Lost in La La Land(27)

“Sell this old house and move somewhere far enough away that he can’t reach us.” I shrugged.

“He’s got friends everywhere. This is our safest bet. We’re out of state.” Her eyes narrowed. “If he comes here, it’ll be to take the machine away. He blames it. We need a backup plan for that.”

“Okay.” I nodded, taking my first bite of wrinkled apple.

She was right.

As she entered the machine after breakfast, I sat in the dark room, going through my old emails by candlelight.

When I found the one I was searching for, I read it over and over, saddened by the fact I was even considering it.

But this was a new place for me, a new low and high. It was something I had to consider. The changes in my landscape and expectations forced it. I pressed reply as a knot in my stomach twisted.

Answering the email was easier than I thought it would be, but sending was harder. My finger lingered over the “send” button, unable to press down. I was betraying myself. I was a traitor to my beliefs. I was selling my soul to the devil.

Lana stirred slightly, her heart rate lowering. I reached up and touched her arm, settling her with human contact. Without thinking, I exhaled and pressed “send.”

It was what it was now. I’d agreed to a sale.

I was no longer the person to blame for the machine or the person who would be robbed when the mayor came to take it.

The technology would go to the highest bidder, and we would be left with the machines we currently had.

It was a solid deal, one I’d never considered before this moment.





Chapter Twelve


The carriage ride to Captain Wentworth’s home, an addition to the story I wasn't sure if I’d created with my lies or if we’d written it into the storyline, was new to me. We should have gone as a group to Lyme, but we were going to Wentworth’s, a home I didn't know he had.

Mary sighed and readjusted herself for a fifth time in a matter of minutes. “We must be nearing the house.” She leaned forward and glanced out the window.

Cramped in the small carriage with the sound of horse hooves around us, I glanced at Mary and the Musgrove girls. “Why didn't Anne come?” She hadn’t offered me an explanation, just that she didn't feel up to traveling. To hear her complain was odd and obviously a lie to avoid coming. I didn't know who had created it, Anne or me.

“She was unwell. Said she didn't feel up for the trip. She’s off to Bath in the morning to see Father and Elizabeth.” Mary yawned. “I’d say she made the right choice. This must be twice the distance to Bath.” She switched around again, visibly annoying Louisa.

“You could have also stayed behind, Mary,” Louisa muttered.

“You know very well I can’t be without Charles. It’s awful for my condition to have to shift for myself, alone in that cottage.” She said “cottage” like it was the worst word in the world.

I smiled gently at Henrietta and then glanced back out the window. The murky stains made seeing through difficult, but I noticed all the glass in England was like that.

Men shouting interrupted our awkward silence, making us all glance out the window on the far side from me, seeing what I had to assume was our destination. It was massive and creepy, clearly based on Sir Walter Scott’s home in Abbotsford. I blinked and wondered if we’d added this to the story. The house was a favorite of mine. It was odd that this would be the house Wentworth lived in.

But my memories of the architecture of code and creation felt a million miles away, locked behind a haze I couldn’t muddle my way through. The fact this was a story was becoming jumbled.

I made a mental note of that and hoped I would recall it all when I woke.

The moment the carriage stopped, we all groaned climbing out. My butt had never hurt this much in my life. My hips and joints ached as I forced my way from the tiny opening. I swear the carriage got smaller the farther we went.

The Gothic estate was better up close than anything I’d ever imagined. My eyes danced across the brick fa?ade and staircases leading to gardens and patios.

We were surrounded by lush gardens filled with purple heather and carved hedges in strange shapes. One side of the shrubbery had a long path where the stone wall had repeating arches with vines crawling up them. The staircases did as well. But the home was clean and neat. Everything was tidy, even the gravel. Benches lined the pathways, providing places for ladies to sit and enjoy the sun.

The uneven rooftop was trimmed with small turrets and gables.

Wentworth beamed as he dismounted and turned to us. “Are you ready for the ride to be over?” he asked us, jokingly. He’d been in an increasingly better mood for days.

The four of us ladies nodded, ready to be as far away from the carriage as humanly possible.

He offered Louisa and Henrietta his arm as Charles offered Mary his. I strolled behind them, gaping like a fool who had never seen a magnificent home before.

As we entered the large archway leading through the front door, my breath hitched.

“Are you ill from the ride?” Charles glanced back at me.

“No. I just adore architecture.”

“I see.” He chuckled.

I wasn't behaving as a lady of stature would, but I was stunned by even the entrance. As a Gothic revival of the late eighteen hundreds, the house couldn't be more wrongly placed in the story, but I didn't care. It was beautiful.