P.S. I Love You Read online

  “Oh, yes. Miss Rey seems just the age to get on with your Lady May. They’ll have a time of it, won’t they?”

  “I think so, too.” Lady Cottrell turned a bright smile to Cora. “Our family is closely associated with Aunt Nellie. I’d like you to meet my daughter. In fact, I was here waiting for her. She should be back soon. When is it you’re from?”

  Cora opened her mouth to ask if she meant “where,” but Nellie interrupted. “My other guests will start arriving in half an hour for the ball. We’ll have to get you ready quickly.”

  “I’m not sure what … ” Cora felt … off. This wasn’t making sense.

  “This is very disorienting, isn’t it?” Nellie patted Cora’s hand. “I understand. Really, I do. This is not my first trip to Piccadilly Circus.” Lady Cottrell giggled at that, but Nellie continued. “Oh, I almost forgot—the tea. The aroma helps you a bit, but when you drink it, well, that’s when it’s special.” She began to arrange the little desserts on plates. “I imagine you have a few questions. What’s the last thing you remember before the flash of light?”

  “My friends. Where are they? Are they—”

  “Fine. Fine. Your friends arrived about an hour or two ago. The magic isn’t very predictable, but you all arrived safe and sound. Well, bewildered is more the truth of it, but that’s temporary.”

  “They’re here too?” They had stood near the mural together, but now they were all separated—in little more than seconds. She shook her head. Was she dreaming?

  “Well, not here here. They’re either getting dressed or resting up for tonight. Oh, you must be so excited for the ball. Aren’t you?”

  “I was already at the ball, then we went upstairs, and stood … ” Cora looked back at the wall. Her head felt thick and slow.

  Aunt Nellie said, “It’s faerie magic. That’s what causes this lovely little mess you and your friends got caught in.”

  “Magic?” Cora looked at Lady Cottrell, who smiled at her in return. Cora wondered if she was playing along with the script, and they expected Cora to as well. “Mess?”

  “This home is built on ancient ley lines. The fissures burp out magic during the full moon. In ancient lore, that magic was the way the fae took care of the earth, to renew the world. Now it’s just a nuisance. We’ve built this monstrosity of a house to cover it up, but it jerks people into other time periods willy-nilly.”

  Nope, she wasn’t buying the story. Cora looked at Lady Cottrell, who nodded in agreement with Aunt Nellie. “True. True. But for some of us, we’ve found what we never could have otherwise.” She turned a kind smile toward Nellie. “Thank you for that.”

  Nellie patted the woman’s hand and continued telling Cora her story. “The mural you stood beside was used to send you back to your own time strand—oh, more than a century ago. The magic in the paint worked like a lightning rod, which is fascinating, really. If you’d been standing anywhere else when the magic belched, you probably wouldn’t be here now.” Her eyes lit with excitement, and her smile dimpled warmly at Cora.

  “The mural was made in the past, and I stood by it in the future. Are you saying that I’ve been to the past before?” Cora asked. The confusion was grating on her. She wanted to leave—go somewhere that made sense again.

  “No. You just got here.” Aunt Nellie began to pour out the tea. “It was painted in the past that was then in your future, so you could go back to the future from your future past.”

  Cora stared at Aunt Nellie, trying to understand what any of that meant. She wondered if they were still playing a part—if their Regency experience had veered into fantasy. They seemed too sincere to be acting. “That’s circular reasoning. Something didn’t happen before it can happen,” Cora said. She pressed her palms against her temples.

  “Oh? I suppose this all makes sense to you?” Nellie gestured her arms wide around her. “No? Then perhaps I’m right. Time isn’t circular or linear, dear. Time is a fuzzball. Things happen out of order all the time precisely to keep things in order.”

  “Then send me back,” Cora said.

  “Yes, I will. But I can’t. At least, not now.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “You’ll have to stay as my guest.” Her voice rang with kindness, but the words sounded final. She picked up some tongs and a cup of sugar cubes. “Do you take sugar or cream, Cora?”

  “Both, please.” Cora needed something to calm her nerves. Maybe if she humored the crazy lady, she’d get some information to help figure this out.

  Lady Cottrell leaned toward her and whispered, “It’s all going to make sense very soon. She’ll send you back as soon as she can, and that’s on the next full moon. You needn’t worry. In fact, I’m sure you’re going to have an amazing time for the next few weeks.”

  As Nellie completed the service, Cora decided to play along until they had a reasonable explanation. “What happened? You were in the future, too. That was you, right, Aunt Nellie?”

  “Yes. I suppose I’m in a lot of futures and pasts.” Her voice turned melancholy. “That’s the way of faerie folk. I don’t like to dwell on it.” Then she brightened her smile and added, “Drink up.”

  Cora looked around the room. No electricity. No central heating vents. The house was the same, but different. She felt stunned. What if Nellie’s explanation was true?

  Aunt Nellie lifted her teacup again and raised her eyebrows at Cora, who tipped her cup also. The first touch of tea on her tongue was like Pop Rocks to her mouth, but the sweet taste invigorated her mind and calmed her heart rate. After the second sip, warmth spread throughout her body, radiating … calming. Cora loved it here. She loved Nellie. She loved her friends. She loved Lady Cottrell. She loved … wait! She pinned Nellie with a stare. “Is this some type of magical faerie roofie?”

  “Yes, of course. Drink up. It will help you accept all of this and move on, and it will save me a lot of time. It’s a big change for you, after all.”

  “I’d forgotten how lovely this special tea blend of yours is,” Lady Cottrell after she drained her cup. “Might I have a bit more? The pot refills itself, right?”

  Nellie poured for her.

  Lady Cottrell giggled. “It makes me feel a little like that time in college when I … well, never mind that.” She took a sip, then asked, “What made you come to England in the first place, Cora?”

  Cora found the truth spilling out of her lips with ease. “I wanted to live in a dream for a few days. I felt compelled to come—that there was something here I couldn’t live without.”

  “It was that way for me. too,” Lady Cottrell whispered. “I’ll introduce you to my daughter tonight at the ball. I hope you’ll want to visit with us while you’re here.”

  “I’d like that very much. Thank you.” Although Cora expected that it was the magic talking, she told herself she should finish the tea. Complete, though maybe temporary, happiness and acceptance about her situation were better than confusion.

  In a few moments, Cora, feeling quite mellow, was escorted to her room. Her head felt much clearer as she lay at the end of an enormous feather-topped bed, putting the pieces together. The effects of the roofie were wearing off, but she retained her understanding—minimal though it was—of her situation. Aunt Nellie was a faerie, who guarded a magical Twilight Zone. Cora was in 1850 England. And she’d be there until she wasn’t.

  A month ago, she had earned a Master of Education degree in special education from The Ohio State University. A week ago, she traveled to England with her college roommates for a celebratory vacation in honor of their combined graduate status. An hour ago, she was sucked backward through time and ejected into Victorian England, with a crazy lady as her guide and no idea what exactly made that happen.

  A tap on her door brought her attention to a black-haired young woman who curtsied and looked suspiciously like Miller. “May I help you dress for the ball, miss?”

  Whoa. Déjà vu. “That’s you, isn’t it, Miller?”

  The woman bobbed another curtsey,
“Yes, ma’am.”

  Cora felt several surprises pass through her mind. “Is everyone here always here? I mean, are you fae like Aunt Nellie?”

  “Yes, ma’am. May I help you dress?” Miller raised her hand when Cora opened her mouth to ask another question. “Aunt Nellie is the person to get answers from. I’m here as your lady’s maid in this time and place.”

  “I’m … I’m ready.” For whatever comes. Her grandfather had been a true-blue-through-and-through Texas cowboy, and he had a saying. “When life gives you cow pies, burn them for heat.” She always thought that might have been the grossest thing imaginable, but she’d learned the gist. Make the best of everything. Honestly, getting stuck in Victorian England for a while seemed like a win.

  Cora sat up. She’d wanted the vacation of a lifetime. Well, you couldn’t get better than a little time travel thrown in. When in Rome—go native.

  Properly dressed and coiffed, Cora joined a packed ballroom of guests. Her dream was coming true. A crowded ballroom. Elegant dresses. An orchestra and a dance card tied around her wrist.

  Her friends were at the ball before she arrived. They met on the side and repeated everything that had happened—lightning, Nellie, fuzzball.

  “I’m going with this. It will be great,” Cora told them before they drifted apart to join in. She certainly hadn’t planned a real trip into the past because that would be crazy, but it had happened just the same.

  A couple of hours later, the dream had officially ended. The only bright spot had been meeting Miss May Cottrell, the daughter of the woman she met at tea earlier. They planned to meet up the next day to get acquainted. As for the rest of the night, the dance card had become like an albatross. No one had sought her out for a dance. No eyes had turned jealously toward her, and she knew that the debutantes were glad they weren’t her. How long would she be stuck here? She had no way of knowing. Frustration built.

  Two things were guaranteed to ease Cora’s mind—creating music and hand-to-hand combat. Although she was itching for the second, it was improbable in the nineteenth-century ball gown she was wearing. Music would have to do for tonight.

  Images of Cinderella escaping only to lose her shoe flitted through her thoughts as Cora Rey deserted the ballroom completely unnoticed half an hour before the midnight chimes would ring from the large clock in the hall. Her dancing slippers whispered against the marble floor as she charged toward the south end of the manor house, taking very unladylike steps.

  Incredibly, she was living part of that old fairy tale—no cars, no phones, and no immediate way back to her own century.

  Fewer sconces dotted the hallway before her, and the smell of paraffin candles burning became less pronounced. No one would be in the morning room since the party was in the exact opposite corner of the sprawling mansion.

  Tonight, she had made a huge error by telling one of Aunt Nellie’s friends her age. At twenty-seven, she was irrevocably stamped an old maid. Ineligible. Undesirable. The news spread faster than Twitter, and she was left to sit in the shadowy corners or to retrieve drinks for the caustic matrons seated nearby. She did that gladly to avoid hearing them cluck their tongues and say, “It’s a pity you didn’t come to England earlier. You might have had a small chance to marry,” or, “Someone will find use of you. You’ve a pretty face.”

  Trolls on Facebook have nothing on these old biddies.

  Yes, she wanted a husband and children. Someday. She just didn’t think she was past an imaginary time limit. She hadn’t noticed so much as one tock or tick of her biological clock.

  In her real life, one hundred sixty some years in the future, she was a teacher—and loved it. Maybe her students filled that place in her heart reserved for her own children, and she never thought to hurry that part of her life.

  Her hand swept out and snatched a lit taper from a hall table, and she continued on her way. I’m supposed to be an heiress. For all they know, I’m as rich as the queen of Spain. I’ll be leaving here soon, anyway. A twinge of panic pinched at her heart, but she didn’t explore it—she would go back. She was sure of it.

  When she reached the end of the hallway, she eased a door open and peeked inside. The room was dark. Perfect.

  The morning room was on the far east side of the home. A long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows welcomed the morning rays that rose above the lake and woods beyond. But tonight, she came here for the pianoforte. As Cora set the candle on the music shelf, she pushed her breath out.

  She shoved her disappointment away, instead imagining notes carving out a familiar reality, one where she sat in the study, her father at work at his desk, the smell of lilacs thick on the breeze through the window. She was grateful for the solitude—thankful that no one would hear her play. No judgment would be made. Sometimes the mere look at an instrument caused gut-tightening performance anxiety. She reminded herself that there was no audience. It would just be for her. Cora’s shoulders relaxed, and she closed her eyes to choose a piece to fit her mood. As her fingers hovered above the keys, the tips lightly brushing the ivories, the door she’d just entered rattled.

  Cora quickly licked her fingers and thumb and snuffed out the flame, then eased behind the heavy damask curtains.

  The thick walls of the home left a space at least three feet deep in the window alcoves. Thank goodness since her dress filled the space. In fact, she was fairly certain that her dress wouldn’t even make a little pregnant-looking lump in the drapery.

  She could hear the door creak open and someone enter, then close the door with a quiet snick. The sound of boots on the tile hinted to her that it was a man. Cora squeezed back into the corner as far as possible. The silvery moonlight might still give her hiding place away if her shadow fell on the curtain. She hoped the light was too pale and the curtain too thick.

  The sound of the boots stopped, and the sofa creaked.

  Someone came here to sit in the dark? Now?

  She strained her ears for the slightest movement. The handle on the door rattled again. For the love! Does everyone come to the morning room in the middle of the night? It’s obviously a misnomer.

  She didn’t have to strain to hear the couch creak again and boots walking quickly to where she was hiding. Suddenly, the curtain drew away from the window, and a man slid in beside her. He was tall, maybe a foot above her five feet two inches.

  His eyes opened as wide as she felt her own. They both drew their fingers up to their lips, silently shushing each other—as if either of them wanted to be overheard.

  The door opened and closed another time, slamming. Then she heard the tumbler fall as it was locked. Cora threw her shoulders and palms up in an exaggerated shrug. He just smiled widely. This time, she recognized the sound of dance slippers and boots moving across the room.

  A single candle brightened the room a bit. A woman’s breathless voice said, “My mother won’t miss me until the midnight supper is served.”

  Oh, no! She so did not want to hear this.

  The man beside Cora turned as if to leave their hiding spot, but she grabbed him by the sleeve and shook her head emphatically.

  “That only gives us ten minutes.” The new man’s voice was followed closely by the obvious sounds of panic-induced kissing, moaning, and sighing.

  On second thought, Cora wished she had let the man beside her interrupt the tryst. This could get embarrassing fast.

  The handle rattled another time. Repeated knocking pounded on the door, and a man shouted, “Lucy, are you in there? Open this door.”

  Cora was startled, and the man beside her jerked to attention. She shook her head toward him again. Wouldn’t it be just as bad to find them together behind a curtain as to have the couple get a few minutes alone? She pulled him down to sit on the floor as a second man dove behind the curtain and landed literally in their laps.

  “Lucy, do you hear me? I’ll get the key if I have to. Open. Now.” The pounding on the door took on a new intensity.

  Cora considered
her options. Stay hidden and wait for everything to blow over. Reveal herself and bring the whole thing to an end with a little embarrassment. Or create an alibi. A midnight make-out session was probably a capital offence even for consenting adults, but still, it was probably embarrassing for the woman to be caught by her father in that position. An alibi might work.

  “Stay!” Cora commanded the two men. Then she jerked her dress from under her legs and crawled from behind the curtain, shaking her dress out to stand. The woman in the room gasped in surprise.

  “It’s okay. I’m your alibi. I came here to play the piano. You came to listen.” Cora moved the new candle to the music deck and pointed the woman toward the sofa. “Sit. I’ll get the door. My name is Cora Rey, by the way.”

  The young woman curtsied. “Lucy Radnor.”

  Cora turned toward the door and called out, “Coming.” Perhaps she should have felt more nervous than she did. She planned to tell the truth—she had come here to play the pianoforte. She just hadn’t expected or wanted an audience.

  When she opened the door, a man with a thick mustache, twisted at the ends, and bushy sideburns stomped into the room. His equally bushy eyebrows pressed toward the center of his face as he looked at Cora.

  “Are you a piano lover, too?” Cora asked, her voice calm and inviting. “I was just going to play a new piece for Lucy. Would you care to listen?”

  The man huffed and pivoted, surveying the room. “You … she was … where is … ?”

  Cora waited while he spun this way and that. When he stood before them, blowing a frustrated breath through his nose, Cora said, “I only have time for one more song. Would you like to stay or not? We really want to get back to the midnight dinner that’s starting soon.”

  The older man looked around again, his eyes squinting into the dark corners. Cora felt a little uneasy as he paused, looking toward the sofa and window beyond. Why should she care if the men were discovered? But she did. She had a soft spot for the first man she thought might have tried to escape the ball the same way she had, and for the other, whose escape looked a lot more fun than the first two.