Chapter Eighteen
Gasping for air, Haven sat up and almost fell from the bed.
“What the hell?” she choked out.
Had she been dreaming? Some kind of out-of-body experience? Who was that woman, and what did all those words mean? Was she casting some kind of black magic spell?
More importantly:Why did I dream it?
Heaving a sigh of frustration and unfocused anger, she growled under her breath. Once again something happened to her, and she couldn’t explain it. Was it a bad dream, or a result of time travel and terrible English food?
A possibility.
Shivering, she rubbed her arms. Falling back against the mattress, she focused on calming her racing heart. When her breathing returned to normal, she spied a tray of food on the table beside the window. A cup sat in one corner, its plumes of steam emitting the delectable tease of chocolate. She sat up, stretched her achy limbs, and shielded her eyes from the rays of sun flowing freely into the room.
Mrs. Roomer must have had “spidey senses” because within minutes of rising from the bed, a housemaid knocked on the door. She introduced herself as Roselyn. Roselyn was quiet, andsmall in stature, with a riot of deep brown hair beneath her drab gray cap.
With her help, Haven removed the dress with the day-old wrinkles, bathed in a tub just big enough to kneel in, in water just warm enough that she didn’t freeze to death, and then squished into a gorgeous sapphire dress. She didn’t let Roselyn even mention a corset, even if it would help the smaller gown fit better.
After dressing, Haven removed the bandage and inspected the gash. The cut was closing, but the skin was bruised. She left the wound uncovered, and sat down to a lukewarm breakfast of toast, soft boiled eggs, and a cooling cup of delicious, and strangely spicy, hot chocolate.
She dismissed Roselyn, thankful for her assistance.
With renewed resolve, a belly full of dark brown liquid magic, and the need to get the day started, she tugged the bell pull. After several minutes, Roselyn reappeared and gave her directions to the Morning Room where Millie was busy planning a dinner party.
When a sudden, compelling awareness flitted through the air, she fought the urge to swat the space around her. She narrowed her eyes and glanced at the fireplace.
The area above the mantel shimmered and pulsed.
She shivered. She had the distinct impression that the spirit who’d sent her on a nightmare journey was still watching her.
And it was excited.
Haven knockedon the Morning Room door, and heard an assertive, “Come.”
She entered a room straight out of a Regency novel.
From the height of the ceiling to the carpets on the floor, the Morning Room was a contained explosion of gorgeous blues.
She held her breath and took in the sight of white vases with delicate blue floral patterns, and a lush settee and chaise framed in dark wood, but upholstered in sky blue silk.
Millie gave a bright and welcoming smile. “Good morning, my dear. I see you are much refreshed, and I am glad of it.”
She returned Millie’s smile. “I can’t believe I slept so long. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”
Her grin widened when Millie’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Why would it have been an inconvenience?”
Haven shrugged, unsure how to answer without sounding like an idiot.
“You needed to rest;poor healthis inconvenient. If you hadn’t slept, you couldn’t enjoy the day I have planned for you.” The excitement in Millie’s tone stirred Haven’s curiosity. She leaned in close, her fingers drumming across her knee.
Shifting in her seat, she pulled on the sleeve of her dress. “Um, Roselyn was a great help this morning. Who knew getting dressed would be a three-ring circus?” She chuckled.
Millie laughed with her. “Dear, I can’t remember a day in my long life in which I did not have a troop of maids waging war against my wardrobe doors.” She patted Haven’s hand, and continued, “Speaking of doors, right through those,” she said and directed Haven’s gaze to a set of French doors beside a brilliant wall of windows, “you’ll find the garden. Let’s continue our chat there.”
While seated amongst hydrangea, irises, and columbine, they had a comfortable and pleasant conversation. The breathtaking manor gardens were straight out ofHome & Gardenmagazine.
So, this is what a true English garden looks and smells like. This is heaven.
