Time Travel With a Rude English Boy from the Nineteenth Century.
Chapter Seven
PAYTON’S POV
The wagon hit a pothole, and the passengers of the carriage were tossed into the air before continuing its bumpy voyage across a cobblestone road. This was happening; this was real. In a half hour I was expected to go crash an 1890’s ball and pretend kidnap the Duke hosting it. I had to act as Azalea’s maid, a girl I had only met earlier today. I was entrusting my life with strangers who were about to do something that I’m certain was illegal. I looked out the drab window to grey London. We were too far away from the drab home I had viewed as a haven; we were too far to turn back. The only thing I could do now was await our arrival and trust my improvisation skills.
I looked around the carriage to my assailants in this heist. Azalea and I were dressed as upper-class women while the boys were dressed in middle-class attire. They would blend in perfectly. Lionel was tinkering with something that glinted silver, Azalea was fanning herself while lost in thought, and Dacre was gazing out the window with his head propped upon his hand. I couldn’t help but notice that Dacre was handsome, in his own way. Lionel was handsome too, of course, but somehow it was different with Dacre. Was it his dazzling smile? Could it be the mischievous glint in his eye? Or was it that I couldn’t trust him not to steal my wallet? It was all Dacre’s fault that I was stuck in this mess anyway. Oh well, it would all be worth it when I cashed in the plentiful reward for letting the Duke relive a day from his past. But I couldn’t help but wonder: would the reward be even more handsome than Dacre?
“So, Payton,” Azalea yawned, and I couldn’t help but envy how relaxed she was. “Your name will be ‘Eliza’ for the night. Your original name is too modern.”
“Yes, Miss Azalea,” I sighed. I saw Dacre smirk out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to scowl at him. “Is there something you would like to say aloud, Sir?”
Dacre laughed, his voice like music. “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to act more feminine than that, Eliza.” I huffed and kicked his shin. He narrowed his eyes and kicked me back.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Lionel announced, interrupting our little feud, “Miss Smith, why is it that you act so… brazen?”
“Eliza,” Azalea corrected automatically, and Lionel rolled his eyes.
“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “I lived with my father my entire childhood. I never met my mother, and Dad never wanted to discuss whatever happened to her, so I never pushed the subject. I only hung around boys in school, so I never really did girly things in my childhood. I kind of stick to myself nowadays. I don’t have any coworkers: art is a one person career, you know?”
“Whatever happened to your father?” Dacre prodded, strangely interested in the conversation now.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “He disappeared on my sixteenth birthday.”
“That’s terrible,” Azalea spat. “A father should never abandon her daughter like that. It’s not proper.”
“It isn’t that bad,” I defended. “He left behind a lot of money so that I could take care of myself. I took martial arts to learn how to defend myself and even earned a scholarship to a nice college… But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I smiled remorsefully and glanced out the window. The shadows of dead trees blurred past as we rode by, the carriage horse’s feet providing a heartbeat-like beat as we progressed to the ball.
“Of course it does!” Dacre suddenly exclaimed, making everyone jump. “You have a great future, a great chance for success! Your art is greater than anything I’ve ever seen! You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are, all by yourself, and—,”
“It doesn’t matter,” I repeated. “What happens tonight, happens. This is a very dangerous mission. I could be dead by sunrise tomorrow for all we know.”
“Payton,” Dacre said while gripping my hands into his, his eyes smoldering with determination. “I will never let that happen. Do you trust me?”
“Dacre, don’t promise things that you cannot ensure,” Lionel said gently while placing a hand onto Dacre’s shoulder.
Taken aback by his sudden vow, I stuttered, “I—I have to protect Azalea, Dacre. I agreed to this mission, I could have turned it down anytime—,”
“Do you trust me?” Dacre repeated. His determined gaze made me feel like I was on fire. I was breathless, and it wasn’t because of the constricting corset. Searching his grey-blue eyes which stared right back into mine, I whispered, “We’ve arrived.”
And it was true. The carriage had stopped moving, and the coachman swung open the door for us to exit. I looked away from Dacre’s scrutinizing stare and muttered, “Excuse me, Mister Dalton.” Lionel came out first and helped Azalea and I climb out of the stuffy carriage and onto the sidewalk. Dacre stepped out a moment after, in a daze. I frowned as Lionel walked over and patted his back reassuringly, muttering soothing words that Dacre ignored. I was snapped out of my thoughts as a vice-like grip grasped my wrist.
“Let us go, Eliza,” Azalea announced. “The Duke is waiting.”
I nodded and escorted her into the extravagant ballroom, throwing one last glance at Dacre, but his back was turned. Lionel nodded and they disappeared into an alleyway. I turned forwards and got into character.
Let the games begin.
The wagon hit a pothole, and the passengers of the carriage were tossed into the air before continuing its bumpy voyage across a cobblestone road. This was happening; this was real. In a half hour I was expected to go crash an 1890’s ball and pretend kidnap the Duke hosting it. I had to act as Azalea’s maid, a girl I had only met earlier today. I was entrusting my life with strangers who were about to do something that I’m certain was illegal. I looked out the drab window to grey London. We were too far away from the drab home I had viewed as a haven; we were too far to turn back. The only thing I could do now was await our arrival and trust my improvisation skills.
I looked around the carriage to my assailants in this heist. Azalea and I were dressed as upper-class women while the boys were dressed in middle-class attire. They would blend in perfectly. Lionel was tinkering with something that glinted silver, Azalea was fanning herself while lost in thought, and Dacre was gazing out the window with his head propped upon his hand. I couldn’t help but notice that Dacre was handsome, in his own way. Lionel was handsome too, of course, but somehow it was different with Dacre. Was it his dazzling smile? Could it be the mischievous glint in his eye? Or was it that I couldn’t trust him not to steal my wallet? It was all Dacre’s fault that I was stuck in this mess anyway. Oh well, it would all be worth it when I cashed in the plentiful reward for letting the Duke relive a day from his past. But I couldn’t help but wonder: would the reward be even more handsome than Dacre?
“So, Payton,” Azalea yawned, and I couldn’t help but envy how relaxed she was. “Your name will be ‘Eliza’ for the night. Your original name is too modern.”
“Yes, Miss Azalea,” I sighed. I saw Dacre smirk out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to scowl at him. “Is there something you would like to say aloud, Sir?”
Dacre laughed, his voice like music. “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to act more feminine than that, Eliza.” I huffed and kicked his shin. He narrowed his eyes and kicked me back.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Lionel announced, interrupting our little feud, “Miss Smith, why is it that you act so… brazen?”
“Eliza,” Azalea corrected automatically, and Lionel rolled his eyes.
“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “I lived with my father my entire childhood. I never met my mother, and Dad never wanted to discuss whatever happened to her, so I never pushed the subject. I only hung around boys in school, so I never really did girly things in my childhood. I kind of stick to myself nowadays. I don’t have any coworkers: art is a one person career, you know?”
“Whatever happened to your father?” Dacre prodded, strangely interested in the conversation now.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “He disappeared on my sixteenth birthday.”
“That’s terrible,” Azalea spat. “A father should never abandon her daughter like that. It’s not proper.”
“It isn’t that bad,” I defended. “He left behind a lot of money so that I could take care of myself. I took martial arts to learn how to defend myself and even earned a scholarship to a nice college… But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I smiled remorsefully and glanced out the window. The shadows of dead trees blurred past as we rode by, the carriage horse’s feet providing a heartbeat-like beat as we progressed to the ball.
“Of course it does!” Dacre suddenly exclaimed, making everyone jump. “You have a great future, a great chance for success! Your art is greater than anything I’ve ever seen! You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are, all by yourself, and—,”
“It doesn’t matter,” I repeated. “What happens tonight, happens. This is a very dangerous mission. I could be dead by sunrise tomorrow for all we know.”
“Payton,” Dacre said while gripping my hands into his, his eyes smoldering with determination. “I will never let that happen. Do you trust me?”
“Dacre, don’t promise things that you cannot ensure,” Lionel said gently while placing a hand onto Dacre’s shoulder.
Taken aback by his sudden vow, I stuttered, “I—I have to protect Azalea, Dacre. I agreed to this mission, I could have turned it down anytime—,”
“Do you trust me?” Dacre repeated. His determined gaze made me feel like I was on fire. I was breathless, and it wasn’t because of the constricting corset. Searching his grey-blue eyes which stared right back into mine, I whispered, “We’ve arrived.”
And it was true. The carriage had stopped moving, and the coachman swung open the door for us to exit. I looked away from Dacre’s scrutinizing stare and muttered, “Excuse me, Mister Dalton.” Lionel came out first and helped Azalea and I climb out of the stuffy carriage and onto the sidewalk. Dacre stepped out a moment after, in a daze. I frowned as Lionel walked over and patted his back reassuringly, muttering soothing words that Dacre ignored. I was snapped out of my thoughts as a vice-like grip grasped my wrist.
“Let us go, Eliza,” Azalea announced. “The Duke is waiting.”
I nodded and escorted her into the extravagant ballroom, throwing one last glance at Dacre, but his back was turned. Lionel nodded and they disappeared into an alleyway. I turned forwards and got into character.
Let the games begin.