Taming Wilde (16 page)

****

"Miss? Miss, are you all right? Can you hear me?" A man's strangely British voice
sliced through my blissful state of darkness.

Through a thick fog of sleep, I began to stir, but my body was reluctant to fully
wake. After a moment, I heard the same man speak again. Awareness began to seep through
me, and I noticed the tickle of grass on my arms and the shuffling of feet nearby.

"Miss? Dannberry, I think I saw her stir! Do you think she's alive?"

"Of course she's alive! She's breathing. But you might have addled her wits with your
insane driving. Didn't I tell you to go slowly? Far too many people out at this ungodly
hour."

Cold fabric wiped my face, and I opened my eyes slowly, unable to focus for a moment.
Finally my gaze settled on an older man's face.

"Miss, can you speak at all?" the man asked in a crisp British accent.

Slowly my wits came back, and I studied his features, noticing his hat and odd hairstyle.
His sideburns were long and overgrown. He'd desperately tried to hide his balding
forehead with a few curls. Aside from his odd style, though, his eyes were kind and
full of concern. He reminded me of my grandfather for some reason — probably his age
— and so I found my voice.

"Yes, I'm all right, I think. What happened?"

The older gentleman exchanged a look with the second man I'd just noticed. "American,
eh?" His smile was genuine, and his eyes were similar to the first man's. I assumed
that they were brothers.

"What's a colonial like you doing here in London at this time? Here for the Season,
I wager."

"Hush, Dannberry. Let the poor gel gather her wits a bit more."

London?
No… I lived in Washington. My confusion must have registered on my face.

"Don't worry about Dannberry there. He's the crazy one. And he's the reason you're
flat on your back with a spooked horse somewhere. We didn't see you fall, but my brother
here was trying out his new horseflesh and wasn't paying attention to the road. We
almost ran you over. We're assuming you fell from your horse when it spooked from
my brother's curricle barreling down the lane. What's your name, miss?"

"Jocelyn," I managed, trying to figure out why I'd be riding a horse in the first
place. And then, belatedly, why these men had been riding in a curricle at all.
What was going on? And why did they think we were in London of all places?

"Oh, miss, we wouldn't call you by your Christian name. What's your last name, dearie?"

"Westin."

Both of their eyes widened in shock. "
You're
Jocelyn Westin?" the first one clarified.

"Yes." I drew out the word.

After an exchanged look, they quickly stepped back, and the second one began to pummel
his brother with his gloves. "Idiot! Fool! They'll have our hides!
Westin!
You almost bloo—" He glanced at me and didn't finish his word. With a disgusted snort,
he turned again to his brother. "You could have killed a Westin!"

"Excuse me," I said, trying to stop the violence. If I weren't so bewildered, I would
have laughed. To see a grandfather try to whip another with his gloves was amusing.
"I seem to be a bit confused. Could you answer some questions for me, please?"

"Noddcock, idiot…" he mumbled before turning his attention to me. "Sorry, Miss Westin,
how can I be of service?" As he spoke, Dannberry got up from his crouch and dusted
himself off warily, watching his brother.

"Yes, well, if you could help me up, I'd be very thankful." Turning white, the man
quickly reached over and helped me stand.

"I'm so sorry, miss. I didn't want to have you move in case you were injured."

"Of course, thank you." With careful movements I stood. When I straightened my posture,
I realized I didn't feel like I'd fallen off a horse. I actually felt fine. I reached
down to dust myself off and noticed I wasn't wearing my usual jeans and T-shirt, but
the dress I had found in the attic, with the matching gloves. Slowly I reached up
to touch my hair and found no ponytail, but the same messy bun I had hastily thrown
together…along with a peacock feather headband.

What in the world is going on?
I lifted my skirt to check out my footwear and noticed the two Dannberry brothers
studiously avoided looking at my ankles. A cold chill went down my spine.

"What year is it?" I heard myself whisper, unable to make my voice louder.

Dannberry gave his brother a strange look, but answered politely. "Eighteen-fourteen,
Miss Westin, in the lovely month of May."

With a gasp, I felt everything click in my brain — Nanna's letter, her words, and
my dress. London. It was all too much. The world spun, and I heard another man's voice,
this one younger and smoother, calling my name with concern evident in his tone. Strong
arms enveloped me as the world suddenly turned black.