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Jaci found it impossible to dress herself, something she'd been doing for more than twenty years. Finally, she pulled the cord to summon Molly. As the maid fastened what seemed like a hundred buttons up the back of the high necked dress, she chatted gaily about the household staff, and how glad they all were for Jaci to be part of them.

She didn't know where Molly got her information, but didn't correct her. No sense borrowing trouble when she didn't have a plan.

She slowly descended the stairs, feeling quite different than she had the night she tried to leave. Her long skirt kept tangling in her legs, and the slipper-like shoes Molly had laced around her feet were at least a size too large. Her hand ached from gripping the banister. She wondered when blue jeans had been invented and whether the nearest store might have any.

"Good morning, miss." A stately man bowed low as she approached the closed door. "Mister Westbrooke is expecting you."

"You must be Selkirk." She recalled only one male name in the list Molly had recited earlier.

"Yes, Miss Eastman, that would be me." He neither looked at her nor smiled.

She had the feeling the man didn't want her here to disrupt the smooth flow of his household. Well, it wasn't like she wanted to be here, either.

Without another word, Selkirk opened the library door and ushered her inside. When the door softly clicked behind her, she felt she had been thrown to the lions.

"Please, have a seat," Nicholas spoke as he rose, moving to assist her to a chair directly in front of his desk. His library was bright, several floor to ceiling windows filtering the light and breaking the monotony of the book-lined sections. A huge, unlit fireplace took up most of one wall.

"Well, Miss Eastman, what are your qualifications?" He wasted no time, his attitude now brusque as he questioned her. He returned to his seat behind a huge desk, fingers steepled in front of a frowning mouth.

As she had eaten breakfast, Jaci had come to the conclusion that she was stuck in this place, and with this family, at least for the time being. To that end, she must rely on their good graces. At least she hadn't bounced back into slavery days, or fallen into some sheik's harem.

"I can cook," she stated, wondering if recipe books had been invented yet.

He laughed, and for a moment Jaci thought the interview concluded before it even began. She breathed a sigh of relief when he explained.

"You would have to fight Delta for the privilege, and I doubt you could win. She's been here much, much longer than you and I combined. Perhaps you could be Amanda's governess."

"Governess? I'm not a baby-sitter."

"There's much more to the task, such as teaching proper etiquette and manners."

She shook her head, knowing she didn't have the patience. "I'm not a teacher."

"What, pray tell, are you then?"

She straightened her spine and proudly tilted her chin at the hauteur in his voice. "I'm a professional photographer. My pictures have been in the world's leading magazines--
Harpers, Life
..." Her voice trailed off as he lifted a brow, apparently not impressed with her credentials.

The man behind the desk smiled in sympathy, shaking his head. "Perhaps it was the blow to your head; perhaps some other ailment you haven't told us about? I'm sorry, but I've never heard of such a thing as a female photographer."

Her posture collapsed as she realized she had no place in this world. Nothing in her life- -not her college degree or professional achievements--prepared her to live in a world over one hundred thirty-four years prior to her actual existence. She bit her lip as tears formed.
Damn, she had to quit crying at every little thing.
She stared out the window to keep from blinking.

"Can you read and write?"

"Of course I can!" She snapped her head around, for a moment forgetting to be contrite. This man seemed to take great delight in making her mad.

"Can yo play the piano, embroider, run a household and set a menu—all those things it would be required to teach a young lady?"

"No." This time, her answer was barely audible.

"No? What have you done with your life? How is it a woman of your years doesn't know proper decorum for a lady?"

Jaci's cheeks burned, but with anger rather than embarrassment. "I spent my time working and taking care of my sister. You have no call to talk to me that way."

"Ah, a sister. And where is this sister, now, may I ask? No, don't bother answering." He waved aside her attempt to speak. "She is no doubt married and being a good wife, unlike you, who seems to have no direction, much less education to bare the responsibilities of a family."

She wanted to hit him. What an overbearing, pompous ass. She stood, slapping palms down on his desk and leaning forward, almost nose to nose with him. "Listen carefully, Mister Westbrooke. My sister and I were orphaned when I was eighteen. I raised her, went to college nights, and worked during the day. I had no time for frivolous
ladylike
activities such as piano and dance, much less the money."

"College? Work? And why, pray tell, aren't you doing it now? How did you end up in my exercise yard, dressed like a stable boy?"

"Because somehow I was...I'm not suppose to be..." How could she make him understand she didn't belong here; that she
didn't want to be here?
He'd never believe her story; she didn't believe it herself. Even when she woke each day still in the wrong century, she kept telling herself it was all a bad dream.

With a furious toss of her head, she turned towards the door. There was no use trying to explain. It would be better if she found a job in the nearest town and learned to support herself until she could locate a way back to her own time.

"Wait." His voice softened, the harsh tones he had used earlier gone.

She turned back to find he had moved around the desk and now leaned casually against it. The sunlight glinted off dark hair that he hadn't tied back today. It curled boyishly about his tan face, and Jaci ached in places she had suppressed years before.

Standing with his hands in his pockets and a perfect GQ smile on his face, he could make the cover of any fashion magazine. He had some indefinable mystique which would have captured the hearts of thousands of women everywhere. Her stomach tightened.

"For some reason, Amanda's governess has left with no notice at all. It is impossible for me to conduct my business and try to supervise an energetic five-year-old. For the time being, since it appears you have no where else to go?" The question hung in the air until she nodded in agreement. "You might as well stay here and make yourself useful as Amanda's companion. Perhaps by the time she's ready for the more ladylike pursuits, I'll have found a replacement. In the meantime, you can help her with routine instruction."

His insinuations galled her. She knew more about life than she was sure he wanted Amanda to learn, but since she was temporarily stranded, it seemed prudent to acknowledge her place and hold her tongue. She wondered spitefully what he would think if she instructed Amanda about women's lib, space flight, and Woodstock.

She forced herself to return his smile, keeping her gaze on his face. She didn't want to scrutinize the tight cut of his trousers or the well-defined shape of his chest beneath the coat he wore. Every time her gaze wandered over him, butterflies attacked her stomach. Anxious to get away from his piercing gaze and her startling reaction to him, she cleared her voice. "Well, if my job is to look after Amanda, I'd better get started. Where is she?" She crossed her arms against her stomach to settle the butterflies.

"I believe you'll find her in the kitchen. She usually sneaks away there. Her ambition of late is to make cookies as wonderful as Delta's." Nicholas smiled as he spoke.

Her gaze again fell to his lips and she recalled how he kissed her with searing intensity. Another hot flash coursed through her. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. "Yes, well, it doesn't hurt for a girl to know how to cook."

"Why? While Amanda must learn what type of sauce to have served with meat or fish, she will most certainly never have to actually prepare the food herself."

How many times would she say the wrong thing, Jaci wondered. How could she possibly know all the differences between his century and her own?

She tried to remain vague. "There are some things, Mister Westbrooke, that all women should know."

Miss Eastman's green eyes sparked fire as she turned and left the library, and Nicholas congratulated himself on a job well done. It wouldn't do to have her moping around day after day. Even though he could have easily hired a governess, and one with quality credentials, he felt she and Amanda would deal well with each other. Regardless of what he had said, he recognized in her all the qualities of a lady. His brusque manner had been to help her shake off the doldrums, not because he didn't credit her with any wisdom. Hopefully, his instincts would prove correct.

* * *

Jaci found it a lot tougher adapting than Nicholas implied. Of course, he thought she was simply transplanted from Texas, not from another century. By careful observation as the weeks passed, she managed to learn the basics of how to address people and walk without tripping over her skirts. The real trouble came from trying to do too much. She had been raised to share responsibilities. Since her parents' deaths, she did what needed to be done without thinking much about it. She couldn't believe helping out would get her in trouble, but it had that very morning.

Molly came upstairs as Jaci dusted the pictures hanging in the hallway. The maid had an absolute fit, tearfully spouting nonsense that because Jaci was doing her job, she'd soon be out on the streets. Before Jaci could stop her, Molly fled down the stairs, hollering for Mrs. Jeffrey.

In less than fifteen minutes, Selkirk appeared to advise her that Mister Westbrooke would see her in the study--immediately. She swore she saw a smile on the old butler's face for the first time since her arrival. She bet he enjoyed walking her to the proverbial gallows.

"Don't you like your position here at Wildwood, Miss Eastman?" Westbrooke asked the minute she stepped through the doorway.

She decided if he was going to chastise her, no one else need hear. Turning, she poked Selkirk in the chest with a finger causing him to step backward and then closed the door in his face, giving him a smirk as she did so.

"Yes, I do enjoy taking care of Amanda. Why do you ask?" She could hold her own with any male she knew, and long ago had decided not to take any guff, but her situation had changed rapidly. She didn't care for Selkirk's, or Westbrooke's, chauvinistic attitude. At the same time, she couldn't get herself dismissed from this house. Regardless of whether she wanted it or not, Wildwood was her anchor in a storm of uncertainty.

"If you like taking care of Amanda, why are you interfering with Molly's position?"

"Interfering? I was helping." She couldn't believe she would get raked over the coals for doing more than her assigned duties.

"Miss Eastman, this household runs quite efficiently because everyone knows what they are to do, and each person performs his or her duty." He must have read something in her expression, because his voice softened. "I realize you are new, but I can't have Mrs. Jeffrey coming to me every few hours with a complaint. It will help me immensely if you take care of Amanda, and let the rest of the staff take care of Wildwood. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," she answered and turned to leave, knowing she had been dismissed. As impossible as it seemed, she would have to try harder not to work. For starters, she went to the kitchen for a late morning cup of coffee.

* * *

Several days later, Nicholas requested her presence on a trip into Philadelphia.

"We won't be gone long, and I thought you might like to purchase a few things."

She guiltily glanced down at one of the few dresses she had found in the wardrobe. She had never properly thanked Nicholas for them, and that made her feel all the more guilty. She hated depending on anyone. She had learned to take care of herself and her sister, and found it difficult to ask for anything. Now, here she was, without a job or money except for this man's generosity.

"Thank you, but I'll stay here."

"Miss Eastman, it wasn't a request." As though he read her mind, he added, "Besides, you have wages coming that should be sufficient to purchase what you need."

Jaci wondered if she had earned enough to buy a ticket back home.

She quickly changed to a dark brown skirt and white blouse, topping it with a snug cropped jacket. She was brushing her hair when Amanda came bounding in.

"Can't I go with you and Uncle Nicholas?" she asked, her words lisping together because of a slight cold. Jaci placed a hand on her forehead. Though her face was flushed, she showed no signs of becoming feverish.

Jaci hated it when they begged, for she was a soft touch. She knelt beside the little girl, still wrapped in her long flannel nightgown and furry slippers.

"If you stay here and take care of Delta and Mrs. Jeffrey, and Selkirk, I promise to bring you a treat."

"Promise?"

Jaci kissed her cheek and rose, smoothing a hand down the long skirt. She kept telling herself she was playing dress up, as she had originally accused Amanda of doing. Otherwise, panic threatened to swallow her whole. Everything from the clothes to the tooth powder she used in the morning kept reminding her that she didn't belong. It was the same world, only a hundred years prior to her existence, yet it might as well be a different planet.

"Only a hundred years...." she mused aloud, scoffing at her logic as she descended the stairs, Amanda racing before her to extort another surprise from her uncle for having to stay home.

When the young footman opened the door, Jaci cautiously walked out into the sunshine. She held her breath in suspense, perhaps hoping she would see her familiar Dallas. Wishing apparently didn't work, and she slowly descended the steps towards a large black carriage.