Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2)

by Lily Silver

  “How lovely. An Irish name, oui?” Gisele smiled and turned from the door. She snatched up a large carpet back and dragged it behind her into the room. “You are alone now, the men are out for a time. We will have you fixed up before they return, ma cherie.”

  Before Tara could respond, Gisele had set her bag on the small kitchen table and was rifling through it. “Ah, c’est ici. A clean petticoat for you. Do you prefer a sleeping gown today or would you like to dress for going out? Are you allowed out yet, cherie?”

  “Yes,” Tara replied, a little insulted at the idea of being ‘allowed’ to do anything by the opposite gender. She had to remind herself that she was in the past, in a society that treated women like small, helpless children needing a man’s guidance. “I’m not going out today. I think a sleeping gown would be best for now.”

  Gisele gave her a tender look. “Oui. It is so soon after …” she let her voice fade away before saying the rest; too soon after your miscarriage. She set the crisp white petticoat aside and rummaged a bit more in her enormous carpet bag until she found the cotton bed gown. “Would you like me to help you wash your hair?”

  It sounded wonderful. Tara nodded. She took the bed gown from Gisele and placed it in the bedroom. When she came back, she saw that Gisele had taken the liberty of removing the old tin tea kettle from the stove and was searching for a large pot to fill with water.

  Riley came through the door at that moment. He glanced at Gisele with surprise and then at Tara. He set the packet of food on the small table.

  “This is Gisele, she lives in the building. Gisele, meet my brother, Dr. Riley.”

  Gisele fairly purred as she advanced toward him. “Oui, a pleasure. Such a handsome man must have no trouble attracting patients, Oui, m’sieur? Perhaps you give me your card?”

  Riley looked from Gisele to Tara, clearly not interested in the flirtation. “How are you?”

  “I’m famished. That meat pie smells delicious.” Tara advanced to the table and sat down. Riley unwrapped the feast for her. Gisele stood next to him, simply staring at him with nothing short of adoration as she waited for him to notice her. Riley was doing his best to ignore Gisele, as if she were a servant at the castle and he the reigning lord.

  The woman was fixated on Riley, so much so that Tara was struck by the potent reality of being Fey born. Men tended to look at her in the same way. She thought it was just about being female, but it seemed Fey men had the same appeal to human women. Riley, like Mick, had a certain ethereal glow. Only the Fey born could see that magical shimmer in another of their kind. Humans just found the Fey mesmerizing.

  “Gisele has offered to help me wash my hair,” Tara said between bites to ease the tension in the air. The meat pie was heavenly. She hadn’t eaten much since their arrival. Broth had been brought to her the first night, but that was not appealing. It had been a bit greasy and pungent. After that, she hardly cared what or even if she ate. “Can you help her with the water?” Tara looked at her brother pointedly, “and perhaps find some manners in the process?”

  “Yes.” His deep sigh said it all. He was not used to being among women. Back in Ireland, he treated the wounds of Adrian’s militia men. “The water crock is in the corner,” Riley directed coldly as he turned away from the table and took the large tea kettle from Gisele’s hands.

  As their hands touched, Gisele let out a little gasp and acted as if she might swoon.

  Riley stepped away from her quickly, as if burned by her touch. He set aside the teapot and took an cast iron stew pot from the stove using a towel over the handle. He filled the pot from the large crock in the corner and put it on the stove to warm. That done, her brother crouched to open the grate on the side of the stove, blew on the coals to liven them and then reached for the coal shuttle to add a few more pieces to the glowing embers.

  Gisele just stood there like a statue, watching him with her hand over her heart, completely bewildered.

  “Here now,” Riley said in his thick Irish brogue as he stood again. “Sit ye down, Miss.”

  He didn’t touch her, but he pulled the chair out for her. As Gisele sat opposite Tara at the table, still looking entranced, Riley did a quick motion with his hands in Gisele’s direction, splaying his fingers on both hands, he appeared to be pushing air in her direction as he blew at her. Gisele jumped, as if startled by a great gust of wind. She blinked, and then started conversing with Tara as if Riley were not present in the room. “Do you have a bustle?” Gisele asked, uncaring that she was discussing a woman’s undergarment in front of a man.

  “No.” Tara gave her brother a queer look.

  As a man who rarely smiled, he grinned at her and turned away to attend the stove.

  “You will need one for the dresses I brought you. I have an older one you may have, cherie. We will have you ready to promenade about the boulevards soon enough.”

  Gisele proved to be cheerful company. Being with another woman bolstered Tara’s spirits.

  After Tara finished eating, her new acquaintance unpacked the enormous carpet bag to display the bounty within. Gisele pulled out the first dress and held it up for Tara to admire, a bright coral cotton print with an open neckline and puffed short sleeves that would serve on a warm spring day such as today. A silk shawl of ivory with little peach and yellow flowers embroidered on the edges was withdrawn and held a against the dress.

  “It’s lovely, thank you.” Tara admired the print and stroked the pretty shawl. She let the fringes slide through her fingers. The shawl gave the simple dress a more formal appearance.

  A sleek gown of deep blue silk was shook out next for her inspection. She couldn’t resist touching the fine sapphire blue silk.

  “This one is suitable for dining out or visiting the theatre. It is an older fashion, but it will do nicely,” Gisele pointed out. “I wore it four years ago at the opera.”

  However old this dress might be according to Gisele’s strict fashion standards, it was still very different than the ones Tara wore as Lady Dillon. These dresses accentuated a woman’s natural waist instead of draping loosely just past the bust-line as in Regency fashion. These gowns required a tight laced corset to achieve that cinched waist. And they required a bustle to hold up the mass of fabric that hung from the backside of the dress or she’d look odd traipsing about with a big, empty poof of fabric sticking out from her behind. Compared to her gowns from the late eighteenth century, this Victorian style was going to be decidedly cumbersome.

  The third outfit was a two-piece linen set, a serviceable light beige skirt and matching jacket. The jacket had brown velvet edging on the collar and sleeves. Gisele had also packed a sheer ivory blouse to wear beneath the jacket. “This one would be appropriate for shopping or strolling the boulevards,” Gisele said with a giggle. “Do you have pantalets and stockings?”

  Tara’s gaze darted to her brother again, who still stood with his back to them at the stove. “No, I’m afraid those were ruined as well.” Pantalets were another advance, as in the prior century the women wore only petticoats beneath their long skirts.

  “I will bring you those things tomorrow, after I awaken.” Gisele giggled and blushed a little before adding, “I must warn you, I rise late as my situation requires me to keep very late hours in the night to entertain the gentlemen.”

  Her confession surprised Tara. Gisele seemed to have taken her into her confidence rather quickly. Perhaps the Fey blood effected those of the same gender as well. Why else would Gisele tell a perfect stranger she entertained men in the night?

  The water was pronounced warm enough by Riley. Tara allowed Gisele to wash her hair for her as she sat with her back to the table, her head leaning over the basin of warm water. It was a treat, like visiting a hair salon in her own time, and the sweet scent of roses misting the air as Gisele gently massaged soap into her scalp soothed Tara in a way that the men about her would simply not understand.

  After Gisele finished rinsing her hair, Riley took to rubbing it wit
h the towel as Gisele chatted about the remaining contents of her seemingly bottomless carpet bag. A comb and brush set was presented, and ivory cotton gloves. Gisele even discreetly added those necessities women needed during their monthlies; a pouch of folded rags and a stringy device resembling a thong with which to hold the cloth in place beneath her skirts. Tara sighed as she examined the items, knowing that one day in the future the invention of tampons would liberate women everywhere.

  Once the lovely brunette left them to go to work, Tara asked Riley to carry the large galvanized basin into her bedroom. She intended to use the still warm sudsy rose water from rinsing her hair for a bath. Tara needed it, badly. She might not be able to submerge in a full tub, but the large, low basin provided as part of their lodgings would serve as a hip bath.

  “What was that thing you did to her, the magic gesture?” she asked, following him into her bedroom. “She snapped out of her confusion after that.”

  Riley groaned as he set the basin on the floor. “I released her from the enchantment.” He stood, and his lips softened as he gazed at Tara. “I will instruct you.”

  “But you didn’t do anything to bewitch her. You just walked in and she reacted to you like a bear to a honey tree. Are all humans attracted to the Fey?”

  “No. Some are immune to us. They have Fey lineage in their distant past and may not be aware of it.” He moved to the door as he spoke. “Those people are the charismatic ones in the human world, they charm people naturally and attract them, without the slightest effort.”

  “So, my great-great grandchildren, if each generation of Dillons married only humans, might have this charisma, and not know their great-great granny was part Fey? Cool.”

  Suddenly, the thought of children and grandchildren brightened Tara’s heart. Yes, there would be others. Right now, the grief at losing this first little lord Dillon had her heart cut to ribbons. The future, that was worth considering. The future had to be better than the past.

  “Yes, but what about Gisele? Her reaction to you was … incredible.” Tara waved to him and he turned his back to her and peered out the window. She slipped out of her husband’s long shirt and stepped into the basin of warm, rose scented water. She could just fit, if she pulled her knees tight to her chest. The water came up to her hips and sloshed a little on the floor.

  “Some are immune, as I said. Others, like that woman, are highly susceptible to persuasion.”

  “Ok, you can look now.”

  Riley turned to face her. Tara’s knees hid her breasts from his view. “It is a natural response to our magical aura. These humans become mesmerized by our mere presence. They are highly susceptible to suggestion and can be easily brought into a trance state by humans who know how hypnotism works. I cast a counter spell to block the enchantment she felt, in essence making myself invisible to her perceptions.”

  “I have a lot to learn,” Tara rolled her lips and glanced about the neat but shabby furnishings. “I just learned I was part Fey a few months ago. Adrian knew it from the first.”

  “Adrian has been with the Fey since he was a boy. He played with our kind in the woods. And when he met you, he recognized you as one of our own. He may even have Fey blood in him from a distant relation. I’ll bring more hot water, and a towel.” He stepped out, giving Tara her privacy.

  Privacy, solitude, it meant time to think.

  She dreaded being alone. The men had scattered, each to a different errand, but more likely to escape dealing with her and the sorrow of her loss. Only Riley seemed stalwart enough to remain with her. Tara brushed the tears from her cheeks, and sniffled slightly.

  Moments later, Riley came in bearing another pot of warmed water.

  Seeing her tears, he knelt at the side of the basin and took her face in his hands. His lips moved in the barest whisper as he looked deeply into her eyes. He began chanting:

  “Let sorrow ease, let your heart’s pain recede into the mists. Remember the loss, but let your heavy grief leave your soul to seep into mine own soul.”

  And then, Riley blew in her face. His breath smelled of honey.

  Tara blinked. She stared into his emerald eyes for a moment and lost herself in their glittering depths.

  Holding her face in his palms, he spoke gently, “Tara … Awaken!”

  Chapter Three

  Adrian looked about him with amazement.

  A very long, tall carriage drove by, a smart looking carriage that had been painted with pale yellow lacquer. The conveyance had black wheels. It was filled with people. Atop the carriage there was a long bench filled with more people. They were chattering in the open air. Some of the women were holding parasols above their heads. The vehicle was pulled by three large Percheron horses with their dark coats gleaming. The sign hanging above the passengers on the upper level had the name of a street, or rue as it was called in Paris. As it drew away, he noted the back end had a curved stairway for passengers to access the top of the vehicle with ease. No unsightly ladders, like the public coaches from his time, just an elegant stairway.

  Closing his mouth, he quickly asked a gentleman nearby about the impressive vehicle.

  “It is an omnibus, M’sieur. You are not from here, are you?” the Frenchman with a tall black hat replied with a ready smile.

  “I’ve never beheld such a wonder.”

  “For a few sous you can ride all over Paris, from morning to nearly midnight. It is public transportation, sir, anyone can ride who can afford the fair. Each vehicle has a route, as denoted by the sign above it.” He looked pointedly at Adrian’s cane, noting he used it for support, not merely ornamentation. “It may make your travels easier, good sir.”

  “Thank you.” Adrian tipped his hat at the fellow. He was given a smile and a nod in return as the gentleman continued walking on his way.

  An omnibus—the concept of cheap city transportation made available to the masses was genius. Leave it to the French to bring equality to the streets of Paris.

  The city was overflowing with people. And their clothing seemed so flamboyant!

  The women wore wide brimmed hats with feathered plumes, and dresses of bright, festive colors. He saw a peacock blue dress, and a deep pink one that was nearly magenta. A woman dressed in vibrant green walked past with another woman wearing a mustard yellow two-piece walking suit. He noticed the pronounced bump at the backsides of the women everywhere. Attractive bumps that made a man look at a woman’s derriere as she walked away. Clever. It reminded him of the panniers wealthy women wore when he was a lad, the wide rounded cushions that made their hips appear bigger and their waistlines smaller.

  He stood on the wide, elegant boulevard and watched the people walking by. He listened to the conversations flowing about him. He heard not only French, but English, German, Russian and what he guessed to be American as the accent resembled Tara and Dan’s flat inflections.

  The people seemed more joyous and carefree here than in his time.

  In Glengarriff and Dublin, the people had been fearful and closed off to strangers, as the land was fomenting with rebellion. Soldiers had lurked on every street corner in Dublin, English soldiers. Adrian escaped arrest whilst his friend, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, languished in prison.

  It had been barely a week since they escaped Dublin of 1798.

  And now it was early May in the year of 1889, according to the English print newspaper beneath his arm. Tara possessed a wondrous gift. Not just the ability to journey through time, but also to another place. They had moved physically from Dublin of the eighteenth century to Paris of the late nineteenth century in just the blink of an eye.

  “You gonna make it lad?” Dan McNeill, who insisted on being called by his true sir-name of Wilson in this new situation, stepped out of the tobacco shop to join Adrian on the busy street. “You should see your face. You look like a tourist, my lord.”

  Adrian’s lips twitched. “I am a tourist. I belong in another time.”

  “Me too, but I blend in better. I keep m
y mouth shut and maintain my cynicism.” Dan lifted a cigar to his nose and sniffed it. “Ah, yes, I prefer this over a pipe any day.” He stuffed his newest acquisition into his vest pocket and patted it with his large hand. “You clean up pretty well,” Dan teased, giving Adrian a quick scrutiny. “Nice duds. Introduce me to your tailor. I’d like to see him bring me into this century. Probably faint dead away when he sees me, like the nice folks in your home town did.”

  “I didn’t go to a tailor,” Adrian replied. Dan’s speech was always sprinkled with words that didn’t make sense, as they were phrases from another time. He touched his new waistcoat, or vest, as they were called in this century, treasuring the smooth silk fabric that came from the rack at a large store with many different departments.

  Ready-made, that was the term the clerk had used for it. No need to measure and wait weeks for a new suit to be made. In this time period, you simply went to the nearest department store and picked out your size, tried it on, and paid for the goods.

  “What’d it cost you?”

  “One hundred pounds,” Adrian replied with irritation. “In our money. I’m not sure what the French equivalent was. I’ll buy you a suit, but I doubt they’ll have your size in stock. They’ll have to make it. That could take a little while,” he glanced up at his companion with apology. The brute was huge, tall and solid, a giant among mortals. But a giant with a good heart.

  Dan’s heavy sigh made Adrian flinch as the man’s big hand weighed heavily on his shoulder. “Listen, son. I know you’re used to having oodles of money at your fingertips, but unless one of us gets a job, we’ll need to be careful with that little stash you brought with you from home.”

  “I have sufficient funds,” Adrian replied in a low undertone. They were on a public street, for God’s sake. He glanced around to see if anyone overheard Dan’s inappropriate remarks. The man had become self-important since saving his life in Dublin. Adrian was grateful for his intervention. Yet his overbearing demeanor was grating. It was making him resent the man’s constant presence in their lives. “It is ill-mannered to talk of vulgar topics such as money.”