“Did you?—?”
I couldn’t finish.
Because…did I?
Did I just see what I just saw?
Did I just hear what I just heard?
Did that just happen?
“Did I what?” Prudence asked.
I said nothing.
“Vivi, you’re worrying me. Are you okay?”
“I…have a very vivid imagination,” I told her.
Her smile was shaky. “I would suppose so, considering you’re a writer.”
“And I could swear I just saw a ball happening in that room, circa the Regency,” I rushed out. “And then it morphed into a convalescent hospital during World War II.”
Her head drifted so she could look into the room, and she asked, “Really?”
“You didn’t…you…?”
Of course she didn’t.
How long was my jetlag going to last?
Prudence came back to me. “There’s a lot of history here.”
I nodded, fervently.
Yes, she was right.
Historical places had feels. So did historical things.
I’d twice seen the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights displayed in the Rotunda of the National Archives, and both times, all those around me spoke in hushed tones in the presence of such important documents written and signed by men who changed the entire world.
Hell, just a few days ago, I was fortunate enough to see both original copies of the Magna Carta on display at the British Library, and the same thing happened.
This was my thing.
This was my gig.
This was my muse.
Since I found Great-Granddad Charlie’s letters, I’d been obsessed by what happened between him and Lady Harmony Talyn in that room.
So of course my imagination would stir up something spectacular the instant I stepped foot in it.
Right?
Right?
Okay, so nothing that profound, and frankly bizarre, had ever happened to me before.
