Regency Romance: A Duchess in Disguise (Historical 19th Century Victorian Romance) (Duke Fantasy Billionaire Romance) (110 page)

''Yes. She's your aunt.''

''Really?''

''Well, your aunt with a few greats in front. Five greats in fact.''

''What was her name?''

''Lucy. Her full title was Lucy, Duchess of Allerton. She was around your age when this
was painted
. She is
very beautiful
isn't she?''

''Yes. I've always like looking at her.
She seems so magical.
There is something about the way she looks.
She looks so happy.''

''Actually, she's a very tragic figure.''

Jemima was instantly disappointed. The woman she'd looked at since she was a
child
and the woman she'd dreamed of was a tragic figure. Not at all how Jemima had imagined her. ''Why do you call her tragic?''

''She fell in love with a man her father
disapproved of
. Her forbade her to marry him. After
that,
she never married. She led a long lonely existence until her death at the age of ninety-two.
Very old
indeed for the time.” He paused. “The man she fell in love with was an artist. The same man who painted this portrait.''

''That's awful. It's completely changed my perception of her. Poor woman. Here was I believing, all these years, that she married happily, probably had some children and died a happy
woman
.''

Jemima said no to the Professors offer of dinner and drove back to Allerton Castle. She went inside and stood, once again, in front of the portrait.

''You poor woman,'' she said. She looked at the
portrait
more carefully than she'd ever done. Lucy was wearing a beautiful red dress which unusually for the time was off the shoulder. She had fine bones and a well-developed bust. She was wearing jewelry, a necklace, and a matching bracelet. Jemima though they were diamonds and wondered what had happened to them. In most families of her class, jewelry was handed down from generation to generation, but she'd never seen what Lucy was wearing. ''We are practically identical,'' she whispered. ''Quite uncanny.''

Jemima decided she was going to take a photograph. She had
a special
idea for a photo that she could amaze her
friends with
.
She
went to her room and opened the wardrobe. It was relatively
tidy,
and she found what she was looking for easily. She took off her blouse and skirt and began to squeeze herself into the dress. A Regency dress that she'd found somewhere in the attic and played in as a little girl. She looked in the mirror once she had the
dress on
. It fitted her perfectly now. As a little girl she'd had to carry the bottom half around with her, but now it looked perfect. She grabbed a hand mirror from the dressing table and went downstairs to Lucy's portrait. She held the mirror in such a way that it captured her image and Lucy's at the same time.

''Lucy, what on earth are you doing? Put that mirror down and come and help me.'' A man had opened the front door.

But it wasn't a man wearing a modern suit.

It was a man wearing a half coat, breeches and a triangular hat with a plume sticking out of it. ''Come on, what are you waiting for?'' he said.

Who was it? Jemima was familiar with Lucy's father, John the third Duke of Allerton, and her brother, James, but she'd never seen a portrait of this man.

“I'm coming father,'' she said.

''What's wrong with your eyesight?'' he asked. ''I know it's dark in the house, but I'm your Uncle Frederick.''

''Oh yes. Sorry, I couldn't see against the light of the door.'' Who was he? She'd never heard of him. She went
through
the front door and looked around. She jumped when she saw the castle walls. They were clean, yellow sandstone. In front of her, there was a small carriage with a single pony in front of it. The carriage was full of dead pheasant. Jemima had never liked hunting and shooting, and the thought of having to unload all these dead birds made her feel ill.

''Come on, Lucy, you're not usually so squeamish,'' Frederick said.

Lucy?

My God. I'm back in Lucy's time, Jemima thought. What the hell happened? And how do I get back? She broke into a cold sweat and felt the blood drain from her face. Was she trapped? Surely not.

''I have taken a sudden dislike to handling dead things, perhaps you can get one of the servants to help,'' she said unable to assist.

''But you love shooting. What happened to you?''

''Nothing, sorry.''

Jemima went back inside and looked around. The portraits she'd known in the modern day house were gone. Of course, they hadn't been painted yet.

''Ah, Lucy there you are. Uncle Frederick says you don't want to help him.'' It was a tall woman dressed in a fetching muslin day dress of pastel green. ''I don't know what it
was,
but I felt suddenly quite faint.'' The woman touched Jemima's forehead.

''Yes, you're quite warm. Go up to bed. I'll ask Rose to bring you some tea with lemon.''

''Yes, mother,'' Jemima said. The woman didn't say anything. So that's Lucy's
mother,
she thought. What an elegant lady. She was well into her forties and still beautiful. She looked like a Duchess, her hair pinned up showing her long,
elegant
neck.

Jemima went upstairs. It was the same
staircase;
nothing had changed except the carpet was green instead of red. Which room was hers? Would she have to open every door in a process of elimination? She decided to try her
room
first, the room that Jemima
slept in
.

She pushed the door open and peered inside. ''Oh my God,'' she mumbled to herself. ''Lucy slept in my room. That must be the connection I feel
to
her. We slept in the same room.'' The room was much tidier than she
was used
to, and she was amazed to see the writing desk was the same, only newer. When Jemima looked in the
mirror,
she almost fainted. She was Lucy.
Exactly the same
. She was terrified but strangely calmed by the fact that she was at home albeit two hundred years back in time.

''Come on now, Miss. Get into bed. You're mother told me you have a chill. Let's get you out of that dress and into your nightgown.''

''You must be Rose,'' Jemima said.

Rose looked at her questioningly. She must be worse than her mother thought, Rose told herself. Perhaps she had a fever and was hallucinating. ''Of course, I'm Rose, Miss. You know me. I'm your lady's maid. Now come on let's get these buttons undone.''

Jemima stood still as Rose proceeded to undress her. It was a most strange feeling having another woman take her clothes off. When she was naked, she put her arm over her breasts and her hand over her pubic hair to preserve her modesty, but Rose wasn't paying attention. She took the nightgown and threaded Jemima's head through it. ''Now, Miss Lucy, hop into bed. I'll pour the tea. Then you should sleep.''

Jemima didn't sleep. She lay in bed wondering what had happened. What should
she
do? She made a decision. If she'd somehow been transported back in time, she could also go forward in time, back to where she'd
come from
. She would stick around and find out as much as she could about the time she'd landed in, and then go back once her curiosity was satisfied.

Rose appeared again a few hours later. ''Are you feeling well enough to go down to dinner?'' she asked.

''Quite well enough,'' she replied eager to see what a Regency dinner
was like
.

''Lovely. Then what do you think? The red dress?''

Jemima held her breath as Rose took the red dress from the wardrobe. It was the same red dress in the portrait. She was going to wear that red dress, the one she'd been looking at for years.

''You look beautiful,'' Rose said when she'd finished brushing Jemima's hair. ''Stand up and take a look at yourself.''

Jemima was overwhelmed by what she saw. Her reflection was the
portrait;
it was as simple as that.

''Lucy what are you doing? What happened to you today? You seem confused. That's your place,'' her mother said. ''Are you sure you're well enough to be here?''

''Yes, mother,'' she replied. They were in the library having pre-dinner drinks. Jemima hadn't known where to sit and had chosen the sofa she knew so well two hundred years in the future. But apparently she didn't sit there usually. She sat in an armchair next to the fireplace.

Two tall gentlemen arrived, one she assumed was her brother, James, the other her
father,
John. The butler handed them both a drink. Jemima thought they were very handsome. They were both in evening wear, tails coats and bow ties.

''What do you think, Lucy?'' John started. ''Should I seek the attention of Emily or Charlotte, I am quite confused and can't decide between the two?''

Jemima had no idea who the two women were. ''Do you love them both equally?'' she said.

''No I love neither of them. I don't believe love to be
important
. Women are merely window dressing, to look
pretty
but remain silent.''

''Fuck off,'' Jemima said.

''Pardon,'' he replied.

She realized that expression wasn't yet fashionable. ''Why are you so rude
about
women?''

''Lucy, don't answer your brother back,'' John said. ''As a
woman,
you should be dainty and quiet until asked for you opinion.''

Jemima looked aghast at her mother. Her mother was smiling, apparently oblivious to their sexist mutterings.

''Ah splendid, the Mercer's are here,'' Lucy's mother said.

A small man with a much taller woman came into the room. He's
rich,
and she's a trophy wife, Jemima concluded.

''Hello, Lucy,'' Mr. Mercer said. ''How are you?''

''Well, thank you.''

''Sir,'' he said.

''Excuse me?'' Jemima replied

''You should call me sir. You should say, well thank you, sir.''

''Why?'' Jemima asked.

''Lucy. Hold you tongue and be civil,'' John said.

''She's ill. I'm sure of it,'' Lucy's mother added. ''She's confused, I'm sure she has a fever.''

So women weren't respected at all. It was ridiculous, Jemima concluded. Her brother had said, ''window dressing.'' How dare he?

After some small talk which Jemima avoided for fear of exploding into a rage, they went through to the dining room. It was the same table she and Anna had just had their little dinner
party at
. It was, however, beautifully decorated with candle
arbor
and silver cutlery.

''Bloody French aren't giving up I see,'' Mr. Mercer said.

''N,o they aren't likely to either,'' John replied. ''We'll have to finish them off,
however
many lives it costs.''

''Wars are awful,'' Jemima said.

The men looked at her as if she'd used a terrible profanity. ''Lucy
keep
your opinions to yourself,'' John said.

Jemima tried to think back to what she'd read in Jane Austen in some of whose books that hadn't yet
been written
. She was sure that the female characters in the book had had a say. She was sure they'd been free to express themselves. But at Allerton Castle,
obviously
women were treated as second-class citizens.

The evening passed with talk of war and politics and the running of the estate. Mrs. Mercer and Lucy's mother didn't say a single word. Jemima wanted to say something, many
times,
but refrained. What would the gentlemen say if they knew women had the vote or if they knew that Britain had had a female Prime Minister? What would they say about the Equal Opportunities Commission or Madonna dancing around half-naked on the stage.

The three ladies went back to the drawing-room and sat down to tea.

''Have you been invited to the ball, Mrs. Mercer?'' Lucy's mother asked

''At the Earl of Dunsforth's?''

''Yes.''

''Yes we have. I'm very keen to go.''

''I am looking forward to it very much indeed. How about you Lucy?''

''Of course,'' Jemima said.

''Perhaps you will find a nice young man there.'' Mrs. Mercer quipped.

''Well I hope he doesn't go shagging around like the last one did.'' Jemima pulled a face.

''Is that
modern
talk?'' her mother asked

''I'm sorry. I think you're
right
mother. I have a fever. I really can't think straight today. Would you excuse me?''