Sarah’s ears rang.
“Lady
Billington?”
They had to be ringing. The stains of a waltz bloomed in her head. The last time she had heard something like that was when little Timmy
Gustaffson had chased her in the playground and she’d run into an arching wooden swing.
Being fired felt kind of like that. The sick crack to the head of disbelief, the stomach-plummeting nausea…an arching wooden swing to her psyche.
“Lady
Billington?”
Rich chocolate tones called her name. She peeked and quickly sealed that one eye back up.
Whoa! He’s hot! Maybe I should get fired more often. Love the hallucination.
“Sarah. Open your eyes.”
She did. He was lovely. “Yummy.” Oh crud! Did I just say that out loud?
Crystalline green eyes looked back at her curiously.
The angel of sex appeal bent deliciously near her. As sensation seeped back into her numb body, she also realized he held her slumped body against him. A steely arm wrapped
supportively around her upper back and pressed her against the lapels of his coat. She decided his shoulder made a wonderful, albeit firm, pillow.
He smelled like heaven too. Male. Musky. And
sandlewoody. She could sink into flavors like that.
“Oh, Sarah, you dropped your rose! Lord
Hayworth, maybe you should take her onto the veranda while I pick this up. I should have waited until tomorrow after the festivities before I presented it to you, dear girl.”
She’d brought a woman into this fantasy? Sarah reopened her right eye. Reluctantly, she looked beyond the ebony haired vision. She had brought several other people apparently. She opened her other eye to take in the full scope. A dark-haired woman bent to collect the shards of a crystal rose and emerald stem that lay at Sarah’s feet.
Another woman,
blonde and wearing a petulant frown tapped a cornflower-blue slipper. Two woolen clad male backs screened Sarah from the dancers on the floor. The crystal strains of an orchestra seeped past their guard and filled her head.
The sound system in this room is amazing. Sounds like they’re right here with me.
Sarah stood upright with Gorgeous Guy’s support.
“What is the matter with you? People are beginning to notice. Mother, make her collect herself. What if someone sees? I could be ruined.”
Fully supporting her own weight, Sarah faced the owner of the
whinypitched complaint—the one with the petulant frown. The girl had to be upper-teens. She had platinum
blonde hair and wide azure eyes. She was petite. Of course. She was Martha Mullen-
esque, standing maybe five-two and all of a hundred pounds.
“Alexandra. Hush,” the brown-haired woman admonished. “Lord
Hayworth, please.”
The beautiful man clasped Sarah’s hand to his arm. Another man followed behind, whisking her toward double French doors. She stared across the room. There was a live orchestra here? Where the heck am I?
Lord
Hayworth tugged her back into motion and they gained the dark, cool safety of the veranda. Not nearly as crowded as the ballroom, Sarah was grateful for the claustrophobic relief. “You stay with her. I will be back with some lemonade.”
The other man smiled pleasantly at her before nodding to the cluster of women near the doors taking in the fresh air.
“Hi,” she said.
Confusion settled on his forehead. “Perhaps you should come to the bench and rest.” He led her to the bench, patting it. The solid thump of his hand on the stone slab seat reassured her of its reliability. She leaned back on the cool stone trying to still the cacophony of confusion swirling in her head.
Music floated out to them. A breeze ruffled the hairs on the nape of her neck. Candles burned brightly from every sconce in the room beyond. A couple waltzed past the open veranda doors. She wore an elaborate silver ball gown. He was dressed in peacock colors and a tall, stiff collar.
“Where am I?”
“At Grantham house attending their introduction ball for Miss Alexandra. You have been planning this with Lady Grantham for weeks. Don’t you remember?” The blond gentleman leaned toward her, concern written on every feature. His blue eyes shone with friendship and mild alarm.
Was she dreaming? Every sense tingled with accuracy. The cool gritty stone under her hands caught roughly at her gloves. The orchestra played sweet notes which floated on the same breeze that ruffled her skirts. Jasmine and candle wax warred for recognition. Never had a dream been more real.
Great! Getting fired has made me loopy.
She looked down at herself. She too was dressed in a ball gown. Navy colored slippers peeked from the hem of her navy satin dress. Sarah raised her hand touching the heavy pendant at her throat and higher to her elaborately piled hair. “Where am I?” Panic welled up inside her and settled about her breast bone.
“Is she all right?”
Sarah turned to the sound of
Hayworth’s velvety voice.
“She seems to have forgotten she’s at the ball,” the fair-haired man said.
She
didn’t know what was happening but she
wasn’t about to show her hand either. “I’m fine. I just need to rest a minute. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. You know, temporary amnesia.”
“You hit your head?” Lord
Hayworth asked.
“When I fainted?” she offered.
“Was there some other time I should have caught you?”
“Uh. No. Just this last time.” How come I sound English?
Lord
Hayworth shook his head. “I think you’re right Lord
Milstoke. She’s not well.”
She sipped the lemonade
Hayworth handed her. Her eyes darted, trying to settle on something that made sense. None of it did. Her head throbbed. Lord
Milstoke, the fair and Lord
Hayworth, the sexy, were looking at her with marked concern.
“Perhaps you should go to your quarters,” Lord
Hayworth suggested.
“And where would they be?” she asked.
Lord
Hayworth and Lord
Milstoke exchanged looks.
“I’ll have Elizabeth take you. I may be a common sight in the Grantham house but my escorting you to your rooms would cause raised eyebrows for which even my title won’t compensate.”
“Of course you have a reputation. How
cliché.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Don’t mind me. I’m just hallucinating. I got fired today.”
“You’
ve been burned?”
Milstoke asked in alarm.
“No. I was let go.”
“That’s impossible. I caught you myself. You never touched the ground.”
Hayworth looked offended.
Sarah grinned. “Never mind. Take me to your leader. I need a nap.”
Lord
Hayworth tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. She turned back to
Milstoke before entering the ballroom again. “Hey, if you see my cab driver, don’t tip him. I don’t appreciate the joke. It’s been a hard enough day as it is.”
www.kellykirch.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com
The competition…
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On the twelfth day of romance my true love gave to me…Twelve Tantalizing Tim Tams….what a man
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