Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

  I had a billion questions. Who was that? Why was Hartley so mad? What was happening, and how could I diffuse this situation? But I didn’t dare ask any of them.

  “We’re leaving. Now.”

  Leaving? Had it really been that bad? He headed back the way we’d come in, and I didn’t have any choice but to grab my skirts and follow him. I noticed all the stares coming our way but tried to ignore them. A stone sank to the bottom of my stomach and began to grow. Whatever was wrong, I thought I might be the cause of it. His stride was much longer than mine, and I saw him barking at a footman, who ran out of the room like his feet were on fire.

  Then we were outside, waiting for our carriage. We stood in silence, Hartley still fuming and me too scared to say anything. A carriage pulled up, but it wasn’t his. It looked kind of generic. Maybe it was like a taxi. Hartley wrenched the door open. “Get in.”

  “You could ask nicely.” He didn’t have to be so rude.

  “You could, for once, do as you’re told.”

  Part of me wanted to tell him off, but I wasn’t about to wander around London at night. I didn’t like being bossed around, but I did not have a death wish. So I settled for glaring at him as I climbed in. He sat in the seat across from me, and once he’d closed the door, the carriage lurched forward.

  He turned to look out the window, effectively ignoring me. The light came in through the window, highlighting his profile. Which was, to my dismay, also gorgeous. Didn’t he ever look bad?

  Because even mad, he was still kind of magnificent. He wasn’t like the boys I’d known in college. He was a man. A masculine, manly man. From the tips of his ruffled hair down to the end of his shiny boots. It was thrilling in a way that I never would have expected. In a purely feminine way I hadn’t even known existed. Men like him did not hang out and hook up. Men like him had loyalty. Honor. Responsibility. They made and kept lifetime commitments. It was heady.

  Or maybe that was the anger talking.

  I saw a scar close to his hairline that I’d never noticed before. Briefly forgetting that I was aggravated by his behavior, I wondered how he’d gotten it. Knife fight? Tiger wrestling? Ninja attack? What did they do in this century that would cause something like that?

  “Stop staring.”

  Another command. “Vain much?” I countered, even though I totally had been staring at him. I just didn’t want him to acknowledge that I’d done it. He turned to face me, and it was like he’d turned a laser beam on me with his gaze. I almost jumped.

  “I thought you had a chaperone.” His voice sounded accusing. “You said you had a chaperone.”

  Obviously I was seriously demented, because I still thought he was hot even when he was accusing me of being a liar. Technically, he was right and I had lied, but in my defense that was back when I’d thought this was all a dream. There was no way to explain that to him. So I relied on my old friend, sarcasm. “Oh yes, you mean the invisible woman who’s been having tea with me every day?”

  He gave me a dirty look, and I shot him one back. I knew how Mrs. Farnsworth worked. I was sure she had filled the earl in on my movements for every moment of every day that he was gone. Was he really so busy it hadn’t even registered? And what did it matter whether or not I had a chaperone?

  “In case you don’t remember, I hit my head.” Yes, I was floundering for any excuse that I could use, determined to be right. “You’re not supposed to believe everything someone with head trauma says. I barely knew what was going on.” True, but it didn’t really explain why I hadn’t come clean later. Which meant I needed to change tactics so that he wouldn’t point it out. “Who was that man, anyway? And what made you so mad?”

  His jaw clenched and unclenched before he spoke. “That was George Godwin. He killed my fiancée.”

  What the what? He killed Hartley’s fiancée? I felt thoroughly chastened. The anger flooded out of my body, leaving me feeling sad for him. “Why isn’t he in prison?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It was . . . indirectly. It’s not something I wish to speak about.”

  Obviously, there was a major story. One that my curiosity demanded I get to the bottom of. Mr. I-Hate-Marriage had been engaged? And she’d been killed? “I get why you were so upset.”

  “That wasn’t what made me angry.”

  Really? That seemed reason enough. “Then why?”

  Hartley looked uncomfortable. Almost embarrassed. “He thought you were my doxy.”

  I remembered that word but had no idea what it meant. “Your what?”

  He averted his eyes. “My mistress. Godwin implied that you were my mistress.”

  Did that mean the same thing here that it meant in my time? “Why would he think that?”

  Hartley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I couldn’t help it. I scooted back. He was too imposing. Took up too much space. Not to mention that my heart had started to beat erratically just by him being this close. “Because we’re alone in my home with your nonexistent chaperone.”

  “How can anyone think we’re alone?” I protested. “There are like six thousand people living in your house.”

  “Servants are not chaperones.”

  “So because we’re both single and don’t have somebody with the title of chaperone, we must be doing it? That’s ridiculous.” I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. Stupid nineteenth century. So instead I settled for, “Stupid England. Suddenly I want to dump a bunch of tea in a harbor.”

  “There is no need to throw your own personal Boston Tea Party.”

  Oh sure, that reference he got.

  He sat back, and I felt like I could breathe again. “This is partly my fault. I should have considered what you being an American would mean. Your total lack of social graces. You didn’t curtsy to any of the Darlingtons. You tried to shake hands with Lord Cowell. And now this.”

  Dander seriously up. “I’ll have you know that being American is fantastic. Why would you blame anything on me being American? We have so many great things. Baseball. Apple pie. The Grand Canyon. Disneyland.” And from his expression I saw that we had veered back into familiar territory where he had no idea what I was talking about.

  The carriage had come to a stop, with me still yelling about how awesome America was. It got harder and harder to breathe. The angrier I got, the more my corset seemed to cut off my circulation. He reached out his hand to help me, but everything went hazy, and the sidewalk rushed up toward my face.

  I woke up in the parlor, on the couch. I had fainted. Again. I probed my face with my fingers, certain I must have hurt myself. But nothing felt broken. Hartley must have caught me before I fell. And then carried me inside.

  Fainting wasn’t something I had done a lot of. If I did, it was always due to my vasovagal response. I couldn’t stand the sight of blood and would immediately pass out. This time I suspected it was due to my inability to breathe properly because of this infernal contraption that even now was limiting my airflow.

  “Welcome back.” Hartley stood in the doorway with his arms folded. “While you were once again unconscious, I came up with a plan.”

  I sat up, my head still dizzy, my lungs still tight. “Plan?”

  “There is only one thing to be done, only one person who can fix our current situation. I shall call on Charles first thing tomorrow.”

  Before I could ask about his plan and who Charles was, Hartley made a slight bow and walked away muttering, “Like a fairy tale.”

  And for probably the first time ever, I had to agree with him. He had been right about the ball. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know their rules or manners or anything. I’d be exposed as a fraud, be tossed out and then never get home.

  That ball had been nothing like a fairy tale. More like a nightmare.

  One I was even more desperate than ever to escape from.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816

  Toothpaste, toothbrushes, and floss
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  When I woke up the next morning, I yelped when I saw a pair of bright yellow eyes staring at me. Only a few inches away from my face, a black cat perched on one of my pillows, studying me. “Um, hi.”

  Rosemary breezed into my room, carrying a tray. “That’s Sir Reginald. He was Lady Penmere’s cat before she wed Lord Penmere.”

  “Who? What?” was all I could manage. I rubbed my eyes, but it didn’t help. Still exhausted and aching. My head hurt, my chest still hurt, and I would have done just about anything for some real, modernized pain medicine.

  “Lady Penmere is Lord Hartley’s elder sister. He also has a younger brother and twin sisters, Lady Julia and Lady Jessica.”

  James, Julia, and Jessica. I was detecting a theme here. “What is Lady Penmere’s first name?”

  My lady’s maid gave me a strange expression. “Jane.”

  Aha! There was a J naming theme. What did that make Hartley? John? Jacob? Jingleheimer Schmidt?

  I was about to ask, but Rosemary spoke first. “She took the cat with her when she moved to her new home, but Sir Reginald returned here. No matter how many times she tried, he kept coming back. She finally gave up.”

  And now he was stalking me, like a feline vulture. I sat up and scooted away from him, but he stayed still. Watching me. Like he was trying to figure out how I would taste.

  Not to mention the fact that I knew I had closed my bedroom door last night. How had he gotten in?

  Before I could worry too much about mystical cats walking through doors, I noticed Rosemary standing in front of me, expectantly. I’d missed what she’d said. “Sorry, what did you just say?”

  “You have to hurry and dress. Mrs. Meriweather has arrived, and Lord Hartley sent me to fetch you.”

  Like I was a stick for her to retrieve. I rolled my eyes, keeping my distance from Sir Reginald as I climbed out of bed. I went through the process of cleaning myself the best that I could. I really wanted to give my teeth a good brushing and flossing, because what they used did not bear discussing as it was so ineffective. I’d even sent Rosemary to get me some mint leaves, just to fool myself into thinking my hygiene was better than it was.

  I didn’t bother asking who Mrs. Meriweather was or that I had been expecting to meet someone named Charles. I’d discovered that even when Rosemary knew what was going on, she didn’t always tell me. Like her loyalty was to Hartley first and me second. Which made sense because he was in charge of her paycheck, living situation, and the food that she ate, but still.

  In record time, she had me dressed, hair done, and on my way to the drawing room. Hartley had his back to me, blocking my view. I cleared my throat, and he stepped to one side, and I saw an older woman. She had pale-blonde hair that had begun to turn gray and fair skin, and she sat like her spine was made out of metal. She was also dressed all in black. Like she had recently joined the Night’s Watch. Or an emo band.

  Was I supposed to curtsy? Kiss her hand? I didn’t know the protocol, so I stood there, like a moron.

  “Aunt Charles, may I introduce Miss Emma Blythe?” Hartley said. “Miss Blythe, this is my aunt, Lady Charles Meriweather.”

  “Mrs. Meriweather,” she corrected, looking down her nose at me. “You know I prefer my husband’s address to my former one.” She studied me like I was a racehorse and she was figuring out how much to bet on me.

  “Your name is Charles?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Indeed.”

  Just that. Indeed. No explanation. She was a little intimidating. Must be a family trait.

  “Come and sit by me, please. I wish to become better acquainted with you.” She patted the cushion next to her, and she seemed like the kind of woman you didn’t say no to. So I sat. And tried to smile. And not compare the predatory gleam in her eye to Sir Reginald’s.

  “Excellent idea, as I think it best she move into your home this morning. I shall have Stephens tell her maid—”

  “You shall do no such thing,” she interrupted him, and I was impressed. Hartley didn’t seem like the kind of guy who got interrupted and took it. “If you are so intent on your harebrained scheme to marry her off to James, it would be easier to accomplish if she were always underfoot. The solution is that I will move in here for the time being. Now leave, so that I may get to know Miss Blythe in order to better assess our current situation.”

  He gave a slight bow and left the room. For some reason, that made me feel worse. I wanted him to stay. As a buffer, if nothing else.

  She was quiet for a moment before she said, “Hartley is my only nephew I do not despise. Well, perhaps not the only one, but I assure you it is a very short list.”

  “Wow. Your other nephews must be spectacularly awful people.”

  That made her throw her head back and laugh, which made me relax. Just a little. She wasn’t as scary as she had initially seemed. “And tell me, Miss Blythe, what do you think of Hartley’s plan to marry you to his brother?”

  Wasn’t I supposed to be polite and say nice things? I couldn’t lie to her, though. Especially not once I noticed that she had the same dark-blue eyes as Hartley. “I think it’s completely stupid and it would have been nice if he’d bothered to ask me if I was even interested in doing it. I like your nephew, and he’s handsome and can be charming, but he’s kind of an idiot sometimes.”

  “Quite right,” she nodded. “I think we’re going to get along very well, Miss Blythe.”

  “You can call me Emma.” I knew it had freaked Hartley out when I’d suggested it, but I was so tired of being called by a name that wasn’t even mine.

  “So I shall. And you may call me Charles. Or Aunt Meriweather, as we’re about to become family, should Hartley have his way.” Aunt Meriweather was a mouthful. Her eyes sparkled dangerously, like she knew something about me that I didn’t even know. “You inquired about my name? I was the last daughter in a family of seven girls, and my father insisted I have his name as he became resigned to the fact that there would be no male heir. He raised me as he would a son, despite my mother’s objections. And he left the bulk of his inheritance that was not tied into his estate to me. My sisters all married very well with exceedingly healthy dowries, but they pale in comparison to what I was given.”

  Um, okay. What did that have to do with anything?

  Charles must have seen my unspoken question, because she went on. “Speaking of money is vulgar and outside of this one occasion we will not speak of it again. But you must understand why Hartley called on me and why I will be able to help you. The Admiral and I were unable to have children.” Her voice broke slightly before she went on. “And he amassed a good deal of money on his own before he died, leaving me a wealthy heiress twice over. I am richer than Midas, related to half the ton, and have enough money to buy my way out of trouble.”

  Huh. Just like the Kennedys.

  “Now everyone in decent society lives in mortal fear of offending me, as I can leave my money to whomever I wish. It has put me in a unique position, and whomever I choose to sponsor or protect, the rest of them must accept. I am forgiven of whatever I wish to be forgiven of and so is anyone under my wing.” She blinked a few times, as if coming to a decision. “And I will help you, my dear. I can tell that you are a good and honest person.”

  I usually was honest. Other than the whole lying to everybody about who I was and where I was from. “But why would you help me?”

  Charles pushed back her shoulders. “There are three things in this life that have brought me tremendous joy. Family is the first. Breeding horses is second. And since I was able to outmaneuver all fortune hunters and was privileged enough to be married for nearly thirty years to a man that I loved, it brings me great pleasure to help others experience the same.”

  Great. A matchmaker. That was all I needed. I really would have to marry James.

  She reached out a hand as if she meant to touch my hair, but stopped herself. “You have lovely hair, and the style is adequate. I shall send Danvers over to your lady�
��s maid to give her further instruction and recommendations. For now, we must see to your wardrobe.” She stood up, and I quickly did the same.

  Feeling awkward, I led her upstairs to my room. She had a walking stick, but she didn’t seem to actually use it. Other than to poke me with it.

  “According to my nephew, there are many things that I will have to teach you. Among them, we shall have to teach you how to walk properly.”

  “And here I was, thinking I’d mastered that years ago.”

  That made her smile. “No talking back. You truly have terrible posture. Shoulders back, head lifted, if you please.”

  I didn’t please, but I knew it was necessary. It was also uncomfortable, but the corset helped. I’d never been so glad to see my bedroom before. I went over to the dressing room and showed her my dresses. She ran her hand across a couple of them. “This is worse than I thought. There certainly is not enough here to make you fashionable. Go and ring for your maid. Have her send a footman to retrieve the mantua maker who did these. I have need of her immediately.”

  Contrary to what Hartley thought, I could do as I was told. Within minutes, it was all set up. “Do I really not have enough clothes?”

  She gave me a sympathetic look. “Dear girl, were you so very poor in America?”

  Poverty had nothing to do with it. A general lack of knowledge about my surroundings did. There was one thing I knew, though. “I don’t have any money to buy more clothes.” I felt guilty because I had no intention of being a part of their long-term plan for me, and while I was grateful for Hartley’s generosity, I didn’t want him to have to spend more money on me.

  “Nonsense. It shall be my gift to you, and I insist that you accept. A woman must use every type of weaponry she has in her arsenal, and it all begins with appearance.” She gave me a satisfied grin that I didn’t know how to interpret. “I shall teach you everything you must know to capture Hartley. He won’t be able to resist.”

  Hartley? “You mean James,” I corrected her.