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Authors: Allison Lane
Tags: Regency Romance
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unwilling marchioness.
Again her eyes locked onto the vision of beauty in the mirror. Lady Emily Fairfield. Lady Travis’s first letter had described the accident during Thurston’s betrothal ball. If this was the fourth of July, then the girl had died of her injuries sixteen days ago. Thus Cherlynn must now occupy Emily’s body. Her own fall on the same date in the same room must have wafted her into the past.
But why?
She moved to the open window. The maid had implied that Emily loved Lord Thurston. His concern and tenderness suggested that he returned her regard. He had been at her bedside nearly every time she’d surfaced from her delirium, feeding her, supplying the remedies she demanded, bathing her face with cool water – not typical Regency behavior. Even Emily’s brother had visited only rarely, and her mother even less.
Cherlynn returned to the mirror, forcing her thoughts past her renewed headache as she recalled everything she had read about Emily. There wasn’t much. The press had concentrated on the curse. Since Emily had had nothing to do with the Broadbanks’ fortunes, even the tabloids had ignored her. Her only knowledge had been gleaned from that single letter and the maid’s comments.
Mabel’s voice echoed in her ears, prattling about ghosts. Cherlynn replayed her tour of the great hall from her sight of the sixth marquess’s portrait to the weight of hands on her shoulders. Throwing open the clothespress, she gasped. A silk ball gown hung inside, dyed a very familiar shade of blue.
Emily had not died until four days after the ball, yet Cherlynn had seen the great hall full of people dressed in Regency gowns. Thus Emily must have voluntarily vacated her body early so that Cherlynn could save her life. Once that was accomplished, the girl would return, sending Cherlynn back to a time when transfusions and life support were undoubtedly keeping her own body alive.
Nerves again set her pacing. Nerves and her determination to build some stamina into Emily’s flaccid muscles. No wonder Regency ladies seemed delicate and never did anything. Even this mild exercise made her gasp for breath.
Forget Regency ladies. Think about your own problems.
Emily’s body was well on the road to recovery. Thurston knew the regimen well enough to assure that it stayed that way. He would dismiss any words uttered during her delirium, but now that she was rational, talking risked exposing her identity, something Emily wouldn’t want. Yet the girl hadn’t reclaimed her rightful place.
It didn’t require a rocket scientist to figure out why. The man Emily loved was betrothed to another in an era when betrothals were nearly as binding as marriage. And that wasn’t all. The sixth Lady Broadbanks would call down the curse that would destroy his family and prompt his suicide in only three years. Emily must expect Cherlynn to break his betrothal. Only when that was accomplished, would she return to her own life, allowing Emily and Thurston to live happily ever after.
Worded like that, it sounded like she must selflessly serve a stranger. But Emily wasn’t the only one who had a stake in ending Thurston’s engagement. The outcome would affect every Broadbanks in the future, including her. She had visited the family seat to learn more about the curse. Now she had a unique opportunity to prevent it. Instead of railing at Emily for putting her through this agony, her time would be better spent figuring out how to proceed.
Or if she should proceed.
Cherlynn took another turn about the room.
Time travel had fascinated her ever since she’d seen Back to the Future in her youth. Her library contained many books with time-travel plots. A theme common to many of them was the havoc that could result from even tiny changes in history.
Again she stared at Emily’s face. The girl was not asking for a small change. Removing the curse would allow hundreds of people to live full, productive lives and would result in
Again her eyes locked onto the vision of beauty in the mirror. Lady Emily Fairfield. Lady Travis’s first letter had described the accident during Thurston’s betrothal ball. If this was the fourth of July, then the girl had died of her injuries sixteen days ago. Thus Cherlynn must now occupy Emily’s body. Her own fall on the same date in the same room must have wafted her into the past.
But why?
She moved to the open window. The maid had implied that Emily loved Lord Thurston. His concern and tenderness suggested that he returned her regard. He had been at her bedside nearly every time she’d surfaced from her delirium, feeding her, supplying the remedies she demanded, bathing her face with cool water – not typical Regency behavior. Even Emily’s brother had visited only rarely, and her mother even less.
Cherlynn returned to the mirror, forcing her thoughts past her renewed headache as she recalled everything she had read about Emily. There wasn’t much. The press had concentrated on the curse. Since Emily had had nothing to do with the Broadbanks’ fortunes, even the tabloids had ignored her. Her only knowledge had been gleaned from that single letter and the maid’s comments.
Mabel’s voice echoed in her ears, prattling about ghosts. Cherlynn replayed her tour of the great hall from her sight of the sixth marquess’s portrait to the weight of hands on her shoulders. Throwing open the clothespress, she gasped. A silk ball gown hung inside, dyed a very familiar shade of blue.
Emily had not died until four days after the ball, yet Cherlynn had seen the great hall full of people dressed in Regency gowns. Thus Emily must have voluntarily vacated her body early so that Cherlynn could save her life. Once that was accomplished, the girl would return, sending Cherlynn back to a time when transfusions and life support were undoubtedly keeping her own body alive.
Nerves again set her pacing. Nerves and her determination to build some stamina into Emily’s flaccid muscles. No wonder Regency ladies seemed delicate and never did anything. Even this mild exercise made her gasp for breath.
Forget Regency ladies. Think about your own problems.
Emily’s body was well on the road to recovery. Thurston knew the regimen well enough to assure that it stayed that way. He would dismiss any words uttered during her delirium, but now that she was rational, talking risked exposing her identity, something Emily wouldn’t want. Yet the girl hadn’t reclaimed her rightful place.
It didn’t require a rocket scientist to figure out why. The man Emily loved was betrothed to another in an era when betrothals were nearly as binding as marriage. And that wasn’t all. The sixth Lady Broadbanks would call down the curse that would destroy his family and prompt his suicide in only three years. Emily must expect Cherlynn to break his betrothal. Only when that was accomplished, would she return to her own life, allowing Emily and Thurston to live happily ever after.
Worded like that, it sounded like she must selflessly serve a stranger. But Emily wasn’t the only one who had a stake in ending Thurston’s engagement. The outcome would affect every Broadbanks in the future, including her. She had visited the family seat to learn more about the curse. Now she had a unique opportunity to prevent it. Instead of railing at Emily for putting her through this agony, her time would be better spent figuring out how to proceed.
Or if she should proceed.
Cherlynn took another turn about the room.
Time travel had fascinated her ever since she’d seen Back to the Future in her youth. Her library contained many books with time-travel plots. A theme common to many of them was the havoc that could result from even tiny changes in history.
Again she stared at Emily’s face. The girl was not asking for a small change. Removing the curse would allow hundreds of people to live full, productive lives and would result in
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