An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance

by Wells, J

  ~•••~

  Flustered, Heather ran from the room,

  “Upon my word!” Lady Haunchwood shouted out. “I can scarce draw breath, Miss Richardson. Do you not look where you go?” The elderly woman breathed deeply, clearly winded by Heather’s untimely collision.

  “God no, I can’t be here, not now. I need to find the ring.” Heather voice was anxious, and she ran her hand through her hair nervously.

  “Child, you talk in riddles.” Stepping back, her displeasure distorted her features. “Good heavens, your dress!”

  Heather looked down. “What about my dress? Do you like it?”

  “Do I need to speak plainer? A gentile girl of good breeding should not, I repeat, should not be exposing herself in such a manner. Mr Boswel has guests arriving in but an hour, and he will be most displeased.” Pausing, she looked round and caught sight of a maid.

  She called for assistance. “Anna, Anna, come here at once,” she beckoned.

  Anna curtsied. “Yes, mam?”

  “See to it immediately,” Lady Haunchwood stressed, “that Miss Richardson is in appropriate attire to receive guests this evening...”

  Heather was overwhelmed, and feeling quite hurt and belittled, she turned away, only to come face-to-face with Anna’s sullen expression. It was almost too much to take in as she looked into her cold eyes, overcome by the maid’s obvious disdain for her. Her previous visions replayed in her head, of the cruel way in which she had seen Anna die. There was something calling her back into these times, the bedroom, the porthole for her entry, and she knew she was here for a reason; somehow Anna was at the heart of her travels.

  “Come with me, miss.”

  Heather responded to the mouse-like voice as Anna’s head bowed once again, following her down the lengthening corridors. She watched with interest at the subservient way in which the maid carried herself. Maybe her being there was a chance to change Anna’s fortune and destiny. Her thoughts became more intense. That was it! Things were starting to piece themselves together. If Frank hadn’t taken Anna to the dance that night, the unfortunate events that followed would never have taken place.

  Anna’s step slowed and she paused outside a bedroom door. Heather’s visits to this part of the house were relatively infrequent. Anna knocked, and on hearing a reply she opened the door, explaining Lady Haunchwood’s wishes. Curtsying once more, she excused herself and hurried away, not meeting with Heather’s gaze. Heather stood awkwardly in the open doorway of a dark oaken bedroom, in a similar style to the others. A girl much the same age as herself sat before a mirrored dressing table, while a maid stood busily pinning her thick mousey hair into place. On seeing her reflection in the mirror, she turned, smiling.

  “Ah, Miss Richardson. Please, will you not join me?”

  A bright-faced girl beamed across the room at Heather. Her deep-set eyes, though small, held a girlish twinkle against her pale alabaster skin, making her look almost mischievous. Her small frame was dressed beautifully in a full-skirted cream gown, with a corseted waist tinier than Heather had ever seen. As she entered, the young woman rose from her seat and held out her hands.

  “Please, allow me to introduce myself. Miss Florence Boswel. I expect you have already been acquainted with my brother?” she enquired.

  “You could say that,” Heather replied, feeling quite relaxed following the welcome she had received.

  “Oh my,” she sniggered, “you do look in need of assistance. Your clothes, I have never seen the like, and is it true what I am hearing of your condition? My aunt has it on good authority that you are suffering from amnesia, is that so?”

  Heather stood silently for a moment, not quite knowing how to answer, but on second thoughts her only real option was to agree.

  “Martha, does my wardrobe hold anything befitting such a handsome lady?”

  The maid scurried over to the wardrobe.

  “I would say the cool-blue gown,” Florence suggested. “A perfect enhancement to your complexion.”

  Slipping off her dress, Heather watched in awe at the number of undergarments Martha placed on the bed, and couldn’t help noticing Florence’s shocked expression upon seeing her own. It felt quite strange being dressed as the maid helped her into her under-slip, followed by a rather uncomfortable corset. She found it almost impossible to breathe at the tightening of the fastenings, but Martha took no heed and just kept pulling. However, on being presented with the dress she soon forgot its tight fit; the gown was pure beauty and elegance, in a powder-blue rich silk, which fell in soft folds. Her eyes moved above the waist and noticed the flattering round neckline. She stood back from the dressing table mirror and admired her reflection, twirling around like a ballerina on a musical box.

  “What fun it shall be having you around,” Florence said, excitedly running up to the window and looking out across the driveway. “Our guests shall be arriving at any moment. Oh!” She stopped. “Your hair... Martha, quickly, there’s hardly any time.”

  The hot irons made quick work of Heather’s hair as Martha pinned it high, leaving the natural lines of her face on show.

  “Splendid,” Florence cheered, her face meeting Heather’s in the mirror. “We’ll be just like sisters,” she said, hugging her. “Oh, what a jolly evening we shall have.”

  Heather and Florence peered down into the hallway between the bannister at the first arrivals. Heather couldn’t mistake Lady Haunchwood’s voice, and her pompous over-the-top welcome as she led her guests into the parlour. Florence bubbled and fizzed like a bottle of champagne as they descended the stairs. Heather felt quite out of place, and would more than happily have been a wallflower, going unnoticed for the night. A grand room stood before them, with candelabras and freestanding candles gathered on the mantelpiece above the ornate marble fireplace providing subdued lighting. Dark-wood slanted-top desks and open-shelved bookcases took up the majority of the room’s back wall.

  “Allow me to introduce you to my niece,” Lady Haunchwood said, barging over and taking Florence by the arm, without even acknowledging Heather’s existence.

  Wearing dresses in every colour and shade imaginable, like beautiful butterflies, Heather watched the guests taking turns around the room. Both the men and women seemed to be holding meaningless conversations before pairing off, during which time Lady Haunchwood took the greatest of interest, undoubtedly having an input as to who partnered whom. She certainly wasn’t a lady to be trifled with, as Heather had found out previously to her detriment. It was obvious she’d taken an immediate dislike to her, so Heather thought it best she keep out of her way. Therefore, she stood alone.

  “Miss Richardson, we meet again.”

  She jumped, but recognised the voice immediately.

  “Do my eyes deceive me? Can it possibly be that these books hold more interest for you than some of the eligible bachelors I see before me?”

  Taking quite an offence at his assumption, she snapped, “I’m not looking for an eligible bachelor, thank you, I’m fine as I am.”

  Her eyes widened and she paused. How handsome Mr Boswel looked, she thought, taking a glance over her shoulder. His prominent good looks outweighed those of any other man in the room as he stood upright and proud in his black suit, a crisp white cotton shirt complementing his colouring.

  “Are you quite well?” he enquired. As he spoke, her beauty was reflected in his eyes.

  “If you’re referring to my memory, I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

  He laughed, perhaps out of politeness, but it was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t the faintest idea what she meant. Introductions and formalities over, the door to the dining room opened. Heather felt uneasy as she noticed the butler, Mr Clements, standing in the doorway, seeing the guests to their seats. Chatting between one another, they located their place names along the highly polished rectangular table, and sat down. Heather, being an unexpected diner, found herself at the opposite end to Lady Haunchwood, who sat at the
head of the table. Lost in a sea of strangers, Heather’s mood lifted when Florence sat to her right, in deep conversation with a gentleman of a similar age to her. Mr Boswel sat to her left, next to a very attractive lady, her raven-black hair in much the same style as her own, though decorated with a beaded pearl headband. Her pale skin was absolutely flawless, and she had deep blue eyes that seemed to draw Mr Boswel in as she spoke. Heather managed a sideways glance at her place name – Miss Thornber. Mr Boswell never looked Heather’s way, not once, and she felt quite resentful towards this beautiful lady for the hold she had over him as she flirted openly.

  Their connection seemed to be much to the approval of Lady Haunchwood, however. Funny that, Heather thought. She must have connections, be of so-called good breeding, perfect marrying material. But why could she feel that sinking feeling in her stomach, and why was she so bothered? Wasn’t this what she wanted? Surely this would alleviate Anna’s demise. Ruben’s at home waiting for me, so Mr Boswel is more than welcome to his painted lady. The wine and food were forthcoming, each course more delicious than the last, leaving their distinctive scents to tempt the palate; from consommé to oysters, and steaming guinea fowl for the main course, which was placed directly in front of Lady Haunchwood and carved into thin slices. Heather’s thoughts kept her company as the hubbub in the room paled into insignificance.

  “Miss Richardson, forgive my rudeness. I can assure you that your presence has not gone unnoticed.”

  Her stomach lurched as his eyes smouldered in her direction.

  “Do you really remember nothing? Think, Frankie, think, it wasn’t only upon my arrival at Freesdon Manor that we met. Mum and Dad, our trip to Snowdon... You must remember.”

  Although he pondered a while, he drew a blank, holding no recollection of there being such meetings.

  “Not even our kiss?” she asked. She kicked him under the table, making him jump, an obvious stranger to such female forthrightness.

  He leant forward, shielding his words from unwanted ears.

  “Pray, my memory forsakes me. Would you care to remind me?” His eyes were wanton, his expression provocative.

  Miss Thornber was a distant conversation away as Heather held Mr Boswel’s full attention. Something caught Frank’s eyes at the other side of the room, near the marble fireplace. Heather’s eyes followed his, and standing to the left side of the hearth stood Anna, the housemaid. His eyes were lost in hers, yet an anger shone back in her stare, making no sense to him, but perfect sense to Heather. From nowhere, a saying sprung to mind: Hell hath no fury like a woman’s wrath.

  “What’s her problem?”

  Refocusing on Heather, he replied, “Oh, have you not heard? We refer to her as mad Anna, and I declare she is only a heartbeat from the asylum.” His voice was low so as not to be overheard. “Her position is favoured only due to her betrothal to Mr Clements, our trusted butler.”

  “Just a feeling, but I think she fancies you,” Heather said, seeing his confused frown. “Ya know, holds a torch for you.”

  “I must say, your speech is very unfashionable, but to speak truth, she holds a torch for no one.”

  Heather had to laugh inwardly. My speech unfashionable, he says, yet his dialect is unfathomable. Knowing what he knew, what on earth made him sleep with her that night? Where ladies were concerned, Mr Boswel could have taken his pick, yet he knowingly chose a mad woman with no status or connections whatsoever. It would surely finish Lady Haunchwood off, but now things were starting to add up and the truth must have come to light. Heather couldn’t possibly warm to this lady, and knew she never would.

  Mr Boswel’s character intrigued her more by the minute, and as her life in the future became inconsequential, a warm realisation bubbled up inside; maybe her key to breaking the cycle was to make Frank fall in love with her, and perhaps this was not so unthinkable as she had once thought. Like Ruben, but in a different lifetime, both were a challenge she was drawn to. Ruben had a past, so didn’t she deserve one too? She remembered his words: the past is the past for a reason, and that’s where she’d be leaving Frank.

  Met by daggers, she wondered if Lady Haunchwood could read her mind, but no, it was just her unmistakable disapproval of her and Mr Boswel’s all-consuming conversation. She rose from her seat, giving permission for her guests to leave the table, instructing them to retire to the drawing room for a nightcap. She followed on, stopping next to Heather’s chair.

  “Miss Richardson,” she said, interrupting her and Frank’s conversation. “May I detain you briefly?”

  Heather didn’t dare refuse the old lady’s request, and Frank stood, bowing courteously.

  “I should be very grateful of your presence in the drawing room.”

  Not wanting to refuse Frank either, Heather smiled, before being taken by the arm and led out into the hallway.

  “Miss Richardson, you’re weary, child, I see it in your face.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I insist you retire to your bedchamber.”

  Heather winced at the tightening grip on her arm; the lady was not for arguing with. She felt a growing disappointment and a longing to join Frank, to continue where they’d left off. As she walked towards the stairs, she couldn’t help but throw a backward glance, and saw that her allegiance with Frank had been short-lived, since he was engrossed again in Miss Thornber’s perfection as they sat on the window seat chatting. Suddenly, the room fell silent as Florence attempted a tune on the pianoforte. Maybe she was only an interval from the norm in Frank’s eyes, but Heather felt let down, betrayed by his insincerity and how quickly he’d moved on. Or was it jealousy she felt? After all, none of this was real, and she’d wake up in the morning in her own bed, in her own time.

  She fumbled her way up the stairs to the landing, where Mr Trustworthy the grandfather clock stood waiting, holding his usual expression. She squinted down the hallway through the darkness in the belief he’d be there to take her in his arms, but no, that wish was unfortunately saved for dreams. But what she did see momentarily defied all logic; a female form cloaked in a white gown, lying lifeless, the staircase an obvious journey to her death. Blinking, she took a second glance; perhaps the vision was only in her mind, a result of the wine? Perhaps Lady Haunchwood’s perception of her was right after all? She was in need of sleep, and the room beckoned.

  “Goodbye, Frank, for now,” she whispered as she stepped inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  Home or Away?

  “Good morning, Miss Richardson.”

  Alarmed, Heather woke as Florence flounced into the bedroom as excited as ever. What’s happening to me? Why am I still here? Heather thought.

  “Did you see my handsome Mr Cox last night? I could have talked and talked forever. A far cry from the other rather tedious company over dinner. Though I may have been a little overzealous, and I pray that my manner has not scared him away, for my aunt was very well pleased.”

  “How could he not be pleased with you?” Heather replied, smiling as she pushed back the covers.

  “Oh my,” Florence gasped, quickly looking away, seemingly embarrassed by Heather’s near naked form. “You must come to my bedchamber and dress at once; we have the whole day ahead of us.”

  Still sleepy, Heather stood, wearing only a pair of small briefs, her dress and undergarments from the previous evening strewn over the floor. Seeing Florence’s awkward expression, she wrapped her arms around herself, covering her dignity, realising this was not the done thing.

  “Miss Richardson...”

  “Please,” she interrupted, “I’d prefer it if you called me Heather.”

  “Then you shall call me Florence.” She giggled. “Don’t make yourself uneasy, I will have Martha come to you at once, and if you would like, as a treat, we shall take breakfast in our room.”

  The daytime attire of a plain white cotton frock was a lot easier to wear, although Heather thought it looked and felt more like something she’d wear in bed. S
he didn’t argue at the choice, though, and Martha had her dressed and her hair secured in no time at all. Heather wandered to the window, feeling the morning’s heat reflecting on her face as she gazed down at the beautiful gardens. She was quite surprised when she caught sight of Lady Haunchwood up so early, and then, a few paces in front, Mr Boswel also, with Miss Thornber on his arm, both looking like they hadn’t a care in the world. Leaning forward, her nose pressed firmly against the pane of glass, she jumped back on hearing Florence return.

  “There, now you look quite the lady. I have requested that our food be brought up immediately,” Florence said, joining Heather and looking out of the window also.

  “I didn’t realise she’d be staying.”

  “Oh yes, Miss Thornber’s family estate is in Hampshire, much too great a distance to travel at night, and of course it would have made no sense for them to go home and return the very next day. Therefore, my aunt kindly had the guest rooms made up for her entire party.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “How very good of her,” she replied, her tone sarcastic, feeling disappointed at seeing the two so cosily acquainted. “She’s keen, isn’t she? What possible reason would they have had for returning today?”

  “Have you not heard? The ball of course... this evening. We have the pleasure of their presence for the entirety of the weekend, is that not so delightful?”

  Luckily Heather was not given time to answer as Martha and Anna entered.

  “Ea’s y’ breakfast, mam.”

  “Thank you, Anna. Would you be so kind as to place the tray on the bedside table?”