An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance (17 page)

“I fear I shall be
missed and must return, but I cannot possibly,” he said, looking down.

He took her hand in his
and walked into the cool waters, where they stood waist deep.

“I shall say you
slipped and I came in after you. Any gentleman would have taken it upon himself
to do the same given the circumstances.”

Gorgeous
, she thought. The wet look he wore was so sexy and appealing. She
felt his arms strong around her, lifting her up. She was hit by a pang of
emotion and fought back the tears at the very thought of him returning to
her
.
Heather’s dress was almost see-through, and she shivered in her cold second
skin, Frank’s also providing no warmth. She placed her face next to his,
feeling so comfortable, though she joked that he should remove his sideburns as
they were an irritation against her cheek. Their attention then turned to
Florence, who still lay sleeping peacefully.

“Sister, come
immediately!” he hollered.

Florence roused
herself, seemingly alarmed by his cries.

“Inform our aunt at
once that there has been an unfortunate incident. Miss Richardson lost her
footing and slipped into the lake; it was most fortunate that I happened to be
passing at the exact time,” he continued.

“Right away, brother,”
Florence replied, jumping to her feet, and scampered off in the direction of
the picnickers.

Heather was relieved on
reaching the house, with maids and servants scurrying in every direction,
passing them on the stairs. Old candles were replaced with new and floors were
being scrubbed with gusto, presumable in preparation for the ball. She could
scarcely wait to get out of her wet clothing, she felt so uncomfortable. Frank
carried her all the way to her room, and then tenderly lay her on the bed.

Losing herself in his
eyes, she murmured, “Please, Mr Boswel, don’t go. Stay a while, lie with me.”

“If only that were
possible,” he said, sitting beside her. “If we were discovered, your good name
and your reputation would both be wounded severely.”

He looked handsomer
than ever, his damp hair falling softly over his face, the outline of his
rippling muscles prominent through his wet shirt. He held her hand briefly, and
she felt his grip loosen as he turned to leave her.

“Goodbye, Frankie,” she
whispered.

She lay in bed feeling
disheartened for the remainder of the afternoon, Mr Boswel’s presence imprinted
on every beat of her heart. The last thing she wanted was to bump into Frank
with Miss Thornber, and she certainly couldn’t cope with Lady Haunchwood’s
manner, so she thought her safest bet was to stay out of sight. She was unable
to understand why she felt no guilt for her growing feelings for Frank, and was
beginning to wonder if she ever did get back home, whether her and Ruben would
stand a chance of a future together, or would he only ever be second best,
permanently walking in Frank’s shadow?

“Heather, are you quite
well?” Florence’s familiar voice entered the room. “I so hope you are able to
attend the ball this evening; it will be simply ages till the next.”

Heather looked out from
beneath the covers, only imagining the ridicule of Lady Haunchwood.

“I’ll see how I feel
later, but I’m fine; just feel a bit daft though, falling into the lake.”

“Yes, was not my
brother quite the hero?” she uttered, wearing her usual grin. “Dear sister, you
must be extra vigilant, for it was not long ago we were both struck down with
fever.”

Her words made Heather
feel warm inside; she was such a caring, unassuming creature.

“It’s a shame your aunt
doesn’t share your concern.”

“You do not know her as
well as I,” she said. “I can assure you she is all kindness.”

She slipped under the
covers and cuddled up to Heather.

“She has been like a
second mother to us since the unfortunate death of our parents. Without
question she upped and left her estate in Hampshire, which is now only occupied
by the servants, who have been more than accommodating by tending to its
upkeep. You see, an old maid, she never married and has no children of her own,
so we are her next of kin, and beneficiaries to her estate. On her passing we
shall receive a very handsome sum indeed. More Frank than I, being male and the
first born, though I shall live very comfortably.”

“So she has some good
qualities then?” Heather joked.

“Of that I have no
doubt, though I may add, the will has a clause attached, stating that my
brother must take a wife, and I a husband, for the bloodline to continue. Only
then do we receive our inheritance. I just have a feeling that Miss Thornber
may finally be the one.”

Heather could feel
herself dying inside. She longed to run to Frank, tell him how she felt, but
she was only kidding herself. Mr Boswel’s future was well and truly mapped out
for him, and Miss Thornber was to be his leading lady. She had heard many a
tale from loose-mouthed servants on passing of his past endeavours with
eligible young ladies and staff members,

making her question whether she was just
one of many secret rendezvous.
But why, then, did he take things no further?
The reality of her thoughts no longer bearable, she considered that he may not
have thought her worthy of any further advances, but then she remembered.
He
slept with Anna, so does he really think so little of me? Oh God, maybe he
thinks I’m easy, I did kind of throw myself at him. Well done, Heather, you’ve
scared him off!
She spent a restless afternoon sleeping and thinking. She
was so looking forward to seeing Frank again, anxious to put things right
between them and explain herself.

Florence entered
without knocking, already dressed for the grand occasion. Her full-skirted
dress was held in place by a hooped petticoat, and the layers of ruffles gave
it a fuller appearance. It was the lightest shade of lemon, almost bordering on
cream, which suited her hair and complexion perfectly. Martha was only steps
behind, her arms outstretched carrying a magnificent gown. Heather had thought
the blue dress she’d worn to dinner the previous night was beautiful, but on
seeing this, there was just no comparison. After her unfortunate display during
the picnic, she had had more than a few second thoughts about attending the
ball, preferring instead to hide away in her room, but not now. She loved
dressing up, she always had, and her eyes shone at the thought. She was almost
as excited as Florence, and unable to resist any longer, she couldn’t leave her
bed quickly enough.

Martha lowered the
dress to the floor, leaving a small opening into which she stepped. It was a
luxurious gown, its fabric so soft and cool, in an eye-catching dusky pink,
with intricate patterns sown in silver thread around the neckline and sash,
which fell softly from her accentuated waistline. Martha did her hair, on this
occasion leaving looser curls and ringlets cascading down around her neck.
Florence, as high-spirited as ever, had hardly drawn breath anticipating the
evening awaiting them.

“Oh, Heather, it will
be such a ball,” Florence announced, followed by a childish giggle. “You shall
be introduced to the most eligible of bachelors. My aunt’s invitations were
sent only to the finest members of society, and all were handwritten I must
add. On last count, there shall be over one hundred and fifty guests arriving,
with their maids and entourage.” She paused. “Not forgetting Miss Thornber’s
party, and the attendees of yesterday’s dinner party, and my Mr Cox, of course.
I cannot wait until he asks me to dance.”

“What time does it
start?” Heather asked, on hearing orchestral melodies rising up from below.

She so hoped she would
get her dance also, and that Mr Boswel wouldn’t be taken up with the allures of
Miss Thornber for the entire night.

“It already has,”
Florence squeaked, rushing to the window. “Look, horse and carriages pull up as
we speak. All fashionably late, I must add; it is not the done thing to arrive
on time. So I put it to you that we wait a while.”

“Florence, I may need
your help,” Heather said, using her amnesia to her advantage. “Since losing my
memory, I’ve forgotten how to dance.”

“Oh, dearest Heather,
this we cannot have. You shall dance, for, my dearest sister, I shall teach you
myself.” Florence fell silent, raising her eyes as if in thought. Then, with a
quick look at Martha, she said, “Call for Anna, and do not dally.”

Martha, a bubbly
character herself, beamed, her round face lighting up and enhancing her ruddy
complexion. Bustling to the door, she returned moments later as requested with
Anna.

“We always dance
opposite our partners. Anna, Martha, make haste; your role is to play the
gentlemen.”

Having watched the
dances on many occasions before, it was probably as much second nature to them
as it was to Florence herself. Both maids asked their permission to dance,
awaiting their reply before taking a bow. Heather shrugged her shoulders,
tittering at her two left feet as she tried so hard to keep in sync with the
others.

“Ah, y’ll soon get the
’ang of it, miss.” Martha grinned, revelling in the frivolity.

“It would vex my aunt
greatly if she could see us all now,” Florence stammered breathlessly, almost
laughing in the face of protocol.

Though Martha’s sprits
were high, Anna’s mood was less than jovial, every step seemingly made under
duress, no sign of a smile gracing her sullen face.

Florence frowned,
noticing immediately, and said sarcastically, “By the way, Heather, while
dancing with any gentleman, it is etiquette to smile at all times,” throwing a
harsh look in Anna’s direction. “It is most rude not to, and shows poor
breeding.”

Heather counted as a
way of memorising her steps during the waltz and the slightly more intricate
country dances, although Florence only showed her the most popular.

“No more please, my
head’s spinning,” Heather insisted, throwing herself onto the bed.

Thanking the maids
before dismissing them, Florence sat down next to her.

“How do I ask your
brother for a dance?”

“No, Heather, you must
not on any account. You must wait to be asked, and when any gentleman shows his
favour in a form of address towards you, you must oblige. It is deemed rude to
refuse a request to dance.”

“Florence, I really
don’t think I can do this.”

“Nonsense, I am sure you
will be fine. When I am not pre-engaged in a dance with Mr Cox, we shall take a
turn around the room.”

Greeted by a sea of
merry music and voices, Florence opened the door of the bedchamber. Heather
peered down the staircase in anticipation and saw the front door stood open as
guests entered to a formal introduction. The hallway overflowed with ladies and
gentlemen donning their finery, and there wasn’t a colour or shade absent as
gowns cordially brushed together. Statuesque-like, the guests congregated in
their chosen clusters.

On reaching the
hallway, Heather and Florence were cajoled along towards the open ballroom with
its marble arches and ornate fireplace. Towards the far end, a small orchestra
played, striking up melodies that prompted dancing, and ladies and gentlemen
promenaded around the room before separating into orderly lines, striking up
brisk movements and intricate figures around the floor. Meanwhile, single
ladies stood in wait for a suitor’s request to dance. Heather was caught up in
the ambience and gaiety, longing to catch sight of Mr Boswel, their afternoon
kiss fresh in her mind. Florence was watching her closely and must have picked
up on her unease, so softly taking her arm and with a polite shuffle between
guests, she manoeuvred them to a quieter spot between one of the open archways.
Not an obvious move, but one as it happened that was to Florence’s advantage as
Mr Cox stole through the crowd towards them. Although not Heather’s type, he
looked quite dapper in a black formed jacket and waistcoat. He had a long and
narrow face, of which his sideburns took up the majority, his dark hair
probably his best attribute. A very bubbly and well-mannered chap, he was quite
similar to Florence in most respects, as the world seemed to pass by with them
floating somewhere above it.

He bowed regally,
inviting her to partner him for the next dance, to which he received her
gracious acceptance. Taking her arm, he led her to the centre of the dance
floor, where the next sets were about to get underway. Heather fidgeted
awkwardly, knowing that from what she’d seen of the dances, these sets could
last anything up to half an hour. What would she do now? Alone, she watched on,
smiling at Florence and her Mr Cox, who both looked so happy. Her thoughts turned
back to herself and her lack of acquaintance with anyone present. Hiding in the
wings, she made herself as inconspicuous as possible; a very beautiful
wallflower, waiting to be picked.

Suddenly, all eyes
turned as the very handsome Mr Boswel, partnered by the beautiful Miss
Thornber, took to the dance floor. Her impelling emerald-green gown befitted
the feelings of envy that Heather felt so very ardently, which she was sure
everyone in the room could see. She watched their dance intently, the dreamy way
in which she looked into his eyes, the brief words whispered on contact;
turning one way, then the other, and finally, a slight separation. Heather
glanced around the room, her eyes resting on Anna, whose expression was a
mirror image of her own – a scowl filled with contempt.

Heather’s gaze was
interrupted as she observed Anna watching them as they danced. She could see
she wasn’t the only one in the room who was in love with Mr Boswel. Half an
hour passed, anything but quickly, and how she longed for Florence’s return,
but one set led to two. On Florence’s return, the mood of the music slowed, and
Heather closed her eyes, trying to remember her dance lesson as best she could,
counting the beats in her mind. She realised the dance playing was a waltz, with
a much more intimate feel.