Against the Magic (Twickenham Time Travel Romance)

by Donna K. Weaver

  As Ashface droned on, Reese tried to ignore the increasing prickling at the top of the corset. The term “flayed alive” came to mind. Well, not that bad, but sitting there unable to scratch was torturous. If she could just make it stop—but it seemed a lady didn’t have itches in embarrassing places. She had to think of something else.

  This was for Kaitlyn. Yes. Reese breathed a little easier. It hadn’t been all bad, the little jaunt into the Regency era, and it had been on Kaitlyn’s bucket list. Tomorrow it would end, and Reese could wear normal clothes again. All she had to do was get through tonight. But it better be worth it because the corset was a torture device.

  “Miss Clarisse,” Lady Ashdown said, “have you attended to anything I have said?”

  “Do you have to call me that?” Reese hated how whiny she sounded, but if she had to spend much more time under old Ashface’s tutelage, Reese might have to change her name to Neville Longbottom.

  “We have had this discussion before, my dear. Your nickname is inappropriate.” Lady Ashford’s voice took on a sing-songy quality. “You must learn to wear your role as though you were, indeed, from the Regency era. You must act the part of a lady of quality. And, as we all know, ladies of quality do not fidget or shift their clothing.”

  Without thinking, Reese reached up under her arm to pull the corset top away from her body. After nearly a week of being bound by the thing, it had rubbed her skin raw. The only things that would get her through the night would be the exercise clothes she wore underneath as a barrier. Hopefully, since she had them under her dress, she wouldn’t be dinged for not being era appropriate.

  “Miss Clarisse.” The older woman held up a quizzing glass to her eye. “Does something not fit properly? A lady of quality could afford to have clothing specially made just for her.”

  “I told you before. It chafes.” Clarisse shifted the corset where it rubbed.

  The bully dropped the quizzing glass and let out a deep sigh while resting the back of her hand against her forehead. The woman had mastered the art of the drama queen, but maybe that was the way the women acted back then.

  “Perhaps we should consider binding your bosom,” Ashface suggested.

  “No,” Reese said. “I’ll figure this out.”

  “As you say,” the tyrant said. “I have done what I can for you. It is now time for your private dance session.”

  “My what?” At the sound of the door opening, Reese glanced around. Lady Ashford turned as well and nodded at the young man standing in the doorway.

  Jem. Reese’s heart gave a little leap, and a flood of contradictory emotions made her a little dizzy for a second. She thought she had prepared herself to see him again, had embraced her anger and hurt at the way he’d ditched her. Seeing him now, though, set her pulse racing. He looked so hot in a coat with tails and a cleverly crafted cravat. He even managed to make the tight breaches look good.

  “Mr. Taylor was able to join us for the ball after all,” Lady Ashford said. “He has completed his brief lesson on the country dances and is now prepared to practice with a partner. When I mentioned that you were having a remedial session, he agreed to assist you.” She then glided from the room.

  Remedial. Had it really been necessary to call it that? The woman was absolutely gothic. Reese had thought she’d managed to sidestep this particular problem since Jem hadn’t been expected for another day.

  He watched her with a wary expression. She thought she saw a flash of vulnerability. It passed so quickly, she decided she had imagined it. Why would confident Jem feel vulnerable? Because he was worried she might say something about his two years of silence? Well, two people could play that game. If his kiss had meant nothing to him, she would act like it had been equally forgettable for her.

  “Hey,” she said.

  His gaze took in the full length of her gown. “That color looks good on you.”

  “Thanks.” Reese did like the creamy chiffon fabric with its gold stitching. It didn’t show more than a tiny bit of cleavage, but she still had to resist the urge to tug the bodice higher. It was more than she normally showed. When she had grown so busty as a young teen, she had gotten tired of guys’ eyes always focusing on her chest and had learned to keep everything covered in loose clothing, except when exercising.

  Jem gave her a bow, just like a Regency gentleman might, so Reese performed a little curtsy, careful not to lean forward and expose more of her “womanly charms”, as Ashface had called them.

  “I’m not sure how we can dance without music,” Reese said. Or without others to make up a group.

  A tap at the door made her start. A man carrying a violin entered the room. He took up position in the corner, gave them a nod, and began to play a waltz. She wasn’t really going to have to dance with him, one-on-one, was she?

  “Shall we do this?” Jem held up his arms.

  “I thought the waltz was considered scandalous back then.” Reese fought back the excitement that bubbled up at the thought of being so close to him again. She needed to show no emotion. She couldn’t care less because she didn’t want him to hold her.

  Liar.

  “Aunt Nellie told me I should be prepared to dance the waltz too.” He arched a brow in that challenging way he had used when they were children and she hadn’t wanted to help him with whatever lark he had planned.

  “Fine.” Reese curtsied again and stepped forward. Their eyes were nearly level when he took her left hand in his and slid his right hand behind her back. She tried not to think of the first time he had kissed her, when they were ten and twelve. Her pulse pounded so loudly, she couldn’t hear the music and could only remember the feel of his arms around her when he had kissed her the second time. Now, she was glad for the corset’s additional barrier. Otherwise she might have burst into flames where he was touching her.

  “Do you remember the box step?” Jem asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “I—” Reese’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, gathering her thoughts again. “I think so.” This was so much worse than anything she had imagined. She was supposed to be able to stay clear of him, not dance with him. She told herself she was just dancing with her best friend’s brother. No big deal.

  Jem took a step, and she stumbled a little. He tightened his grip on her back, pulling her closer.

  “Sorry,” Reese mumbled.

  “You’re fine.”

  Reese concentrated on the dance steps. Jem whispered the instructions in time with the music, and she began to forget herself and feel the rhythm instead. She hadn’t realized he was such a good dancer.

  The musician finished the song, and Jem slowed to a stop. He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers.

  Reese caught her breath, and the corner of his mouth twitched. She practically ripped her hand from his. Why did he have to ruin it?

  “Sorry,” he said, the humor in his eyes gone. “I thought they did that kind of thing back in the day.”

  “Maybe they did,” Reese said, “but you probably shouldn’t do that to just any lady at the ball. Her husband might deck you.”

  “Good point.” He bowed. “I wouldn’t want to cause an international incident.”

  She considered him, trying to remember the Jem of their childhood, before the kiss and the following silence that had killed her self-esteem. He might have spent the last couple of years as a stage manager, but he was also an actor—a consummate actor. He knew how to play a role. She refused to be tricked again. If Jane Bennett had managed to keep her cool and be graceful when she had met Mr. Bingley again, Reese could do the same.

  Jem watched her watch him, a furrow between his brows.

  “Are you ready for a Viennese waltz now?” the violinist asked.

  Jem turned to the man. “Say that again, please.”

  “Are you ready for a Viennese waltz now?” the violinist asked, his tone confused.

  Jem mumbled something to himself before turning to her and asking in a delightful English ac
cent, “My lady, do you know how to do the Viennese?”

  “I can’t even do it when I’m in my exercise clothes,” Reese said. “I wouldn’t dare to try it in skirts and petticoats.”

  “I’ve always liked your honesty about this kind of stuff.” Jem glanced at the violinist. “Let’s do another traditional waltz.”

  The musician began to play again, and Jem pulled her close.

  “Lose yourself in the music,” he reminded her.

  Jane Bennett. Reese took a deep breath and let herself get into the rhythm.

  “That’s right,” he said, his voice soft. “My arm on your back will guide you. Trust me. I’ll do my best to keep us together as a unit.”

  Reese found that if she did as he said and just followed his lead, her feet didn’t try to do their own thing. He continued to talk softly when she faltered. The music ended, and she was surprised at how well they had done together.

  “You’re a good dancer,” she said.

  “You are too,” Jem said softly, still holding her hand, “when you forget to be self-conscious.”

  “It’s easy to be self-conscious when you’re a klutz.” Reese didn’t look at him.

  “Dancing may not come to you as naturally as sports,” he said, “but the two aren’t as different when you think about it. I’ve seen you. When you lose yourself in your martial arts katas, it’s a beautiful thing to see. You have such grace—”

  “Now you’re laying it on a bit too thick,” she interrupted, pinning him with a hard gaze, unable to take his flattery. “But I appreciate the gesture anyway.”

  Jem was about to say something when the door opened, and a maid entered.

  “Miss, Aunt Nellie said you will want to freshen up before dinner,” she said.

  He released Reese’s hand and stepped back far enough to do one of his awesome bows. She performed an almost perfect curtsy.

  “Well done.” He whipped out a handkerchief with a flourish worthy of The Scarlet Pimpernel’s Sir Percy Blakeney before turning and exiting the room with the violinist right behind him.

  “Miss, this way.”

  Reese picked up her fan and shawl from the chair where she had left them. Jem was wasted on stage managing. He had turned into such a good actor that it was easy to forget how shy he had been when they were young. The tough thing now was knowing when he was playacting and when he was being himself.

  As they walked to the ladies room, Reese wondered why he had thought it necessary to practice a role on her two years ago.

  ***

  Later, at the ball, Jem still couldn’t get over how hot Reese looked in that gown. Too bad it didn’t show off her tiny waist.

  Never in all the years they’d been friends had she put up such a wall between them, almost like she was afraid of him. He wanted to think it had something to do with the boyfriend she’d broken up with a few months ago, but Jem’s gut told him that he was the problem. If she didn’t let him in, how was he ever to make it right between them?

  He took a deep breath and went in search of another dance partner. His sister’s roommate Cora had danced every dance so far. He looked for Kaitlyn, but she already had a partner too. Jem decided to ask a stranger, an attractive woman who looked to be about thirty.

  “Do you perhaps have an opening on your dance card for this dance?” he asked with a bow.

  “Why, yes, I do,” She curtsied and held out the paper for him to sign. “Jem Taylor? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Catherine Ryan.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Jem guided her to the dance floor, and they took their positions for the set.

  “I notice from your accent that you are American,” she said.

  “Let me fix that.” Jem gave a soft cough to clear his throat and shifted to an English accent. “Yes. I’m here with my sister and some friends.” The music started, and they began the country dance. He recognized it from one of the Pride and Prejudice movies. Kaitlyn must be thrilled.

  “Very nice,” Catherine said. “Have you been practicing the accent long?”

  “Well, I’m an actor by profession, so in a sense, yes. But—” Jem broke off to pay attention to his steps which he had almost done wrong. “That was close. Sorry.”

  “Excellent recovery, though.” She gave a soft laugh. “Did you know that your name is a British version of James?”

  “Yes, though my name is actually Jamison,” he said. “Are you one of the immersion guests?”

  “Oh, no. I’m a neighbor, but I love Aunt Nellie’s monthly balls. They’re almost magical.” Catherine smiled, her expression hinting that she knew something he didn’t and it amused her.

  He was about to ask her about it, but the music ended, and he bowed. “Thank you, Miss . . . Mrs. Ryan?”

  “I am Miss again, I suppose. Thank you, Mr. Taylor.” Catherine curtsied. “Perhaps we will see each other again tonight.”

  Jem escorted her back to where he had introduced himself. He scanned the room for Reese. She stood alone on the opposite wall. He made his way over to her and greeted her with a bow. She curtsied back.

  “You’re getting the hang of that.” He shifted to his English accent. “My lady, do you not have a partner for the set?”

  “It’s already started,” she said with a pleading expression. “I have a hard enough time keeping in step at the beginning. I don’t want to make a total fool of myself.”

  “Then perhaps you would like to take a walk. It’s a lovely evening.” Jem held out his arm, and she hesitated again. When had Reese Hamilton, champion of the underdog, defender of the defenseless, turned into such a scared rabbit? He arched his brow in challenge.

  She made a face but let out a sigh and accepted his arm. He guided her out to a balcony that overlooked the garden. Just like the ballroom, it was decked out for the party, the pathways glittering with sparkling lights. Hardly Regency-appropriate since they were electrical lights, but there were electric lights in the ballroom as well.

  “I’m guessing this is your least favorite part of the trip.” He started to lean against the balcony but decided against it rather than risk getting his jacket dirty.

  “Figured that out, did you?”

  “Why do you dislike it so much?” he asked.

  “Because I always feel like a giant around the other ladies. It makes me self-conscious, and when I’m self-conscious, I’m not very coordinated.” She didn’t look at him.

  “You’re a lot like Ron Weasley, you know,” he said.

  She pinned him with a stare, brows raised, lips pinched. He knew he had managed to hurt her feelings.

  “That’s not an insult,” he said quickly. “We devoured those books together, so you should understand my analogy. Remember when he didn’t have the confidence to be the Keeper and kept making mistakes?”

  “And he did fine once he had confidence in himself. Yeah. Yeah.” Her shoulders relaxed a little, and he knew she understood his point.

  The music inside started again, a waltz.

  “We have time to catch this one. Do you have room on your card for me?” he asked.

  She held up her nearly empty dance card.

  “That’s what happens when we come in a group with three women and two men,” he said. “I thought they would have provided more stand-ins for this kind of situation.” He took her card and wrote in his name for the next dance and every dance until the dinner break. He wrote in his name for that as well.

  “I don’t want to be a charity case.” She snatched it out of his hand.

  “Reese,” he said, stepping back to appraise her appearance, “there is nothing charity about you, except for the good things you do for other people. Look, I enjoy your company. You’re no wallflower, and it’s time you stopped playing the role of one. Let’s just spend the evening getting reacquainted.” He held out his arm to her.

  “Are you doing this because Kaitlyn sent you to make me feel better?” She didn’t look at him.

  “No,” he said, “I recognize y
ou as a damsel in distress.”

  Reese grimaced.

  “You are distressed, aren’t you?” Jem grinned.

  She finally laughed and took his arm. “All right. I’ll leave my pity party. I know I make these things out to be worse than they are. Let me loose on a project to help people, and I’m totally in my element.”

  “I guess what you need to do then is find a way to make these kinds of activities your element.” He patted her hand on his arm. “If we’re going to make it into this next dance, we need to go.”

  She took a deep breath and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.

  ***

  Reese pretended not to watch Jem as he talked with some of the other guests and practiced his accent. He’d always had a good ear for languages, and he’d already made improvements.

  During the dancing, he had been the perfect companion—charming, chatty, and compassionate. He’d made it easy for her to dance with him, even the country dances. Why did he have to be so attentive? He made Reese want it to be real.

  Jem bowed to them and turned around. With a grin, he strode toward her and picked up a couple of glasses from a servant on his way.

  “Has it been as bad as you thought?” He bowed and offered her a glass.

  “Actually, it hasn’t.” She accepted it, surprised a little at her response.

  He took a sip from his glass and shifted his gaze to the dance floor. They watched the other dancers in silence. There was only half an hour left of the ball, and Reese thought the guests were looking a little fatigued. She knew she was.

  “Tell me more about this nonprofit you’re going to work for,” Jem said, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “It’s a program to help high school dropouts,” Reese said. “It focuses on two things—job skills but also reading since a lot of them are functionally illiterate.”

  “What’s that?” he said, looking curious.