A Stolen Season by Tamara Gill

certainly cook a good breakfast,” Sarah agreed, yet pushed her half-eaten meal away.
    “I was starving after arriving home last night. Did you taste the awful food Lady Cottlestone had on offer at the ball?” Richard cringed. “The white soup nearly made me gag.”
    Sarah laughed. “I stuck to food I recognized.”
    “I should have as well,” Richard said.
    • • •
    Sarah changed into a modest green sprig muslin afternoon walking dress. The morning’s dry heat had turned heavy with moisture. Sarah tied her bonnet about her chin and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
    She almost didn’t recognize herself. The twenty-first century woman was well and truly gone, and in her place stood a nineteenth century debutante. The dress was light and extremely flattering to her slender figure. Her dark hair was tied back with a ribbon, accentuating her cheekbones. It was like looking at an ancestor, not herself. Dismissing the image, Sarah grabbed the umbrella leaning against the armoire and headed downstairs.
    Her carriage ride to Bond Street was quick, given their home wasn’t far from the shopping precinct. The bustle never grew old. Some shopkeepers stood before their stores, trying to lure customers inside. Ladies strolled along the flagstone footpaths, their maids carrying their purchases followed close behind. A lad, covered in soot, ran toward a townhouse and dropped coal down the eye in the front of the home and into the underground storage vault.
    A pang of sadness pricked Sarah’s senses as she realized all these people in this special time were gone. Everyone she spoke to and observed. All long gone.
    Sarah clasped the seat as the carriage rocked to a halt. She opened the door, stepped down, and paid the driver. The shops ran along an alley and bore quaint wooden frontages with hand-painted signs.
    Stores of every kind were available for those who had the means to buy. Milliners, shoemakers, jewellers, tobacconists, and haberdashers all showed off their wares in the windows. Sarah couldn’t help but fall in love with the beauty.
    Her first stop held an abundance of antiques and collectables. Furniture, games, glassware, and cutlery littered every available surface. If the device was here, it would be an awfully long search.
    “Can I help you, my lady?”
    Sarah spied the elderly shop owner peeking over a pile of books. She sauntered toward him. “Hello, yes. I collect peculiars. Do you have any to sell?”
    The old man nodded. “I do. This way if you please, my lady.”
    He led her toward the rear of the store to a row of glass-fronted cabinets filled with different and strange items. Thimbles, shrunken heads, gold chess pieces, and other unfamiliar items filled every space. Excitement and despair washed over her. Yes, she would be here for some time.
    “Are you after anything in particular, my lady?”
    Sarah looked down at the elderly gentleman and shook her head. “No, thank you.”
    The store doorbell jingled and he hobbled away. Sarah turned back to the cabinets, sighed, and set about examining the items.
    “Miss Baxter?”
    Sarah jumped and turned to find Lord Earnston gazing at her with a quizzical brow.
    Shit!
    “Lord Earnston,” Sarah curtsied and watched as the earl took off his hat and ran a hand through his long, dark locks. The action held her captive. His arm flexed, showing off muscle hidden yet noticeable under his finely cut suit. Butterflies took flight in her stomach and she touched her waist to calm her nerves.
    “Are you out to do some shopping?” She inwardly cringed at her pathetic question.
    “I was on the street and saw you enter. Are you here alone?” Lord Earnston met her gaze, one eyebrow raised.
    “Yes. Alone.” Sarah swallowed, realizing too late she should’ve brought a maid.
    “You are unchaperoned?” Lord Earnston accused.
    “As you see.” Sarah turned back to the cabinets, trying to ignore his presence filling the space. Better that than tell this high