If she felt any twinges of regret for her deception of Jerrold, they went right out the window at that moment. She would pretend to be at death's door for the next three days just to irritate him!
But as Elyse lay in the bed, wrapped in her downy cocoon of deceit, she heard the muted sound of the call to the hunt, and she wondered who was more irritated at that moment. She'd give anything to be out of this bed and riding with them, to feel the wind rushing against her face.
Only one thing kept her bound to the bed now as she listened to Katy moving about—the presence of Sir William St. James. Three days!
The thought of staying cooped up in this room for that amount of time made her want to scream. She seized the opportunity Katy provided by closing a drawer a little more loudly than she'd intended. With a performance that would have rivaled any on the London stage, Elyse turned over slowly, letting out a long, low sleep-filled murmur.
"I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to wake you. Did you manage to get more sleep after Master Jerrold was here?"
"A little." Elyse almost winced as she forced pretended weakness into her words.
"You seemed restless last night," Katy observed. "I heard you movin' about in here long after everyone had gone to bed. Was it the dream again?"
Caught off guard by the woman's comment, Elyse opened her eyes. The dream. No. For the first time in months, she hadn't had the dream! She quickly recovered and resumed her charade, dropping her eyelids wearily.
"It's just a headache." She sighed heavily, turning back over under the covers so that she faced away from Katy. If she had to look the woman in the eye, Katy would know she was lying.
"Have all the guests arrived?" She asked, a tremor in her voice. Even she heard how bad it sounded.
The maid rounded the end of the bed. She frowned faintly as she neatly folded her mistress’ dressing gown.
"So it seems. There may be one or two who haven't arrived yet." Good heavens, Elyse thought. She decided to chance just one more question.
"I think Jerrold was expecting Sir William St. James. Has he arrived yet?" She had to know if that man was already at Fair View.
"Sir William? I believe there was a message came from London. He wasn't able to make the trip at the last minute. Master Jerrold seemed quite agitated about that. But don't worry your pretty little head over it," Katy said soothingly.
"Now, I'm going downstairs and give the cook the recipe for that special soup of me mum's that you always liked so much. It'll fix you right up. After all, we have to get you well. You can't be ill for your wedding."
"That would be wonderful," Elyse told her, greatly relieved at the news.
"I'll be back as soon as I can with that soup," Katy added.
Elyse immediately came out of the bed. She threw open the heavy drapes and the filmy sheer under curtains. Then she pushed open the windows and leaned out into the morning air.
From the past, she knew the soup will take at least a couple of hours, and by then she would have made a miraculous recovery. She turned to the wardrobe where Katy had hung her clothes for the next few days. She reached into the bottom of the closet and retrieved the bag she’d carried with her on the trip from London.
She pulled out gleaming black riding boots, sleek pants, an immaculate man's shirt with stock, and the brown jacket cut far too slim for any man. She quickly dressed, then ate the biscuits left on the plate from breakfast.
She sliced it and tucked a piece of ham between, then glanced out the window once more. Jerrold and his guests had already left for the hunt. It would be hours before they returned. She swept her hair back and tied it. She smiled faintly at her reflection in the mirror.
"Impostor," she said. Now to find a horse.
* * *
Zach tapped the carved ivory head of the walking stick against the roof of the coach. He shook his head. At least there was something this ridiculous affectation of a proper Englishman might be used for.
He ordered the coachman to halt at the crest of the hill that descended into the small valley, then stepped down from the coach. It was like stepping into another world, another time and place.
The air was cool and refreshing in contrast to the stifling, coal smoke and heat of London.
Something indefinable came over him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the scent of fresh field flowers and pungent grasses stealing through him. He was filled with the oddest sensation that if he kept his eyes closed a little longer and then opened them, he would suddenly find himself home.
He breathed in, listened, and felt the land around him. When he finally opened his eyes, he almost laughed at his own foolishness.
There was nothing in this lush, green countryside that even remotely reminded him of Resolute, except perhaps the openness of it, and even then, it was a complete contrast to the stark, wild, beauty of the ranch in New South Wales.
He almost laughed, but not quite. He couldn't rid himself of the feeling he had been here before, had stood in this exact spot and looked down at the spreading greensward dotted with cottages and farms, brown cattle and white sheep grazing in the fields.
