Her long hair reminded Jaci of Shirley Temple — all ringlets and curls — much too much hair for a youngster.
Jaci’s gaze darted from object to object around the room. She sensed there was too much of everything here. The room contained an abundance of fancy furniture, frills and lace. The bed even had a ruffled canopy.
The little girl glanced nervously at the closed door. She turned back and burst into rapid speech, as though afraid of not saying all she needed to before someone caught her.
“Hello, my name is Amanda. Did you know you look like a fairy princess? I wish I could cut all my hair off like you, but Uncle Nicholas would be so angry.” She popped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. “I must get him. He said I could sit here as long as I called him immediately upon your waking.” The girl turned to leave.
“No...wait.” Jaci reacted without thinking, leaning forward to grab the child’s arm. “Augh!” She fell back against the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the pain.
“But he said—”
“Please.” Blindly, she held out her hand. Think, she chastised herself as she sucked in a breath. She couldn’t believe such confusion resulted from simply falling off a carousel. Nothing made any sense — the girl’s clothes, her speech, this room and its antique furniture.
There had been talk of building a reenactment village to draw more tourists to State Fair Park. Had she been taken there? If so, Jaci mused silently, why did she have the instinctive feeling that something was terribly wrong? Since the child appeared less threatening than an adult, Jaci wanted to question her.
She softened her tone. “Please stay; just for a moment.”
The child hesitated, glancing over at the door before looking back at her. “All right.”
Jaci took a deep breath. “Where am I?”
“Why, Wildwood Manor, of course.”
Was that the name of the reenactment village? Jaci couldn’t recall. “Why is all the furniture old? Why are you dressed oddly?” Her breath came in short gasps; her hands trembled as panic clawed its way to the surface. She concentrated very hard on the pattern of the coverlet until her vision cleared.
“Is not old! Uncle Nicholas just bought this bed because he’s going to marry soon.”
Jaci moaned and rolled her eyes at the little girl’s story.
“Amanda, I thought I told you not to bother our guest.” The gruff voice came from across the room.
Amanda’s back stiffened, but her eyes still held a pixy light. In a whisper she said to Jaci, “He likes to use his big voice, but not to worry, he really is a very nice person.” She made a dash for the door, only pausing briefly to curtsy before the tall figure.
Jaci’s gaze followed the pixy as she scampered across the room, but now she studied the man who remained leaning against the doorframe. Her gaze slid up neatly tailored trousers encasing long legs, a trim waist, and arms crossed over a chest covered in a brown brocade vest, snowy shirt and darker brown jacket. His clothes, like those of the girl, appeared quite old fashioned.
That thought flew as her gaze reached his face. His eyes held a hint of anger and his stance was anything but relaxed, and still she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was. He also looked familiar. She knew she should recognize those gorgeous silver eyes, his dark hair and finely chiseled chin. Her artistic eye noted the contradiction between his youthful face and the gray threading its way through the darker hair at his temples. His full lips, puckered in thought, now gave way to a voice as dark and intriguing as the man himself.
“Good afternoon. My name is Nicholas Westbrooke. I suppose I should welcome you to Wildwood, though you most certainly dropped by in an unexpected manner.”
Jaci had felt the tension increase the moment Amanda left the room, and would have called her back if only her brain would function properly. She tried to speak, but her mouth pinched in a terrible grimace and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. Her manner must have appeared unduly strange, because when she finally opened her eyes, she saw him hesitate.
“A lady will most usually return a gentleman’s introduction by at least acknowledging it, if not by allowing him the pleasure of her name in return.”
She nervously plucked at the bed covers as she crossed and uncrossed her ankles beneath the sheets, but she still didn’t speak.
“You clean up quite pretty.” The comment must have slipped out on accident, because she saw him clamp his lips quickly together.
The panic she had felt earlier quickened. Her gaze flickered from him to the window and back.
“I doubt you would get far.”
Startled, she stared at him. How could he possibly know she contemplated jumping to escape his presence?
“I’m sure you’re right, since I don’t even know where I am.” She finally spoke, feeling the panic curl into a tight knot in her stomach before slowly creeping upward, threatening to choke her
“Here, drink this.” The strange man handed her the glass he had brought in with him. Without thought, she downed half the water, hoping it would ease her cottonmouth.
“How did you get here?” His question seemed innocent enough, but it still confused her.
“Where, exactly, is here?”
“Here is Wildwood Manor, precisely sixteen miles west of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Here is Monday, the fourteenth day of October in the year of our Lord1874. Exact enough?”
“There’s no reason to be rude.” What he said made no sense, and she didn’t like his tone. She tried to get up, determined to leave this room and go home.
“I may have bumped my head when I fell, but I’m not crazy. I know what year it is.” Funny, but her limbs didn’t want to cooperate. Try as she might, she couldn’t get out of bed.
“I must leave now to be home in time for dinner.” Even as she said the words, she laid back, her brain a muddle. Perhaps she should rest a little longer.
The man who called himself Nicholas Westbrooke stood beside her. He took away the glass and set it on the table. She squinted, trying to concentrate on his face. He wasn’t quite as frightening now. In fact, a gentle smile lifted the corners of his mouth and softened the lines around his eyes. His change in expression made her feel bad about yelling at him.
She started to apologize but his image faded. When she tried to bring him back in focus, the thought haunted her that she should know him. His dark brows come together over silver eyes as he scrutinized her in turn. Just as she faded into unconsciousness, she realized who the man was. Yet before she grasped the memory, the connection disappeared, leaving her in blackness.
Chapter Two
The annoying buzz in Jaci’s head gave way to voices; fuzzy at first, but gradually becoming more distinct. Two men spoke, their accent more eastern than her slight Texas drawl. She focused on the more gentle of the two voices, the rhythm of his words reminding her of the soft cadence of the carousel.
Even as she listened, she couldn’t rouse herself enough to speak. She recalled weird dreams — children asking for kisses to wake princesses, a very handsome, but strange man, pretending to be someone from another century. She did recall falling on the carousel, and must have hit her head harder than she thought.
“MacAdoo keeps asking about her, though why he would ask about a stranger is beyond me,” a gruff voice commented.
Oh, dear. Mackey. Wondering how he fared, she opened her eyes, but wasn’t given the opportunity to speak.
“Ah, you’re awake. Now, if you will tell me your name and why you fell into Wildwood’s exercise ring with my prize thoroughbreds, my patience will be rewarded.” It was the swamp monster voice. Jaci couldn’t remember his name, but she did recall his brusque attitude from earlier.
“I fell on a carousel,” she softly replied, unable to raise her voice to match the anger she felt at this man’s highhandedness. In both their conversations, he had spoken as though she had invaded his precious space. “Why do you keep referring to State Fair Park as Wildwood?”
&nb
sp; “We’ve had this conversation before.”
Listening to his voice, she finally recalled his name — Nicholas Westbrooke. She watched as another man, shorter and fair-haired, pulled Nicholas aside, the conversation now in muted tones she strained to hear.
“...late eighteen hundreds and modern advances of medicine, you would think you could find some way of getting the truth from her.”
“What time is it?” Her ear caught the numbers. She blinked several times as she tried to focus on the other man, who at this point appeared much friendlier. When she turned her head, however, intense pain shot up her neck to the base of her skull. She groaned.
“The time? Odd question, truly, but it is half past three in the afternoon.” This time, the younger man answered, his voice soothing and calm.
She was confused. “But didn’t he say it was six something?”
“I beg your pardon?” Nicholas answered, this time his harsh voice not matching the concern she saw in the soft silver of his eyes.
“You know, six o’clock — eighteen hundred hours?” Having flown all around the world at one time or the other, Jaci’s mind automatically switched from regular to international time.
“How odd a comment. The blow to your head must have spilled your wits.” Nicholas’s dark brows came together over assessing eyes.
She watched in fascination as his full lips moved in speech but she had a hard time understanding. Her ears rang and vision blurred, and she knew if she closed her eyes, she would wake up in her own bed. Immediately, she squeezed her eyes shut. It’s all a dream, she repeated to herself — all a dream.
“Nicholas, really. There’s no sense scaring her wits out of her,” the soft voiced man defended. “I’ve never heard of such a thing — hundreds of hours. My dear girl, 1874 is the year, not a time of day.”
Jaci’s eyes flew open to see his frown and note the concern in his gaze while his words assaulted her brain. Her own eyes blurred with tears while her logical, systematic mind shifted to overload and allowed her the only possible way out. She fainted.
Nicholas turned to Thomas, his friend and a practicing physician. “Why would she keep losing consciousness? She doesn’t appear to be that delicate.”
Thomas listened to the woman’s heartbeat, lifted an eyelid, and scrutinized her breathing. “This time she is only in a faint. The blow to her head, while leaving a nasty bump, is apparently creating a pain serious enough to cause her distress. I’ll leave laudanum for her. I have no doubt she’ll recover quickly.”
“Well, if you’re sure she’s out of danger, I’ll leave her in Mrs. Jeffrey’s capable hands and travel back to Philadelphia with you. I have several business transactions to conduct that I’ve been putting off.”
Thomas chuckled. “Business? I swear, Nicholas, you are the only man I know who would leave a beautiful woman alone in your bed to conduct business. I doubt there’s much hope for you.” Shaking his head in mock sadness, Thomas left the room, still chuckling.
Nicholas remained beside the bed staring down at the creature who had mysteriously appeared in his life. In their two short conversations, he had determined she had a strong will and stubborn streak, both of which were traits he admired.
For reasons he didn’t have time to dissect, he felt drawn to her. Something in her green gaze held him spellbound; her speech, a slight drawl he couldn’t decipher, intrigued him. His brother, Cameron, would call this attraction fate, but Nicholas didn’t believe in fate, or luck.
“Cameron? Damn,” Nicholas swore, leaving the room and closing the door softly behind him.
As he gathered his things and called for his carriage, he thought about his younger sibling. Cameron was the main reason he must go to Philadelphia. It was time his brother took responsibility for his life and those who should be a part of it. While in the city, he would also do a little investigating into this woman’s strange comments about historical reenactments and carousels.
Nicholas and Thomas traveled in companionable silence in Nicholas’s carriage; Thomas’s horse tied to the rear. Even as he traveled away from Wildwood, he couldn’t keep his mind off the beautiful young woman he had left lying in a bed in his home. Why did she speak in so strange a manner? Where did she call home?
She dressed curiously, asked very intriguing questions, and had the most wondrous green eyes full of mystery. He wondered impulsively if her lips were as soft to the touch as they had looked when she nervously licked them before speaking. He was inexplicably drawn to her vulnerability and the fear she had tried to hide, and would have gladly stayed at her side if not for urgent business.
“Will you see Lycinda while in town?” Thomas questioned idly.
Guilt immediately gripped Nicholas as he thought of Lycinda Edwardson. “Yes, of course.” In silent atonement, he promised himself to call on her after he visited with her father, who also happened to be his banker.
* * *
Jaci didn’t know how long she had slept. She recalled her strange conversation with the even stranger man, and was determined to get dressed and go home. Her head felt much better, and she knew if she didn’t make a quick phone call, Mandy would probably have the police looking for her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed to get up when the little girl bounced into the room.
“Oh, I’m glad you are awake. Before he left, Uncle Nicholas forbid me to bother you, but you slept for days, and I thought you might never wake.”
The little girl still pretended to be something else, even though they were alone. She decided to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. “You’re from a reenactment village, right?”
“I don’t understand that word. I’m only five, you know.”
“You dress up and pretend to live in a different era, ah, time period.” She defined the word.
Amanda looked quite taken with the idea, as though she had never thought of it before. “I don’t know why someone would want to do that. I like it right here where I am.”
Jaci sighed, trying to convince her. “It’s just for fun. You know, pretend; make believe?”
Amanda shrugged, bounced off the bed and headed for the door. “Well, I suppose. Uncle Nicholas says sometimes people pretend to be what they’re not. Is that what you mean?” She never even waited for an answer, assuming Jaci would agree with her. “I’ll get Molly to bring you something to eat.”
Jaci finally relaxed, knowing she hadn’t flipped out. She had apparently hit her head pretty hard. The strange dreams must have been caused by her fall or from the medicine that man gave her to drink.
She turned toward the door when a petite young girl of about sixteen came in, carrying a tray laden with a silver coffee pot, cup, and a dish of toast and jellies. Considering the circumstances, Jaci didn’t think it at all strange for this girl to be wearing a long black dress, white apron, and a starched white cap set primly on top her head.
Her stomach growled at the thought of food, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. She would eat something so not to appear rude, before going home to see Mandy and get back to the normal humdrum of her life.
“Hello, there.” At the sound of Jaci’s voice, the maid clattered the tray to the small desk. Spinning around, her wide eyes flickered to Jaci then down to the floor. Her hands nervously twisted her apron.
“I brung — brought — you some coffee,miss.” The girl curtsied as she spoke, still not looking directly at Jaci.
“Thank you, but I’d much rather have my clothes.”
“Excuse me, Miss?”
“My clothes. That man — the one who thinks he’s in charge? He didn’t take them with him, did he?” She felt a moment of panic at not having her possessions.
“Goodness, no. Mister Westbrooke, he wouldn’t let us throw them away, strange though they be. Says your belongings are your belongings, and we was — were — not to bother them.” The maid curtsied again and scooted across the room to a large cupboard on one wall. “Here they be, Miss, right here in
the wardrobe. Cleaned them up the best we could, considering you fell in the middle of the horse pens and all.” The girl almost smiled, thought better of it, and curtsied again.
Jaci rushed to the cupboard, relieved to see her faded jeans and sweatshirt. She grabbed them close and buried her face in the denim. It was a dream, after all.
“Mister Westbrooke; is he here?” She didn’t particularly want to see the man again, but felt she owed him thanks for taking care of her.
“No, Miss, he went to the city with Dr. Stillwell. Said he’d be back late today, perhaps.”
She assumed Dr. Stillwell was the other man who had faded in and out of her consciousness. She glanced out the window. Considering the lateness of the day, she dumped her clothes on the bed, anxious to get dressed and out of this very strange place.
When she noticed the maid coming over to help, she stopped unbuttoning the nightgown she wore. “I don’t need any help. You can go do whatever it is you normally do, but first—” Jaci hesitated. “First, can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Bathroom, Miss?”
“Yes, the bathroom. You know, to — ah —” She snapped her teeth together in frustration. In her mind, she formed a letter to the administrator of this place, suggesting the employees be a little more helpful and a little less authentic.
“Oh.” Recognition must have dawned on the maid, for she moved forward, this time bending over and removing a china chamber pot from beneath the bed. “There you be, Miss. I’ll leave you to your morning toilet.”
Jaci’s mouth dropped open as she stared. The maid curtsied yet again before leaving the room.
“This is too much,” she muttered as she jerked on her clothes. She splashed water on her face from the china bowl sitting on a commode. Boy, would she have a story for Mandy. She’d have to bring her sister back to the village; it was the kind of thing Mandy would like.
Leaving behind the frilly room and unbidden memories of the tall, handsome stranger, she descended a wide curved staircase to a marble foyer. The size of the house was impressive and Jaci certainly hoped the State Fair Board could recoup their money from this extravagance. She spied a boy dressed in knee breeches, shirt and vest near the door and assumed him to be part of the tour.
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