Living London - By Kristin Vayden Page 0,10

to go. There was a small kitchen table, but I didn't think the lady of the house was meant to eat there. I needed to find a dining room, but I had no idea where it was.

Might as well ask. If I was stuck here, I needed people to have a reason for me not knowing very much, even about my own home. The servants would talk—at least they always did in the novels—and everyone would know by tomorrow, but that would work in my favor as well. Here goes nothing.

"Excuse me, but would someone please direct me to the dining room? After yesterday's incident I am having a hard time remembering… well, anything."

The cook's eyes widened and she gasped, placing a hand to her cheek as she openly stared at me. Then something shifted in her eyes — she visibly straightened and regained control. "Mademoiselle Westin, you follow me. I will take care of you. Henrietta, bring her favorite breakfast in the family dining room. Bring a pot of hot tea as well. Margaret, continue with the preparations for luncheon, and I will be back shortly, oui?" She nodded and glanced to me. "Come."

With gentle compassion she opened the door and waited for me to precede her. She walked behind me and gave me discreet directions, down the hallway and to the left, into a moderate-sized room with a beautiful view of what I assumed to be Hyde Park. The carved wooden table had seating for ten. As she pulled out a chair for me, she leaned over to whisper, "Do not worry. Should you need anything, simply ask. It is our delight to serve you, my lady, and that is the truth."

She left quietly, leaving me alone with my loud thoughts. The room was grand, with dark wooden paneling and wall sconces giving off golden light. As I glanced around, I noticed various similarities to the home Nanna left to me. The realization comforted me.

Soon Henrietta brought in breakfast on a tray and served me. It was strange to have servants attend me. She laid everything out and curtsied as she left. I blinked hard and gazed around the room again, as if it would all blur and I'd wake up realizing it had all been a dream.

Breakfast was delightful and far more than I could have eaten in a day. The hot tea, eggs, ham and even kidney pie were incredible. Once I’d eaten my fill, I wandered in the direction of the library, directed by Mrs. Trimbleton. She had balked at my early rising and fussed over my health during breakfast. When she noticed my hair, clothes, and all-around state of disarray, she promptly sent me back to my room and asked Libby, my personal maid, to see to my "toilet," as she called it. Personally, I thought I had done pretty well on my own.

Libby had tugged ruthlessly on my hair till it obeyed her every whim and was secured to my scalp with at least a hundred pins. A headache was in my future. What was worse, the corset had to be properly laced, as she put it. All the Regency romance novels I’d read didn’t come close to explaining the strangling sensation of being laced up and the futility of trying to get a lung full of air. Apparently, breathing was optional in Regency times.

Now feeling much more confined, uncomfortable, and poodle-like, I sought solace in my one true love—books. While searching the shelves, I found a Byron I had read before. I was about to sit down when a man entered. "Miss Westin, I'm your butler, Wains." He bowed crisply and proceeded to speak without any expression. "I've been told of your situation by Mrs. Trimbleton, and I'm here to let you know you have a caller. A gentleman caller. Are you at home?"

I glanced at him, then around the room. "I believe so," I answered, unsure. What a strange question!

As if sensing my confusion, Wains explained himself. "If I may be so bold, miss?" He continued on without waiting for any consent on my end, and it made me smile. "The gentleman is the one who escorted…or well, carried you home yesterday after your ordeal in the park. A Morgan Ansley, Marqess of Ashby. Do you wish to see him, or would you prefer to tell him you're not receiving callers?"

I glanced down and bit my lip. On one hand, my curiosity was burning to find out more about this guy.