Living London (2 page)

With a sigh, I trudged over to my closet and selected an old
Bulldogs
shirt and a pair of jeans. With all the sorting of Nanna’s clothes and such, I’d just be getting sweaty and dirty carrying things to the attic or to the donation center. Nothing about the day enticed me. I'd only set my alarm for motivational purposes in dragging my rump from bed. The path to the bathroom was treacherous. I had stacked boxes in the hall when the living room filled and now I was skirting past teetering pillars of books, magazines and cardboard. My pink slipper caught the edge of a stack of magazines and sent the pile scattering. With a frustrated groan, I ignored the mess and stepped over the final box and into the bathroom.

Once safely there I studied myself in the mirror. My thick honey-blonde hair was a tangled mess that ran down my shoulders and to my mid-back. With ruthless tugs, I ran my brush through and proceeded to pull it back into a ponytail. I brushed my teeth and then glared at my makeup on the counter. All the crying from yesterday had given me puffy eyes, and no amount of makeup would hide them. After a quick mental debate I grabbed my mascara, applied it and nodded at my reflection when finished. Not my best, but better than nothing. Carefully, I stepped into the hall.

As I went down the stairs, I instinctively skipped the second step, which creaked loudly, and headed to the kitchen. After coffee—blissful coffee —I grabbed a bagel and went into the living room to sort.

Halfway through the day, I glanced around the room at the chaotic mess. The extra boxes were already used up and packed in the back of my car, yet I still had numerous piles of clothes, shoes, books and nick-knacks that remained to be stored or donated. Only small patches of the pale blue carpet were visible under the mess. With a dubious glance to the stairs, I paused and closed my eyes, hating my next task. The extra boxes I needed were in the attic, the very place I avoided at all costs. Visions of hairy spiders and old webs made me shiver and goosebump.

After a moment, I rose up off my knees. They ached in protest at my change in position and I paused, waiting for them to support my weight. I stepped over a pile of shoes and made my way to the stairs.

On the second floor I passed my room, Nanna's old room, and then the bathroom, till I reached the linen closet. I reached up and grabbed the rope that pulled down the ladder into the attic.

I took a step backwards so I wouldn't get knocked out and waited for the ladder to slide to the floor. The wooden rungs of the ladder creaked as I began to climb. As I slowly ascended, my eyes darted about, checking every shadow. I waved my hand in front of me to displace any cobwebs, and my skin crawled as I felt one stick to my finger. I jolted my hand back and wiped it on my shirt. A deep fortifying breath later, I stepped onto the landing and searched the rafters for lurking eight-legged enemies. When none were spotted, I relaxed slightly and slowly made my way to the corner where the extra boxes sat. I grabbed one and flipped it over, searching for movement. After I had repeated the process for the entire stack, I tossed them down to the hallway below.

Dusting my hands, I looked around at the upper room. Dim sunlight came through the dirty window. My recent movement had caused a whirlwind of dust motes to dance in the light. Their graceful movements stole my attention for a moment. I turned watching them and an old trunk caught my eye.

I walked over to where it rested, placed my hands over the canvas-covered wood, and lifted the latches. Inside was a beautiful ball gown, probably one of Nanna's old ones. But I didn't remember her ever wearing it during our pretend balls. It must have been really special or maybe just forgotten. When I pulled it out, I gasped in recognition. I
had
seen this gown before, not on Nanna, but on me. It was the gown from my dream. The pale sage-green silk shimmered in the light as I ran my fingers over its softness. I also found gloves and a peacock-feather headband in the trunk, along with a small note.

For Jocelyn, with love, Nanna.

I carried the dress, accessories, and note down the ladder and went into my room to get a better look. It was even more beautiful than it had seemed in my dream. I wanted to try it on, but I didn't dare yet. I was too sweaty and dusty from sorting through everything. Carefully I laid it on my bed in anticipation of trying it on later, once I was clean.

With newfound motivation to finish, I ran downstairs with the boxes and got to work. After delivering a load of boxes to the local thrift store, I stopped by my favorite Greek restaurant for takeout and ate alone in the kitchen. I tossed the wrapper away and grabbed my cell as I headed to the stairs. The promise of a shower quickened my steps. I couldn't wait to be free of the dust that had accumulated on my skin.

As I put on my bare essentials, I walked over to the bed and ran my fingers over the gown. I picked up the dress and pulled it over my head, finding a great deal of difficulty in fastening the buttons on the back. Once I had managed to hold the dress in place, I picked up the gloves and put them on. Belatedly, I realized that if I wanted to wear the peacock headband I'd need to take down my hair from the sloppy ponytail. So off came the gloves once again, and I pinned my hair into a soft bun at the nape of my neck.

Then I placed the feathered band on my head and gasped at the beautiful way it accented the colors in my dress. I pulled on the kid gloves once more. Gazing into the mirror, I twisted slowly, examining the perfect fit. The whole outfit was beyond beautiful, and I wished I had a place to wear it. Closing my eyes, I remembered my dream and the blue eyes and honeyed voice of the handsome stranger…

****

"Miss? Miss, are you all right? Can you hear me?" A man's strangely British voice sliced through my blissful state of darkness.

Through a thick fog of sleep, I began to stir, but my body was reluctant to fully wake. After a moment, I heard the same man speak again. Awareness began to seep through me, and I noticed the tickle of grass on my arms and the shuffling of feet nearby.

"Miss? Dannberry, I think I saw her stir! Do you think she's alive?"

"Of course she's alive! She's breathing. But you might have addled her wits with your insane driving. Didn't I tell you to go slowly? Far too many people out at this ungodly hour."

Cold fabric wiped my face, and I opened my eyes slowly, unable to focus for a moment. Finally my gaze settled on an older man's face.

"Miss, can you speak at all?" the man asked in a crisp British accent.

Slowly my wits came back, and I studied his features, noticing his hat and odd hairstyle. His sideburns were long and overgrown. He'd desperately tried to hide his balding forehead with a few curls. Aside from his odd style, though, his eyes were kind and full of concern. He reminded me of my grandfather for some reason — probably his age — and so I found my voice.

"Yes, I'm all right, I think. What happened?"

The older gentleman exchanged a look with the second man I'd just noticed. "American, eh?" His smile was genuine, and his eyes were similar to the first man's. I assumed that they were brothers.

"What's a colonial like you doing here in London at this time? Here for the Season, I wager."

"Hush, Dannberry. Let the poor gel gather her wits a bit more."

London?
No… I lived in Washington. My confusion must have registered on my face.

"Don't worry about Dannberry there. He's the crazy one. And he's the reason you're flat on your back with a spooked horse somewhere. We didn't see you fall, but my brother here was trying out his new horseflesh and wasn't paying attention to the road. We almost ran you over. We're assuming you fell from your horse when it spooked from my brother's curricle barreling down the lane. What's your name, miss?"

"Jocelyn," I managed, trying to figure out why I'd be riding a horse in the first place. And then, belatedly, why these men had been riding in a curricle at all.
What was going on? And why did they think we were in London of all places?

"Oh, miss, we wouldn't call you by your Christian name. What's your last name, dearie?"

"Westin."

Both of their eyes widened in shock. "
You're
Jocelyn Westin?" the first one clarified.

"Yes." I drew out the word.

After an exchanged look, they quickly stepped back, and the second one began to pummel his brother with his gloves. "Idiot! Fool! They'll have our hides!
Westin!
You almost bloo—" He glanced at me and didn't finish his word. With a disgusted snort, he turned again to his brother. "You could have killed a Westin!"

"Excuse me," I said, trying to stop the violence. If I weren't so bewildered, I would have laughed. To see a grandfather try to whip another with his gloves was amusing. "I seem to be a bit confused. Could you answer some questions for me, please?"

"Noddcock, idiot…" he mumbled before turning his attention to me. "Sorry, Miss Westin, how can I be of service?" As he spoke, Dannberry got up from his crouch and dusted himself off warily, watching his brother.

"Yes, well, if you could help me up, I'd be very thankful." Turning white, the man quickly reached over and helped me stand.

"I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't want to have you move in case you were injured."

"Of course, thank you." With careful movements I stood. When I straightened my posture, I realized I didn't feel like I'd fallen off a horse. I actually felt fine. I reached down to dust myself off and noticed I wasn't wearing my usual jeans and T-shirt, but the dress I had found in the attic, with the matching gloves. Slowly I reached up to touch my hair and found no ponytail, but the same messy bun I had hastily thrown together…along with a peacock feather headband.

What in the world is going on?
I lifted my skirt to check out my footwear and noticed the two Dannberry brothers studiously avoided looking at my ankles. A cold chill went down my spine.

"What year is it?" I heard myself whisper, unable to make my voice louder.

Dannberry gave his brother a strange look, but answered politely. "Eighteen-fourteen, Miss Westin, in the lovely month of May."

With a gasp, I felt everything click in my brain — Nanna's letter, her words, and my dress. London. It was all too much. The world spun, and I heard another man's voice, this one younger and smoother, calling my name with concern evident in his tone. Strong arms enveloped me as the world suddenly turned black.

Chapter Three

"Jocelyn! Wake up!" I heard the words, as I smelled a strong ammonia odor that made me flinch and open my eyes.

"For pity's sake, girl! You have thoroughly scared us all! Are you all right?"

Searching the face only a few inches from my own, I didn't know quite how to respond. Her curly brown hair escaped some sort of cap on her head. She wore no makeup, but she smelled like lilacs. Her concern for me appeared genuine as she patted my hand and then cupped my cheek.

"Hello," I said, unsure of what else to do.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Will you please cease speaking in that atrocious accent? Merciful heavens! Your American cousins come visiting, and you decide you're a colonial! Such vulgar tones!"

Pausing, I decided I might as well play along for the moment and see where it took me. "Yes'm," I said in my truest British accent, knowing I'd be making Nanna proud with my perfect delivery.

Appeased, the woman leaned back. "Much better. If your mother were alive, she would have never let you carry on so." The tenderness in her eyes softened the woman's scolding tone as she observed me.

As I regarded the room, I noticed two young women standing behind the older one. Both wore long black dresses with white aprons and caps as well. They stood with their hands behind their backs, watching the older woman as if waiting for a cue. Closing my eyes, I wondered what I was supposed do. This was too much to take in. I just wanted wake up at home, in my bed.

"Jocelyn? Oh dear, I think she swooned again!" the older woman exclaimed. "Where are the smelling salts?"

As soon as I heard "smelling salts" I opened my eyes, not wanting to repeat
that
experience. "I'm fine!" I spoke a little too loudly.

"Fine?" A look of disbelief crossed her features before she schooled them into a stern expression.

"Yes, well…"
Though complete honesty would certainly convince them of my worthiness of Bedlam, I still needed to stick to some form of the truth.
"Well, I seem a bit… confused." There, that was honest. "Um, if I may ask, who are you?"

Her eyes widened in shock and horror as she gasped and placed a wrinkled hand to her large chest. "Dearie! Oh, here I am thinking you're up to one of your shenanigans, and you're really hurt, aren't you? I didn't know what to think when the Marquess brought you home… said you had swooned. It didn't help with those two nitwit Dannberry brothers behind him trying to explain how you fell off your horse, but you hadn't been out riding, so I didn't give any credit to their ramblings! Afterall, those two are known for their stories. I thought, perhaps… never mind. I should have known better. You are not one to swoon in order to gain attentions from a gentleman. Forgive me."

Marquess? What's that all about?
I remembered the two older gentlemen who had introduced themselves as Dannberry, and their story about how I'd fallen off my horse. But who was the Marquess? I searched my memory for a third person. A faint flicker of someone calling my name passed through my mind. Was that he? And why was this woman implying that I wanted his attention in the first place? Did she believe that I was reckless enough to playact this whole thing in order to get some attention? That didn't sound like something I would do… I sincerely hoped.

I wanted to scream for them to take me home, but the note from Nanna kept me from opening my mouth. Instinctively I knew this was somehow real. The note she'd left had implied this would happen, but now that I was experiencing it, her vague words snapped together in my mind. The waltzing and dancing, tea and scones, and speaking in the British accent were all ways of her training me for this. Only now that I was experiencing it did I finally understand what she'd been talking about. But she had prepared me and, for some reason, I was here. Taking a deep breath, I started to close my eyes again, but I stopped before the smelling salts came out for an encore.