Chapter Five
“Recently,” Rachel replied, looking everywhere but at Halwell and his mother. “I can’t remember the date.”
“And where was the shop located?”
“Off the main street,” Rachel improvised. Surely every town had a main street, didn’t it?
“Such a shame,” Lady Georgianna said.
“Yes, to lose a trove of books must have devastated you,” Halwell said, sincere sympathy softening his handsome face.
Rachel thought about her own bookstore, the years it had taken to buy all her inventory. What if Miss Hickstrom didn’t send her back? Not only would she be lost in time, but she would lose everything that mattered to her—her books, her business, her home.
“Yes,” she said, the huskiness in her voice real. “Yes.”
“We must be thankful that you have accepted our offer of employment, given your credentials,” Halwell said.
“Credentials, my dear? Is Miss Lee an academic? Surely not!” Lady Georgianna’s surprised expression, which appeared genuine and without malice, irritated Rachel.
“Actually, I do have a master’s degree in library science,” she said, immediately regretting the words. As a fan of Jane Austen’s Regency novels, Rachel was fully aware she wasn’t supposed to be particularly educated, only accomplished.
“A bluestocking!” Miss Hickstrom said with a chuckle.
“How extraordinary!” Lady Georgianna murmured with a lift of her eyebrows.
“I mentioned your credentials only as an expert in books given that you owned a bookshop, Miss Lee, but I had no idea you were so well educated,” Halwell said, a smile spreading across his face. “I have not heard of such a degree, but that is surely a lack of knowledge on my part. Did you attend university in Virginia then?”
“I did,” Rachel said, hoping they would let the subject go.
“And what subjects does one study in library sciences?” Halwell asked.
“Archiving, reference work, collection development, cataloguing.” Rachel judiciously omitted other coursework in information and computer science.
“Cataloguing? How very fortuitous! Why did you not tout your very particular qualifications when I asked you to consider cataloguing our library?”
“I forgot, I guess.” Rachel cast a sideways glance at Miss Hickstrom, who watched the exchange with a secret smile but seemed disinclined to help Rachel at all with a cover story. Rachel was tempted to blurt out the words “time travel” and “fairy godmother,” but she took a deep breath and calmed herself.
“What a lovely house!” she murmured as a change of subject.
“Thank you, Miss Lee,” Lady Georgianna said. “Alton House has been in my husband’s family since the thirteenth century. His grandfather rebuilt it in the eighteenth century, so it is quite a bit more livable than it must have been.”
Rachel privately doubted it, but at least she was no longer the center of attention. Lady Georgianna spoke a bit more about the history of the house. Rachel understood from the discussion that Lady Georgianna’s husband, Lord Alton, was often away and that Halwell, styled Viscount Halwell, would someday inherit Alton House and the title of Earl of Alton. Lady Georgianna mentioned that she had her own title of Lady Howard, which she often used. Rachel gave up trying to understand all the names some time in the middle of Lady Georgianna’s speech.
“I must go,” Miss Hickstrom said suddenly, stifling a yawn behind her hand. “I have some matters to which I must attend.” She rose, and Rachel jumped up, fully intending to grab the fairy godmother’s arm and escort her out of the house for a chat. But Miss Hickstrom was quick. She made it to the door before Rachel could catch her.
“Good day, Miss Hickstrom,” Lady Georgianna said. “Please do call on us again soon.”
“Yes, of course!”
The older woman opened the door, and Rachel called out. “Wait! Miss Hickstrom! Could I speak to you privately?”
“No, I am sorry! I must hurry. Perhaps we can speak again another time.” Miss Hickstrom passed through the door and disappeared from sight. The door closed behind her. Rachel, on the point of chasing the blue-haired troublemaker down, paused when Halwell spoke.
“Short of running after Miss Hickstrom, I fear we cannot delay her unexpected departure, Miss Lee. Do you wish me to pursue her on your behalf?”
Rachel turned to see Halwell at her side, looking at the closed door. It was obvious that Miss Hickstrom had no intention of having another conversation with Rachel at that moment. She couldn’t ask Halwell to tackle the fairy godmother and drag her back inside for further discussions or promises to return Rachel home when whatever task she had set for her was accomplished.
“No, that’s okay, thank you. She does seem to be in a hurry. I am sure I will see her again.”
“I presume that your room must be ready by now. Perhaps you would like to rest for a while? Given the accident in the road, I think it might be wise to consult with a doctor. May I call one to attend to you here at Alton House?”
“No, I’m fine. I feel fine. Thank you.”
“Very well then. I must defer to your judgment. You do look fit and sound rational. I believe that your confusion at the time of the accident must have been only a temporary aberration.” Halwell looked over his shoulder. “Mother, if you would like to finish your tea, I could ask Lucy to take Miss Lee up to her room.”
“Thank you. That would be lovely,” Lady Georgianna responded.
Halwell crossed the room and opened the door, and Rachel followed. He spoke to the footman standing just outside the door, who hurried away. He then led Rachel to a grand staircase that ascended from the marble foyer. A young blonde woman in a demure gray dress and white apron hurried up to the staircase and dipped into a curtsy. She blinked when she looked at Rachel’s legs. Rachel looked down at her jeans, almost forgetting they would cause startled looks.
“Ah! Lucy! This is Miss Rachel Lee. You were so kind to loan her a dress, which I believe you laid out in a room prepared for her?”
“Yes, your lordship. The green room is ready for Miss Lee.”
“Thank you! Please take Miss Lee up to her room, provide her with hot water, whatever she needs.” He then turned to me with a bow. “I will see you at dinner.”
He turned and walked away toward another hallway on the ground floor, and Rachel stared after him, feeling suddenly abandoned. She had panicked at Miss Hickstrom’s departure. The fairy godmother was Rachel’s ticket home. But a cold cloud of loneliness gripped her when Halwell walked away without a backward glance. Rachel crossed her arms and shivered.
“This way, miss,” Lucy said, gesturing toward the stairs.
Rachel followed the petite maid up the stairs and down a hall where Lucy opened an oak door and stood back to allow Rachel in. Rachel entered a large room notable for beautiful wallpaper in soft green featuring pink blossoms and colorful exotic birds. A four-poster bed with pale-green velvet hangings and spread hugged one side of the room. The curtains on a single window matched the coverlet. A chaise lounge in rose faced an oak-mantled fireplace. The carpet in green and rose warmed the room. A small dressing table flanked another wall next to an oak wardrobe.
“This is stunning!” Rachel said appreciatively.
“It is a lovely room,” Lucy agreed. She appeared to be in her early twenties. Rosy cheeks bloomed under bright-blue eyes. She eyed Rachel’s jeans again curiously.
“I have set my dress on the bed for you. It is not grand, but we are of a size, miss.”
“Thank you so much for lending it to me, Lucy. I promise to take care of it.” Rachel moved to the bed and fingered the simple gray muslin empire-waist dress.
“Thank you, miss,” Lucy said with a blush on her already pink cheeks. “Do you wish to wash?”
“Yes, I think I will.”
Lucy moved over to a dresser and poured steaming hot water from a porcelain pitcher into a matching basin. Rachel noted a bar of soap and a linen cloth next to the basin.
“Do you need anything else, miss?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Rachel responded, not quite sure what she needed. “Oh, wait! Where is the bathroom?”
“Do you wish to bathe, miss? I can have a tub brought up to the room.”
“No, that’s okay. Maybe tomorrow if I’m still here. I meant the latrine, the toilet?”
Lucy nodded and indicated a door that Rachel hadn’t noticed, flush as it was with the wall in a discreet feat of architecture.
“Thank you!”
Lucy nodded and left the room, and Rachel inspected the bathroom—toilet closet, as it happened, for there was nothing in the small room but a cabinet with a seat. A peek into the cabinet beneath the seat revealed a chamber pot. Rachel thought of Lucy and didn’t want the girl carrying her waste around, but there was little she could do. The idea of trying to clean up after herself, hauling a chamber pot around the house...to where?...seemed overwhelming. She stiffened her spine, ignored her misgivings, used the toilet and hurried out of the closet as if the thing would bite.
Rachel shrugged out of her clothes and gave herself a sponge bath. The action reminded her of the week her grandparents had gone without power when she was about twelve, and her grandmother had insisted that Rachel still bathe. Rachel’s protestations that sponge baths were silly bore no weight with her grandmother, and she had washed with cold water and soap.
At least in the Regency era, she had hot water delivered—in an aristocrat’s house, of course.
Her grandparents had lived on her grandfather’s retirement income from his government job and their Social Security, so the threesome had lived modestly. Rachel hadn’t realized they weren’t well off at the time though. When it came time for her to get a computer for school, her grandparents had provided one. When she needed a phone to keep in touch, they had provided one.
She had truly wanted for nothing, except her parents. Both had died in a car accident when Rachel was eight, and her mother’s parents had stepped in to raise her. She had known herself to be lucky that she had family willing to take on the responsibility of a grief-stricken little girl. Fortunately, she had spent summers with her grandparents on their farm in southern Virginia, so it wasn’t a complete shock when they brought her there to live.
Her grandparents had died within a week of each other when she was in her final semester of graduate school and before she started her business. With the proceeds from her grandfather’s life insurance, she had purchased her starting inventory and opened up her bookstore upon graduation. She had meant to apply for employment at the National Archives or the Library of Congress, but decided to stay on her grandparents’ farm in Halifax County upon their death.
Rachel delighted in the sweet smell of the lavender soap, and she dried herself off before returning to the bed to study Lucy’s dress. Given the wide neckline, Rachel suspected she would have to forgo her bra, but she had no intention of going commando, and so she slipped her panties back on. She slid the dress over her head and let it fall to the floor. Reaching behind her neck, she located some strings and tied them in a small bow.
Rachel crossed the room to check her reflection in a standing oval mirror. The dress fit well, loosely in fact, which was fine since she didn’t have any undergarments other than her panties. Her chest was small, and the material of the dress was thick enough to disguise that she didn’t wear a bra or chemise. As a fan of Regency novels, she knew she should wear a chemise, drawers, stockings, some stays and maybe a petticoat, but she didn’t have the heart to ask Lucy if she could borrow her underwear as well. She imagined that the maid had very little clothing to begin with.
Her bare toes stuck out just beneath the hemline, and she turned and eyed her white athletic shoes, smiling as she realized she would have to wear them with her Regency-era dress. She turned back toward the mirror, pulled up her shoulder-length brown hair and twisted the curls up into a knot at the back of her head. Fortunately, her hair stayed in place, but she would have to see about finding some pins.
Rachel gave herself a last look and turned away from the mirror. Unsure of what to do with herself until dinner, she wandered over to the window and looked out. Her room overlooked a garden, and to her delight, she spotted Halwell strolling among manicured beds of roses, his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed lost in thought, but she didn’t care. She wanted to run down to the garden and join him.
Rachel hurriedly slipped into her shoes and left the room, grabbing up the hem of her skirts to maneuver the stairs. A footman pulled open the front door for her as she scooted toward it. She wasn’t sure if she had seen him before. They were all starting to look alike in their uniforms.
“Where is the garden? To the right?”
“Yes, miss. You can reach the garden from the front of the house or the back. It is to the right.”
“Thank you!”
She rushed down the front steps and trotted across the front drive, hoping no one saw her from the windows—of which there were many. Rounding the front of the mansion, she entered the garden through an arbor. Lovely rose bushes bloomed in a variety of colors. Fortunately, Halwell was still there, still walking with his hands clasped behind his back, as if deep in thought. He stopped and turned at the sound of her feet on the crushed stone path.
“Miss Lee! I thought you might be resting!”
Rachel blushed as he eyed her from head to foot. She ran her hands up to her hair and tightened her bun, which was in danger of falling out in the absence of pins.
“I’m not tired.”
“Lucy’s dress looks very well on you,” he said, almost kindly. “Very serviceable.”
Rachel looked down at the simple unadorned gray dress.
“Serviceable,” she repeated. “Yes, it is kind of like a uniform, isn’t it? Like the footmen’s livery.”
“No, not at all. Perhaps serviceable was a poor choice of words. I certainly do not wish to offend. I should have said that you do the dress justice. I should note that the maids do not wear uniforms, nor would I have asked you to don a uniform. You are not a servant, nor will you be considered one...by me.”
“I’m not offended. I’m lucky that Lucy could spare a dress. Beggars can’t be choosers, can they?” Rachel said with a grin. “Or peddlers?”
“Come now! Peddlers? I find Miss Hickstrom’s description to be most unfortunate.”
Rachel’s smile broadened. “I think she was just teasing,”
“Perhaps,” he said. “You must be very well acquainted with her such that she felt she could toy with you.”
“Not really,” Rachel said.
Halwell tilted his head in that charming way of his, like a puppy who heard words but didn’t understand them. His gesture in no way suggested that he wasn’t an intelligent man, just that he was at a loss.
He offered his arm.
“Would you care to walk?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, putting her hand on his arm. They walked in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t a particularly comfortable silence, at least not for Rachel. She wanted to tell Halwell the truth about herself, about Miss Hickstrom. She wanted to ask him about Mary Palmer, now St. John. She wanted to ask him if he was still in love with her.
But all Rachel did was press her lips together and walk alongside Halwell. The garden was extensive with dozens of rose bushes and manicured hedges bordering the path. It seemed as if one could wander around for an hour and still not complete a circuit.
When Rachel could stand it no longer, she raised one of the subjects uppermost in her mind.
“You said that I remind you of Mary Palmer. What is she like? Where in America did she come from?”
Halwell paused momentarily, then resumed walking.
“Lady St. John,” he said, the baritone in his voice deepening. “I cannot say that I know exactly where in America she is from. I always meant to ask her.”
Rachel heard the wistful note in his voice, and her heart sank.
“You are in love with her,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand from his arm.
Halwell stopped, clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the ground. She watched the muscle tick in his jaw, a sure sign that he struggled with deep emotion. He finally raised his eyes to hers.
“I am,” he said simply.
His admission shouldn’t have surprised Rachel, but its starkness did. She caught her breath.
“I’m so very sorry,” she said. For him...for her, really.
“Thank you. I would prefer that my mother not know the depths of my feelings for Mary...or Miss Hickstrom.”
“No, of course, although I think Miss Hickstrom already knows that you’re in love with Mary.”
“Yes, it seems so. I have been able to convince my mother that my affections were modest, but she knows me well. I suspect she does not wish to see me suffer and joins in my pretense.”
“It must have been difficult seeing the couple on their return from the honeymoon yesterday.”
“It was.”
Rachel sighed.
“Meeting you was infinitely more pleasant, I assure you,” Halwell said with a crooked smile.
Rachel’s lips twitched. “Thank you...I think.”
“Will you take my arm again?” Halwell asked. “Shall we continue our stroll?”
“Yes.” She put her hand on his arm, and they resumed walking.
“I must admit I feel some relief in expressing my grief. Thank you.”
“It’s not good to hold things in.”
“Perhaps that is why I have had a pain in my breast. Here.” He pressed against his sternum.
Rachel knew he meant that his heart hurt, and she gave him a sympathetic look. She had never known thwarted love. She had never really known romantic love at all. Casual dates in college hardly counted. But she did know loss—the loss of her parents and grandparents.
“Perhaps,” she agreed.
“My mother accepted an invitation to a ball at Alvord Castle next week. I will be required to attend. As our guest, I would request that you accompany us. I think that you and Lady St. John will find much in common.”