Taming Wilde (Waltzing with the Wallflower #3)(42)

Halfway through the day, I glanced around the room at the chaotic mess. The extra boxes were already used up and packed in the back of my car, yet I still had numerous piles of clothes, shoes, books and nick-knacks that remained to be stored or donated. Only small patches of the pale blue carpet were visible under the mess. With a dubious glance to the stairs, I paused and closed my eyes, hating my next task. The extra boxes I needed were in the attic, the very place I avoided at all costs. Visions of hairy spiders and old webs made me shiver and goosebump.

After a moment, I rose up off my knees. They ached in protest at my change in position and I paused, waiting for them to support my weight. I stepped over a pile of shoes and made my way to the stairs.

On the second floor I passed my room, Nanna's old room, and then the bathroom, till I reached the linen closet. I reached up and grabbed the rope that pulled down the ladder into the attic.

I took a step backwards so I wouldn't get knocked out and waited for the ladder to slide to the floor. The wooden rungs of the ladder creaked as I began to climb. As I slowly ascended, my eyes darted about, checking every shadow. I waved my hand in front of me to displace any cobwebs, and my skin crawled as I felt one stick to my finger. I jolted my hand back and wiped it on my shirt. A deep fortifying breath later, I stepped onto the landing and searched the rafters for lurking eight-legged enemies. When none were spotted, I relaxed slightly and slowly made my way to the corner where the extra boxes sat. I grabbed one and flipped it over, searching for movement. After I had repeated the process for the entire stack, I tossed them down to the hallway below.

Dusting my hands, I looked around at the upper room. Dim sunlight came through the dirty window. My recent movement had caused a whirlwind of dust motes to dance in the light. Their graceful movements stole my attention for a moment. I turned watching them and an old trunk caught my eye.

I walked over to where it rested, placed my hands over the canvas-covered wood, and lifted the latches. Inside was a beautiful ball gown, probably one of Nanna's old ones. But I didn't remember her ever wearing it during our pretend balls. It must have been really special or maybe just forgotten. When I pulled it out, I gasped in recognition. I had seen this gown before, not on Nanna, but on me. It was the gown from my dream. The pale sage-green silk shimmered in the light as I ran my fingers over its softness. I also found gloves and a peacock-feather headband in the trunk, along with a small note.

For Jocelyn, with love, Nanna.

I carried the dress, accessories, and note down the ladder and went into my room to get a better look. It was even more beautiful than it had seemed in my dream. I wanted to try it on, but I didn't dare yet. I was too sweaty and dusty from sorting through everything. Carefully I laid it on my bed in anticipation of trying it on later, once I was clean.

With newfound motivation to finish, I ran downstairs with the boxes and got to work. After delivering a load of boxes to the local thrift store, I stopped by my favorite Greek restaurant for takeout and ate alone in the kitchen. I tossed the wrapper away and grabbed my cell as I headed to the stairs. The promise of a shower quickened my steps. I couldn't wait to be free of the dust that had accumulated on my skin.

As I put on my bare essentials, I walked over to the bed and ran my fingers over the gown. I picked up the dress and pulled it over my head, finding a great deal of difficulty in fastening the buttons on the back. Once I had managed to hold the dress in place, I picked up the gloves and put them on. Belatedly, I realized that if I wanted to wear the peacock headband I'd need to take down my hair from the sloppy ponytail. So off came the gloves once again, and I pinned my hair into a soft bun at the nape of my neck.

Then I placed the feathered band on my head and gasped at the beautiful way it accented the colors in my dress. I pulled on the kid gloves once more. Gazing into the mirror, I twisted slowly, examining the perfect fit. The whole outfit was beyond beautiful, and I wished I had a place to wear it. Closing my eyes, I remembered my dream and the blue eyes and honeyed voice of the handsome stranger…



****



"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.