Echoes of Time

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The air was warm and heavy, filled with the murmur of conversation and the elegant strains of a violin quartet. Elara’s pulse quickened as she glanced around the grand ballroom, taking in every glittering detail. The chandelier overhead seemed to shimmer with an unnatural brightness, casting golden light over the sea of swirling gowns and crisp tailcoats. It was a scene straight out of a history book–except she wasn’t reading. She was living it.

She was here. In a foreign and ancient world.

She gave herself a once over, her hands trembling as she smoothened the fabric of her gown, a delicate shade of ivory adorned with emerald embroidery. The details were perfect, down to the subtle weight of the gown and the pinch of her slippers. However, she had no memory of how she’d come to wear it. The historian in her marvelled at the authenticity, but the woman in her wanted to bolt.

Elara closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. “This can’t be real,” she murmured, but the murmurs of the crowd around her begged to differ.

A laughing couple brushed past her, and she startled, taking a hasty step back. The sudden movement sent her spinning into an older woman carrying a glass of wine.

“Careful, Lady Elara,” the woman chided gently, steadying her arm. “One might think you’ve never been to a ball before.”

Elara stammered an apology, heat rising to her cheeks. Lady Elara. They know me. Who am I supposed to be?

The crowd pressed closer, the music swelled, and Elara felt like the room was closing in on her. She had to get out.

Without a second thought, she turned on her heel and darted for the edge of the room. Her gown swished around her legs as she slipped through the nearest doorway into a quieter corridor. The sudden silence was a relief, but her breath still came in panicked bursts.

Where am I? How is this happening? A million thoughts ran through her head. One minute she was with Sarah in a museum and another she is in a strange world with unfamiliar faces.

She wandered down the hallway, her hand brushing against the cool wall to steady herself. Her gaze caught on a portrait hanging to her left, and she froze, taking the site in. It depicted a family—two regal parents seated in the center, a son standing beside his father, and a daughter with blonde curls and bright, knowing eyes. Eyes that mirrored her own. The lady in the picture looked exactly like her.

Beneath the portrait, a plaque read: "The Bennett Family of Norwood, 1813."

The air rushed out of her lungs as she connected the dots. “I’m a Lady? In the Regency era. Lady Elara Bennett.” She gave a mock laugh, in a bid to comprehend her situation. “This can’t be real. This is a cruel joke.” She muttered.

Her thoughts spiralled as she stepped back from the portrait, fresh wave of dizziness hitting her. Turning a corner, she collided with what felt like a solid brick wall. A warm, human brick wall.

“Good heavens!” came a sharp, deep voice.

Elara stumbled, her hands brushing against a firm chest before she was caught by a strong grip on her arm. Her heart raced as she looked up—and froze.

The man before her had a commanding presence, his sharp, dark eyes was framed by unruly black hair. His tailored coat fit perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders, and the look he gave her was one of equal parts curiosity and annoyance. Even in her befuddled state, she knew this man was someone who held power. His aura was honourable and indisputably charming.

“Lady Elara,” he said, his voice cutting and formal. “Do you often flee ballrooms in such haste, or is tonight a special occasion? One would think you’re running away from scandal.”

Elara blinked, her mind scrambling for a response. But before she could speak, another voice interrupted.

“Julian, do try not to frighten her,” said a man who appeared beside him, his sandy hair and mischievous grin a stark contrast to Julian’s brooding demeanor. He looked at Elara with warmth and familiarity. “Sister, are you running from the prospect of dancing, or has someone spilled claret on your dress again?”

Sister. The word struck her like a bell. This man was her supposed Regency-era brother. She had recognised him from the portrait of earlier but had no recollection whatsoever of his name and the young brooding man next to him.

“Colin, you spoil her too much.” The dark haired man muttered. “That’s not good for her.”

Elara blinked at the young man and her supposed brother whose name she had just learnt to be Colin. They both seem to know her all too well and she afford for them to notice her rather odd behaviour.

“I, um, just needed air,” Elara stammered, trying to mimic the poise she’d seen in period dramas while hoping they wouldn’t be keen enough to notice her slip. “The crowd was overwhelming.”

Colin chuckled. “Fair enough. Balls can be a bit much, even for you.” He gestured to the dark-haired man. “Though I think you’ve met your match in Lord Grim himself—Julian Montrose, the Duke of Ashborne.”

The Duke. Elara’s heart skipped a beat. Julian gave a small bow, though his eyes remained sceptical.

“You seem… different tonight,” Julian said, his eyes slightly narrowed at her. “Almost as though you’ve forgotten yourself.”

Elara’s pulse quickened. Was he onto her? She summoned every ounce of courage and tilted her chin up. “Well, perhaps I’ve decided to keep you guessing, Your Grace. It wouldn’t do to become predictable.”

Julian’s lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his stern façade. “A dangerous game, Lady Elara.”

“She loves games,” Colin interjected with a grin, clapping Julian on the shoulder. “Now, come along, sister. If we linger too long, people will think you’ve eloped with Ashborne.”

Elara forced a laugh and let Colin guide her back toward the ballroom, though her mind raced with questions. Julian followed, his gaze heavy on her back.

As they re-entered the ballroom, Elara caught sight of a young woman in a lavender gown gliding toward Julian. The woman’s smile was beautiful but calculated, her eyes flicking briefly to Elara with faint disdain.

“Elara,” Colin whispered conspiratorially, leaning close, “that’s Eloise Pembroke, the lady I told you about.”

The lady you told me about? Elara thought. She had no idea what he was talking about. Heck, she had no idea why she was in the 18th century in a fundraising ball.

Upon seeing the confusion on Elara’s face, Colin shook his head with a small smile. “Julian’s betrothed.” He explained. “Or at least, that’s what her father hopes.”

Elara gave a slow nod as though she understood all of what he had said, turning back to look at the young lady. Eloise. The name sent a shiver down Elara’s spine. This was the woman Julian was expected to marry, and already, Elara could sense the tension in his posture as she approached.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She didn’t know how she had ended up here, but one thing was clear: she was in the middle of a story far more complicated than she’d imagined.

And somehow, she was already part of it.