Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

  The introductions were over, and everyone had moved into the drawing room. From the grins on Charles’s and Hartley’s faces, I knew I had passed. Letting out a sigh of relief, I became Charles’s shadow as she moved from group to group, talking about how dear I was to her and that I had become like her daughter. Everyone looked me over with an appraising eye. Especially the mothers with eligible sons.

  Thankfully, Stephens announced dinner was ready, and I went in last with a distant cousin of Hartley’s who had no claim to a title. He offered me his arm, and it was nothing like when Hartley did it. No chills, no tingles, no goose bumps of any kind. I probably should have remembered this guy’s name, but he was good at making conversation, and I had to do very little to keep him going. It was easier to be quiet.

  Dinner itself was no different. I carried on a conversation with the young woman seated to my left. Hartley was on my right, but he was deep in conversation with Charles, on his other side. They had seated me next to him deliberately. To show everyone at the table that I was important.

  Miss Mary Littlefield was blonde, pretty, and cavity-inducing sweet. My initial inclination was to believe it was all an act, but she was sincere. She was being courted by a Lord White and was very excited about her prospects. It was easy to relax and chat with her.

  The footmen brought out some bread, but I declined when it was offered to me.

  “Do you not care for rolls, Miss Blythe? Lord Hartley’s cook is especially well known for them.” Her face was screwed up in honest concern.

  Without thinking, I answered, “Do you have any idea how many carbohydrates are in those?”

  “Car—what? Is there some sort of hydration issue?” she asked.

  I caught Hartley’s expression. He crooked a single eyebrow to let me know that I wasn’t making sense. If we’d been alone, I probably would have tried to explain myself. But in this situation, I would only make things worse. I changed the subject.

  “That is a beautiful necklace, Miss Littlefield.”

  She thanked me and forgot all about my I-don’t-eat-carbs snafu as she explained that the large blue sapphire was a family heirloom. I tried to pay attention to the history of the necklace, but I kept sneaking peeks at Hartley. Just one eyebrow, and I knew what he had been thinking, and he’d kept me out of a potentially sticky situation. Like we had our own little unspoken language. I didn’t know why that gave me such a thrill, but it did. It was a bond between us. A secret we shared.

  Like I was on my way to becoming fluent in Hartley.

  More courses were presented, but everything was like sawdust in my mouth. I was way too nervous to enjoy food. The conversation shifted, and it was my turn to talk to Hartley. “You’re doing very well,” he said, encouragingly.

  “Thank you.”

  There was this moment, this look, that made me forget we were in a room filled with people. Like I wasn’t imagining things and maybe Hartley had some interest in me, too.

  I thought that maybe there might be something more there. Right up until he said, “I am so pleased that this is working. James is going to adore you.”

  Mood killer at its finest. Like he’d picked up a gun, held it right against my heart, and pulled the trigger. I kept my smile plastered on my face, closing my eyes so that the surprising hot tears behind my eyelids would not fall. That would be a huge scandal.

  Tommy brought out part of the meat course. He had a peacock. Like a peacock that still looked alive. Only cooked. He placed it in front of Hartley. “That is so cool,” I breathed. And super disturbing.

  “I assure you, miss, it is quite hot,” Tommy responded, looking confused.

  The poor bird was being carved up, and I actually felt sad for it. I had never liked peacocks, given that I’d been attacked by one when I was eight years old and my foster parents had taken me to the zoo. Maybe this should have felt like payback, but I had no intention of eating one when his head and tail feathers had apparently been sewn back on to his cooked flesh. That was fifty shades of disgusting. I couldn’t eat him when I could see his face.

  The party carried on, everyone having a good time. I seemed to be the only one who cut the fat off my meat. Like I was the sole person being careful with my food. Everybody else just seemed to be relishing their meals. It seemed a better way to live than to be constantly stressing about calories and whether or not something had a high nutritional content or if it was bad for me. It gave me something to think about.

  I didn’t know how much time had passed, I was enjoying myself so much. Charles stood and announced that the women would now go through.

  “You don’t want to stay, Miss Blythe?” Hartley teased. I wanted to give him a look to let him know what I thought about his quip but wouldn’t risk ruining the whole evening by giving people something to gossip about.

  “Have you tried the sweetmeats?” Miss Littlefield asked when we sat on two wingback chairs near each other.

  Sweet meat? And I thought the peacock was weird.

  I must have looked bewildered. “The marzipan?” She nodded at a tray. Marzipan was like unnaturally shaped candy.

  For some reason, that gave me a little mini–panic attack. I didn’t know what everything was. I couldn’t be ready for every strange word, every weird ritual, every odd phrase I was expected to understand.

  Two older women came and sat with us. I tried to recall their names. Mrs. Blue-something. And Lady . . . I wanted to say it started with a g. I never knew how bad I was with names until I came here, where nobility had a whole bunch of them. Mrs. Blue spoke first. “And where are you from, Miss Blythe?”

  Lady G jumped in. “How do you know Lord Hartley?”

  “How long will you be staying here in London?”

  “It seems as if you and Mrs. Meriweather are very close.”

  “Who is your father?”

  My brain started tuning them out, turning their voices into white noise. It was just question after question after question. They didn’t even stop to let me answer. They were grilling me. Letting me know that despite Charles’s protection, they still felt as if they could be intrusive. I knew they weren’t supposed to be asking me personal questions like that. In 2017 it wouldn’t be a big deal, but here it was insulting.

  Adrenaline skittered up my nervous system, choking my throat. I had to get out. “If you will excuse me, please.”

  I tried to walk calmly upstairs and not draw attention to myself. I heard the men laugh. I wished I could be in the dining room. With Hartley.

  Which made the panicky feeling worse.

  When I got upstairs, lighting flashed and thunder boomed. I had planned on going to my room, but this spot here on the floor was just fine. It would do until the storm had passed.

  Maybe I could just stay up here the rest of the night. With that many people, they wouldn’t miss me, right?

  I wrapped my gloved arms around my legs, screwing my eyelids shut. Sometimes these storms could last forever, but as always, I hoped it would move on quickly. I laid my head on top of my knees. It would be over soon. It had to be.

  Finally, as the sounds started to dissipate, I heard thundering of a different type.

  “What the dev—what are you doing?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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

  Card games that do not involve questionable words

  Hartley. The grouchy tone was back.

  “Why so charming this evening?” I asked.

  “Excellent breeding. Why are you on the floor?”

  “Bad breeding? And because I don’t like thunderstorms.”

  He looked around him, as if unsure of what to do. “I have come to retrieve you. You’ve been missed.”

  I scoffed. “I bet. Those women down there are insane. It was like an interrogation in a third world country. Relentless, ignoring the Geneva Conventions, and I’m pretty sure a full body cavity search was on the agenda.”

  The arched eyebrow was back.
<
br />   “They’re insulting me. I needed a break. They were done with the peacock sacrifice and were moving on to the virgin one.” I had meant to say the last part just in my head, trying to remember my manners. But it caused Hartley to have one of those toe-curling smiles.

  Hartley shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying to stay serious “Come. You can’t hide up here like a petulant child.”

  “I am not a petulant child.” I ignored his outstretched hand, standing up on my own. “And you don’t need to talk to me like that. That accent is a lot less cute when you’re acting that way.”

  “Allow me to escort you back downstairs.”

  “I’ll come down when I’m good and ready. I don’t need your help finding my way around.” I decided to head into my room. It was like my own personal fortress. Hartley wouldn’t dare follow me there. I yanked the door open, and glaring at him over my shoulder, I closed it behind me.

  I stood in total darkness.

  This was not my room.

  “Are you aware . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Yes. I realize I’m in the linen closet.” I knew he couldn’t see me, but I crossed my arms anyway.

  Several beats passed before he asked, “What are you doing?”

  I sighed. I felt my face go bright red. “Waiting for you to leave so I won’t be embarrassed.”

  “And compounding your mistake by remaining in the closet is not embarrassing?” I could hear the mirth in his tone. So humiliatingly mirthful.

  Resolving not to let him get to me, I came out with head held high and took his waiting arm, ignoring the electric sparks that flared to life against my skin. But he didn’t walk. Instead he did his best impersonation of a statue. “Something else is vexing you. Besides the storm.”

  And besides him? There was one thing, but it was dumb. In fact, I had purposely shoved it down inside a box in my subconscious because I hadn’t wanted to consider it.

  “Charles said there could possibly be dancing. And I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Even though I was not so bad at dancing, there was a lot to retain. I could tell that I was a daily pain in Mr. Watson’s rear end. In my defense, their dancing was dumb and hard to remember.

  Hartley released my arm, turning so that he faced me. “I can help you.”

  The absolute last thing in the world that I needed was for him to hold me. But before I could back up, his hand was at my waist.

  I forgot my anger, I forgot the storm, I forgot that I didn’t dance so great. Every part of me was focused on the sensation of Hartley’s hand on the small of my back. Like, even though he was wearing gloves and I had on more layers than an onion, I could feel the heat from his fingers. As if I were wearing a backless dress.

  Those same fingers flexed against my skin. Once, then twice. “You’re not wearing a corset.”

  “How can you tell? And aren’t you not allowed to say stuff like that to me? You can’t talk about my underwear.”

  He pressed his lips together in a tight line. Uh-oh.

  Surprisingly enough, he left his hand where it was.

  I didn’t mind.

  I tried to plead my case. “I wanted one night of freedom. One night to breathe and enjoy myself without it. You have no idea how terrible those things are. I seriously think I’m damaging my internal organs. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Seldom, if ever.” Apparently done with his bad-cop routine, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand and sighed. “If there is dancing, you cannot participate. Any man who touches you will immediately realize that you are not wearing a corset—”

  I couldn’t help but butt in. “And everybody will be scandalized, and my reputation will be forever ruined, and James won’t want me, and the whole world will explode, blah, blah, blah. No worries, that’s been covered extensively by Professor Charles. I don’t need advice from the peanut gallery.”

  He took my light insult in stride. “I’m glad we could come to an understanding.”

  “Yeah. And you can let go of me now.”

  He dropped his hand immediately, like I’d scalded him. Like he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding me that whole time. I wanted it to mean more than it probably did.

  I let him take me back downstairs. On our way there, I realized that arguing with him had made me forget about the storm.

  Along with him holding me for a lot longer than he should have, that made two marks in the pro column. He had been responsible for both.

  And if those women were downstairs still waiting to eviscerate me, I would handle it. I wasn’t going to let two know-nothings who’d died hundreds of years ago make me feel uncomfortable or confuse me. Or make me question myself.

  Because Hartley had already cornered that particular market.

  * * *

  Emma had accused him of speaking down to her. Of becoming angry. She had not been wrong. She had the ability to utterly vex him, taking away the patience he prided himself on having.

  When they returned to their guests, someone was playing at the piano, and there were several card games going on. Emma didn’t seem to understand any of them, but she watched the whist game with particular interest. Every time someone won two out of three games and proclaimed, “I won a rubber!” she would dissolve into giggles. Her whole face lit up. She was enchanting. He found her laughter infectious, wanting to laugh himself even though he had no idea what she found so funny about that particular phrase.

  Despite his resolve to keep her at a distance, somehow she had managed to burrow under his skin. She made him think of her even when he wished not to. She had quickly become his last thought in the evening and his first when he awoke.

  He’d built a sturdy wall around his heart, but she was stealing one brick at a time. He wanted to remain locked away. Emma Blythe simply wouldn’t permit it.

  As he preferred to keep to himself and not spend much time in society, he was generally left alone by the others. Which suited him because it allowed him to watch her. To see the graceful line of her neck, the way her hair seemed to pick up the light and reflect it. How pleasing he found her form, even without a corset.

  He saw the moment when she decided to let go of her fear and anxiety over making a mistake and to enjoy herself. It was difficult not to laugh when William approached her with a tray of champagne flutes and she very quickly sent him on his way.

  People were kind to her. Some seemed to be responding to her enthusiasm. She seemed excited by everything she saw and everything she experienced. While many of their conversations had been marked by conflict, not all had. He had enjoyed quiet times with her and had seen that appreciation and enthusiasm directed toward himself. He wasn’t sure why he was so keen to chase it away. She was refreshing.

  Like now. She behaved as if she’d never sat in a drawing room playing piquet before. She laughed when she lost, not looking the least bit concerned as her pile of pennies faded away.

  Hartley supposed she wouldn’t have to concern herself with it, as it had been his money she played with.

  Lord and Lady Grossmont came to make their farewells. There seemed to be some sort of issue with locating their coats. The rain had not relented, and they could not leave without them. He sensed Emma behind him, to the left. It did not bear thinking about how he knew it was her. For his own self-preservation, he chose not speak to her.

  A footman approached and smiled at Emma. Hartley was struck with the desire to do the man physical harm. He’d always prided himself on having the best servants and most efficient household, and this was disconcerting. “Find their coats, now,” he snapped.

  “Why do you talk to people like that?” He loved the musical quality to her voice. Like some ancient Siren, able to lure him onto the rocks of destruction.

  “I’m the Earl of Hartley.” Upstairs, holding her in his arms had done something to his psyche. Combined with the kiss from the night previous, just being this close made him think things he oughtn’t. The tension had still not left his
body.

  “So?”

  “So? So?” he sputtered. Was it possible that she still didn’t grasp what that truly meant?

  “Calm down, Daffy Duck. Look, I get your whole macho lord-of-the-manor thing you’ve got going on. I may even be a little partial to it. But Ezekiel is new. He’s doing the best he can. I wish you could hear yourself.”

  Had she honestly just called him a daft waterfowl? What sort of insult was that? “Why does it concern you how I speak to anyone?”

  It was then that he chose to finally make eye contact and was upset by the level of disappointment he saw in her eyes. He had been doing it again. Leaping to anger. Taking offense when he should not, giving it when he should not.

  Giving her opinion far more weight than he should have.

  Then her words made his chest feel hollow. “Because I know you’re a better man than this.”

  Emma drifted away, as if she could no longer stomach to be near him. Clearing his throat, he thanked the new William when he returned with the correct outerwear. He bid the Grossmonts good night and retreated into his billiards room. He wanted to regroup before he joined the others.

  No one had ever dared question him before. From a young age he knew he would be the next earl. Accepted what that meant. The responsibility. The centuries of ancestors who had fought and bled and planned to make this moment possible. How very seriously he had always taken his title. His duty.

  And himself.

  He rolled a billiard ball across the table, running it into the others. He selected a cue from the wall but found he had no desire to play.

  Emma did not take his title or his responsibilities seriously. She didn’t even seem all that interested in his desire to ensure the earldom had an heir through his brother. It was to be her marriage, and it seemed like the last thing she cared about.

  “Now it’s my turn to fetch you. Charles is wondering where you are. People are leaving.”

  For a moment, he thought she might be some sort of mirage, conjured up by the wanting in his mind. Her dress whispered as she moved, and she had a small smile, as if she knew some private joke. He couldn’t see her eye color in this light, but he imagined it now, a green like the summer grass surrounding Rosewood. “And I need to apologize to you.”