“If it helps at all.”Anne’s tone is aggrieved, wishing I’d stop making her job so hard.“Lord Basildon will be wearing knee breeches and silk stockings.And heels.”
Leo finally told me exactly what we’re doing tonight: going to a Georgian fancy dress party thrown by the Duchess of Devonshire.He said he had picked out the costumes, so I had nothing to worry about.
Clearly, he and I have different opinions on worry-worthy topics.Like right now, I’m worrying about how I’m going to get through doors, or into carriages.Or how many vases and glasses I’m going to knock over because I have no concept of how wide I am as a result of an ill-conceived bet with a man who apparently knows me better than I thought.
“Silk stockings, you say?”
“They’ll shimmer when they hit the light, showing off his manly legs.”
“Are you sure I’ll be able to fit through doorways?”I give the dress another doubtful look.
“Yes.Devonshire House was rebuilt during the Georgian period, when this style of dress was popular.”
I’m still skeptical, but a deal is a deal.“All right.Let’s do this,” I say with all the enthusiasm of a first-time sailor getting conscripted, against their will, to fight against France with Admiral Nelson.
Without any more complaints out of me (or at least a lessened amount of verbal complaints and some in my head while I physically comply), Anne gets me ready.Then she leads me to a drawing room where Leo is already waiting.He’s looking out a window, but turns when I brush against a statue with my skirt and make it teeter precariously before it settles back down.
I’m so focused on almost destroying history, watching in horror and not being able to get closer for fear I’ll knock something else over, that I don’t see what Leo’s wearing at first.When I’m confident I haven’t destroyed anything, I look up at the person waiting for me.
Just like Anne predicted, he has on silk tights.I didn’t even think I was that attracted to calves, yet here I am, lusting.Maybe we should bring back tights on men.
When my eyes travel up the rest of Leo, the lust doesn’t go away, despite the fact that he’s wearing a blue, gold, and cream outfit that might be louder than my dress.
And my dress is very loud.
When I get to his eyes, I find that they’re doing the same thing, but they got stuck somewhere along my décolletage.I run through my emotions to see how I feel about that, and to my surprise, my lips curve into a smile.I’m flattered.And I was just ogling his calves, so I don’t have the moral high ground here.
“Good evening.”Leo bows in greeting and I do my awkward bow-squat since no one has actually taught me how to officially curtsy.
“Good evening…my lord.”
“You look beautiful.”And he looks sincere, not like when he throws out easy compliments to charm everyone around him into doing what he wants.I’ve seen enough of that in these past few days, all used to defend and distract from me, so I can tell the difference.
“Thank you.You look good too,” I say softly.
I’m shy now.I’ve gone traipsing around London with this man, have told him that I’m a time traveler from the future, and sucked face with him, but now he’s giving me compliments and I’d rather have to translate manuscripts from Old English in a windowless college basement than face the kind words.
Not that I don’t like the compliment.No, that’s not the problem.It’s giving me very warm feelings that I am eighty-five percent sure aren’t because of the bodice I’m wearing.But facing Leo and wondering if it’s real or part of the ruse, wondering if it can ever be real since I’m such a novelty to him, and trying to remember how normal people react to compliments, is stressful.
But still, I’m going to write this in my notebook too.Because whatever reason made him say it, this is a moment I want to remember.It’s not one that’s worth historical note, not a moment that’s going to make it into any articles or books.But it makes me happy and I want to record it.
“We should get going.”We’ve been standing here staring at each other for what is probably longer than is socially acceptable, both in the Victorian era and in the modern one.
“Yes.”The words jolt Leo out of the stillness we were in, and he rushes to me, offering his arm, which I take.
I don’t know that I’ll ever get over how nice it is for him to always offer me his arm.Yes, I can walk on my own, but it’s so nice to have the connection to Leo when we’re out.Like we’re a unit, and also like he needs to keep touching me when we’re together.It makes me feel wanted, which is not always something I always got back in the future.
Not only did no one want my research, but it seemed like no one wanted to date me, either.(To be entirely fair to the men of the present, I’ve been accused of spending too much time with books about the past to notice anyone, but that’s just an opinion from my grad school roommate.) I’ve never felt like that with Leo, though.I might still mostly think he’s more interested in how different I am than me as a person, but I don’t doubt the intensity of his interest.And his interest makes me feel warm.It has me hoping it’s because of me, and not just my novelty.
The carriage ride is uneventful and quick (with a slight delay as Leo had to figure out how to get my wide ass in the seat; the answer being making Anne sit with the coachman and making me kneel diagonally in the middle of the carriage), and too soon we’re at Berkeley Square.Too soon, because I prefer being alone with Leo, even though that defeats the whole purpose of us spending time together.
“Ready for more balls?”Leo asks as he helps me out of the carriage, a suppressed smile letting me know he’s thinking about our earlier conversation regarding balls.But if he thinks I’m going to back away from that, he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.
Or the new, time travelling me, at least.
“I’m always ready for balls.”I leave Leo standing by the open door of the carriage, delighting in my foray into innuendos.They are fun; I can see why so many historical figures wrote them into the saucy letters to their lovers.
I hear his laugh booming behind me, getting louder as he jogs to catch up with me.
