in time to keep my lungs from exploding. I heave a big sigh, and then breathe deeply for the first time in ten minutes. My heartbeat returns to normal. My palms are sweaty where I've been gripping the papers.
These letters must be what Alex was after.
I sit up and look around to make sure no one else is in the room.
I'll just take a teensy little peek ...
Chapter 9
I flip over the first folded note. The Duke of Harksbury is all it says on the outside. It's written in a feminine scrawl, little curlicues and elegant loops all over the place.
I know I shouldn't be reading this. It's probably a bunch of love letters. I should just shove it back between the couch and the table and forget about it.
But I got stuck here somehow, and I need to discover everything I can about where I'm staying. There's no telling what kind of clues I could come across if I pay attention. Clues that could lead me back to the twenty-first century.
And okay, I'm a teensy bit curious as to whether he has a girlfriend.
I take a deep breath and slide my finger under the fold and open the letter. The same cute penmanship greets me.
Your Grace,
I am certain my previous correspondence has been lost, for I have written you with each passing month, and yet still I receive no reply. Is it so easy to forget all of your whispered promises?
Your daughter was born two months ago.
I jerk backward and the letter flutters from my hand. Alex has a daughter? He's freaking nineteen and he has a daughter?
The world swims as I scramble to put together the pieces. He's not married, is he? Even if he were, this lady is definitely not living here. I mean, I would have seen her by now.
Not to mention a two-month-old little baby.
I shake my head. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions ... .
It pains me to ask for money, hut I have no choice. The daughter of a duke should not go hungry, and I fear that is in her future. Please, I will not shame your family or utter a word of this to a soul. There will b e no scandal, for no one will know, hut I beg of you to help me. I amunable to find work --
I snap the letter shut, suddenly feeling nauseated.
He has a daughter and he abandoned her. And she and her mother are poor? He's living in this giant mansion with servants at his beck and call, and his own daughter has nothing?
This is disgusting. Did he sleep with a maid or something and then send her away?
Oh God, he's so much worse than I could have possibly imagined. He's not just an arrogant jerk ... He's an absolute wretched human being!
I gather up the letters and tie the ribbon back around them, wishing I'd never found them at all. I'll read the rest of the letters later and figure out what to do.
I jump up and swiftly leave the room. I'll deposit the letters somewhere in my bedroom and then finish exploring.
An hour later, I've figured out the layout of Harksbury, but I haven't found a single item to prove my theory of make-believe.
I mean, these people don't even have indoor plumbing. There are chamber pots in most of the bedrooms. For real. And I think I found the laundry room, except they sure don't use washing machines. Forget about the kitchen. It was sweltering in there from actual fires for cooking with, and the servants looked at me with such shocked expressions I backpedaled and fled before they could yell at me for being there.
God, 1815 really stinks. In my century, a girl gets child support if a guy like Alex does something like this. Or a big college fund, in my case, though I would have preferred an actual dad. One who didn't up and move to the East Coast and start a whole new family three years ago, and then invite me out, like that wouldn't be the most awkward summer of my life.
I shake my head and hope it sends the memories flying to the back of my mind, where they belong. At least my dad calls twice a week and pays child support on time.
Alex is such a schmuck, to live like this and have a kid on the side. What a rotten person. And
These letters must be what Alex was after.
I sit up and look around to make sure no one else is in the room.
I'll just take a teensy little peek ...
Chapter 9
I flip over the first folded note. The Duke of Harksbury is all it says on the outside. It's written in a feminine scrawl, little curlicues and elegant loops all over the place.
I know I shouldn't be reading this. It's probably a bunch of love letters. I should just shove it back between the couch and the table and forget about it.
But I got stuck here somehow, and I need to discover everything I can about where I'm staying. There's no telling what kind of clues I could come across if I pay attention. Clues that could lead me back to the twenty-first century.
And okay, I'm a teensy bit curious as to whether he has a girlfriend.
I take a deep breath and slide my finger under the fold and open the letter. The same cute penmanship greets me.
Your Grace,
I am certain my previous correspondence has been lost, for I have written you with each passing month, and yet still I receive no reply. Is it so easy to forget all of your whispered promises?
Your daughter was born two months ago.
I jerk backward and the letter flutters from my hand. Alex has a daughter? He's freaking nineteen and he has a daughter?
The world swims as I scramble to put together the pieces. He's not married, is he? Even if he were, this lady is definitely not living here. I mean, I would have seen her by now.
Not to mention a two-month-old little baby.
I shake my head. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions ... .
It pains me to ask for money, hut I have no choice. The daughter of a duke should not go hungry, and I fear that is in her future. Please, I will not shame your family or utter a word of this to a soul. There will b e no scandal, for no one will know, hut I beg of you to help me. I amunable to find work --
I snap the letter shut, suddenly feeling nauseated.
He has a daughter and he abandoned her. And she and her mother are poor? He's living in this giant mansion with servants at his beck and call, and his own daughter has nothing?
This is disgusting. Did he sleep with a maid or something and then send her away?
Oh God, he's so much worse than I could have possibly imagined. He's not just an arrogant jerk ... He's an absolute wretched human being!
I gather up the letters and tie the ribbon back around them, wishing I'd never found them at all. I'll read the rest of the letters later and figure out what to do.
I jump up and swiftly leave the room. I'll deposit the letters somewhere in my bedroom and then finish exploring.
An hour later, I've figured out the layout of Harksbury, but I haven't found a single item to prove my theory of make-believe.
I mean, these people don't even have indoor plumbing. There are chamber pots in most of the bedrooms. For real. And I think I found the laundry room, except they sure don't use washing machines. Forget about the kitchen. It was sweltering in there from actual fires for cooking with, and the servants looked at me with such shocked expressions I backpedaled and fled before they could yell at me for being there.
God, 1815 really stinks. In my century, a girl gets child support if a guy like Alex does something like this. Or a big college fund, in my case, though I would have preferred an actual dad. One who didn't up and move to the East Coast and start a whole new family three years ago, and then invite me out, like that wouldn't be the most awkward summer of my life.
I shake my head and hope it sends the memories flying to the back of my mind, where they belong. At least my dad calls twice a week and pays child support on time.
Alex is such a schmuck, to live like this and have a kid on the side. What a rotten person. And
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