Chapter Three
Moments later, Jasmin reclined in the lavender cushions of a chair bordering the mysterious long table that now adorned the center of the dining room; sipping hot cinnamon tea from a rose print tea cup.
For once, she reasoned, it was nice to enact the role of the served as opposed to the server. Especially when her server just happened to be so unforgivably hawt that he really should be illegal.
Immediately deciding that his unexpected guest had been most literally knocked silly by her jolting fall, the man who introduced himself as Lord Nathaniel Barrett encouraged the woman—who introduced herself as Jasmin Lawrence—to make herself comfortable in his dining room; pouring her a cup of tea as he encouraged her to share her story.
“How is it that you think you got here, Miss?” he asked her, eyebrows arched in a show of keen curiosity as he took a seat beside her at the table.
Jasmin shrugged.
“The last thing I knew I was just minding my own business, pouring tea and serving scones right here at Chez Victoria, the premiere—well okay, the only—tearoom in Clearview, Florida,” she informed him, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “The grouchy old guy in the Hawaiian shirt, who is always asking for raspberry jam, was in fine form, demanding more of that ever precious, seemingly irreplaceable condiment. Then he decided he could wait no more and invaded my aisle; basically tripping up my food cart and myself in the process. I hit the cart hard and felt myself blacking out, slowly but surely.” She paused here, making a broad gesture around her. “And apparently, during the time that I was ‘out’, so to speak, management got rid of all the customers and elected to remodel.”
Nathaniel looked at her for a long moment, his azure eyes narrowing in a show of confusion as he considered her words.
“Yes, well, I have no earthly wish to contradict a lady,” he said finally, adding with a shrug, “I must point out, however, that this is my home—not a house that belongs to a lady named Victoria. Who is she, anyway? And while your adorable accent and turn of phrase would indicate that you are indeed from the States, you and I happen to be having this conversation in London—not Florida.”
Jasmin had heard enough.
“I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous,” she insisted, setting aside her tea cup and jumping to her feet as she raced, headfirst, for the expansive bay window that fronted the dining room. “Be prepared to see a whole passel of palm trees, Dude, because your jig is up.”
With these words, she ripped open the gold jacquard curtains that lined and covered the expansive bay window, gasping outright as she revealed a vast emerald green meadow lined with towering stately oak trees that stood tall and proud above luxurious growths of scarlet red roses and lavender lilies; florals that both succored and confused her addled senses.
The greyish hue of the overhead sky cast the overall scene in something of a somber prism; one that did not seem indicative of the lush, glamorous Florida landscape to which Jasmin felt well accustomed. “Where is the parking lot and the oversized, overly ornate sign that reads ‘Chez Victoria?’” she gaped, more to herself than to her watching host. “And while we’re at it, where is the flippin’ sun?”
Nathaniel chuckled.
“Well sadly, Love, we see the sun in London about as often as you see the snow,” he informed her.
Jasmin nodded.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she decided finally, declaring with a firm nod and in a matter of fact tone, “I just went off like the crazy gal I am and travelled through time.”
Lord Nathaniel Barrett stood as a man of great intellect and certainty. And on this day, he knew one fact to be absolutely true, without as much as a shadow of a doubt.
The woman before him was completely and totally insane. Madder than the proverbial mad hatter, as a matter of fact.
And never had he ever met anyone so out and out adorable.
Although not a classic beauty, the robust lady before him sported a winning smile and a fine flowing mane of dark curly hair; not to mention, sparkling blue eyes that peeked up at him through the prism of clear glass spectacles.
Far more important, in his mind, was the laughter and animation that she brought to his home; a house left quiet and sterile in the wake of what he feared would be an irreplaceable loss.
Two years ago, his dear wife Eugenia had been claimed by the fever; ripped from the arms of her grieving young husband, who, in the wake of her death, had closed himself off in the lonesome confines of the house he’d once called a home.
Deeming himself inconsolable, he had spent many days and nights here behind locked doors; trying to lose himself in the memories of a love that had filled and defined his earthly existence.
“My house felt more like a mausoleum—a beautiful place devoid of life,” he mused now, adding as he aimed a warm beam in the direction of the loveable madwoman, “And then along came Jasmin.”
Aloud he told her, “It seems, Ms. Lawrence, that you have come a very long way to see me today. So now that you have arrived, why not stay a while?”