Authors: Ruth J. Hartman
****
"All right, Isabella, it's time for us to agree on a story to tell the
ton
. It must be convincing, yet I would rather not have too much detail. But not too little detail. In addition, it might be prudent for you to only speak when spoken to and, because of your American accent, say as few words as possible."
Izzy raised her eyebrows. "Is that all, Charles? Why don't you have me perform a circus act while I'm at it?"
"I fail to see where it would be helpful."
"I'm being sarcastic." She smoothed the folds of her long skirt over the cushion on the couch.
"Ah, sarcasm. Such a delightful use of the English language."
Izzy crossed her arms. "So were
you
being sarcastic to me just now?"
Charles touched his fingers to his chest. "Would I do that to you, Lady Isabella?"
"Up until just now, I wouldn't have thought so. Now, I'm not so sure."
Charles grinned. "Be that as it may, what were we discussing? Oh yes, your conversation, or lack thereof, at the ball."
"Fine, I get it. Only speak when spoken to, as if I were a
child
, don't speak too much or too little, and don't draw too much attention to the fact that I'm from America."
"Good."
She held up her hand. "Wait a second. I'm proud of being an American. Why should I try to hide it?"
Charles frowned. "Because your President Madison decided it would be a good idea to enter into our war with France and cause trouble for England."
"I wouldn't call him
my
President Madison. It's not like we've ever met, you know."
"Still, people here in England are not any too fond of anything or anyone American right now."
She harrumphed. "But it has nothing to do with me."
"Isabella, they won't know that."
She huffed out a breath. "It doesn't seem fair."
"Would you like to explain to the
ton
you're from another century?"
The man has a point
. "Well, no."
"Right, so we need to downplay your American background."
"How will we do that?"
"We need a story for the
ton
." His face colored an attractive shade of pink. "Isabella, I have been remiss."
"You have?"
"I've never taken the time to ask your surname."
She raised one eyebrow. "My what-name?"
"Your family name."
"Oh, you mean my last name. It's Hodgkin."
"Is it? That's a dignified English name. I know of several prominent physicians named Hodgkin."
"Yes, so do I. What I mean is, I know
of
them. I made it a point to research them. That's one reason I wanted to come to England, to feel a connection to my ancestors." She tilted her head. "By the way, I don't know the rest of your name. Care to share, your grace?"
Charles stood and executed an impressive bow. "My lady, I am Charles Hamilton Douglas Wade, the Fourth Duke of Bramblewood Green."
She leaned forward. "Wow, what a long name!"
Charles frowned. "
Your
name could cause a problem, however." He sat down next to her.
"Why? Don't tell me the
ton
has something against Hodgkins?"
"No. But remember when I first told my uncle I was taking you to the ball? You were hidden behind the curtain."
She nodded. "Oh, right. You used the name Russell. Do you think he'll remember that?"
"Probably. Unless…" The corners of his mouth lifted.
"What?" She scooted closer. "Tell me."
"My uncle has a penchant for the fruit of the vine. If I were to suggest—"
"Oh, I see. You somehow imply he was, um, under the influence of the fruit at the time?"
"Yes, that might work."
Izzy nodded. "I like it."
Charles laughed.
Izzy ran until her legs nearly gave out. Her breath came in ragged gasps, burning her throat and lungs. Why was her father chasing her again? Why couldn
'
t he leave her alone? He grabbed her arm and yanked her back toward him, digging his grimy fingers into her flesh. She smelled the liquor on his breath, strong and sour. Closing her eyes, Izzy clenched her teeth, knowing what came next.
The first blow was to her left cheek. Pain shot through her skin to the bone. The second blow to her chin rattled her lower teeth. As the third punch struck her left temple, she crumpled to the ground. Her head pounded and her face throbbed.
Her father stood over her, smashing the fingers of her left hand under his shoe.
"
That will teach you to talk back to me, girlie. Just remember who
'
s boss around here. Girls ain
'
t no good for nothin
'
besides doing what a man tells them. Got it?
"
Izzy nodded, closed her eyes, and curled into a ball. Hatred washed over her like hot lava from an angry volcano. One of these days he
'
d be sorry. One of these days she
'
d leave home and never look back, and she wouldn
'
t have to do his bidding anymore. No man would ever control her again.
She
'
d be free…
Izzy gasped and sat up in bed. Her heart pumped like a racehorse in the lead. She reached up to push her hair out of her eyes. When she pulled back her hand, sweat covered her fingers. It had been a while since she'd had a nightmare about her father's abuse. Why was she having one now? Did being here in a time where woman's thoughts and values didn't matter as much prompt her mind to think of that awful time in her life?
After she pulled back the thick covers, she scooted until her legs hung over the edge of the bed. No, she wasn't going to ever be that person again. Izzy was her own woman and would treasure her independence. No man was going to take it from her.
A soft knock sounded on her door. Izzy could picture Sarah standing in the hall with a breakfast tray, darting glances behind her to make sure no one saw her.
"Come in."
The solid wood door opened with its usual squeak. It was a wonder no one ever came to investigate why people were entering a bedroom that was supposedly unoccupied. Maybe it was assumed a maid was cleaning it? Either way, Izzy's nerve endings tingled each time she or Sarah went in or out of the room. Was it only a matter of time until Izzy was discovered?
Sarah slipped in, closing the door with her free hand.
Izzy stood up and walked to a small table that sat in the corner. Taking a seat on an uncomfortable wooden chair, she waited while Sarah placed the tray on the table. The maid curtsied and excused herself from the room.
Izzy sighed, amazed at how quickly she and Sarah had gotten into their morning routine. It almost seemed as if they'd always done it. Could Izzy get used to living like this? Some parts of staying here were nice, especially when she got to spend time with Charles. He stirred something in her that she hadn't even realized was there. Thoughts of touching him made her blush. Daydreams of kissing him had led her to distraction more than once. Even thinking about sitting with him, talking about books or differences in their cultures brought a smile to her lips. They talked so easily and seemed to have the same interests in reading about time travel and adventure.
No
. She wouldn't allow herself to be lulled into a soft, easy life where a man held the reins and called the shots. Izzy needed to be with someone who'd let her be an equal partner in his life and decisions.
Could Charles ever be that man? Would she be able to stay here if he weren't?
After finishing her breakfast, Izzy stood and walked to the large mirror over the dresser. The sight of her reflection in a long white nightgown no longer startled her. Wearing the long dresses didn't bother her as much as it would have only a few days ago. Could a person adapt to something so different so quickly?
She shrugged. Her time here was limited anyway, if she could figure out how to go back. That is, if she went back. Her indecision confused her. What had happened to the single-minded girl who wanted independence above all else? Surely Charles was the answer to that. He was the only man she'd ever met whom she could imagine changing her life for. But could she?
****
The day of the ball arrived on currents of chilly winds. Izzy thought she'd freeze clear through. What she wouldn't give for central heating and the space heater she huddled next to every winter. Here they just wore more clothes, piled more blankets on the bed, and hoped for the best with fireplaces in each room. She wouldn't have minded Henrietta sleeping with her to keep her warm but thought the idea might be frowned on. It wouldn't be deemed proper and all. What she'd truly like was if Charles could keep her warm. Nope, that would
definitely
be frowned upon.
Sarah came up to her but said nothing. Izzy wasn't sure she'd ever get used to always having to be the first one to speak.
"Yes, Sarah?"
"My lady, it's time for me to dress your hair." Sarah stood next to her, hands clasped in front of her long brown day dress.
"All right." Izzy sat down in the now familiar chair, knowing her backside would be numb by the time Sarah was done. She gave the maid a grin of encouragement, hoping it conveyed her appreciation of the girl's hard work. It was the best way she could think of aside from actually saying
thank you
.
Izzy's mood swung like a pendulum between excitement and mind-numbing terror. Charles would be handsome, of that she had no doubt. Would he approve of how she'd look by the time Sarah was finished with her? She thought back to her daily regimen at home and could scarcely believe how long everything took here. While she would have taken a quick shower, gelled and dried her hair, dabbed on make-up, and thrown on some clean clothes, here it was vastly different.
Simply getting into the dress with all the buttons was an enormous task, which didn't even include the under things, petticoats, shoes, gloves, and outer wrap. Then there was the hair. No gel or hair dryer was there for convenience, just Sarah tugging, flipping, and fastening Izzy's locks this way and that. The dress rehearsal they'd had a few days ago just for the hairstyle was exhausting, and all Izzy had done was sit. At least they'd agreed upon the best style for Izzy for the ball, which would save a couple of hours, or days, dressing her hair this time.
The closer the time came for Charles to "pick her up" the more her insides quivered like a windsock in a hurricane. He'd warned her about the
ton
, the questions she was likely to be asked along with the scrutinizing stares and whispers purposely loud enough for every to hear. Sure, she'd agreed to help Charles get his uncle off his back about a wife, but just the thought of all that might happen tonight had her flustered beyond belief. It didn't calm her nerves to keep reminding herself she'd likely never see any of those people again. Her innards didn't seem to care. They still quaked.
Nobody appreciates floppy innards.
Charles had devised a plan to pick her up from behind the house, just down the lane. Hopefully his uncle wouldn't notice what was going on. After that, the plan was for the driver to bring the carriage around to the front, and Charles would escort Lady Isabella inside so she could
see
the house for the first time. She would also meet Charles' uncle. If going to the ball made Izzy's innards quake, thinking about the plan made her nearly explode.
What if it didn't work? What if Charles' uncle saw what was going on, or even worse, discovered her before the ball? Although she had to admit, Charles and Sarah had done an amazing job these last couple of weeks keeping her hidden. In fact, they'd done their job so well she felt like a hermit. It didn't do her claustrophobia any favors to be locked inside all the time.
All of it would soon end. She'd be going home, if she could just figure out how the closet thing worked.
****
Charles paced the length of his bedchamber. Perspiration formed beneath his cravat despite the cold temperature in the room. Suddenly having doubts about his plan, he foresaw any number of possible mishaps. What if one of the servants, besides Sarah, saw Isabella standing outside? It was common knowledge that servants had their own gossip trail, happily sending scandalous news to other servants in other homes.
Often times, word of the scandal reached the ears of the homeowners, and then another gossip trail would begin. Even worse, what if his uncle saw her before the appointed time? He would never understand why Charles' escort was already at their home before Charles picked her up.
He didn't relish the idea of Isabella having to stand out in the cold, even for a brief time, before he arranged to pick her up in the carriage. An overwhelming need to hold her and keep her warm while she waited enveloped him. His heart's desire was to protect her. Charles sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. His worst fear was the
ton
. They could be cruel, to be sure, especially to someone new, foreign, and older than the usual new arrival. What if Isabella cracked under their collective pressure?
Charles wished he could wait with Isabella until the appointed time for their outing, but that wouldn't be proper. It also wouldn't work. No, he needed to stay in his quarters, and she would stay in hers until time for Sarah to smuggle her outdoors. Thankfully, it would be dusk by then. Still, the fear in his gut threatened to engulf him.
He walked across the room to stand in front of the mirror. What did Isabella think of him? Was she as taken with him as he was with her? Charles shook his head. There was still the matter of utmost importance between them. Isabella was not from this time and had made no secret of the many wonderful things she would miss if she did not return. She'd made mention of a position at her work that she would find appealing. Would Charles help her return to her time, given the chance? Could he, without losing his heart in the process?
Could Isabella even return, though, if that's what she still desired? They didn't understand how she'd gotten here to the year 1812, so how would she get back? It must have something to do with the closet.
Charles paced around the room until he could stand it no more. He felt like a trapped animal in his quarters. Finally he walked across the room toward the door and headed out into the hallway. May as well check the progress of his plans for the evening. He wanted nothing left to chance.