Tangled In Time

Between Two Worlds

The next morning, I awoke to a soft, rhythmic tapping on my bedroom door. With a yawn and a stretch, I called out, "Come in."

Sophie entered, wearing a warm smile. "Good morning, Miss. I mean, Felicity."

"Good morning, Sophie," I replied, sitting up in bed. "Did you manage to catch any of the party last night?"

"I was there for the clean-up, Miss Felicity," Sophie said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Everyone appeared to be having a splendid time. Charlotte dragged Mr. Blake to the dance floor a few times." She giggled, but there was something in her expression—a tightness in her smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Jealousy pricked at me when Charlotte's name came up. "Ah, yes, Charlotte. She seemed... pleasant," I said, struggling to find a kinder word.

Sophie hesitated, glancing toward the door as if to ensure no one could overhear. Her hands smoothed the already neat curtains, her movements slow and deliberate. "She can be... well, she has her moments, but not with everyone," she said carefully, her tone light but her meaning clear. "She doesn't much care for those she feels are... beneath her."

"Has she ever treated you poorly?" I asked, curiosity overriding my usual restraint.

Sophie's hand stilled on the curtain for a moment before she resumed, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "There was one time, Miss, when I accidentally spilled tea near her shoes. She wasn't pleased. But it's nothing, really." She hesitated, then added, "She's always very charming when Mr. Blake is around." Her words were cautious, but the flicker of unease in her eyes spoke volumes.

It didn't surprise me, though hearing it from Sophie made me feel a pang of protectiveness toward her. If Charlotte could treat someone as sweet as Sophie poorly, what else was she capable of?

I shifted the focus away from the party, saying, "Well, enough about that. I should start getting ready for the day. Would you mind helping me choose an outfit?"

Sophie's expression brightened instantly, and she beamed as she helped me select a cream cricket jumper and black trousers. She artfully arranged my hair into a ponytail, securing it with a black bow as a finishing touch. "Breakfast is being served now, Miss Felicity. Mr. Blake mentioned he would meet you in the dining room," she informed me as I left my bedroom, thanking her for her assistance.

Descending the grand staircase, I entered the dining room, where Blake was already seated at the table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint sweetness of jam and butter on warm toast. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting golden patterns across the gleaming tableware. Blake, engrossed in a newspaper, looked up at my entrance.

He smiled, the expression slow to form, as though he'd been lost in thought moments before. Standing, he courteously pulled out a chair for me. "Good morning," he said as I took my seat. "How did you sleep?"

His tone was polite but distant, and I couldn't help but sense a subtle shift in his demeanour. "Very well, thank you," I replied, trying to match his formality.

The dining table was laden with an impressive breakfast spread. A basket of warm croissants sat at the centre, their flaky layers catching the morning light. Next to it, a wooden board held an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, their earthy aroma mingling with the sweetness of freshly sliced fruit—orange segments, ripe strawberries, and melon wedges glistening with juice. A plate of toast rested beside small pots of honey, jam, and butter, while steam rose steadily from two polished coffee pots.

I couldn't hide my amazement as I took in the spread. "This is quite the feast. Is breakfast always like this?" I asked, reaching for a croissant.

Blake shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Not always. You never know what you might fancy, so it's best to have a bit of everything."