her job, and, oh God, her promotion. She couldn’t allow that snake Andrew to beat her to it.
She lifted her skirt hem and peeked at her slippers―could it be that simple? She glanced around the room to make sure she was alone, clicked her heels together three times, and whispered, “There’s no place like home.”
She looked around. Same room. She shrugged. Oh, well. Of course, it couldn’t be easy.
Isabelle took a deep breath. Yes, she needed to find her way home, but first she had to face her current situation. Would she be able to fool Mrs. Somerville?
She straightened her shoulders. She would draw on all her training―from her debutante days in Mobile, Alabama, to her historical research, to her avid readings of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer―to speak and to act as a lady should in this time period. Top priority: address Ada properly.
Isabelle strode into the drawing room with as much composure as she could summon. She whispered her new mantra― “Curtsey, No Contractions. Curtsey, No Contractions.”
“Miss Byron, oops―” Isabelle took quick steps to catch her balance. She glanced behind and lifted her skirts. A wrinkle in a rug near the entrance.
Good Lord, graceful much? Pretend it didn’t happen.
She curtseyed. “Miss Byron, thank you so much for all your help.” Thankfully, both acted as if they hadn’t noticed her grand entrance.
Isabelle inhaled deeply to calm herself and staggered again at the nostalgic wave that hit her―the comforting, nurturing smell of rose powder filled the room. Grandmère and Tante Mamie’s house! It smelled like the living room in their old house in Mobile. Home .
Ada’s welcoming smile brought her back to the present. “You are welcome. Please. Call me Ada. You will be masquerading as my cousin, so if you do not address me in this manner, it would seem peculiar.”
“Thank you.” Isabelle faced Mrs. Somerville. What had Ada told her? “Ma’am, thank you for your hospitality last night. I hope I have not inconvenienced you too much.”
No contractions there, pat yourself on the back, Isabelle. Oh yeah, curtsey.
“Not at all, my dear. You were in no condition to return home last night. I insist you stay at least one more night under my care, to be certain you are well. I shall send a footman to your home in Guildford to fetch your belongings.”
Oh, no. “I, um...”
“I am afraid Miss Rochon’s situation will not allow for the retrieval of her personal effects,” Ada said.
Mrs. Somerville glanced at Ada and back to Isabelle. “I am unsure why Miss Byron has chosen to adopt you as a long-lost cousin―”
Cold sweat broke out on Isabelle’s skin and her stomach felt as if it had participated in the free-fall drop at the county fair.
“However,” she continued, “I trust her judgment.”
Now she felt as if she’d gotten off the ride and stumbled along on solid ground. “Thank you, Mrs. Somerville.” Isabelle tried not to indulge the tickle of panic creeping up her spine. Where would she stay tomorrow?
Maybe she’d figure out how to get back before then. She had to stay positive. Today was Sunday―she had a day to solve her how-do-I-get-back-home dilemma before she was due to work on Monday. She couldn’t afford to be absent.
Pfft . Yeah, as if work were her biggest worry right now.
Did time run at the same pace in both places?
Or, had she created an alternate timeline the moment she came here? Some theorized that every possible decision not made splits reality into alternate worlds where those decisions had been made. Same for time travel. Was she now in an alternate reality she’d created and would later be born into?
Ack. Too complicated. Her headache threatened to return.
She had to get back, that was all there was to it.
Isabelle sat on a couch. Mrs. Somerville and Ada resumed reading.
Weird. No conversation? Dang it, she’d sat wrong and one of her stays poked into her side. She shifted. She was also in danger of
She lifted her skirt hem and peeked at her slippers―could it be that simple? She glanced around the room to make sure she was alone, clicked her heels together three times, and whispered, “There’s no place like home.”
She looked around. Same room. She shrugged. Oh, well. Of course, it couldn’t be easy.
Isabelle took a deep breath. Yes, she needed to find her way home, but first she had to face her current situation. Would she be able to fool Mrs. Somerville?
She straightened her shoulders. She would draw on all her training―from her debutante days in Mobile, Alabama, to her historical research, to her avid readings of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer―to speak and to act as a lady should in this time period. Top priority: address Ada properly.
Isabelle strode into the drawing room with as much composure as she could summon. She whispered her new mantra― “Curtsey, No Contractions. Curtsey, No Contractions.”
“Miss Byron, oops―” Isabelle took quick steps to catch her balance. She glanced behind and lifted her skirts. A wrinkle in a rug near the entrance.
Good Lord, graceful much? Pretend it didn’t happen.
She curtseyed. “Miss Byron, thank you so much for all your help.” Thankfully, both acted as if they hadn’t noticed her grand entrance.
Isabelle inhaled deeply to calm herself and staggered again at the nostalgic wave that hit her―the comforting, nurturing smell of rose powder filled the room. Grandmère and Tante Mamie’s house! It smelled like the living room in their old house in Mobile. Home .
Ada’s welcoming smile brought her back to the present. “You are welcome. Please. Call me Ada. You will be masquerading as my cousin, so if you do not address me in this manner, it would seem peculiar.”
“Thank you.” Isabelle faced Mrs. Somerville. What had Ada told her? “Ma’am, thank you for your hospitality last night. I hope I have not inconvenienced you too much.”
No contractions there, pat yourself on the back, Isabelle. Oh yeah, curtsey.
“Not at all, my dear. You were in no condition to return home last night. I insist you stay at least one more night under my care, to be certain you are well. I shall send a footman to your home in Guildford to fetch your belongings.”
Oh, no. “I, um...”
“I am afraid Miss Rochon’s situation will not allow for the retrieval of her personal effects,” Ada said.
Mrs. Somerville glanced at Ada and back to Isabelle. “I am unsure why Miss Byron has chosen to adopt you as a long-lost cousin―”
Cold sweat broke out on Isabelle’s skin and her stomach felt as if it had participated in the free-fall drop at the county fair.
“However,” she continued, “I trust her judgment.”
Now she felt as if she’d gotten off the ride and stumbled along on solid ground. “Thank you, Mrs. Somerville.” Isabelle tried not to indulge the tickle of panic creeping up her spine. Where would she stay tomorrow?
Maybe she’d figure out how to get back before then. She had to stay positive. Today was Sunday―she had a day to solve her how-do-I-get-back-home dilemma before she was due to work on Monday. She couldn’t afford to be absent.
Pfft . Yeah, as if work were her biggest worry right now.
Did time run at the same pace in both places?
Or, had she created an alternate timeline the moment she came here? Some theorized that every possible decision not made splits reality into alternate worlds where those decisions had been made. Same for time travel. Was she now in an alternate reality she’d created and would later be born into?
Ack. Too complicated. Her headache threatened to return.
She had to get back, that was all there was to it.
Isabelle sat on a couch. Mrs. Somerville and Ada resumed reading.
Weird. No conversation? Dang it, she’d sat wrong and one of her stays poked into her side. She shifted. She was also in danger of
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