Time for a Duke

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Charles crossed his arms. "It simply wouldn't do to purchase one dress and assume it would work, now would it?"

  Izzy shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I hardly ever wear dresses."

  "Ever?"

  "With my job sitting at a desk all day, I wear…" She glanced down at her pants.

  He lifted an eyebrow. "Is this common where you're from? For a woman to work in an office? To dress strangely, almost as a man would?"

  She chuckled. "Well, many women work in offices. But we don't consider this to be dressing like a man. Some women wear dresses, yes, but some don't. It's their choice."

  "Is there not a group, such as our ton, which dictates what someone wears and when?"

  "Uh, no… we don't have a ton."

  Charles raised his other eyebrow to join the first. "So no one gives direction as to what's popular and appropriate attire from season to season?"

  Izzy shrugged. "I usually just wear what's comfortable. I guess some people worry about what everyone else thinks, but for that, there are always the covers of Hollywood Stars magazine."

  "Holly? Like Holly Hall where the ball will take place?"

  She shook her head. "Not exactly."

  Sarah returned carrying an armload of dresses.

  Izzy's eyes widened. "My goodness. How many did you get?"

  Charles laughed. "It isn't at all uncommon to acquire several items of clothing to find just the perfect one. Worry not, Isabella. I can afford it."

  Izzy placed her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. There's no reason in the world why you should do this for me, and protect me like this. But I'm grateful." She stood up on tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her lips. A shuffle from Sarah's direction reminded Izzy she and Charles weren't alone.

  Charles' cheeks reddened. "Well, then. Yes, let's… let's have Sarah help you try these on, shall we?" He scurried from the room like a frightened chipmunk.

  Chapter Three

  Sarah placed the bundle on the bed. She curtsied. Izzy supposed she'd have to learn how to do that without falling on her butt. Good luck, Izzy. Ever since the day in second grade when she'd fallen, exposing her kitty-face underwear in the school production of Square Dance: Have Yourself a Yee-haw Day, she'd avoided any kind of public displays of acting. Go-go dancing to old sixties tunes in her bedroom didn't count.

  The younger woman's blue eyes briefly took in Izzy's clothes and hair before glancing away. Well, I'm sure I do look strange to her. May as well get on with this. "Uh, Sarah, why don't you tell me what I need to do?"

  "Yes, my lady."

  Izzy held up at hand. "Oh, I'm not…"

  Sarah tilted her head. "My lady?"

  "Never mind." Any explanation would involve the fact she was from another century. Somehow Izzy didn't think Sarah would understand. She was living it and didn't understand.

  Izzy hadn't undressed in front of another female since tenth-grade gym class, and she didn't like it any better now. Sarah, however, seemed to have no problem with it. She must have been used to seeing her "ladies" in their all-togethers. Well, that was fine for her, Izzy guessed, if it was the sort of thing people of 1812 generally did, but Izzy felt like a sideshow.

  Sarah helped her off with her shirt and pants, her fingers grazing Izzy's bare skin. Suppressing a giggle was tough, since she was so ticklish. Izzy told her she didn't need help with undressing, but Sarah insisted it was her duty to see to it Lady Isabella was taken care of. Great.

  When Sarah reached for Izzy's underwear, there was a scuffle. Her bra strap snapped, leaving a painful red mark on her shoulder. As Sarah's hands headed south toward Izzy's granny panties, she nearly wilted. Batting away the maid's hands, Izzy screeched and ran and hid behind the headboard. There was no way another woman was undressing her down to her skin. No. Way. Now if Charles… She gasped. She shouldn't be thinking those thoughts about someone she could never have a relationship with. Would she even be here that long? Probably not. At least she hoped not. This place and time was too weird for her.

  ****

  Charles paced across the hall. As he walked up and down the wooden planks of the floor, he stepped on the same irritating, squeaky board each time. He knew ladies needed a lot of help dressing properly, but what was taking them so long? A shriek and a thump had Charles' heart racing. What was going on in there?

  He rapped his knuckle on the door. "Isabella? Sarah? Is everything all right?"

  The door opened a fraction. Sarah's blue eyes peered out at him. "Your grace, we are almost ready with the first gown." The door snapped shut.

  The first gown? They'd been in there for almost an hour. He paced some more. Maybe asking Isabella to do this favor for him was unwise. Maybe she wasn't up to the task.

  The creak of the door had Charles whipping his head in that direction. The door was wide open. A vision in pale pink stood before him. His breath came out in a whoosh. "Oh, Isabella…"

  She swallowed, gazing up at him with brown eyes so big he thought he'd drown in their depths. To see Isabella in a ladies' gown set something spinning in his heart. Comparing her now to women of his time, she was more beautiful than any one of them could ever dream to be.

  "Charles, is it… am I…?"

  He wasted no time walking the three feet that separated them. "You are exquisite." A blush, pink as a sunset, colored her cheeks, enticing Charles to rub her face lightly with his thumb. Her skin was as soft as new rose petals. "You, my dear, will be the belle of this ball."

  She glanced down. "Oh, I don't know about that. I still don't know how to dance. Or curtsy. Or even how to walk in this silly thing."

  "Don't worry about any of that. We'll figure it out."

  Isabella sighed as she angled her gaze back toward the bed. "Well, guess I'd better try on the second one."

  Charles ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't finished admiring her in the first one yet. "Second one. Yes." Why had he purchased so many dresses? It was going to be a long day. The door clicked shut again as he retreated to the hall, retracing the same fifteen steps up, fifteen steps back, over and over. Squeak. Squeak.

  What would happen when he arrived at the ball with Isabella on his arm? She was beautiful, yes, but no one would know her. They were a nosy lot, the ton, with their questions either asked directly or whispered loudly enough for others to hear. How would he and Isabella explain her parentage, connections, and background? He shook his head. It would behoove him to find out these things for himself, and then he'd be better armed to deflect the curiosity of his peers at the ball.

  Charles knew if Isabella was tried and found lacking, the ton would pepper her with so many questions the poor girl would beg to be released. He'd seen it happen all too often to newcomers who weren't a part of the accepted ton. Many times they arrived at the ball, wide-eyed and enthralled, only to leave early, disheartened and beaten down. But Charles was determined not to let that happen to Isabella. After finding her in his closet under strange circumstances, he felt he was to be her champion, her protector. As strong willed as she seemed, he wasn't sure she could withstand the often-venomous tongues of the ton.

  ****

  "Ouch! What are you doing?" Izzy rubbed her side where a pin had jabbed her skin through the dress material.

  "Please forgive me, my lady, I wasn't aware of your movement. I don't wish to jab you with the pins."

  "It's all right." Izzy sighed and positioned her arms and legs the way the seamstress instructed. This was taking six lifetimes! If she were home, she could have done half a day's work by now. She turned her head and glanced out the window. If she were home, she wouldn't be seeing the lush green fir trees through her bedroom window; she'd see the neighbor's ugly, rotted picket fence and the junked-out car in his front yard.

  Izzy shook her head and focused on standing still for the woman altering the pink dress. It did her no good to dwell on how lovely it was here. She wouldn't be staying. At least she hoped not. The job promotion was hers. All she had to do was show up at the meet
ing with her boss.

  Charles had rolled his eyes when it was decided the first dress of fifteen was the best choice. Think of all the time everyone could have saved if they'd just gone with it and not spent hours trying on all the others. Beautiful though they all were, this dress suited her, with the pale shade complementing her dark hair, and the delicate lace around the bodice and sleeves giving her a more feminine look than she usually wore. Wait. Was she crazy? A dress, one from 1812 no less, suited her? No. She wasn't going down that road. Letting herself be lulled into complacency about this time and place would only hurt her in the long run. She had a life to get back to.

  Izzy glanced down at the gown. She had questioned the neckline, or rather, why there didn't seem to be one. If she weren't careful and leaned over too far, the whole world would see two parts of her that only her doctor normally saw. What are these people thinking? True, the dress was long and covered her legs to the floor, but no one would be looking at her legs. Since it was December, she'd think a person might want a turtleneck underneath.

  A slight tug on the hem of the dress pulled her thoughts back to the seamstress. Izzy peered down at the top of her head. "How's it coming, Anna?"

  The other woman tilted her head up briefly. "It's well, my lady, the pinning is finished. After you disrobe, I'll begin on the sewing."

  Izzy nodded. "Thank you, Anna. I appreciate it."

  The seamstress shot her eyebrows upward but avoided direct eye contact. "Y-yes, my lady."

  Izzy bit her lip. Hmm. Maybe workers of the lower class weren't used to being thanked for their efforts? She'd have to be more careful what she said and how she said it, although twenty-five years of doing things a certain way would be hard to change. Like all the other kids on her block, she'd been brought up to thank others for their hard work and kindness.

  Izzy stepped down from the platform and once again allowed Sarah to assist her with removing the dress and petticoats. It was hard to hold still while she waited for Sarah to tediously undo the row of buttons down her back. Everything in her was screaming to pull it off over her head like she did with her tee shirts, but it would ruin the pretty fabric and delicate buttons. She then stepped out of the dress while holding onto one of Sarah's work-roughened hands.

  Next came the dismantling of the undergarments. After that, Izzy stood there in her birthday suit wishing for her fuzzy pink robe from home, because she was both embarrassed and cold.

  She grabbed her underwear, bra, shirt, and pants from the nearby chair and quickly donned her clothing, while Sarah handed the dress with all its voluminous folds to the seamstress. The maid flicked her eyes toward Izzy but glanced away and said nothing. Was it out of respect for Izzy's supposed station? Whatever the reason, it felt wonderful to dress herself, even if her clothes were a couple of days past needing to be washed.

  Sarah came toward her and curtsied. Izzy waited a moment and then realized the maid wasn't going to speak first. "Yes, Sarah?"

  "If it please my lady, his grace would like you to try on the day dresses he purchased."

  "More dresses? For me?"

  "Yes, my lady." Sarah cast her eyes downward.

  Izzy sighed. More trying on dresses and having another woman touch my bare skin and tug clothes over my body. She followed Sarah to a second room just off the bedroom. Standing in the doorway with her mouth open, she eyed the bed-full of clothes. Dresses, under things, and jackets were folded in piles. Several pairs of shoes, slippers, and boots stood neatly on the floor. Charles must have money to burn. She wrinkled her nose at the styles with so much material. Her skin wouldn't see sunlight ever again as long as she wore them, and she knew from the experience of trying on all of the ball gowns that some were indeed scratchy. What she wouldn't give for her cotton sweatshirts and sweatpants right now.

  Her attention was drawn to Sarah when the younger woman walked toward the bed and covered her lips with her hand after a small intake of breath. She lovingly ran her fingers over the material of one of the dresses. The maid's eyes sparkled as she studied the boots and shoes. Izzy watched her closely. Sarah's dress was drab and showed small areas of wear. The girl's boots, while polished, were obviously not new. Did she wish the large pile of clothes were for her?

  Sarah swiveled and gasped.

  "Sarah, are you all right?"

  "Oh, my lady. Begging your pardon. I—"

  Izzy flapped a hand toward her. "It's all right. Think nothing of it."

  "Yes, my lady." The girl's face was tomato-red.

  Suddenly, Izzy felt ashamed of herself. Charles had purchased all of these things for her, someone he didn't even know. Sarah, who'd likely worked for him for years, wore older, drab seconds. Maybe, if Charles didn't mind, she could see that Sarah got some of the new things.

  ****

  "All right, Isabella, we shall try again." Charles held in a sigh, trying his best to not roll his eyes. He knew she wasn't being difficult, that her desire was to help him by accompanying him to the ball, but she didn't seem to be getting the dance steps. They didn't have much time for her to learn and perfect them. As much as he loved having her dance close to him, it threw off the steps of the dance. If they danced at the ball as they were now, tongues would surely wag. He gently moved her away from him. Again.

  Isabella peered up at him. "I'm sorry, Charles. I told you I was inept."

  "Not inept, just…" He widened his eyes. What in the world was he thinking? Had he just uttered those words out loud? To her?

  She opened her brown eyes wide. "Just what?"

  He felt his face heat up. Surely it was red by now. "I, you see…"

  She took a half step closer to him. "Clumsy?"

  "I…"

  "Awkward?" She nudged the side of his boot with hers.

  "You…" He glanced at the ceiling, hoping for some helpful words to materialize on his tongue.

  "Ungraceful? Hmm? What do you say to that, Charles?"

  "Well…" Charles glanced down, relieved to see Isabella's smirk. His breath whooshed out all at once, as he willed his heartbeat back to its normal rhythm.

  Isabella tapped her fingers on his shirtfront, causing an electric current to race down toward his stomach. "Don't worry, Charles. I'm only teasing. I know I'm not graceful."

  Charles wrapped her fingers with his. "I'm so relieved. I thought—"

  "What? That I'd be upset?"

  "Yes, well, you see most women I've met—"

  Her eyes sparkled in the pale light from the candle sitting on a side table. "I'm not 'most women'."

  "I'm beginning to understand that." Yes, indeed. There had never been another woman who had caused such emotions in him, whom he could converse with on an intellectual level. Why could she not have been from his town? His time?

  Charles pulled one arm around her waist and kept a respectable distance while his other hand held hers. He kept the steps slow and measured, trying to help her get the rhythm first before quickening the pace.

  While Isabella gazed at their boots, she bumped into Charles. Again. He stopped to rub yet another sore spot on his chin. The woman had a hard head in more ways than one. He sighed. "Let's try this."

  She glanced up. "What?"

  "Keep looking into my eyes."

  "But then I can't look at my—"

  He nodded. "Exactly. You're thinking too much. Just feel."

  Isabella shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "I guess I can't do any worse than I already am, right?"

  Charles wasn't so sure about that. In his mind's eye, he pictured them tangling arms and legs, losing their balance and falling in a heap to the floor. Not that it would be all bad. There were a few activities he could think of if it happened. Nodding again in answer to her question, he peered into her eyes. He didn't know how she considered him, but he could stare at her face for a century.

  "Um, Charles?"

  "Yes?" Her nearness was intoxicating. He tightened his grip on her as his thoughts drifted to ravishing her lips with his.

/>   "We aren't moving."

  What? Oh… He raised his eyebrows. "Yes, well… keep looking at me, right in my eyes, and follow my lead. Lean when I lean. Step back when I step forward and let me lead you. All right?"

  She nodded. "I'll try."

  Isabella kept her eyes on his. Dark, long lashes surrounded her lovely brown eyes. A small nose begged to be touched. Sensuous, pink lips, slightly parted, beckoned for his attention. Charles leaned his head closer.

  "We're doing it!" she shrieked.

  He gasped. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Dancing. We're dancing."

  Charles glanced down at their steps. They were dancing. He laughed. "There. I knew you could do it."

  "Well, I wasn't sure. But, isn't this fun?" In her excitement, she stepped closer, brushing against him.

  Charles' breath caught in his throat. A warm sensation in his stomach caused tightness in his trousers. Good heavens, what am I doing? He stepped away. "I think we've accomplished quite a lot today. With the dance."

  "You don't want to dance anymore?"

  More than you know, Isabella. "For now, let's take a rest from dancing. How about some refreshment? I need to learn more about you."

  She touched the area right above her collarbone. "About me?"

  "For the ton. They'll have many probing questions, and you and I will need to—"

  "Be on the same page?"

  Charles raised his eyebrows. "Page? I—"

  She laughed. "It means, be thinking and doing the same thing."

  He grinned. "Yes. On the same page, then."

  "Okay."

  He took her hand, leading her toward the couch. Once Isabella was seated, he opened the door and softly called down the hall for Sarah. After giving the maid instructions for food and drink, he returned to Isabella and sat next to her.

  She angled toward him, fanning herself with her hand. "What should we talk about?"

  He pointed toward her hand. "One item would be that."

  She glanced down and frowned. "What?"

  "Fan."

  "Oh, because I'm fanning myself with my hand? I'm sorry but these heavy clothes are hot."