“Oh, I’m glad you’re well enough to come to London with us, Eliza!” Emmeline hopped up and down, clapping her hands. “We shall have such fun!”
“I’m glad that we shall be sisters,” Becca said, gazing at Eliza fondly. “I’m so dreadfully sorry about Petunia.”
Eliza waved off Becca’s apology with one hand. “For the last time, Becca, it was not—”
A small voice broke in from the side. “I’m glad I’m going, too. I want to see the menagerie!”
“Frederick, do not interrupt your elders,” the dowager said, but she tempered her words with a smile. “Now let’s be out and into the carriages; I want to reach Town by sundown.”
The Mattersley family filed out of Clarehaven and into the small caravan of coaches awaiting them. “Goodness, how many books did you pack?” Emmeline said to Grace.
“For heaven’s sake, we all know it’s your dresses taking up all the space,” Grace muttered, pulling out a small tome from beneath her arm.
Eliza smiled at the women surrounding her. Deveric, Frederick, Chance, and the dowager were riding in the carriage ahead of her. While Eliza missed Dev, she was actually grateful for the time with the sisters; had Dev been here, she’d only have been thinking of kissing him, and touching him, and...
Emmeline tilted her head. “What are you thinking about, dearest cousin? Soon-to-be sister?”
“Given the color of her cheeks, I’d say nothing of your concern, surely,” Becca interjected.
Grace had her nose in her book, but the corners of her mouth curled up in amusement.
As the horses took off, the countryside meandered by, rather than flew. It was certainly a different pace of life, traveling by horse-drawn carriage instead of by car. Had they been on an interstate, Eliza wouldn’t have appreciated her surroundings nearly as much; they’d have passed by too quickly. Here, she could admire the trees on the horizon, the occasional small house, the sheep grazing in pastures.
Of course, a car would be far more comfortable, considering how the carriage lurched about. How had any of them bought her story about sleeping the whole way from London? She didn’t think anyone could sleep through this.
When they finally arrived, it was all Eliza could do to keep her jaw off the ground. She’d been to London before, of course.
But not Regency London.
A few buildings were familiar, but much of the city looked vastly different from her twenty-first-century recollections. She soaked in everything she could as they made their way slowly through the noisy, bustling streets, the cacophony a sharp change after weeks in the country.
The Mattersley sisters were anxiously discussing the night’s social event—a ball thrown by the Earl and Countess of Redbury. Eliza listened to their animated conversation with amusement. Emmeline knew gossip about nearly every debutante and potential gentleman and speculated on who might become engaged to whom. Becca only cared how often she could go riding until Emmeline mentioned several Regency bachelors who were known to be in possession of a fine stable. Grace insisted she cared not a whit what eligible men might attend the ball; all she wished was to visit Hatchard’s, to see what new books they might have.
“There it is!” she exclaimed, as they passed the bookseller on Piccadilly.
Amara said nothing. None of the sisters took note, but Eliza, who was sitting next to her, touched her hand to Amara’s knee. “You okay?”
A ghost of a smile crossed her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s face. “Yes. I am thinking of something, something perhaps with which you could aid me. I should like to talk with you about it at greater length in private if you are amenable.”
Eliza couldn’t imagine what she could help Amara with, but she was more than ready to do so; she’d grown so fond of Deveric’s sister. Cat would like her, too. I just know it.
“There it is!” Emmeline clapped her hands. “Oh, I’m so ready to be done in this carriage. Any longer, and I fear my brain would be jarred loose.”
“Who says it hasn’t been already?” Becca said, poking at her sister.
Eliza pressed her face to the small window, staring at Claremont House as they approached. Good God, could it be any more magnificent? The house surpassed her wildest imaginings, a glorious mansion in the middle of Mayfair.
She wondered briefly on which street they were—she didn’t remember any mansion as grand as this when she’d visited in the 2000s. It saddened her to think this house would ever disappear. She preferred to imagine it hadn’t; that she just hadn’t ventured to that part of London at the time.
The carriages stopped in front of the home, servants gathering immediately to help the ladies out.
“We should hurry—we haven’t much time to prepare for the ball,” Emmeline said, as she alighted.
Guilt tickled at Eliza’s skin; they’d planned to arrive in London far earlier, until her accident. When she tried to apologize, though, Deveric’s mother interrupted her. “Nonsense! It’s more important that we arrived together, as a family.”
With her children watching her as if she’d grown two heads, the former Dragon smiled—a true smile. “If anyone is going to challenge Mrs. James, it shall be me. And having already done that, and lost, I shall now ensure that not a word is spoken against her rather less conventional ways. Because in my losing, we all won.” She beamed at Deveric.
Tears threatened to spill over Eliza’s cheeks at how much had changed between her and the dowager—and between the dowager and everyone else—since Eliza’s accident. Deveric’s mother had even promised to help Eliza with the ins and outs of navigating the ton. Eliza wasn’t quite sure what had happened to bring about the transformation, but she wasn’t complaining.
As everyone else climbed the few stairs to the house, Eliza asked Deveric if they could walk a bit first. She wanted to stretch her legs—and she wanted a few minutes alone with him before she was thrown into what she was sure would be an overwhelming next few weeks and months. It’d been one thing to interact with the relatively small number of people at the Clarehaven house party; rubbing elbows with the entirety of the ton in London was a daunting prospect indeed. Eleanor Roosevelt, baby. Just keep telling yourself, “Eleanor Roosevelt.”
“You don’t wish to rest? The trip didn’t do you ill?” Dev’s face was so adorably concerned, she had to lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.
“No way. I want to see everything! I want to see what’s different and what’s the same. But for right now, I really want to walk in Grosvenor Square. It’s the most famous romance novel setting in many of the books I read, and while I strolled through it in my era, I want to see what it looks like now.”
He chuckled. “Your wish is my command,” he said, extending his elbow. “It is only a street away.” She placed her arm through his, and they walked along, Eliza uncharacteristically silent as she took everything in.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she said upon reaching the Square. Many a gentleman tipped his hat to Deveric, and several women passed by in open carriages. “Much of it feels the same, surprisingly. Except, of course, that the American Embassy isn’t at the west end.”
“The Americans build an embassy here? In Grosvenor Square?” Indignation fired in Deveric’s voice.
Eliza merely clasped his arm with hers and breathed in deeply. Eww. Perhaps that wasn’t the best idea; the smells of animals and coal laced the air, even in this part of town. “I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m standing in London, in 1812. I can’t believe I’m with you. Deveric Mattersley. Duke of Claremont. My future husband.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, my love.”
Over the next month, Eliza visited nearly every place she’d ever read about, plus many she hadn’t. Miss Walters in Cavendish Square provided her with an entirely new, unbelievably luxurious wardrobe, not to mention hats, bonnets, and other accessories from Mrs. Bell.
She rode in a barouche in Hyde Park with the Mattersley sisters, doing the best she could not to gape at the ton who passed, debutantes and dandies, Regency bucks and portly bachelors, matrons and young misses alike. Of course, Emmeline knew them all and regaled the sisters with the latest on dits.
It’s like celebrity spotting in America. Minus the paparazzi, at least.
They’d bumped into Deveric’s friends there, the Duke of Arthington, the Marquess of Emerlin, and the Earl of Stoneleigh, who bore a marked resemblance to the William Dawes Eliza had met in 2012, though even better-looking.
The gentlemen had exchanged polite conversation with each of the ladies, but if Eliza wasn’t mistaken, Emerlin’s eyes lingered a little long on Becca. Now wouldn’t that be interesting? Probably shouldn’t tell Dev, though—nothing like an overly protective brother to sour a relationship’s prospects.
It was strange at first not to see the double-decker buses or London taxis she loved, strange to see not paved but cobbled, gravel, or even dirt roads, strange that much of what she associated with modern London—the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, hadn’t even been built yet. But then again, she got to see things long since gone by her era, including Astley’s Amphitheater and the well-known—and here newly opened—Egyptian Hall.
They ate ices at Gunter’s, meandered through Green Park, shopped at Fortnum and Mason, and strolled down Bond Street, where Deveric pointed out the infamous Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon.
“Do you take lessons?” she’d asked him.
“Lessons?” he’d answered in mock disgust. “I could give lessons, my lady.” Given his muscular chest and arms, she had no doubt he was right. Thank you, Mr. Jackson.
Though disappointed she wasn’t allowed to walk down St. James’s Street—it was definitely the province of men in this era—she delighted in shocking Deveric by telling him that not only did White’s and Brook’s still stand, and were still gentlemen’s clubs, but that she’d peeked in the windows of both. “Sacrilege, Eliza,” he’d said, as she dissolved into giggles.
Frederick begged to visit the Tower of London, to see the Royal Menagerie there, so on a sunny afternoon, they went. For Eliza, it was quite the experience to see lions and baboons roaming the grounds; when she had visited, the only wildlife left had been the ravens.
As they strolled along Piccadilly one early May afternoon, Eliza asked to turn down Albemarle Street. They’d passed it many a time but never ventured in. “John Murray has his offices here,” she said to Deveric, by way of explaining her interest.
“John Murray?”
“Oh, he published Jane Austen’s works. Although, wait— that was her later ones.” Eliza paused for a moment, thinking. “Thomas Egerton published Sense and Sensibility. Next year, he will publish Pride and Prejudice—which I suppose means Miss Austen is working on its final touches.”
It thrilled Eliza from head to toe to think that Jane Austen was, right now, working on what would arguably become her masterpiece. “Could we go visit Mr. Egerton? I would so like to thank him for publishing her amazing books.”
Deveric nodded. “Of course. I admit, however, I don’t know where his office is.”
“Thirty, Charing Cross,” Eliza replied promptly, eliciting a chuckle from Deveric.
“You do know quite a bit about this Miss Austen,” he said. “Perhaps I should warn her she has a crazed admirer.”
Eliza whacked him on the nose lightly with her purse. Wait, no, reticule. Purses were reticules here. He kissed her in response, much to the astonishment of the group of young ladies passing by with their maids. Giggles trailed behind them as Eliza and Deveric walked on.
It was perhaps unusual for a duke to travel such a distance on foot, rather than by coach, but Eliza couldn’t get enough of the sights and sounds of the city and often stopped to examine a building, carriage, or anything else that caught her fancy. Luckily, Deveric indulged her.
As they approached Mr. Egerton’s place of business, a tallish woman with brown, curly hair exited the front door, holding a thick passel of papers to her chest. Next to her walked a tall, vaguely familiar-looking man of similar age.
Eliza’s heart raced. “Is that ... Is it? No, it couldn’t be.”
Deveric’s eyebrows puckered. “Whom do you see? I see no one of acquaintance here.”
“I think—I think it’s Jane Austen herself!”