Chapter 8
“I want to court you as a ruse,” Leo rushes to clarify when he sees my frozen face.
“I will call on you, like this. Show you around London, once we get back. Dance with you at balls. And I think it will help you too, if I can be so bold. You were curious last night, different from us. I do not think that is a bad thing, but people noticed. And wondered and talked. I got the impression you did not want people asking questions about you. If you were always close to me, I could redirect people if they ask questions. Despite my father’s actions, mine is still an old name capable of some protection, and I know how to distract these people. ”
“I…” I shouldn’t even be around long enough to help with this.
I want to go home. But as today proved, that isn’t going to be as easy as I hoped.
Having someone around from this time, with the protection of a title, who doesn’t mind how odd I am and has something to lose if I’m found out as a liar, wouldn’t be the worst thing.
I have nothing else to count on here, and no way to get home.
When I don’t finish that sentence, Leo says, “You do not have to decide now. I realize that I am asking quite a bit, and you may wish to court someone else while you’re here.” Leo gets stiffer than he’s been in our entire one-day acquaintance.
“No. I’ll do it. On one condition.”
“Yes. Anything.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Don’t you want to know what the condition is?”
“I am very close to losing the family seat. And the London residence. You have the superior bargaining position at the moment.”
“You shouldn’t tell me that.” If only he knew how dire my own situation was. But still, I’m curious. As he pointed out. “What if I wanted your family seat?”
“I would direct you to any other building in England. It is draughty and has not been updated in generations, which means it is uncomfortable and out of style. But sentimental, if you’re a Clifford-Alston.” Always ready with a flip remark, this one.
“It’s a good thing that is not what I want then.
” He looks relieved, even though his response was casual.
“When you’re with me, I may say or do strange things.
May ask you to take me to strange places.
I want to make sure that whatever I say or do is only between us, no matter how…
curious, or odd, it sounds. And no questions when I do something strange. ”
“Now that is intriguing. Of course, the answer is still yes. I will not tell anyone anything that happens between us. But the no questions part might be more difficult for me to follow. Are you a spy? An Indian revolutionary who wants freedom?” He doesn’t sound particularly upset at the prospect.
“Doesn’t everyone want freedom? You want money, to make everyone go away so you can keep enjoying life. What’s that if not freedom?”
“Touché.” He’s not offended by my estimation of his character. “Are you an Indian revolutionary?”
Even though I said no questions, I still answer. If anyone understands curiosity, it’s me. After all, I made a career of being nosy. “No.”
The good I could do if I wanted to get involved—but no.
That would be changing history. I’m not sure what the rules are for this time travel experience, but all the TV shows and books on the subject say I can’t change the past or it would Butterfly Effect the present in ways that could be very bad.
And if that’s the one thing they agree on regarding time travel, I should take it seriously.
And I’m not a hundred percent sure the men of this time would take me seriously enough to let me help. So there’s that, too.
“Excellent! We’re courting then.” Leo raises his teacup to me in congratulations, a carefree, boyish smile back on his lips.
I’m sure he would have found an heiress anyway. So this meddling into history doesn’t count. But really, if the universe didn’t want me to meddle at all, it shouldn’t have sent me here in the first place. Me breathing is probably enough to change something.
I raise my teacup back at him. “Fake courting.” We both take a sip. “What do we do now?”
“This visit will be noted by the gossips here for the Queen’s birthday, so it is a good start,” Leo says.
Her birthday is probably the only reason I’m having a chance to pull this off; the chaos of all the different people coming and going is serving as helpful cover.
“We wll find Her Majesty to get her permission for courting and then maybe I can take you out on an excursion tomorrow.”
“I don’t need permission to da…court.” Oh wait, I do need her permission. My modern sensibilities don’t like this and are immediately trying to deny it, but my historian brain knows I don’t have the luxury of independence anymore.
“Then America is a truly wild, liberated place. But in England, we are still very much bound by propriety. And the Queen’s blessing can only help both of us in our plan.”
I stand up before I do a treason by rolling my eyes at all this nonsense. “Let’s see if she’s around.”
“Excellent. I appreciate your enthusiasm for our courtship. Illusory though it may be.”
“Well. Fake relationship, fake enthusiasm.” I don’t need him getting any amorous ideas. This is all complicated enough, with me being from the future and now lying about a courtship. I’m still thinking amorous ideas, but I am trying to limit them.
I don’t need him to know about them. I allow myself one last little look before I try to shut down the lust. Unsuccessfully.
Leo puts his hand on his heart and staggers back into the couch he’s sitting on. “My lady, I am wounded.”
“Stiff upper lip, old chap. Needs must,” I say with the most obnoxious English accent I can summon. Tea-and-crumpets-on-my-sailing-yacht-in-my-red-pants-and-bow-tie-on-holiday-from-Oxford obnoxious. I stand up and motion for the door, an exaggerated movement that includes a bow.
“I do believe I am being mocked.”
“I would never mock the solemnity of the English aristocracy.” Not out loud, usually. I reserve that for my articles. Especially the footnotes. You can get wild in the footnotes.
“Yes. I can see how seriously you take us.”
Oh, sarcasm must have already been invented, because it was just used on me. In a royal drawing room while I’m wearing a corset within shouting distance of Queen Victoria.
No one is going to believe this if I do get back to the right time. But that squashes any joy I just found, because what if I never get back?
Anne returns as I contemplate the future, a little out of breath, and I feel bad we sent her on a wild goose chase to the kitchens that are probably far in this oversized mansion.
“The tea is coming,” she says.
“Excellent. But we are going to see Her Majesty now.” Leo stands and holds his arm out for me as Anne purses her lips in frustration that her rushing is now pointless and her chaperoning was evaded.
“She is usually out in the garden doing her correspondence or learning Urdu with the Munshi right about now.”
I could tell him I already know that. But I don’t want to explain how I know that. “You know so much about her.” I even flutter my eyelashes, practicing being besotted with someone. Practicing flirting with someone. I need it, being out of practice myself.
I feel like this was easier with fans. Wait, this is when they flirted with fans! Finally, something I studied might come in handy, so I don’t accidentally say, “Kiss me,” when I mean, “I wish to get rid of you.”
Take that, Mom; I am using my history degree in my daily life.
“Your Majesty, it is a beautiful day,” Leo calls out in greeting when we approach Victoria and her outdoor office.
I don’t know who had to lug the table, boxes with papers and pens, chairs, tent and carpet out here, but they should get a raise, because this is not like when I work out in nature.
I usually balance my laptop on my stomach on the grass and try not to position my hands in a way that offends ergonomics too much.
But this is better, if you have someone to set it up for you.
Today, Victoria is wearing a simple but luxurious black dress, still mourning Albert even after all these years.
Abdul is standing behind her in a white-and-gold silk turban and a long, deep red Indian tunic and pants, while she’s bent over some paper on the table in front of her.
A quick peek shows all English, so it’s correspondence and not her Urdu lessons.
Unfortunately, the peek isn’t long enough to read the documents, even though the historian in me wants to, so much. But I think that might be against the law, and I’m already breaking enough laws already.
“Yes, it is. I hope you had a good night’s sleep,” Victoria says to me.
“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty. The room and the clothes are lovely. You’re too generous.” No one is immune to flattery.
“Good. I do not know if you met at the assembly, but this is Abdul Karim.” Victoria’s Urdu teacher and general companion/helper with her correspondence.
Who Victoria’s son will try to erase from the written record after Victoria passes, because he didn’t approve of the closeness of their relationship.
But he won’t succeed, and I will learn about him.
And write about him, to boot. Take that, Prince of Wales.
“The Munshi. Of course. It’s an honor to meet you in person. I’ve heard so much about you.” Victoria values his opinion, so I should use his legendary ego and try to get on his good side.
Abdul nods a regal head with a disapproving frown.
So, he is still holding a grudge from last night.
With how cruel Victoria’s family and household are to him, you think he would welcome an ally, but he apparently doesn’t think I’m worth having as one.
This is not the solidarity I wish we could have.
But I think his loyalty to Victoria is going to override our shared ancestry.
“Where are you from in India?” Yup, he’s still suspicious.