Anne Barbour Read Free Page B

the house early this morning, miss, to meet Mr. Satterleigh, your own true love! You and him was to elope, miss! It was ever so romantical.” Her face crumpled suddenly. “And I ruined it for you. I’m that sorry for it,” she said again, tears beginning to stream from her eyes.
    “Yes,” said Amanda hastily. “Well, never mind about that now. Is that his name—the man in the church? Satterleigh?”
    Hutchings paused in the act of dabbing at her eyes with her apron. “My goodness, miss, you really must be dicked in the nob! No, that were Lord Ashindon, your betrothed.”
    Amanda brought both hands up to clutch her hair.
    “Are you having another one o’ your headaches, miss?” the maid asked sympathetically. “They’ve really been comin’ on strong, of late, haven’t they?”
    “Yes, they have, indeed,” replied Amanda hoarsely. “Tell me, er, Hutchings, what is the date today?”
    “Why, it’s April fourteenth, miss.”
    “And the year?”
    “Lor’, it’s eighteen hundred and fifteen. You don’t even remember that?”
    Amanda shook her head numbly. Eighteen-fifteen! Yes. Regency England. Dear Lord, what possible mental quirk could have thrown her back to the early nineteenth century?
    “All right,” she said slowly. “It’s eighteen-fifteen, and my name is Amanda Bridge, and I live in ...?” She raised her brows questioningly at the maid.
    “In London, o’course,” giggled the maid. “In Upper Brook Street,” she added, as though indulging a child in a new game. “You’re two-and-twenty and your mama and papa are Mr. and Mrs. Bridge—Serena and Jeremiah, their names are. Your mama has been by your bed since they brought you home. Limp as a wet dish clout, you was, when I undressed you. Your papa sent for the doctor and a few minutes ago your mama went to wait downstairs.”
    Amanda closed her eyes.
    “There!” exclaimed Hutchings. “I’ve tired you out altogether. I’d best fetch your mama now.”
    Amanda’s eyes flew open. “No! No, don’t do that. Tell her I’m still sleeping. Please, Hutchings.”
    The maid eyed her doubtfully. “All right, miss. I expect the doctor will be ‘ere soon.”
    “Very well, but until then, could you please leave me for a few minutes? To sort of get my head back together?”
    The maid’s expression did not lighten, but she bobbed a curtsy and whisked herself from the room.
    Alone, Amanda threw back her covers and slid to the floor, nearly falling on her face from the unexpected height of the bed. Righting herself, she moved immediately to the dressing table, reveling despite herself in her strong, sturdy legs. She peered in the mirror and drew in a sharp breath.
    Lord, she was a raving beauty! Golden hair tumbled in charming disarray over her shoulders, and from a piquant little face glowed eyes of a deep amethyst, fringed with a veritable forest of dark lashes. Her nose was short and straight, and her mouth, full and pink, curved charmingly. On second thought, Amanda mused wryly, she looked like a Barbie doll, complete with upthrust bosom and an incredibly tiny waist. Wow, she chuckled, did she know how to fantasize, or what?
    For some minutes, she stood very still, contemplating the reflected vision before her. She marveled at the exquisite workmanship of her nightgown, a demure concoction of lace-trimmed muslin, embroidered with tiny flowers at neckline and hem. All accomplished by hand, of course. Still staring, she noticed the slim golden chain that hung about her neck. Hastily drawing it up in her fingers, she gasped. It was her pendant! The one she had examined just last night in Grosvenor Chapel. Or, no—perhaps not last night, but... She sank into the little chair before the dressing table, studying the pendant in bewilderment. She had not brought anything else of her real life into her hallucination—her purse, or her own clothing—why was she still possessed of this unwanted relic?
    She turned the little piece of jewelry over in