Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2) Read online

  “Aye, yer lordship,” Dan spoke in a false Irish accent. “And would you be wantin’ me to walk three paces behind ye to our humble lodgings, then? Just so no one mistakes us for equals?”

  He shrugged, releasing himself from Dan’s heavy hand on his shoulder. “No, I’d prefer that you would not return with me to our ‘humble lodgings’, not for a little while.”

  With that, Adrian muttered a curse and pointedly stalked away from his companion. He rolled his tongue over his teeth, and counted out numbers in his head. He was tired of the fellow, but as Tara needed Dan’s support at present, he couldn’t tell the man to shove off and find his own way—particularly not when they were stranded in both a new century and a foreign country. Dan didn’t speak French. None of them did, save himself.

  Adrian’s footsteps took him past shops and market stands. He nodded to passers-by and smiled pleasantly, though his heart was pinched by an intolerable grief. Their babe had been lost due to the time jump. Tara blamed herself, though none of them could have known the outcome, or that the energy required for such a feat would be harmful to the tiny babe inside her womb.

  Vibrant hues of red, gold, orange and pink caught Adrian’s eye. The fresh flower stand was across the street. He waited for a few carriages to pass, and then stepped quickly across the street—as quickly as a man with a limp could cross a busy boulevard.

  His hip ached. His gunshot wound was still healing. Two months was hardly enough time for the ligaments and muscle to mend completely. Dan had suggested that walking about each day would ease the constant stiffness and aid his recovery.

  Again, he found himself thinking of the big man. This time with less rancor. He owed Dan a great debt. He removed the bullet from Adrian’s wound and nursed him through a dark time. Adrian knew he would have died if left to the physicians of the 18th century.

  Perhaps he’d been too short with the fellow. Adrian clenched his teeth as he was forced to step up from the street to the sidewalk. A simple step up that caused a grating pain in his hip joint. It was hell being considered nearly an invalid. He had always been an active man on his estate. As a noble, he rode daily, hunted, took up fencing and other manly sports. As Captain Midnight, a secret patriot leader, he needed to step quickly from the darkness, fight gracefully with his sword and be able to retreat swiftly and silently into the night after an attack.

  That was his past. His future appeared grim as he struggled to merely walk the streets without the aid of a cane.

  The heady scent of spring embraced him as he drew close to the colorful tapestry of flowers on display.

  “Good day, M’siuer. Some flowers for your lady?”

  “Oui.” Adrian smiled and nodded to the flower seller, answering her in French as she had addressed him. “The pink roses, please.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a one pound note, and then hesitated before handing it over so easily. Dan was correct, they had to be careful with their limited funds as they had little opportunity to acquire more when they came up short. “How much, Madame?”

  “Two sous,” the white haired peasant with a soft, pliant trail of wrinkles lining her kind face held out her hand expectantly for the coins.

  “I’ve no French money, only English,” he replied. “Will four shillings suffice, or shall I give you five to mark the difference?” He put the pound note away and reached into the pocket of his smart new gray gabardine trousers for the loose coins.

  “Three shillings, for such a handsome man, this time. We’ll make it up next time you stop.” She smiled as she took his coins and handed him the flowers. “Where are you from, sir? Your accent is unusual. Not London. Perhaps Scotland?”

  “Ireland,” he said with pride. “Glengarriff, Ireland to be precise. Good day, Madame.”

  Clutching flowers in one hand, the newspaper under his arm, and fisting the handle of the cane in his other palm, Adrian limped away from the shops and open stands. He walked toward the rising hill north of the city, to the village of Montmartre where their lodgings were. The sidewalk beneath him rose gradually. He walked slower, and with growing difficulty. The steep grade of the hill was making his hip feel like it had sand grinding between the joints. He preferred the winding road leading upward instead of the stairs if left to his own devices, as the stairs brought a hitch to his side too quickly due to their steepness. He ignored the pain nagging at him now and soldiered on as best he could, cheered by the prospect of being alone with Tara for a time. He wanted to sit with his arm about her and watch the magnificent city of Paris below them slowly surrender to the purple velvet cloak of night.

  The sound of footsteps grating on the stones behind him made Adrian halt and lean against the barrier wall so he could adjust his purchases and reach into his pocket for a weapon. He had a dagger in his belt and a pistol in his jacket pocket, albeit an older model. That was another item he needed to address soon. He would have to visit a gun dealer to see what he could get for this one shot antique pistol and purchase a modern model that had more than one chamber and fired several shots before needing reloading. Still, his aim was true and one shot would do.

  The dark figure drew closer. The face was shadowed as the man’s back was to the bright sun. “Flowers, hey? Nice touch. That should brighten our girl.”

  Dan was still following him, like a faithful hound. Adrian’s lips flattened. He sighed with distaste. Perhaps that was not the best description for the substantial companion shadowing him. With Dan close by, no pickpocket would dare sneak up on him to rob him of his coin pouch.

  “I should not have been short with you,” Adrian confessed, relieved that Tara’s adopted father did not bugger off as he’d implied. “My apologies.”

  “None needed. I can be an ass, depend upon it.” Dan’s tone was light, cheerful for one who had been chastened and snubbed half an hour earlier.

  Adrian chuckled, reminded again that this man wasn’t as obtuse as he seemed. They walked up the steep hill. Dan didn’t try to help him, but he sensed the man’s watchful eyes on him.

  Finally they reached the summit of the hill and the tall building with the French sign swaying above the door, ‘Apartments for Rent, by week or by month, inquire within’. The rent was cheap here. And no wonder, as the place was full of dance hall girls, artists, poets and drunks. Adrian made a mental note to seek more savory lodgings on the morrow, as Lady Dillon should not be in such an establishment.

  “Want me to carry you up the stairs?”

  “No, of course not, don’t be an ass.”

  “I’ll let you down outside the door, so Tara won’t see you unmanned when you enter with her flowers.”

  A thousand prickles of regret hovered in Adrian’s heart.

  Dan, as brusque as he might be, was by far too perceptive when it came to these things. The man had been a surgeon’s assistant in the military. He knew much about wounds, including the invisible ones a man wrestled with when his strength was compromised. There was no need to speak of it. Dan just understood, and it burned inside to be so beholden to another man for understanding and for cheerfully helping you despite your rudeness to him.

  “You are too kind,” Adrian’s jaw clenched tight and his cheeks grew taut. “If you’ll but allow me to lean on your arm, it will take the pressure off my hip and I’d be most grateful.” It was one thing to have the great lummox hoist him up over his shoulder like a child and carry him up the stairs, and quite another to have the fellow put an arm under his to lend support to his bad leg as he slowly went up the four flights ahead of them.

  Adrian handed the flowers to Dan and grasped his cane in his fist. A railing on the stair wall would be helpful, but as this was a cheap rental, not his own home, he could not complain about the conditions of said lodgings. The wall on either side of them was straight and true, able to support him if he needed to rest during his ascent.

  Once they made it up the successive flights, Adrian paused to straighten his clothing and adjust his fine new top hat of dove gray. He pr
ayed he would not find her weeping again. Tara’s tears were like acid dripping over his heart.

  Dan opened the door for him. Tara was sitting on the settee in the small parlor. She looked refreshed in a clean new bed-gown. Her hair was gleaming from the glass lantern glowing behind her. To his relief, she wasn’t weeping.

  “My love,” Adrian crept into the serene scene, flowers in hand.

  She looked up from a book she was reading, slowly taking him in as if he were a stranger. “You look all shiny and new, Lord Dillon.” Her copper eyebrows rose as she noted his updated attire. “I never realized you were such a dandy when it came to clothing.”

  As a pointed barb, it stung. He didn’t believe he had ever been a dandy. He cared little for the clothing he wore and preferred his black Captain Midnight riding attire to the more formal dress required of him as Lord Dillon.

  Very well. She could release some of her pain by snipping at him. He would endure it: for now. Adrian bowed before her like an actor on the stage, a foot forward and arms outstretched. “I felt it necessary. Our outdated clothing makes us stand out among the locals.”

  He offered her the flowers with a hopeful smile.

  Tara took them with a solemn nod. She sniffed the delicate pink bouquet.

  “I see Miss Tisante brought you clothing as I requested.” Wary of her response to his words, and of her prickly mood, he sat beside his wife and removed his hat. “It will do until you can go shopping for the proper attire.” He placed his arm on the back of the settee, feeling like a fumbling schoolboy uncertain of his status with his beloved. Tara was in mourning. He didn’t wish to upset her further, but Adrian longed to hold her and offer her physical comfort.

  “Since you two love birds are settling into the nest, I’ll just be on my way.” Dan still stood at the open doorway, watching them. The man was perceptive. And, Adrian suspected, Dan felt as he did about being around a weeping woman, particularly one they both cared for deeply. He, too, had preferred to escape the tense atmosphere of their lodgings in the past week.

  “You don’t have to leave,” Tara protested. “Dan, don’t run away, please?”

  Dan glanced down at his hand, and then his eyes darted to Adrian’s. “I’m not running away, kid. I’ve been invited to join a couple of chaps at the ale house—er—cafe’—on the next street over. It’s almost the Green Hour. I’m off to have a glass of liquor with them and perhaps find some entertainment to while away the evening.” His big hand tapped the doorknob with impatience as he waited to make his escape.

  “Yes, do go on, we’ll be fine,” Adrian encouraged. Dan knew he wanted time alone with Tara, and her brothers were off who knew where. An evening alone would do them both good.

  Dan nodded and made his exit. The door closed with a heavy thud.

  Tara’s head dipped. She was sadden by her companion’s retreat.

  Adrian placed his arm about her and drew her against him. “Hmmm, your fragrance is enchanting, my sweet.” He kissed her hair, inhaling the delicate scent of the damp copper locks.

  “Soap, from your new friend, Gisele.”

  Chapter Four

  Adrian pulled back slightly so he could look into her face. “She is not my friend. I merely bumped into her a couple of times on the stairwell. She heard you were ill and wished to be of assistance. I offered to pay her for the clothing she gave you, but she refused to take it. Apparently her admirers buy her fancy dresses by the dozen, or so she claims, so she can afford to give away a few items to a woman whose traveling trunks were misplaced at the docks.”

  “Am I correct to assume she’s a prostitute?” Tara asked, her voice unsteady with emotion. Clearly, the idea of receiving cast off gowns from a whore was not a comforting one.

  “No—not precisely. She’s a dancer at one of the local establishments. They have several such clubs in this area. The rent here may be cheap but the neighborhood is populated with all manner of unsavory inhabitants. I shall endeavor to find us new lodgings soon, my sweet. Dan appears to blend right in here. He makes friends easily.”

  That brought a smile, and then a giggle. “Yes, Dan has a way about him.” She sniffed the roses again. “Thank you.” Her voice warbled, signaling another bout of tears in the offing. They were warranted, he knew that. But the pain of seeing them was just too much for a man to bear.

  “Up with you.” Adrian stood and took her hand. Tara rose at his bidding. “Stand aside, I’ll show you I’m no mincing dandy, Lady Dillon.” Adrian went behind the small, tattered red horsehair settee and pushed it until it was situated before the wide opened windows. “There now, let us admire the setting sun and the city of Paris, my pet.” He gestured to the sofa. Tara came around it and took a seat without a protest or a caustic remark. She still clutched the flowers to her breast as she stared out into the horizon with a forlorn expression. Poor waif. He wanted to shield her from the hurt, remove it from her heart—if only there was a way to reach inside her and pull it free.

  He edged in next to her, placed an arm about her shoulder and balanced his foot on the wide windowsill so his knee was arched up. He still had his old riding boots from his days in rural Ireland. Another thing he needed to purchase. Damn it. At this rate, his funds would not last long. They needed food daily, and lodgings. Tara and Dan needed decent, modern clothing.

  The brothers could fend for themselves on the clothing front. They possessed magical qualities, and with Mick’s gift of glamoury it shouldn’t be hard to charm someone into giving them clothing. It sounded callous, even in his own mind, but Adrian had only a couple thousand pounds on him and with their expenses, that paltry sum would not last indefinitely.

  They sat for a time in silence gazing out over the city of Paris from their lofty perch. The sun slowly set in the west, gilding the river like a golden ribbon slicing through the city. The domes of several buildings glowed beneath the sun’s rays, creating a magical moment as the city was bathed in light before darkness came to shroud it.

  “It’s so beautiful at this time of day,” Tara murmured. She nestled into his arms and let her head rest beneath his chin. “Magical, don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” While holding Tara in his arms, the world was indeed beautiful and magical.

  “The Eiffel Tower, though,” she said as she sat forward slightly to look out into the distance. “It just doesn’t look right to me.”

  “Is there a proper way that hideous monstrosity should look?” That tower was not a magnificent stone obelisk or an elegant copper domed cathedral, it was a garish painted mass of metal rising defiantly above the city. It didn’t conform to the Paris he recalled from his youth.

  “It’s not supposed to be red.” Tara gestured toward the gaudy structure. It’s supposed to be black. Why is it red now?” She looked to him as if for an answer.

  “I cannot say.” He was as perplexed as she. “Do you mean to tell me this thing is still standing in your future time?” It was a sobering thought.

  “Yes, it is a famous landmark. That’s why Dan knew where we were. He saw the tower in the sky and called it.” She sank down beside him and nudged herself under his arm to cuddle against him again. Her searching movements lightened his heart.

  Adrian wanted to kiss her, but refrained. Kissing might be interpreted as cold and unfeeling, given their recent loss. Instead, he let his fingers caress her forearm where her sleeve ended, allowing them to glide lightly from elbow to wrist, and back again.

  She reverted to silence. He held her close, and savored the feeling of having her near him.

  The sky darkened. They could no longer see anything aside from the river Seine and the halo of light in the far horizon where the sun’s rays still reflected in the clouds.

  Quite suddenly, the city streets lit up, inch by inch. Adrian watched as the boulevards became visible in a grid pattern before his eyes. It was as if an army of lamplighters had orchestrated their efforts to light the modern gas street lamps at the same moment.

  And then
, that red monstrosity lit up slowly, from bottom to top, like a coordinated symphony of lights playing instead of sound. Was it candles? No. Gaslight?

  Adrian removed his arm from about Tara’s waist and leaned forward. The brilliantly lit tower was breathtaking. The night hid the ugliness of the thing, and the lights made it glow above the city like a majestic arrow piercing into the heavens.

  “Oh, my God, yes!” Tara stood and leaned out of the opened window. “The Paris Exposition. They lit the tower for the first time back in the 1880’s. I forget the exact year. Electricity was just starting to be used, and …”

  Ignoring her reference to the past as it was actually the present time for them, Adrian rose and placed a careful arm about her so she would not lean out too far in her excitement. “What, pray tell, is electricity?”

  His question went unanswered as she laughed aloud. Tara turned from the illuminated tower to face him, her eyes filled with a rare excitement. “You truly have no idea, do you? Electricity is a modern miracle. It’s the start of something huge that will take over the world—electric lights, television, computers … oh, but that’s way far ahead of us, my dear eighteenth century man.”

  “What is electricity,” he asked again, perturbed by her reference to his place in history.

  “Well …” she scanned the room and gestured about with her hand. “It beats dim candlelight, for one. And messy oil lamps that have to be cleaned and refilled. It’s like having a piece of the sun brighten your rooms at night. With just the flip of a switch, you have instant lighting, bright lighting.”

  He glanced about the room, noting the lone oil lamp that glowed from the small table, and the candleholders with slender wax columns still waiting to be lit by a flame. “You are saying it makes these common household devices obsolete?” The concept was hard to grasp. “How is light created without a flame?”

  Tara made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know. Ask Dan, he could explain it better. It’s a giant leap forward for mankind, it’s the future, Adrian. Once you have electricity, you’ll never want to be without it.”