She’d spoken so blithely about Jane Austen, the authoress of Pride and Prejudice. He’d thought she must have some connection to the writer, and had immediately posted a note to the publisher. He had yet to receive a reply, and now wondered how he’d feel if the answer seemed to confirm Kendra’s wild tale.
He couldn’t bring himself to believe that these were the ravings of a lunatic. But she’d been foxed. Could he convince himself that it was a story spun by someone who’d imbibed too much strong drink? Perhaps.
Alec was torn between disbelief, denial, and a strange sort of wonder. Slowly, he finished the brandy and set the glass aside. He moved to the bed, shrugging out of his banyan. He blew out the candle and, in the darkness, he slid beneath the crisp sheets and bedding. Stacking his hands beneath his head, he contemplated the light and shadows that danced across the painted ceiling from the glow of the fireplace.
The Duke would be interested in hearing Kendra Donovan’s story, as peculiar as it was. But he’d promised to keep quiet, and he intended to keep that promise. A time traveler deserved a little consideration, he supposed.
56
She’d told Alec that she was from the future.
The memory came flooding back in horrifying clarity as soon as Kendra opened her eyes the next morning. She’d drank a lot—could still feel the aftereffects of the brandy, the way her head swam just a bit woozily as she pushed herself to a sitting position—but she knew she hadn’t imagined her conversation with Alec.
What would he do? She suppressed a panicky shiver, and considered all the angles. If he told Aldridge, the Duke would . . . what? He’d always been surprisingly accepting of what he undoubtedly regarded as her eccentricities, but there was a big difference between thinking someone odd, and thinking them certifiable. Really, Aldridge had known her less than two weeks. If the positions were reversed, she knew she’d be calling for a psych evaluation. Could she blame him if he called in a shrink—a mad-doctor? Even the name made her shudder. Like the insane asylums of this period, it conjured up primitive, torturous conditions and ignorance. She’d never survive it.
But what recourse was open to her? Here, she was a servant. Although she wasn’t familiar with this era’s laws regarding mental disorders, she knew her voice would never be heard over the powerful Duke of Aldridge’s.
Of course, there was another possibility. He might actually believe her. Could she get that lucky?
She thought of her life so far: involuntarily sucked through a vortex, stuck in the nineteenth century, her one friend murdered. No one would consider her lucky. But everyone’s luck had to change sometime.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, fighting panic and waves of nausea, until a soft knock at the door roused her. She glanced up as Molly poked her head in. Her eyes, Kendra noticed, were still red and puffy.
“Oi came ter see if ye need ’elp dressin’, Miss. Are ye ill?”
“I don’t feel so hot.”
“Aye. There’s a chill in the air.”
“No, I mean—forget it.” Kendra slid out of bed, then hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. “I’m sorry, Molly. About . . . about Rose.”
New tears shone in the maid’s eyes. “’Tisn’t yer fault, miss. It’s the bastard ’oo done that to ’er. We’ll catch ’im and ’e’ll ’ang from the gallows. And Oi ’ope ’e rots in ’ell!” She sniffed, and bent down to pluck the dress and spencer that Kendra had discarded on the floor the night before, tossing both on the bed. “The gentry are leavin’ terday,” she said in a quieter tone.
“Yes. I know.” Kendra hastily donned her underwear.
“A funeral needs ter be planned.” The tweeny dashed the tears from her eyes as she opened the wardrobe. “Do ye ’ave a preference for w’ot ye be wearing terday?”
“No.”
Molly brought over a pale lavender gown, and helped Kendra into it. “Oi’ll pin up yer ’air, miss.”
Kendra nearly groaned out loud. Her head ached without having heavy pins stuck in it. “That’s not necessary.”
“’Tis no trouble, miss.”
“Honestly, I don’t—”
“Oi’d like ter do it. For Rose, miss.”
Put like that, Kendra couldn’t deny the tweeny. She sat down on the bed as Molly retrieved the brush and pins.
“She wo’nted ter be a lady’s maid, ye know,” Molly said softly.
“I know.” As the tweeny brushed her hair, her mind flashed to the question Alec had asked last night. Your hairstyle . . . is this typical of women in the future?
“Rose taught me ter do this.” Molly twisted Kendra’s hair into a low coil, and then pushed the long hairpins in place to anchor it. She took a step back to admire her handiwork. “Ye look right proper, miss.”
“Rose would be proud of you, Molly.”