Down the Rabbit Hole

Why could it not have led her to see a life with him as Countess Westwood? Instead she had apparently imagined a world where the ton would not accept them as a wedded couple because her own family was socially shunned because of her parents’ divorce.

“After I order the coffee, I will answer as many of your questions as seems prudent. You have time, and every visitor to this century should experience Starbucks.”

A few minutes later they were seated at a table in a madhouse of a coffee shop. Mr. Arbuckle insisted that they sit and took their orders. “Starbucks’ system takes some time to understand. It’s as though they have their own language. If you tell me what you would like, I will translate for you. Besides, you have no money with you. You will be my guests.”

Arbuckle took their orders and then left them at the table. Weston knew enough to make the most of his time alone with Alice. Or as alone as they could be surrounded by dozens of strangers.

“Alice,” he began, resisting the urge to reach for her hand. “Mr. Arbuckle said that we both time traveled from the country house. Why were you there?”

Alice Kemp looked away and cleared her throat. “I had just arrived to accept a position to help your sister prepare for her Season.” She shook her head. “Now someone from this time has taken my place. I cannot imagine a woman from 2005 being of any help at all. I fear my efforts at a career are about to be thoroughly compromised.”

Weston tried to conceal his disappointment. He’d hoped she might have come looking for him. He tried to find a way to ask what he most wanted to know. In the end he decided to be honest. “Did you know I would be in residence?”

“No,” she said. “But then a woman who must make her own way cannot expect to have everything as she wishes.”

“That was a dart aimed right at my heart, Alice.” He did reach for her hand, but she moved it from the table to her lap. “I wanted to marry you.”

“And a marriage with me would have completely estranged you from your family at the least, if not all of society. You saw how badly my Season progressed. My aunt insisted we had to at least attempt a Season to see if the ton might be willing to overlook my parents’ behavior, but you were the only gentleman who took an interest, and the ton hardly considered that a mark in your favor.” She looked away again and shook her head, obviously refusing to be drawn any further into the old argument, but then added, “At least that Season taught me all I need to know about helping young ladies succeed.”

Weston decided it would be best not to pursue the subject until he had something new to fuel the debate. Apparently love was not enough for Miss Alice Kemp. He would change the subject. It was wisdom rather than cowardice, he insisted to himself. “So tell me what you think of this wonderland.”

As always, she responded instantly to any question about ideas or observations.

“This wonderland, as you call it, is a cross between shocking and overwhelming. I cannot decide if I am appalled or amazed. I vacillate between the horror of wearing men’s attire and how intrigued I am by the way London has grown and changed.” She paused a moment, but then went on. “Weston, did you see the conveyances that carried dozens of people? And still the roads are not big enough, just as they are not in our day.”

“Yes, and what about the devices that people hold to their ears? I do believe they talk into them. Who are they talking to?”

“Women wear the most amazing shoes. How can they manage on such high heels? And the dresses are so short as to be embarrassing.”

He rather liked that part of this world, but was not about to say so aloud.

“And their reticules, Weston! They’ve grown to the size of a portmanteau.”

“What does one need to carry besides a handkerchief and vinaigrette?” he asked.