An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance (16 page)

“Ah, Miss Richardson.
Please, will you not join me?”

A bright-faced girl
beamed across the room at Heather. Her deep-set eyes, though small, held a
girlish twinkle against her pale alabaster skin, making her look almost
mischievous. Her small frame was dressed beautifully in a full-skirted cream
gown, with a corseted waist tinier than Heather had ever seen. As she entered,
the young woman rose from her seat and held out her hands.

“Please, allow me to
introduce myself. Miss Florence Boswel. I expect you have already been
acquainted with my brother?” she enquired.

“You could say that,”
Heather replied, feeling quite relaxed following the welcome she had received.

“Oh my,” she sniggered,
“you do look in need of assistance. Your clothes, I have never seen the like,
and is it true what I am hearing of your condition? My aunt has it on good
authority that you are suffering from amnesia, is that so?”

Heather stood silently
for a moment, not quite knowing how to answer, but on second thoughts her only
real option was to agree.

“Martha, does my
wardrobe hold anything befitting such a handsome lady?”

The maid scurried over
to the wardrobe.

“I would say the
cool-blue gown,” Florence suggested. “A perfect enhancement to your
complexion.”

Slipping off her dress,
Heather watched in awe at the number of undergarments Martha placed on the bed,
and couldn’t help noticing Florence’s shocked expression upon seeing her own.
It felt quite strange being dressed as the maid helped her into her under-slip,
followed by a rather uncomfortable corset. She found it almost impossible to
breathe at the tightening of the fastenings, but Martha took no heed and just
kept pulling. However, on being presented with the dress she soon forgot its
tight fit; the gown was pure beauty and elegance, in a powder-blue rich silk,
which fell in soft folds. Her eyes moved above the waist and noticed the
flattering round neckline. She stood back from the dressing table mirror and
admired her reflection, twirling around like a ballerina on a musical box.

“What fun it shall be
having you around,” Florence said, excitedly running up to the window and
looking out across the driveway. “Our guests shall be arriving at any moment.
Oh!” She stopped. “Your hair... Martha, quickly, there’s hardly any time.”

The hot irons made
quick work of Heather’s hair as Martha pinned it high, leaving the natural
lines of her face on show. 

“Splendid,” Florence
cheered, her face meeting Heather’s in the mirror. “We’ll be just like
sisters,” she said, hugging her. “Oh, what a jolly evening we shall have.” 

Heather and Florence
peered down into the hallway between the bannister at the first arrivals.
Heather couldn’t mistake Lady Haunchwood’s voice, and her pompous over-the-top
welcome as she led her guests into the parlour. Florence bubbled and fizzed
like a bottle of champagne as they descended the stairs. Heather felt quite out
of place, and would more than happily have been a wallflower, going unnoticed
for the night. A grand room stood before them, with candelabras and
freestanding candles gathered on the mantelpiece above the ornate marble
fireplace providing subdued lighting. Dark-wood slanted-top desks and
open-shelved bookcases took up the majority of the room’s back wall.

“Allow me to introduce
you to my niece,” Lady Haunchwood said, barging over and taking Florence by the
arm, without even acknowledging Heather’s existence.

Wearing dresses in
every colour and shade imaginable, like beautiful butterflies, Heather watched
the guests taking turns around the room. Both the men and women seemed to be
holding meaningless conversations before pairing off, during which time Lady
Haunchwood took the greatest of interest, undoubtedly having an input as to who
partnered whom. She certainly wasn’t a lady to be trifled with, as Heather had
found out previously to her detriment. It was obvious she’d taken an immediate
dislike to her, so Heather thought it best she keep out of her way. Therefore,
she stood alone.

“Miss Richardson, we
meet again.”

She jumped, but
recognised the voice immediately.

“Do my eyes deceive me?
Can it possibly be that these books hold more interest for you than some of the
eligible bachelors I see before me?”

Taking quite an offence
at his assumption, she snapped, “I’m not looking for an eligible bachelor,
thank you, I’m fine as I am.”

Her eyes widened and
she paused. How handsome Mr Boswel looked, she thought, taking a glance over
her shoulder. His prominent good looks outweighed those of any other man in the
room as he stood upright and proud in his black suit, a crisp white cotton
shirt complementing his colouring.

“Are you quite well?”
he enquired. As he spoke, her beauty was reflected in his eyes.

“If you’re referring to
my memory, I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

He laughed, perhaps out
of politeness, but it was obvious from his expression that he hadn’t the
faintest idea what she meant. Introductions and formalities over, the door to
the dining room opened. Heather felt uneasy as she noticed the butler, Mr
Clements, standing in the doorway, seeing the guests to their seats. Chatting
between one another, they located their place names along the highly polished
rectangular table, and sat down. Heather, being an unexpected diner, found
herself at the opposite end to Lady Haunchwood, who sat at the head of the
table. Lost in a sea of strangers, Heather’s mood lifted when Florence sat to
her right, in deep conversation with a gentleman of a similar age to her. Mr
Boswel sat to her left, next to a very attractive lady, her raven-black hair in
much the same style as her own, though decorated with a beaded pearl headband.
Her pale skin was absolutely flawless, and she had deep blue eyes that seemed
to draw Mr Boswel in as she spoke. Heather managed a sideways glance at her place
name – Miss Thornber. Mr Boswell never looked Heather’s way, not once, and she
felt quite resentful towards this beautiful lady for the hold she had over him
as she flirted openly.

Their connection seemed
to be much to the approval of Lady Haunchwood, however.
Funny that
,
Heather thought.
She must have connections, be of so-called good breeding,
perfect marrying material
. But why could she feel that sinking feeling in
her stomach, and why was she so bothered? Wasn’t this what she wanted? Surely
this would alleviate Anna’s demise.
Ruben’s at home waiting for me
,
so
Mr Boswel is more than welcome to his painted lady
. The wine and food were
forthcoming, each course more delicious than the last, leaving their
distinctive scents to tempt the palate; from consommé to oysters, and steaming
guinea fowl for the main course, which was placed directly in front of Lady
Haunchwood and carved into thin slices. Heather’s thoughts kept her company as
the hubbub in the room paled into insignificance.

“Miss Richardson, forgive
my rudeness. I can assure you that your presence has not gone unnoticed.”

Her stomach lurched as
his eyes smouldered in her direction.

“Do you really remember
nothing? Think, Frankie, think, it wasn’t only upon my arrival at Freesdon
Manor that we met. Mum and Dad, our trip to Snowdon... You must remember.”

Although he pondered a
while, he drew a blank, holding no recollection of there being such meetings.

“Not even our kiss?”
she asked. She kicked him under the table, making him jump, an obvious stranger
to such female forthrightness.

He leant forward,
shielding his words from unwanted ears.

“Pray, my memory
forsakes me. Would you care to remind me?” His eyes were wanton, his expression
provocative.

Miss Thornber was a
distant conversation away as Heather held Mr Boswel’s full attention. Something
caught Frank’s eyes at the other side of the room, near the marble fireplace.
Heather’s eyes followed his, and standing to the left side of the hearth stood
Anna, the housemaid. His eyes were lost in hers, yet an anger shone back in her
stare, making no sense to him, but perfect sense to Heather. From nowhere, a
saying sprung to mind: Hell hath no fury like a woman’s wrath.

“What’s her problem?”

Refocusing on Heather,
he replied, “Oh, have you not heard? We refer to her as mad Anna, and I declare
she is only a heartbeat from the asylum.” His voice was low so as not to be
overheard. “Her position is favoured only due to her betrothal to Mr Clements,
our trusted butler.”

“Just a feeling, but I
think she fancies you,” Heather said, seeing his confused frown. “Ya know,
holds a torch for you.”

“I must say, your
speech is very unfashionable, but to speak truth, she holds a torch for no
one.”

Heather had to laugh
inwardly.
My speech unfashionable, he says, yet his dialect is unfathomable.
Knowing what he knew, what on earth made him sleep with her that night?
Where ladies were concerned, Mr Boswel could have taken his pick, yet he
knowingly chose a mad woman with no status or connections whatsoever. It would
surely finish Lady Haunchwood off, but now things were starting to add up and
the truth must have come to light. Heather couldn’t possibly warm to this lady,
and knew she never would.

Mr Boswel’s character
intrigued her more by the minute, and as her life in the future became
inconsequential, a warm realisation bubbled up inside; maybe her key to
breaking the cycle was to make Frank fall in love with her, and perhaps this
was not so unthinkable as she had once thought. Like Ruben, but in a different
lifetime, both were a challenge she was drawn to. Ruben had a past, so didn’t
she deserve one too? She remembered his words: the past is the past for a
reason, and that’s where she’d be leaving Frank.

Met by daggers, she
wondered if Lady Haunchwood could read her mind, but no, it was just her
unmistakable disapproval of her and Mr Boswel’s all-consuming conversation. She
rose from her seat, giving permission for her guests to leave the table,
instructing them to retire to the drawing room for a nightcap. She followed on,
stopping next to Heather’s chair.

“Miss Richardson,” she
said, interrupting her and Frank’s conversation. “May I detain you briefly?”

Heather didn’t dare
refuse the old lady’s request, and Frank stood, bowing courteously.

“I should be very
grateful of your presence in the drawing room.”

Not wanting to refuse
Frank either, Heather smiled, before being taken by the arm and led out into
the hallway.

“Miss Richardson,
you’re weary, child, I see it in your face.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“I insist you retire to
your bedchamber.”

Heather winced at the
tightening grip on her arm; the lady was not for arguing with. She felt a
growing disappointment and a longing to join Frank, to continue where they’d
left off. As she walked towards the stairs, she couldn’t help but throw a
backward glance, and saw that her allegiance with Frank had been short-lived,
since he was engrossed again in Miss Thornber’s perfection as they sat on the
window seat chatting. Suddenly, the room fell silent as Florence attempted a
tune on the pianoforte. Maybe she was only an interval from the norm in Frank’s
eyes, but Heather felt let down, betrayed by his insincerity and how quickly
he’d moved on. Or was it jealousy she felt? After all, none of this was real,
and she’d wake up in the morning in her own bed, in her own time.

She fumbled her way up
the stairs to the landing, where Mr Trustworthy the grandfather clock stood
waiting, holding his usual expression. She squinted down the hallway through
the darkness in the belief he’d be there to take her in his arms, but no, that
wish was unfortunately saved for dreams. But what she did see momentarily
defied all logic; a female form cloaked in a white gown, lying lifeless, the
staircase an obvious journey to her death. Blinking, she took a second glance;
perhaps the vision was only in her mind, a result of the wine? Perhaps Lady
Haunchwood’s perception of her was right after all? She was in need of sleep,
and the room beckoned. 

“Goodbye, Frank, for
now,” she whispered as she stepped inside. 

Home or Away?

“G
ood morning, Miss Richardson.”

Alarmed, Heather woke
as Florence flounced into the bedroom as excited as ever.
What’s happening
to me? Why am I still here?
Heather thought.

“Did you see my
handsome Mr Cox last night? I could have talked and talked forever. A far cry
from the other rather tedious company over dinner. Though I may have been a
little overzealous, and I pray that my manner has not scared him away, for my
aunt was very well pleased.”

“How could he not be
pleased with you?” Heather replied, smiling as she pushed back the covers.

“Oh my,” Florence
gasped, quickly looking away, seemingly embarrassed by Heather’s near naked
form. “You must come to my bedchamber and dress at once; we have the whole day
ahead of us.”

Still sleepy, Heather
stood, wearing only a pair of small briefs, her dress and undergarments from
the previous evening strewn over the floor. Seeing Florence’s awkward
expression, she wrapped her arms around herself, covering her dignity,
realising this was not the done thing.

“Miss Richardson...”

“Please,” she
interrupted, “I’d prefer it if you called me Heather.”

“Then you shall call me
Florence.” She giggled. “Don’t make yourself uneasy, I will have Martha come to
you at once, and if you would like, as a treat, we shall take breakfast in our
room.”

The daytime attire of a
plain white cotton frock was a lot easier to wear, although Heather thought it
looked and felt more like something she’d wear in bed. She didn’t argue at the
choice, though, and Martha had her dressed and her hair secured in no time at
all. Heather wandered to the window, feeling the morning’s heat reflecting on
her face as she gazed down at the beautiful gardens. She was quite surprised
when she caught sight of Lady Haunchwood up so early, and then, a few paces in
front, Mr Boswel also, with Miss Thornber on his arm, both looking like they
hadn’t a care in the world. Leaning forward, her nose pressed firmly against
the pane of glass, she jumped back on hearing Florence return.

“There, now you look
quite the lady. I have requested that our food be brought up immediately,”
Florence said, joining Heather and looking out of the window also.

“I didn’t realise
she’d be staying.”

“Oh yes, Miss
Thornber’s family estate is in Hampshire, much too great a distance to travel
at night, and of course it would have made no sense for them to go home and
return the very next day. Therefore, my aunt kindly had the guest rooms made up
for her entire party.”

Heather rolled her
eyes. “How very good of her,” she replied, her tone sarcastic, feeling
disappointed at seeing the two so cosily acquainted. “She’s keen, isn’t she?
What possible reason would they have had for returning today?”

“Have you not heard?
The ball of course... this evening. We have the pleasure of their presence for
the entirety of the weekend, is that not so delightful?”

Luckily Heather was not
given time to answer as Martha and Anna entered.

“Ea’s y’ breakfast,
mam.”

“Thank you, Anna. Would
you be so kind as to place the tray on the bedside table?”

Heather could hardly
wait for the maids to leave. She had been so engrossed in Frank’s conversation
over dinner she’d only managed to savour small amounts of the delights on
offer, and so now tucked in heartily to the hard-boiled eggs and cold ham. The
corn muffins to follow were not something she had tried before, but she found
them delicious. Meanwhile, Florence just picked at the fresh bread, smearing it
with honey. Afterwards, they sat drinking hot tea, getting more acquainted with
one another.

“I was not too
engrossed by my Mr Cox to notice the attention showered on you by my brother
over dinner last night. Is he not the most handsome of gentlemen you have ever
been fortunate enough to lay eyes on?” Florence jabbered.

“If you like tall, dark
and handsome, with a muscular physique, then yes, Mr Boswel would be very hard
to beat; he is quite fit, I guess.”

Heather’s thoughts
turned to her good-looking blonde boyfriend waiting for her at home.

“My dear brother is
such a gay man, and so very kind,” Florence continued, singing his praises.

Every time Heather
thought of Frank she was overwhelmed inside by a longing, a need to be close to
him. But how could she possibly have such feelings for Frank here, when back in
her own time she almost detested the man? Everything about him aggravated her,
and his peculiarities disguised any good qualities that he may have. But
meeting him in his own time, she felt very different. His look was so handsome,
the way he carried himself, his address of her, how he managed to hold her gaze
so that she found it almost impossible to look away. The intensity of these
emotions scared Heather greatly and left her feeling at a complete loss, out of
control. They were very similar, no, stronger, far stronger than any feelings she’d
ever felt for Ruben.
God, what’s happening to me? I’m losing my own sense of
reality. How can I be in love with someone who doesn’t exist? Even if it were
possible somehow, my purpose here is for Anna, and Anna alone.

“Do you think it’s
serious between ya brother and Miss Thornber?”

“As far as my aunt is
concerned, she has been a regular visitor here over the summer. There is much
wealth in Miss Thornber’s family estate; therefore, it would be a very
fortunate alliance.”

“So you’re telling me
he intends to marry her?”

“There is no guarantee
of such a marriage taking place; I’m aggrieved to say that my brother’s heart
is somewhat of a fickle nature. Previously severing more than one engagement,
both times to very affable ladies, has been somewhat testing for my aunt’s
delicate constitution. I swear, some days she did not even venture from her
bedchamber.”

Heather couldn’t help
but smile to herself, unable to believe Florence’s analysis of Lady
Haunchwood’s character. In her opinion, she was a sharp-tongued, tough old
bird.
With my connections, if I were to make a play for Frank it’d be sure
to finish her dear aunt off. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea...
she thought
.

“Why, Heather, if I’m
not very much mistaken you are blushing. Is it possible that you yourself have
designs on my brother?”

Heather stood and
poured them both another cup of tea. Although it was now cooler than one would
have liked, it was a good enough distraction for her to regain her composure.

“Maybe, but that would
be telling,” she teased.

“Then you would be my
sister, my real sister.” Florence could hardly contain herself, grabbing
Heather’s hands and jumping up and down, before flopping back onto the chair
quite out of breath.

“Yes, but we both know
that can never happen. With my amnesia, and lack of connections, in your aunt’s
eyes I’m not worthy, and could never be good enough.” Heather sighed. “Shame
though, it would have been lovely having you as a sister.”

“Well, it really does
not matter,” Florence piped up. She must have sensed Heather’s disappointment.
Smiling, she continued. “We can pretend, can we not?”

The morning for Heather
was spent in idle conversation, leading to a growing fondness for Florence and
a better understanding of Frank, with which came the realisation of the strength
of her feelings for him. They sat for a while, before Florence, fidgeting
rather, took to standing by the sash window.

“Heather, look, we must
be picnicking this afternoon. The maids, they are carrying food into the
gardens, oh, and bottles of champagne. I do hope I am allowed a glass.”

“How do ya know it’s
champagne?” Heather enquired, trying to see.

“It’s a well-known
tradition; wet newspapers keep even the most expensive of champagne cool. Oh, I
do hope they seat us in the shade; it’s so very tiring trying to hold a parasol
and eat at the same time, and my delicate complexion could not possibly take
the sun, well, not for very long, of that I am certain.”

“Oh yes, me too,”
Heather said, quite forgetting herself and her roots.

Peculiar ways though
they might be, she was losing herself in the niceties and the friendly
camaraderie growing between her and Florence, especially as she’d led such a
sheltered and solitary life since her move to the manor.

She could feel the
exhilaration exuding from Florence as they entered the gardens.

“Heather, listen, I’m
sure I can hear them, they cannot be far.” 

The flowerbeds in full
bloom, the air was filled with the sweetest of scents, and the shrill serenade
of birds singing in many a different key met their ears.

“Look, they are over
there,” Florence announced, clapping her hands.

She had an air about
her, and whatever the occasion she seemed to be in the highest of spirits.

A party of about ten
were gathered under the shade of the large weeping willow, its long branches
overhanging the lake. The ladies were all seated on an ample-sized open
blanket, while the men stood chatting and tending to their needs, passing them
food and refilling glasses.

“Heather, come, let me
introduce you.”

Heather followed a step
or two behind Florence, who skipped across the lawn in eagerness. The aunt’s
disapproving eyes immediately met Heather as she sat down.

“Miss Richardson, I had
no idea that you intended on joining our party.”

“Yes, Lady Haunchwood.
Florence ... I mean Miss Boswel invited me,” she answered sheepishly.

“Well, girl, now you
are here, you had better eat with us.”

Her words were off-hand
and forced, and Heather could feel the condescending looks from the other women
as the unfriendly tone taken by Lady Haunchwood instantly made her an outcast.
She felt Frank’s eyes burning into hers as he stood next to Miss Thornber, who
almost purred at his side. Though he never attempted to address Heather, his
eyes were sympathetic, though his gaze was not held for long after receiving a
sharp dagger-like stare from the old lady, who clearly couldn’t help herself.

“Mr Boswel, is it true
what I am informed by Mr Bellingham, that you intend to accompany Miss Thornber
on her return to Hampshire?”

“You are informed
correctly, Aunt. I may even extend my visit, if Miss Thornber is in agreement.”

Heather’s heart sank;
she was too late, the chemistry in their eyes could not be mistaken.

“Champagne, Mr Boswel,”
Miss Thornber swooned in anticipation.

Heather watched her
expression as he filled her glass, and then passed her a small bunch of grapes
from the fruit bowl.

“Brother, I anticipate
your return to be in time for the masquerade. You know how I look forward to
these occasions, and we have never held a masquerade at the manor before.”

Florence couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Of course, dear
sister. Indeed I shall try my best, though I fear I can make no promises.”

It was the first time
Heather had witnessed a solemnness about her friend.

“Florence, shall we
take a walk down by the lake?” Heather asked, trying her best to speak as
politely as possible.

“Aunt, could I possibly
take a slice of bread to feed the ducks?”

Lady Haunchwood hardly
lifted from her conversation to respond. They sauntered down to the lake, arm
in arm, the warm breeze a pleasant interruption to the sun and drab company.

“I don’t think your
aunt likes me,” Heather said.

“I am sure you are
mistaken. Her manner may be short, though I am sure she means well.”

The sun’s rays beat
down, and the water looked so cool and inviting.

“Florence, take your
shoes and stockings off.”

“I dare not undress in
public.”

“You’re not in public,
it’s just us; no one will see,” Heather said as she sat on the bank, barefoot.
“Come on, ya don’t know what you’re missing.”

She rolled up her dress
and dipped her feet. Cool reeds intertwined around her toes as they met with
the water, and she leant back on her arms. She made pictures out of the clouds
and then closed her eyes, only to be met by daydreams. Quite expecting Florence
to join her, she unconsciously opened one eye, but Florence must have thought
better of it, perhaps finding the heat too much, as she now lay shaded under a
nearby tree’s knotted bows, their leaves forming a perfect canopy.

“I fear the ducks may
not get their bread this afternoon.”

Now fully awake, she
stared up into Frank’s eyes.

“I think my sister may
have fallen asleep,” he said.

“I’m surprised you were
able to drag yourself away from Miss Thornber.”

“I am sure that she is
far too merry to miss me, and I have been gone for but a moment.”

Moving her feet in
circular movements and muddying the clear waters, Heather said mischievously,
“Do you think she’d like you now, your pretty Miss Perfect?” as she kicked up
her feet, laughing as a shower of muddy droplets rose into the air.

Frank smiled. He didn’t
seem to have taken offence. His head tilted slightly, and Heather hoped the
soft-eyed stare thrown her way was one of intrigue due to her looks and
spontaneity. They sat, side by side, like two dirty-faced urchins.

“Don’t you look a
picture,” she said cheekily, leaning towards him, smearing the drying mud
across his damp cheeks. “Come here, I’ve missed a bit.”

But as she leant
forward for the second time, it wasn’t her fingers that met with his face, but
her lips meeting his own. His fingertips loosened her hair, so that the soft
curls drifted against her shoulders before being picked up by the breeze and
settling down her back. He held her head gently between his hands and kissed
every inch of her face; her eyelids, her cheeks, and then their lips met once
more.