Read Online A Christmas Keepsake by Janice Bennett - Free Book Online
Authors: Janice Bennett
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now rested on the bureau, the soap dish held a scented cake, and a linen towel hung over the washstand door.
Christy looked for the pitcher, then finally spotted it on the hearth where the fire had kept the water warm. Touched by this thoughtfulness, she carried it to the washstand and poured some into the basin. She dragged off her coat and high-heeled boots, then pulled the blue turtleneck over her head and slid the wool skirt over her hips. She hung her clothes in the wardrobe as neatly as possible. An iron of some sort she could probably obtain, but dry cleaners were another matter.
She stood at the dressing table in only her royal blue camisole and slip with their black lace trim, and combed out the tangled mass of her dark brown hair. All she had with which to tie it back was the huge blue clip bow she had been wearing that morning. Next time she went time traveling, she’d have to pack a few things. Like hair pins. And makeup. And more chocolate.
She lit a candle with a spill from the hearth, washed her face, then as an afterthought rinsed out her underthings and hung them by the fire to dry. What she wouldn’t give for a change! She pulled on the cavernous nightdress, climbed into bed, and quickly drifted off once more.
“Coo,” a female voice exclaimed in tones of reverential awe.
Christy dragged open her eyes. Daylight streamed in through the window. By the washstand stood Nancy, holding up the camisole.
The maid eyed Christy with respect. “I ain’t never seen the likes of this, afore. Major ’Olborn’s below, askin’ after you.”
Christy climbed out of bed, feeling ridiculous—and somewhat floundering—in the tent she wore. Normally, she slept in an oversized T-shirt. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. What time is it?”
“Gone on nine, it ’as. You missed breakfast, but I’ve brung you a tray. Are you puttin’ this on?”
Christy took the camisole and slip from her. “I’ll be down as fast as I can,” she repeated.
As soon as the maid took her leave, Christy dragged off the tent, pulled on her underthings, then turned to the wardrobe. She’d better not wear her own clothes today. Major Holborn and the Runcorns had accepted her appearance without comment—so far, at least. If they had a chance to study the garments in more detail, though, it might lead to some ticklish questions. Zippers hadn’t been invented yet. She’d better start conforming to the local—and temporal—standards.
By means of minor contortions, she managed to fasten the buttons at the back of the gray gown. The fact it fit a bit too tight didn’t help any. Christy might be small, but she was generously endowed.
She ran her hands over the seams of the gown, and a new problem struck her. No pockets. And what was worse, no tissues. She’d have to get a handkerchief from somewhere. She dragged on her pantyhose and boots and, still chewing a slice of cold toast, hurried down the several flights of stairs.
Sounds of the boys reciting a dull lesson reached her as she passed the first-floor landing. She continued to the ground level and entered the sitting room she’d been in the night before.
The major stood near the hearth, leaning over to examine a paper Mrs. Runcorn held out to him. Christy stopped in her tracks, and drew a slow, appreciative breath. That was one man who would never disappear in a crowd. The power of his presence wrapped about her, making her vividly aware of him. A tingling sensation danced along her flesh. Sheer animal magnetism, wasn’t that the trite phrase? At the moment, she couldn’t think of a better. The door closed behind her; he looked up, directly at her, and the penetrating assessment of his gaze sent her back a pace. Suspicion tempered yesterday’s concern, and an element of challenge lay in the depths of those marvelous eyes. A thrill of nerves raced through her, leaving a hollow sensation in its wake.
His searching scrutiny rested on her a moment longer, then he awarded
Christy looked for the pitcher, then finally spotted it on the hearth where the fire had kept the water warm. Touched by this thoughtfulness, she carried it to the washstand and poured some into the basin. She dragged off her coat and high-heeled boots, then pulled the blue turtleneck over her head and slid the wool skirt over her hips. She hung her clothes in the wardrobe as neatly as possible. An iron of some sort she could probably obtain, but dry cleaners were another matter.
She stood at the dressing table in only her royal blue camisole and slip with their black lace trim, and combed out the tangled mass of her dark brown hair. All she had with which to tie it back was the huge blue clip bow she had been wearing that morning. Next time she went time traveling, she’d have to pack a few things. Like hair pins. And makeup. And more chocolate.
She lit a candle with a spill from the hearth, washed her face, then as an afterthought rinsed out her underthings and hung them by the fire to dry. What she wouldn’t give for a change! She pulled on the cavernous nightdress, climbed into bed, and quickly drifted off once more.
“Coo,” a female voice exclaimed in tones of reverential awe.
Christy dragged open her eyes. Daylight streamed in through the window. By the washstand stood Nancy, holding up the camisole.
The maid eyed Christy with respect. “I ain’t never seen the likes of this, afore. Major ’Olborn’s below, askin’ after you.”
Christy climbed out of bed, feeling ridiculous—and somewhat floundering—in the tent she wore. Normally, she slept in an oversized T-shirt. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. What time is it?”
“Gone on nine, it ’as. You missed breakfast, but I’ve brung you a tray. Are you puttin’ this on?”
Christy took the camisole and slip from her. “I’ll be down as fast as I can,” she repeated.
As soon as the maid took her leave, Christy dragged off the tent, pulled on her underthings, then turned to the wardrobe. She’d better not wear her own clothes today. Major Holborn and the Runcorns had accepted her appearance without comment—so far, at least. If they had a chance to study the garments in more detail, though, it might lead to some ticklish questions. Zippers hadn’t been invented yet. She’d better start conforming to the local—and temporal—standards.
By means of minor contortions, she managed to fasten the buttons at the back of the gray gown. The fact it fit a bit too tight didn’t help any. Christy might be small, but she was generously endowed.
She ran her hands over the seams of the gown, and a new problem struck her. No pockets. And what was worse, no tissues. She’d have to get a handkerchief from somewhere. She dragged on her pantyhose and boots and, still chewing a slice of cold toast, hurried down the several flights of stairs.
Sounds of the boys reciting a dull lesson reached her as she passed the first-floor landing. She continued to the ground level and entered the sitting room she’d been in the night before.
The major stood near the hearth, leaning over to examine a paper Mrs. Runcorn held out to him. Christy stopped in her tracks, and drew a slow, appreciative breath. That was one man who would never disappear in a crowd. The power of his presence wrapped about her, making her vividly aware of him. A tingling sensation danced along her flesh. Sheer animal magnetism, wasn’t that the trite phrase? At the moment, she couldn’t think of a better. The door closed behind her; he looked up, directly at her, and the penetrating assessment of his gaze sent her back a pace. Suspicion tempered yesterday’s concern, and an element of challenge lay in the depths of those marvelous eyes. A thrill of nerves raced through her, leaving a hollow sensation in its wake.
His searching scrutiny rested on her a moment longer, then he awarded
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