Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2) (8 page)

"
Ma petite
? You look so sad. What is it?" Gisele noted, stopping beside Tara and touching her arm.

Tara forced a smile. "I was just pining for my lovely gowns, lost on the docks at Dublin."

"All is not lost. We are here to find you new gowns,
ma cherie
." Gisele locked her arm in Tara's and led her into a shop with a rainbow of silk fabrics hanging in the window.

They browsed at the department store on Rue St. Denis. Gisele took Tara to a favorite cafe and bought her a glass of lemonade and a pastry. They watched the carriages pass and discussed the finer points of bustles and corsets. Tara argued against corsets, to Gisele's horror. To her new friend, a corset was like a shield of virtue, no woman should venture out-of-doors without being tightly laced up.

As the afternoon shadows lengthened, Tara and Gisele made their way back to Montmartre. Tara hadn't bought anything aside from a new purse to carry her things in, but she had enjoyed the girl time with the vivacious Gisele, and had a better grasp of fashion in this time period. She had a list of items she would purchase, if Adrian were agreeable to the expense.

"Do you work tonight?" she asked her companion as they headed up the steep hill to their lodgings. "If not, you might join us for dinner."

"I have an assignation. Wish me well. If the gentleman is agreeable, I may be able to leave the dance club and be his
petite amore
."

"You mean his mistress," Tara said before she realized she'd spoken aloud. "Gisele, is that a wise move?"

Gisele sighed and looked down at her shoes. She gave a little shrug. "I would be taken care of by one man. He will provide me with a small house, and a servant, perhaps two. He will give me money for gowns, it is not a bad life. Preferable to being on display for all the men at the club."

"But, do you even like this man? Gisele, you don't have to sell yourself---" Tara winced at her poor choice of words. "I mean, you are a smart woman. You shouldn't have to give yourself to a man to earn a living. There should be other opportunities open to you."

"And what would those be?" Gisele's tone became ice. "Working at the textile mill. Non, I will not make myself old before my time working in those dreadful places, toiling from sun up to sun down with very little to show for it but stooped shoulders and calloused hands!"

"I only meant,"  Tara took a deep breath before continuing. "I was prying, I'm sorry. I  couldn't bear it if you were harmed by a man without scruples. Take your time, don't rush off with a man you barely know. It could be worse for you once he has you away from your friends."

"I have no friends." Gisele's confession was like a knife to Tara's heart. "Only other dancers, and the clever ones do as I am trying to do, find a rich patron to take them away from the dance hall life before they are too old to even dance for the men's delight. Being a mistress is not so bad. A man will pension you out if he tires of you, or find you a new protector. I know other girls who have done well."

"Gisele, listen to me." Tara placed her hand on the slender shoulder. "You do have friends. I am your friend. My husband is, too. We would help you, if it comes to that. Just remember, you don't have to settle for something distasteful just to survive."

Gisele's lips twitched. She glanced about the neighborhood where they were walking. The narrow, dirty streets, the garbage in the alleyways, as if to make a point. "You have a good heart, my American friend. I thank you. But now I must go prepare for my interview with Mr. Dupres. He is old, and likely will not trouble me much with his passions. He wants a companion to take to the opera and to dine with more than anything, I believe."

They reached their building. Tara opened the door for them and Gisele went up the stairs ahead of her.

"How old is he?"

Gisele paused on the third landing. She turned, and gave a little shrug. "I do not know for certain. My grandfather's age, perhaps?"

So that was it. She was interviewing to become an old man's darling? What would happen to Gisele when the old man died? She'd be turned out, more than likely, homeless again, forced to return to the dance hall or to take up trade in the streets.

You can't save them all.
The nasty thought hovered about like a wasp. Tara shook her head, willing it away.
Not everyone, perhaps, but one person along the way?
 

"Come visit me when you return, Gisele, in the morning. I'll want to know how you fared, please. As a friend, not a judge. I just want to know you are safely home again."

Gisele nodded and went into her apartment.

Tara moved up the stairs to the rooms Adrian rented for them. It was just five in the afternoon. She hoped Adrian had thought to bring something home for dinner, but likely he had not. He was accustomed to servants doing those things for him. Tara gritted her teeth as she entered the apartment. She'd be damned if she was going to be slaving over a hot stove all day. There were plenty of corner cafes and restaurants in the area where they could purchase a meal. 

She opened the door, and was greeted by the sight of not one man, but four, all looking at her with anxiety.

"Where have you been?" Adrian demanded.

"I went out with Gisele."

"You didn't leave word for me," her husband argued, his temper ready to flare.

"And who would I leave it with,
my lord
?" Tara used his title with sarcasm as she gestured about the sparsely furnished room. "The butler, or perhaps the cook?"

Dan was the one to laugh at her jest as he sat at the table with a newspaper spread out before him. Mick and Riley's features were impassive as they stood at the window.

Adrian's face darkened. "Don't be ridiculous. You could have left me a note."

"Did you buy paper and a pencil during your forays beyond our humble lodgings?"

"
No
. . ." Adrian's reply was less aggressive, more uncertain as he ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated by the realization that those simple items were not provided for him by a diligent housekeeper as they would be in any one of his properties in Ireland. "It did not occur to me that we needed them." His face suffused with color at the admission.

Tara was taking too much pleasure in this conversation. She softened her tone. "I was bored, so I walked about for the afternoon with Gisele. We rode the omnibus, had lemonade and croissants, visited a few dress shops. It was lovely."

"I fear for your safety when you are not here," Adrian stated in a rational tone. "You could be set upon by thieves in this neighborhood, or drunkards looking for sport--"

"Stop it," Tara hissed. "I have had enough of being kept indoors because I'm a 'fragile little woman'. You kept me cloistered at the castle and then at the townhouse in Dublin because of your constant worrying. I'll not be told when I can go out and when I cannot, not ever again."

"I only desire to keep you safe," he turned to her, his arms extending in a plea, "why are you making me into a villain? I care about you. I worry about you when you are--"

"She's not a little girl." Dan folded his paper carefully and precisely as he looked from Tara to Adrian. "And in case you haven't noticed, there aren't soldiers at every street corner waiting to arrest you and your cronies. We're not in Ireland anymore, Adrian."

"That's right." Tara added, giving her friend a grateful look for taking her side. "We're not under military surveillance. You are not wanted by the authorities for suspected treason. We're in the
Belle Époque
, a time of peace between the wars and uprisings."

Mick and Riley were no longer following the conversation. With heads bent together they whispered insistently from their place at the window.

"Do you think she did it on purpose?" Riley asked, glancing back at her with suspicion.

Mick shrugged, "She's young, and new at this. It's too early to tell."

"Tara," Adrian said, drawing her attention away from her brother's conversation and back into their own. "I transferred funds from Dublin to the Bank of France a week before our scheduled departure. It's ninety-one years later. I can't walk into the bank and claim to be Viscount Dillon. Why didn't you bring us here in 1798?"

"Because Napoleon's vicious assault on Europe begins in the early nineteenth century. Thanks to him and his massive ego there would be chaos everywhere--death, disease and destruction." Tara was finding momentum as she spoke. "And because
I
wanted to be
here!"
During her emotional confession her hand had moved in a wide arc toward the city beyond their windows. She jerked it down to her side, feeling a little surprised by her impassioned reaction.

The four men gathered in the small apartment stared at her. Dan with a broad grin, Adrian with shock and worry, and her Fey brothers with something akin to awe,

"She did do it on purpose," Mick said, nodding to Riley. "Clever girl."

Perhaps it was true. Tara wasn't sure. Time travel was still just that strange new thing she could do, and she wasn't certain how she actually did it. She had always wanted to visit this unique time. Her art history classes made her long to see this rare time of rising hope and soaring dreams. "I wanted to experience Paris in this era, when life was beautiful, when the only wars were those being fought between artists and curators for a placing in annual salons."

Thunder rumbled above their heads, and the air in the room became frizzled with electrical currents. Mick nodded and smiled at Tara, as if pleased by her answer.

"I may have found a way to garner a few francs to add to our coffers," Dan interjected, changing the subject to a safer one. He tossed the neatly creased and folded paper in his hand on the table as he stood up. "Don't wait up for me, kids." He grabbed his hat and moved to the door. "Oh, I ordered dinner. It should be here in a few minutes. Sorry, not pizza, Tara, just roast beef and vegetables. I paid for it already. My treat."

Dan placed his hat on his head, and made his exit.

"We will take our leave as well," Mick said. He and Riley made for the door. "We'll be back in the morning. Riley and I will bring you breakfast, darlin'." He looked up at the roof as another deep rumbling shook the rafters, pointed his finger upward, and winked at Tara.

"Wait, don't you want to eat dinner with us?" Tara grew uneasy with their swift abandonment. Apparently, no one wanted to be present during her argument with Adrian.

"We'll eat elsewhere," Riley said with a light wave of his hand as he followed Mick into the hall. The door closed, leaving the two of them together in the small room.

There was so much she wanted to say to her husband. They were from different worlds. She had done her best to try to fit into his world in the last century. She hated the restrictions placed on her there. No more. It was time for Adrian to embrace change. He had to learn to trust her and view her as an intelligent, capable woman, not his little china doll needing to be set up on a high shelf and protected. The romance novels of her time might have idealized this masculine tendency to be dominant and control every aspect of their wives and daughters lives, but actually
living
in such an arrangement was frustrating, demeaning and insulting.   

"We need to settle something between us," Tara said, as her heart pounded in her ears.

Chapter Seven

"Yes, we do." Adrian returned in a commanding tone that did not bode well for her intended discussion. "I do not want you associating with that woman again."

Tara's jaw sagged. A flurry of insults filled her head, but she swallowed the string of curses she might have flung at him, choosing instead to remain calm and reasonable. If she wanted him to respect her opinions, flying into a rage would not accomplish her goal. 

"I choose my own friends. I will not have them chosen for me." There, she managed to say it without the slightest hint of the churning emotions roiling inside of her.

"She's no better than a whore." Adrian's hand sliced at the air. He was scowling at her with parental censure. "The association will mar your reputation, and mine as well."

Anger surged through her at his words. A loud clap of thunder rumbled above, shaking the rafters in its rising fury. When the sound subsided she replied, "yeah, because we are Lord and Lady Dillon, members of the Irish aristocracy! Geez, I forgot that, living in this four story flat that's smaller than a closet in your castle back home."

"I am working to repair that difficulty, most feverishly. I've inquired about nearly every rental in Paris, and most of the hotels during the past two weeks. I've walked, nay,
limped
all over the city trying to find a better situation for us--
for you
. The hotels are all booked for the exposition. If you had brought us to the correct time period I would have had friends to call upon to assist us or at least offer us temporary shelter in the better neighborhoods."

So, this whole thing was her fault? Tara ground her teeth to prevent a very nasty comeback from breaking past her lips.
Screw you, Lord Dillon
.

Thunder boomed above them like a cannon, drowning out everything as the clouds shifted above their roof. Lightening crackled outside the window, sharp and sizzling.

Tara felt a strange sense of release at the sound.

Why?
It wasn't as if she created the thunder or the lightening.

A discreet knock sounded on the thin wooden door.

She moved instinctually to answer it, and true to form, Adrian moved in front of her, putting his hand out, preventing her from seeing who was on the other side. She wanted to smack him, but at the same time, his protectiveness cracked the hastily applied armor she'd cast over her heart.  As expected, it was the food. She moved closer to peer over his shoulder. A boy of ten stood there with a wooden crate in his arms. Adrian took the crate and placed it on the table. He removed the covered roasting pan and the wine from the crate and brought it back to the door.