heard you were planning a ball and—voila."

  "Oh," Wes said, anxious to join in the fun. "You came for the ball."