AVAILABLE FILE FORMATS: HTML for the standard computer, PDF for Adobe Reader, MS Reader for the PC and Pocket PC, Mobipocket for Palm Pilot

Chapter One

Oh, no. It can't be happening! Not again.

Sitting at one of the long wooden tables in the New York Public Library, Alaina Sawyer felt her stomach drop. Her view of the stacks of books resting solidly by her elbow misted over, to be replaced by...the unknown.

Good Lord, it was happening again. The nightmare visions were returning with a vengeance. She slammed her eyes shut and gripped the table's smooth edge in a last-ditch effort not to be dragged away. It wouldn't work, though; she'd had three other visions so she knew it wouldn't work. Being contrary or optimistic, she held on anyway. Maybe this once she wouldn't be hauled off someplace beyond space and time. Usually not one to beg, she'd beg now. Please? Pretty please?

Cooler air goose-bumped Alaina's skin. A chilly breeze of fragrant flowers assaulted her nose--scents not normally associated with a library.

Drat! Obviously begging hadn't done one iota of good.

Inhaling, she bowed to the inevitable and took a peep at whatever was out there.

Oh, heavens, this time it was worse. A thousand times worse. She'd landed smack in the middle of...someplace else. A museum or a castle--someplace as far as she could get from a staid, public library. A fabulous ballroom, right out of the "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous," seared her eyesight. Expensive paintings lined the walls. Heavy draperies reached from high ceilings to polished parquet floors. If her very life depended on it, she couldn't move a muscle.

She gulped down hard. Wide-eyed, she stared at the other occupants of the room. A man and a woman, dressed to the hilt, waltzed past, oblivious to anything but themselves. As they swept by, the woman whispered to the man, "Soon, my darling."

Soon what? Before Alaina had a chance to give voice to her question, the scene before her faded. She was back in the library, at the table, as if she'd never left! Blinking, she patted at her heart, now beating to a frightening crescendo. What, in God's name, was going on?

"Alaina, are you all right? Jeez it, girl, you're the color of moldy bread!" Jack Morrison, a fellow doctoral student, slid down next to her and gently pulled one of her still-clenched hands into his.

Relaxing her grip, she took several steadying breaths. No need to be afraid now. She was back here, where she belonged. But where she had been for those few seconds was anybody's guess. It all seemed so real. And although she hadn't seen the woman's face, she recognized her from the previous visions.

Alaina's mouth went dry. This...business was getting downright scary.

Jack still waited for her answer. Giving herself a minute to gather her wits, she shook her hair back from her face. Remember, be cool, calm, and collected. She had to pretend everything was fine. She had to get her emotions under control.

"I'm okay, Jack. Really."

As carefully as she could, she extracted her hand from his. Jack had a crush on her, although he'd bristle if he heard that term. Twenty-eight year old men don't have crushes, he'd insist. Maybe, but since she had a three year edge on him, sometimes his moonstruck behavior did seem childish.

Accepting her withdrawal, he sighed. "So what happened? You looked as though you'd seen a ghost."

Close. Two ghosts. How could she explain what happened when she didn't understand it herself? Obviously she hadn't left her chair. At least not physically. But she had traveled someplace, someplace very different from this low-key reading room. Over the last four days, she'd experienced three other visions. But this one was stronger, more real, more intense. She still hadn't seen the woman's face, but this time she'd heard her speak: Soon, my darling. Something was going to happen soon.

Alaina twirled a long lock of hair around her finger. She didn't like the sound of those words. Especially if "soon" had something to do with her.

Jack tapped on her shoulder. With an ego as healthy as his, he wouldn't believe that she'd forgotten all about him. "Well?"

Stuffing research papers back into her briefcase, she shrugged. "It's nothing, honest. I've just been working too hard. Y'know, studying for my doctorate is a drain, plus teaching full-time. Plus the volunteer work. Everything's taking a toll. I probably need a vacation."

Leaning closer, he smiled a slow sizzling smile. "Christmas recess is coming up. We could go someplace together."

She smiled back. Redheads could be devilishly attractive. "Right. I wonder what your latest girlfriend would say to that?"

Alaina stood, which threw him off balance. Why did men feel they had to put the make on women? Even Roger Farnsley, her next door neighbor, had started to look at her with a proprietary gleam in his eye.

That she always declined Roger and Jack's advances seemed to fan the flames of love--or lust. Whatever. She had no time for phony sentiments; she liked her life just the way it was.

Minus these annoying visions, of course.

Pulling on her heavy overcoat, she grabbed her briefcase. "I'm calling it a night, Jack. Too much Sophocles versus Euripides for a Friday night."

Never in a million years would she have foreseen she'd had enough of her chosen field--Greek and Roman literature. "See you in class on Monday." Thank heavens she could sleep in tomorrow.

As she walked through the library's doors into the frigid December weather, she buttoned her coat. Maybe a vacation was a good idea. Someplace free from stress, if there was such a place.

A chilling wind flipped back her hair, bringing an all-too-familiar fear. Her sixth sense screamed in warning: Brace yourself. It's happening again. In a split second, Alaina's safe, predictable world would vanish, and, drat everything in heaven and on earth, there was nothing she could do but go along for the ride.

* * *

An eyeblink...or an eternity later, she found herself in a bedroom. An elaborate bedroom, with a ceiling about twenty feet high. A ball-and-prism chandelier hung down from the center, blazing brightly from countless candles. Real wax candles. Beautiful, but impractical. Imagine cleaning the wax drippings.

Moving over to a gaudy brass mirror, she received a second shock. Good heavens, she was invisible! She glanced down at herself and spotted the black wool coat and her gloved hands; everything was in place just as she expected. But the mirror reflected nothing back. Was this an out of body experience? What did it all mean?

Huge cherry-pink tapestries set in gilded frames caught her eye. Ornate figures of nymphs and cupids cavorted everywhere: on the rugs, on the chairs' pink cushions, and over the alabaster fireplace. No doubt about it, the room belonged to a sensualist--a woman enamored with the French Rococo style of art.

Alaina shrugged. Not that there was anything wrong with Rococo. It was just too elaborate, too lush for her tastes, especially for a bedroom.

Voices drifted in through the paneled double doors. Banishing her first thought--to hide, after all, she was invisible, wasn't she?--she watched two people enter. They were the same two from the last vision. The man ranged above average in height with a gangly type of build. He wore skin-tight, glaringly yellow trousers; a purple suit jacket, and a pointy shirt collar that reached up to his ears. The collar, or cravat as was its proper name, was clearly not designed to promote range of motion for the neck.

Alaina cataloged his attire as late eighteenth century/early nineteenth century. And if she remembered her costume history, his apparel identified him as a dandy.

Hmm, this ought to be interesting. She sat down, unseen, on one of the pink chairs to watch the drama unfold.

The man paced in front of the fireplace and ran his fingers through his carefully styled dusky curls. "A--Are you certain you want to go ahead with this pl--plan, my dear? Dash it, it all sounds preposterous to me!" He stopped to look in the mirror and fixed a renegade curl. "Damme, there must be another way!"

A British accent. Nervous, too. Alaina turned her attention to the man's companion. The woman's back was directly in front of her, and although Alaina tried to maneuver around, she couldn't get a clear view of the woman's face. How odd.

Wearing a slinky peignoir trimmed with real fox fur, the woman lovingly fingered a cupid guarding the fireplace. She must've been the Rococo fanatic.

"There is no other way, Derek. Not if we want to be together. You know Saybrooke--he has spies constantly observing me. Surrounding me. I never have a moment to myself. We must be thankful we have this time today."

Her voice vibrated low and seductive, then a slight shudder traveled through the woman's slender frame. "If he ever found out...."

The man, Derek, pulled her to him. "I cannot bear one second away from you. My love! My life!"

As he noisily kissed the woman, Alaina rolled her eyes. Cripes! What kind of British soap opera had she fallen into? Obviously Saybrooke, poor man, was this deceitful woman's husband. Infidelity was, at best, a sordid affair. Mrs. Saybrooke had some sort of plot up her diaphanous sleeve, that much was certain. But what was it and how did it affect Alaina?

The lovers separated and the woman slashed her hand through the air. "Enough of this! I must tell you what I have found out. Madame Reena was difficult to convince, but she has finally agreed to help us--for a price. Indeed, her services run very high. But money is no object!"

Derek made a strangling sound. "No, it is not, my precious. However, what she proposes--"

"Madame Reena is already working on our problem. She says she has found a perfect substitute for me. We shall exchange places and no one will be the wiser."

The man fiddled with his high-necked collar but remained silent. There could be no doubt that Mrs. Saybrooke ran the show. He was just part of the chorus.

She weaved her arm through his. "Think of it, Derek. We will be able to take up our new life in society, unhampered by Saybrooke, that brat, and the disapproving Dowager!"

Pausing, she then struck the palm of her hand with her other fist. "I will never forgive Saybrooke for subjecting me to that ordeal. I had no idea child-bearing was so painful, so...deforming." Her voice shook from the remembrance.

Here was another area where Alaina wasn't in sympathy with the woman. Children were life's true miracles. Her own biological clock ticking, Alaina wasn't certain the select club of motherhood would ever open its door to her. And that was a lack she keenly felt.

Derek went to soothe Mrs. Saybrooke but she avoided him. In a whiny tone, he protested, "But this, what does Reena call it--an enchanted sleep? This is madness! Let us run away together. We can travel. See the world. My friends in Rome say it is lovely this time of year."

Reaching out to take her hand, he kissed it reverently. "You can be mine then. Saybrooke will have to give you a divorce."

The woman pulled away. As she restlessly walked up and down the room's vast length, her face still remained out of Alaina's view.

Derek dropped his hands to his sides as if his courage failed him. "What Reena proposes is much too risky, even if it works. How can we trust her? She is only a peasant--she cannot be reliable."

"Madame Reena has the gift!" Mrs. Saybrooke placed her hands on his shoulders, perhaps to smooth away his fears. She purred, "Reena can do this--she can give us a new life together. Perhaps not in London, but here in England."

After soundly kissing him, the woman said matter-of-fact, "As for running away, leaving our homeland, we have discussed that before. We could never return, the censure of polite society would be too great. I would never be able to hold my head up proudly again. And to live the rest of my life in a foreign land...."

She shook her head. "That would be barbaric. I will never do it!"

The man remained mute.

"Is that how it is to be, then, Derek? So, I shall undergo this exchange by myself. It is the perfect escape for me. You need not accompany me, but I must leave. I cannot bear another day being the wife of that heartless beast!"

Mrs. Saybrooke threw herself down on a crimson divan and proceeded to sob her eyes out.

Good actress, Alaina thought. Good melodrama. Now comes the part in the script when the man kneels by her side and begs forgiveness.

As if on cue, Derek went to the woman's side, albeit clumsily, and offered reassurances of his love. "Never fear, my angel. I will journey with you to whatever demmed place the mystic Reena sends you. And gladly! You will be mine forever!"

Mrs. Saybrooke lifted her bowed head, propped herself up on her elbow and gave him a wavering smile.

Alaina gasped. She finally saw the woman's face. The tear-stained countenance of the woman now hugging the hapless Derek was the very same as her own! Mrs. Saybrooke and Alaina Sawyer could have been twins!

Without warning, inky darkness descended.

* * *

A small group of strangers crowded around Alaina, now propped up against one of the library's marble lions on guard duty. Murmurs of concern hung in the air, contradicting the belief that New Yorkers were an unfriendly bunch.

Smiling weakly at the good Samaritans, she managed to utter, "Thank you, thanks for the help. I'm all right now."

She lied, of course. After this most recent vision, she didn't think she'd ever be all right again.

"Give her room to breathe." Jack broke through the throng and leaned over her. His broad and open face reflected his worry. "Alaina, you should go to the hospital. This is nothing to fool around with. Fainting is serious business."

Removing her woolen gloves, she rubbed her forehead. Fainting. If only that were all that bothered her. No, fainting couldn't explain how she'd stared point-blank at her own face, looking into the same identical dark chestnut eyes ringed with black.

She shuddered. If that didn't frighten a person, she didn't know what would.

Just she and Jack now remained hunkered down on the outside steps. She deeply exhaled, and her frosty breath disappeared into the night. "I appreciate your concern, Jack, but really, I'll be fine. Maybe I need that vacation a little sooner than winter break."

He dug his fingers into his red hair. Her stubbornness must have troubled him. "I dunno, Alaina. Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor?"

"No, a good relaxing bath and a glass of wine should cure what ails me."

An urgent desire to forget about the troublesome twosome, Derek and Mrs. Saybrooke, swept over Alaina. Maybe Monday she'd set up an appointment with a counselor or a psychiatrist. She needed help, no denying that. But not tonight. Tonight she'd pretend none of this happened.

Jack took her arm, and led her down the stairs onto the busy street. Although rush hour traffic had already passed, in addition to holiday lights, Fifth Avenue was still illuminated with wall-to-wall car headlights. Frenzied shoppers and excited sightseers bustled about to view elaborate store displays and the nearby Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

Alaina was interested in none of those things. Her apartment and her bed called out to her like a sea siren to a lost sailor. Home. Thank heavens she could sleep late tomorrow.

"Maybe I should see you to your place? Make sure you get in okay?" Jack wasn't flirting; he was genuinely anxious.

Why oh why couldn't she think of him as boyfriend material? "That's sweet, but it's not necessary. How 'bout if you walk me to the subway?"

Growling, he obviously didn't think much of her peace offering. But he gamely maneuvered a path toward 42nd Street, through the horde of holiday revelers and up toward the subway station. At the entrance, he bent down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. "Give me a call tomorrow, so I'll know you're okay."

After agreeing, she walked down the stairs. Jack really was very nice. Why couldn't she fall in love with him? Why couldn't she allow herself to have a relationship with him or with Roger Farnsley? Or with any man? Why did she always back away?

She slipped her subway token into the turnstile and headed down the ramp. Her head began to ache. Why worry about men and relationships when her very sanity was in doubt? People always complained about the holiday blues, but this was ridiculous.

* * *

Nearly falling asleep in the white, frothy bath, Alaina blew some fragrant bubbles off her chest and reluctantly stood. She couldn't stay in the tub forever. And she also couldn't banish the unholy trio from her thoughts: the drippy Derek, the unfaithful wife, and the mystic Reena.

Toweling dry, Alaina slipped into her floor-length, silky robe and zipped it up, taking care to avoid snagging her dangling gold leaf earrings. For no reason at all, a heavy feeling of dread...alarm...something settled over her.

"Get a grip, kiddo. What are you worried about? It's party time. Christmas is almost here, Dad's flying up for a few days, and Vicki and the boys are coming to visit. Everything's fine. Fine."

Her pep talk didn't work. "Darn, I need a drink."

Alaina poured a glass of peach wine and took a sip. The pinkish liquid filled her with a warm glow. Ahh! Feeling better, she swallowed more. Now fortified, she plopped down on her sectional couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table.

"I do need a short vacation. Where should I go?"

Without looking, she groped under the cushions, then pulled out some travel brochures she'd stashed away. "Let's see. Bermuda? Puerto Rico? Nassau?" Strangely enough, these exotic locales sounded insipid.

She poured more wine. An image of big brown eyes bored into her mind. Her eyes...and yet not hers.

Flinging the pamphlets aside, Alaina stood. "What's wrong with me? Why am I having these visions? What do they mean?"

She downed the remaining liquid but the alcohol did little to solve her problem. Her hands to her temples, she tried to drive away the haunting images. They refused to be dismissed. Even her own bare feet proved ornery; her toes tripped over the fibers of the carpet, making her fall.

"I'm a mess." She sprawled out on the floor with her rose-colored robe bunched up at her knees. "How could I be drunk? I'm never drunk."

After refilling her glass, more wine burned her throat. "I'm never drunk and I never drink alone."

A voice of fast-vanishing reason broke through. Kiddo, you're tipsier than a vibrating top and more alone than in solitary confinement. Face it. You're as drunk as a skunk.

She giggled. "All right, so I am." She could drink if she wanted to. And she wanted to. Nothing wrong about that. Way past the legal age and everything. But, oddly enough, she felt compelled to overindulge. A steady drumming in her veins urged her into intoxication.

Well, why not? No one could've had a weirder day than she had. Tottering over to the coffee table, she jumped when the telephone rang.

"Drat!" Ignoring the phone just set her teeth on edge so she answered it. Less than cordial she snarled, "Who's this?"

A slightly wheezy voice answered her. "'Evening, Alaina."

Good grief, it was Roger Farnsley--her amorous neighbor. Not in the mood for his shenanigans, she contorted her lips. But that was mean of her. So she'd had a bad day--to put it lightly. Why take it out on everyone else?

"Oh, hello, Roger. What's up?" And make it fast, she silently added. Her wine glass was almost empty.

"Alaina, Mother gave me two tickets to the opera for tomorrow and I--"

"Cripes!" Shaking hands caused pinkish liquid to seep through her robe, darken the material, and wet her thigh. "Sorry, Roger. I just spilled some wine." The thought of Mother Farnsley would make anyone's hand shake.

"Well, we haven't seen each other all week, Alaina, and Mother said--"

Alaina could imagine what Mother said. "No, thanks, Roger, I'll pass. I plan to stay in tomorrow and get some rest." Right now she'd kill to get some rest.

"I could come over. I could come over now."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not a good idea. I had a rough day. I...." Picking up the wine bottle, she made a face. "Drat, the bottle's empty." She licked its rim to catch the last drops.

"I'm coming over, Alaina. You don't sound like yourself."

She withheld an hysterical laugh. Of course she didn't sound like herself. She didn't look like herself, either. She looked like Derek's paramour!

Dropping the phone from her ear, she tapped her foot. After a minute, she resumed conversation. "I appreciate the thought, Roger, but I'm fine. I don't need you to come over."

"But--"

"Tell you what. Come tomorrow instead, okay? Around one o'clock." Anything to get rid of him.

"How about earlier? Say eleven?"

He always had to push. No wonder she shied away from relationships. "No! Not before one." Why did her nerves feel stretched to the limit? Why was she acting this way?

She welcomed the pause on the line. Maybe he'd get the hint and hang up.

"You know, Alaina, if you moved in with me, we could be together all the time. Mother says--"

She had to suppress a primal scream. Something was making her blood pressure skyrocket. The man drove her crazy. She didn't need this. Not from Roger--not from anybody. "I can't say it any plainer. I don't want to move in with you. Don't be ridiculous. We hardly know each other." Why couldn't he leave her alone?

His next statement caused her heart to go into arrhythmia.

"Alaina, let's get married."

Married--to Roger! God forbid. Steel bands slowly tightened around her chest. Trapped--she'd be trapped.

That thought also sobered her up. "No way. I'll get married when--"

A vision interrupted her. Her casual, well worn living room dissolved into a chaotic jumble, like television static. Then the scene coalesced. Seated at an immense desk was a dark, handsome man with hair of midnight black.

Wow. Alaina blinked, then blinked again. This man radiated pure, unadulterated sex appeal--from the heavy lock of hair hanging over his high forehead; below to his blazing blue eyes; over to his slightly flared nostrils; across his firm, sensual lips; and down to the tip of his angular, strong jaw. Even his corded neck was a symbol of male virility. He would've made any woman drool.

Dressed similarly to Derek in style but not in garish color, the man's generous mouth twisted in a scowl. He held a letter in his large hand, and didn't seem pleased with its contents, to put it mildly. A savage pulse beat at his temple. He crumpled the paper, then threw it into a fireplace.

Alaina shivered. She sure wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that man's anger.

Before she had a chance to feast upon his magnificent face again, the scene faded. Back in her own living room, she stood shell-shocked, and closed her gaping mouth.

"Alaina? Alaina?"

She stared at the telephone in her hand. At Roger's prompting, she finished her sentence. "I'll get married when...when I feel like it."

She'd never feel like it, but curiously enough, remembering that dark-headed man made her insides tingle. Who was he and what part did he play in this bizarre drama her mind created for her?

Throbbing pain blinded her sight. Time to call it a day. "Listen, Roger, I've got to go. See you tomorrow."

Tomorrow she'd put an end to his late-night phone calls. He was being too possessive and if there was one thing she was certain of, she never wanted to belong to anyone. Besides, Roger was just her neighbor--nothing more.

That mouth-watering, dark-haired man intruded on her thoughts again. Sweet, like forbidden candy.

She smiled. Well, maybe she'd make an exception about belonging to someone, but of course that man, whomever he was, was only in her visions. He wasn't real. Being with him was impossible.

Reaching for another bottle of wine, she suddenly changed her mind about drinking more and headed for the bedroom. Every nerve and every cell in her body demanded that she lie down. Sensations of sleep washed over her. Why was it hard to remain standing? She didn't have a choice about not staying awake. It was as if she wasn't in control of her actions anymore; someone else was in the driver's seat. Her bed beckoned and there was no way she could resist.

Each step she took had a surreal quality to it. Drifting into the bedroom, she lowered herself on top of the covers, unable to even draw them aside. As she dropped onto the fluffy pillow, her head seemed to spin. With all the alcohol she consumed, that wasn't too unusual. At first the revolutions were slow, then they increased to a breakneck speed. An eerie voice intruded. The low drone grew louder to become a horrendous chant.

The last thing Alaina remembered before blacking out were the words, "T'will happen soon...soon. Tonight!"

Chapter Two

Someone used a jackhammer inside Alaina's skull. Pounding through her temples; blasting through the top of her head; hammering at the base--the pain was exquisite.

"My aching brain," she groaned. That'll teach her to overindulge. Her hangover promised to be one heck of a doozie.

From a distance, a voice seemed to chirp. "What did you say, M'lady?"

Alaina froze. No one was supposed to be in her bedroom, least of all a bright-sounding female. She really must've tied one on last night. Should she chance a quick look? Would pink elephants greet her wobbly gaze?

Swallowing her fears, she opened her eyes...then swiftly shut them.

Good heavens, not another vision! Sheer curtains hung from a poster bed, a pudgy cupid grinned down at her, and a ball-and-prism chandelier centered in the room. Although these things didn't belong in her bedroom, she knew where she was. But she was in no mood for Derek and his dearest darling. No way. She'd keep her eyes closed until this grotesque nightmare went away.

"M'lady, what is wrong? You seemed ever so much better. Are you still in pain?"

The woman's voice, while sounding concerned, was maddeningly cheerful--and also British. Alaina wanted to strangle her. Instead, she buried her head under the soft pillow. Maybe she could go back to sleep.

"M'lady?"

This vision insisted on being stubborn, didn't it? Giving way to the inevitable, Alaina came out from under the pillow. She couldn't shut her eyes forever. Sighing, she forced them open. A pretty, young woman dressed in black and white hovered by the bedside. She applied a cool compress to Alaina's throbbing forehead. The fragrance of fresh lavender floated in the air.

"You gave us all quite a turn, M'lady. Why, you have been unconsh...lud, I cannot say the word! You have been asleep since yesterday morn."

To sympathize with Alaina's head pounding, her heart raced in the most alarming way. This morning was not starting out on a very good note--the understatement of the year.

The woman, whose long white apron and longer heavy dress identified her as some sort of maid, fluffed up the bed pillows. The unnatural silence in the room obviously didn't bother her. "A fair pucker everyone has been in, I can tell you, M'lady. Doctor Yates rushed over yesterday noon-time." Her hands on her slim hips, she jutted her rosy lower lip. "But what does he do? He just says to let you sleep. Humph!"

Alaina shifted position in the bed. For a vision or a dream, this young woman was disturbingly real. Slowly reaching out her hand, she touched the maid's fingers.

No. It couldn't be. Alaina touched warm flesh and blood skin. No airy fantasy. A jagged dagger of fear stabbed at her stomach.

The maid patted Alaina's hand. "There, there, everythin' will work out fine. Mayhap the doctor knew best. Your Ladyship's color came back this mornin' and now you are awake."

Turning away from this light-hearted maid, Alaina bit at her lip. Awake, yes, but how in God's name did she get in Mrs. Saybrooke's bedroom? And if Alaina was here, did that mean the other woman traded places and slept in Alaina's bed, smack dab in the middle of Manhattan?

Lady Saybrooke. Nobility--British nobility. Alaina wrinkled her nose. And what had been her words? Oh, yeah--"Madame Reena had said she found a perfect substitute for me. We shall exchange places and no one will be the wiser."

That couldn't be true. No. Impossible! Alaina couldn't have swapped identities against her will. What did Reena do, drug both women then transport them across the Atlantic--overnight?

No, I don't buy that. But this maid thought Alaina was Lady Saybrooke, no denying that. And why did everyone wear clothes straight out of a historical costume book?

The maid let out a squawk, stooped down, then peered intently at Alaina. Not a pleasant sensation to have every pore in one's face scrutinized. Had her skin turned the color of Jack Morrison's moldy bread, or what?

"This cannot be! I do believe too much color came back." Running to one of the windows, the maid inspected the closed pink drapes. "Please believe me, Your Ladyship, the sun never entered M'lady's bedchamber. The drapes have remained shut since M'lady's taken ill. I vow it to be so!"

She fell to her knees, visibly quaking. "Please, Your Ladyship, you mustn't think me backwards in my duty. Haven't I been takin' care of M'lady these past seven years? As sure as my name is Dana, a stray sunbeam had no chance to darken M'lady's skin!"

Dana's distress was pitiful to see. She must've expected to get fired, or something. And all these M'ladys and Your Ladyships sounded like something out of the Middle Ages. Cripes! People still didn't act that way around titles, did they? How positively medieval!

Whether they did or not, Alaina had to calm this poor kid down. Sitting up, she leaned against the gold headrail. "Please...um, Dana, why don't you get up? Don't worry about my, ah, tan. It'll fade."

Alaina's skin tone was the least of her problems. Dana could see her, which meant that unless this was an extremely vivid dream, Alaina had indeed somehow switched places with Lady Saybrooke. Of course she couldn't be certain the other woman had landed in Alaina's bed, but it was a safe assumption, all things considered.

The imp of mischief egged her thoughts on. What did the pampered lady make of Alaina's Spartan apartment? Had Roger kept his word and knocked on her door at one o'clock? What did he think of Lady Rococo and vice versa? Actually, the pompous Roger might fit Mrs. Saybrooke to a tee. Maybe she'd end up wanting to marry him. But then Derek would be there too, wouldn't he?

Alaina groaned. No sense thinking that way, but when she did finally get back, her life would be in a shambles.

Dana tentatively stood up and reapplied the lavender compress. "Why, M'lady! I just now realized you have not had a thin' to eat in two days. I'll have Cook assemble ham and sausage, with your favorite, kippers, and--"

"No, please! Um, just some toast would be great." Fish in the morning was one treat Alaina would pass on.

"And your chocolate, too." Dana obviously took the beverage for granted.

"Sure. Why not?" Alaina closed her eyes. Her head screamed with inner fireworks exploding. But she was missing something. Something she needed to check on. What was it?

Oh, yeah. Just where in blue blazes was Lady Saybrooke's house? But she couldn't ask that question outright. "Dana? One more thing--"

Halfway out the huge mahogany double doors, the maid stopped. Another wary expression covered her sweet face. "Yes, M'lady?"

"Could you bring me a newspaper? I'd like to, ah, catch up on what's been happening."

"Certainly, M'lady." Dana's shoulder sagged with apparent relief. For some reason she acted as if Alaina was going to beat her. "Would you care for The Mornin' Chronicle or The London Gazette?"

London? Good grief! Alaina's stomach twisted. How could she possibly be in England?

"M'lady?"

Alaina shook herself out of her shock. "B-Both, I guess, if that's okay, uh..."I don't think 'okay' will make sense here..."all...right..."

Dana gave a proper little curtsey, but not before Alaina caught a look of puzzlement on the maid's face.

I'm probably not acting in character. Lady Rococo must be a real joy to work for.

Just as Alaina started drifting back to sleep, Dana entered the room, then set down a silver serving tray.

"Thank you, Dana." Alaina eyed the two folded newspapers, but picked up the delicate china cup first. Without thinking, she scraped off the whipped cream generously topping the hot chocolate.

Dana gasped.

Alaina followed the maid's gaze to the spoon dripping with cream. Oh darn! Another boo-boo. Lady Saybrooke must be a fiend about her whipped topping. "Don't mind me, Dana. I'm not quite myself yet." That was putting it mildly.

The maid bobbed her head a few times, reminding Alaina of a wobble doll. "Yes, M'lady. Pardon me for sayin', but I do know how you dote on your whippin' cream. I can tell M'lady is still out of frame."

That was as good an excuse as any. One which she'd be using in the days ahead until she returned to New York. "Thank you for understanding, Dana."

Emboldened, the maid continued, "And your voice, M'lady. You do sound ever so strange. I could ask Biddleton to prepare his mum's special emollient gargle, which, as the butler says, softens the tongue."

Alaina coughed; she couldn't help it. How could she have forgotten about her American accent? Plus her more informal way of talking. She took a sip on the chocolate and almost made a face. Bitter didn't describe it. "I think I'll pass on the gargle, Dana. I'm sure my voice will be back to normal soon."

As soon as I find Lady Saybrooke and drag her back where she belongs!

Setting the teacup in its saucer, Alaina picked up a newspaper. "Well, let's see what's new in the world."

Dana understood it was time for her to leave. She quietly made her way to the double doors, then pirouetted around. "Oh, M'lady, His Lordship's been informed of your condition, but he sent no word on whether to expect him. Biddleton says that since His Lordship is in the village of Fishbourne, his return cannot be at least until tonight."

"Thank you, Dana. Um, you may go now." Collapsing with relief against the pillows when the maid finally closed the door, Alaina was alone. She'd finally have some time to figure what she should do next before Lord Saybrooke, most likely that handsome hunk, came back to his house.

If, in fact, he was the man from her vision. But what would he say when he found out his wife had escaped from her gilded cage?

Alaina chuckled out loud. Having had a preview of his temper, she guessed he'd tan the woman's Rococo hide!

But none of these domestic matters were her concern. Hopefully, she'd be able to hightail it back to her own apartment and pronto.

She flipped over the newspaper to read the top headline. "Spa Fields Riot Pre-planned!" Skimming the column, she went on to read how a riot on December 2 at Spa Fields, north of London, had engulfed most of the city.

Alaina smoothed down the paper's crinkled surface against the bed covers. Funny, she didn't remember hearing about a riot. She continued reading. Something about a large group of men going to a peaceful meeting with the express intent to riot.

So she was definitely in London, then. Or in England. Same thing. But the article was worded so strangely, almost antiquated in its usage. She glanced up at the masthead. The Morning Chronicle shouted out its own name. And the date was December 13, 18--

Alaina's heart stopped. There, in black and white, was the number 1818.

Whoa! Wait a minute. She riffled through the rest of the paper. Sure enough, 1818 was stamped on each page.

A buzzing sensation zapped up and down her veins, while her heart now pounded out an urgent SOS. This couldn't be happening. This was some kind of joke. A joke in extremely bad taste. She grabbed the other paper to check the date. The London Gazette also glared at her: December 13, 1818.

God in heaven! Could it possibly be true? Gulping down shallow breaths of air, she scrambled over to a window and flung aside the drapes to look outside. A carriage, of the horse-drawn type, waited upon a gravel pathway. In the distance, two more old-fashioned coaches lumbered away from the house.

It was true, then? Really, really true? As the old saying went: truth was stranger than fiction. For better or for worse, she had somehow been transplanted back to the early nineteenth century.

Hysterical giggles enveloped her and she slid down to the floor to rest her head on her knees. "I wanted a vacation," she gasped through sobs of tear-stained laughter, "but not back in the time of the English Regency!"

* * *

As Ann Landers was so fond of saying, "When life hands you a lemon, make lemonade." An opportunity of the most unusual kind presented itself to Alaina and she wasn't about to sit and bemoan her fate.

And what an unusual fate it was. Evidently she and "Her Ladyship" had exchanged places. Of course Alaina couldn't be certain that her apartment now contained Lady Saybrooke, but it was reasonable to assume that the difficult woman had also awakened in a strange bed.

That thought sparked a million questions. How was the woman reacting to this switch? To modern day life? And what had happened yesterday when Roger knocked on her apartment door? Would Lady Rococo even know how to open it? Would she try to assume Alaina's identity?

No! Alaina shook her head. She couldn't afford to think about what was going on in her own time, with all the awful ramifications. The first order of business was to find Madame Reena and get her to unswitch the switch.

Pacing up and down the pink and gold bedroom, Alaina eyed its sumptuous decorations with distaste. On the wall next to her were two gilded pink couches or settees flanking a magnificent fireplace. A huge tapestry hung over the fireplace and covered the width of the room. More chubby cupids and nymphs, of course.

These mythological figures only fueled her desire to track down Madame Reena. But Alaina had to be careful, for from what she'd heard from Lady Saybrooke's lips, the mystic had pulled a fast one on her.

And me.

That was a depressing thought. But, given enough money and jewels, Reena would be persuaded. At least that was what Lady Saybrooke had implied.

"So, the best way to accomplish my goal is to impersonate Lady Rococo." Alaina stepped in front of the room's gold-framed cheval mirror. Her rosy robe certainly wasn't in character with the Regency mistress of the house. Too slinky and, of course, there was the tell-tale anachronism: the zipper.

Slipping out of the robe, she glanced around the room looking for someplace to hide it. A petite satinwood writing table next to the window boasted of many small compartments. Perfect! Who'd look in a desk for a robe? She scrunched it up and stuffed it into a drawer.

That done, she had to find something to wear. Walking around au natural wasn't exactly Lady Saybrooke's style either.

The closet wasn't hard to locate. Inside, gowns of all colors sparkled and shimmered in the waning daylight.

"Wow. Which one to choose? I'll close my eyes and...voilà!"

A low-bosomed, provocative gown seductively winked at Alaina. "Ho, not this one!"

She tried again and picked a plain muslin high-neck gown with a bright pink sash and a ruffled collar. "More my style--a nice, respectable school-marm."

Buttoning all the tiny buttons in the back was a trick, but finally she finished. But now for the real headache. Ferreting out Madame Reena didn't really pose a problem, but how would she handle Lord Saybrooke? Alaina might be able to fool Dana, but a husband would know his own wife.

She couldn't tell him the truth. That much was certain. She'd sound crazy. But the truth was crazy. And, given the way the two of them felt about each other, he might welcome the chance to lock his wife away--stash her in the attic, or send her to an institution.

Not that Alaina would ordinarily object, but in this case, the wife was her.

No, she had to play her new role very carefully.

Dana walked into the bedroom, causing Alaina to jump, almost guiltily. Didn't anyone knock around here?

"M'lady! Why, I never! Who dressed Your Ladyship for dinner? The other chambermaids all know 'tis my job," Dana exclaimed with hurt in her voice. Her lower lip trembled. "M'lady should never have allowed it."

Alaina sighed. Another faux pas. She curved her arm around the little maid's shoulders to soothe ruffled feathers. But maybe that was another wrong move, for Dana's eyes grew as wide as saucers. "Don't worry about it, Dana. I just got tired of wearing my robe, that's all."

"But M'lady, I have never seen that robe--"

Of course the maid hadn't. Alaina spoke quickly to bury the topic. "Something I picked up someplace. I forget where. Am I late for dinner?"

"M'lady jests! As if I would be so remiss!" Dana then eyed Alaina's dress with bewilderment. "Is M'lady certain about wearin' that mornin' dress tonight? 'Tis not quite the thing for dinner. What with the chance His Lordship might be arrivin'."

Now that was a sobering thought. Lord Saybrooke--Lady Rococo's husband. Would Alaina's trial by fire begin so soon?

"I, um, want to dress simply, since I'm still a bit under the weather."

Dana then dropped to her knees and examined the gown's hem. "Lud! Of all the--This gown only reaches as far as the ankle! Your Ladyship, please believe me, I do not understand how this happened."

So, I must be taller than Lady Saybrooke. Alaina had to think fast. "Maybe it shrunk in the wash," she said lamely. "Or perhaps I've grown." Might as well say that. After all, shrinkage couldn't explain the length of all the other gowns in the wardrobe. "Never mind, Dana. We'll fix it later."

The maid wasn't happy but she held her tongue and steered Alaina to a vanity chair. "Such goings on, M'lady. But, here, 'tis time to fix M'lady's locks."

Having her hair brushed was relaxing; Alaina closed her eyes to enjoy the movements.

"M'lady's hair has grown so. There is hardly enough short locks to make the curls. 'Tis a shame M'lady will not let anyone but Monsieur Philippe cut it. Only the Lord above knows when His Lordship will allow M'lady to go back to London."

Dana gasped at her inadvertent mention of an obviously tender subject. "Oh, I beg Your Ladyship's pardon. I did not mean to brin' up M'lady's banishment from London and cause you distress."

Alaina wrestled with that tidbit of news. With London off limits, hopefully Madame Reena was close by.

"But, M'lady, don't pay me no mind. I will arrange these curls famously," Dana added proudly.

The result of the maid's hairdressing was tight rings of curls framing Alaina's face with the remaining hair pulled back into a soft chignon. Alaina rose from the vanity chair to gaze into the cheval mirror. An image of a conservatively dressed young Regency woman reflected back. Alaina stared at her transformation. She grinned. She'd have to remember this look for her next Halloween party!

"'Tis time for dinner, M'lady. Cook prepared a special feast for you tonight." Dana almost hopped on one foot with her impatience lest her mistress be late.

Alaina twirled around, liking the sensation of petticoats rustling about her legs. Now that she was dressed for the part, she needed to learn the lay of the land, so to speak. "Come help me to the dining room, Dana. I still feel a little weak."

Dana was more than happy to oblige. With this subterfuge, Alaina mapped out the way to her destination.

Chapter Three

Lord Saybrooke never showed for dinner. Inexplicably, Alaina's relief soon turned to disappointment. After all, the man from her visions was one of a kind. He'd given her pause about the state of matrimony, and that was unusual in itself.

Back in the bedroom, she shrugged away her fidgets. She had enough to worry about without getting starry-eyed over Mr. One Hundred Percent Prime Beef. Not the least of which was being stranded--albeit temporarily, back in the past.

"M'lady!" From out of nowhere, Dana rushed at her, preventing Alaina from attempting to unbutton her gown. "I am here to serve you, Your Ladyship. Truly, M'lady cannot mean to prepare for bed without me."

Alaina sighed. And she'd thought she was alone. As a pliant doll, she stood and allowed the maid to fuss over her. But maybe this was her chance to ferret out some information. "Dana, I was just wondering, do you know of a woman named Madame Reena?" Fingers and toes crossed, Alaina glanced at the little maid.

Dana wrinkled her small forehead, intent on stripping Alaina down to the bare essentials. "No, I cannot say as I do, M'lady. Mayhap Biddleton has heard of her. Or mayhap Mrs. Hendly."

"Mrs. Hendly?" And who is she?

"Why, certainly, M'lady. If anyone knows what's what and who's who, 'tis the housekeeper."

Hair brushed until it sparkled and dressed in a filmy peignoir, Alaina smiled at Dana for this valuable tidbit. "Heavens, I look too fine to go to bed."

A yawn fought its way to the surface and Alaina stretched her arms up to the ceiling to give full expression to it. "But sleep refuses to be denied. All in all, it's been a very peculiar day."

Dana curtsied, then pulled back the down comforter covering Lady Rococo's bed. "As you say, M'lady. I'll go get M'lady's chocolate--"

"Don't bother, Dana, unless you want some for yourself." Ignoring the maid's squeak of surprise, Alaina continued, "Right now, all I need is between these covers."

And what covers they were. Soft as a cloud and more cozy than lamb's wool, she snuggled into the sheets as waves of delight washed over her.

She might have already been dreaming when she heard a tiny voice murmuring through the ear muffs of sleep.

"Well, I'll be," came the angelic tones. "If the angry tigress who rants and raves at everyone and everythin' hasn't just gone and turned into a purrin' kitten!"

* * *

Finding Mrs. Hendly the next morning wasn't a problem. In fact, the housekeeper burst into the bedroom loaded down with enough breakfast for three people.

"Pardon me, M'lady, for interrupting your morning rest. However, Dana and Biddleton say M'lady's changed for the better and I do need your help."

Alaina sat up in the bed and wiped the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. No use in pretending she was back where she belonged--as her dream had implied; her bottom hadn't moved an inch from Lady Rococo's comfortable mattress.

Smelling rich, delicious food that would undoubtedly add calories just by inhaling, Alaina took stock of the lean, middle-aged woman hovering over her. "Good morning, Mrs. Hendly. Thanks for the breakfast." She avoided the cup of hot chocolate to pick up a pot of tea. "How may I help you?"

"Ooh, I vow I didn't put much credit in Dana's words, but goodness gracious! If you aren't a different person, begging M'lady's pardon."

Alaina hid her smile behind the china cup. You can't begin to know how different!

Mrs. Hendly tucked a stray strand of grey-laced hair back into her white cotton cap. "That's none of my never mind, M'lady. Leastways, I'm glad M'lady's feeling more the thing." With a kind of internal anguish, she twisted the bottom of her heavy linen apron. "'Tis these Christmas preparations that's got me in a tizzy. What with the Saybrooke Hall Holiday Fête just around the corner, and the staff down two scullery maids, three footmen, plus a chambermaid, I was wondering if M'lady could spare Dana for a few hours?"

As Alaina nibbled on a biscuit, she mulled on that tidbit of news. Saybrooke Hall Holiday Fête. Good heavens, that would be an excruciating formal event she'd give anything to miss.

"M'lady?"

"Ah, sorry, Mrs. Hendly. My mind wandered. Yes, of course Dana can help you. And me too. I'd rather be busy than...."

Than dwell on my peculiar fate.

"Why, M'lady! 'Tis a wonderful idea. Mayhap M'lady would care to make the kissing bough?"

Kissing bough? Suggestive, that. Alaina shrugged. Doing anything was better than twiddling her thumbs. "I'm game, Mrs. Hendly. As soon as I'm dressed, you can show me how to make it."

The housekeeper curtsied then bustled to the door, her chains of keys hanging from her waist swinging behind her.

"Oh, Mrs. Hendly," Alaina called out to the woman. How could she have forgotten to ask that most important question? "Do you happen to know anything about a Madame Reena?"

Mrs. Hendly vigorously shook her head. "No, indeed, M'lady. There's nary a female in these parts that goes by that name. None in Hambledon that I'm aware of."

Hambledon must be the closest town, wherever that is. Drat. This is going to be harder than I thought.

"If I may be so bold, M'lady, who is Madame Reena?"

Alaina wasn't about to give the unvarnished truth. "I've heard she's something of a healer. Since my, um, illness, I have a small problem that she can help me with."

The housekeeper's eyes widened but she knew her place and didn't inquire what that small problem was.

A big sigh escaped Alaina's lips. "Well, keep your ears open for me, just in case."

Mrs. Hendly laughed. "M'lady has such a colorful way of talking." She curtsied again and left the room.

With a crisp linen napkin, Alaina wiped her lips. What little appetite she'd had, fled. While it was much too soon to give up hope, she could admit to a sinking of her spirits. But then again, despite what the housekeeper said, maybe someone in town knew of Reena.

If Lady Saybrooke found the mystic, then surely Alaina could. Thus cheered, she began to look forward to celebrating Christmas--Regency style.

To order or learn more!