Anya held back a grin and sat next to the boy. She leaned down and whispered, “I don’t care for oatmeal either.”
He glanced up at her and frowned. He had silvery blue eyes that were breathtaking. The boy tilted his head to the side as he studied her, then said, “Who are you?”
She swallowed hard, unnerved by his question. How did she answer that? Did he mean it literally, and if so, did that mean he realized she wasn’t really who they all believed her to be. She didn’t get a chance to answer him as a servant set a plate before her filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. “Thank you,” she said. She held back a groan. Her head still hurt and now her stomach was queasy on top of it. She glanced up and gasped as she met the young lady’s gaze. Across the room, she hadn’t realized… “Lady Vivian,” she said carefully. It couldn’t be…
“Yes,” Lady Vivian said, perplexed. “What is it?”
The last time Anya recalled seeing her was in the office at the British Film Institute. She was much older than this waif of a girl in front of her. She was not only in another’s body; she’d somehow fallen back in time. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t very well say, “Oh, you are not the Lady Vivian I’m acquainted with.” Technically, it was the same person, only a younger version. One, she hadn’t met, should never have met... Hell, Anya hadn’t even been born yet. At least she thought so… She wasn’t certain what year it was, and she guessed at it from the looks of Lady Vivian. She frowned.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. “My apologies. I have the worst head pain, and it’s making it difficult to hold a thought.”
“You poor dear,” the duchess said. “Why didn’t you say something. I’ll have someone bring you something for that.” She snapped her fingers at a nearby servant, and he wandered off. He came back a few moments later with two aspirin, and Anya took them off the platter. She swallowed them without thinking, glad to have something for her head pain.
The duke picked up a paper and opened it up. Anya wanted to gasp again, but held it in by sheer will. The headlines concerned her and gave her a lot to consider. Germany was front and center on the paper. It was September 1933, and their persecution of the Jewish community had already begun. She swallowed hard. It answered some of her questions… Like, she had been born, but she was no more than three years old. She didn’t know what to do or how to act. None of it made any kind of sense.
“Ida said she has all your bags packed,” the duchess began. Anya had to try to recall her name. She knew it… If only her head didn’t hurt so much. “Are you prepared for the lengthy journey?”
More importantly, who was Ida? The answer clicked…the old woman…the maid. “I believe so.” Anya didn’t have any other answer for…Brianne. Vivian’s mother’s name was Brianne. Though it wouldn’t be right to use it. She should say Your Grace and follow proper etiquette. “She informed me when she woke me…” Wait…she’d also said she was traveling to Germany. Anya inwardly cursed. That was the last place she wanted to be in 1933. The war had been terrible and she had no desire to experience the worst of it firsthand, and in one of the most horrendous places of its culmination.
“She’s efficient,” the duchess said and smiled. “It has been a pleasure having you here. Your father was kind to assist us when we traveled to New York a couple years ago. As you know, my family lives in South Carolina and has a house in New York.” She did know that…though she had forgotten. “Vivian…” She gave her daughter a wary glance. “…got lost in Central Park. Without your father’s aid, we may never have located her.”
Hmmm. That was interesting. Lady Vivian was a bit of a hellion. It didn’t resemble the woman that Anya had come to know. If she ever returned to her own body and time, she might have to ask Lady Vivian what she’d done alone in Central Park at the age of fourteen. “My father was happy to help.” She hoped that was the truth. Anya had no idea who her “father” was.
“Edward Wegner is a good man. I hope he enjoys his new post with