CHAPTER ONE A Leap Through Time

PROLOGUE Later, Lily Thompson stopped her wiping her hands on her jeans as thin sunlight filtered through the attic window and mingling with the dust particles. The lady who was a professional historian and a university lecturer experienced a ripple of adrenaline rush through her body as she cast a glance at the wealth of historical items that were all around her. This was the attic belonging to her grandmother and had become hers after the unyielding yet affectionate woman expired a year ago. Lily started the process of putting order where chaos reigned in her heart with sorrow and expectation. That is when she saw it – a beautiful mirror resting in a majestic four-poster, its frame made of a dark wood and decorated with delicate floral patterns and enigmatic inscriptions. And as she drew near, entranced, Lily didn’t know why, but she felt that this mirror was no ordinary piece of furniture. Her fingers ran over the patterns, and she swam in a dizzy spin. The last thing that was visible to her was a surprised look of her face and then everything went off instantly. Lily Thompson threw her eyes around and felt dizzy when she attempted to get a clear picture of her environment. In its place, there was a room that was as sophisticated and majestic as a palace; the room looked like it belonged to a different world. Thick, colorful rugs covered the wooden floor; the walls and seats were decorated with colorful cloth, many of which were rich in amazing patterns; and the room smelled strongly of beeswax and lavender. “What in the world?” Lily said, moments later, that she was trying to get up from the carpet and get into a sitting position. One day, she accidentally saw herself in a large, gilded mirror on the other side of the room and ran. The comfortable jeans and the T-shirt she was wearing were gone, along with her modern appearance, and instead, she was standing in the middle of the room wearing a strapless dress of Victorian-age blue silk, a tightly laced corset, and multiple petticoats. Making sure that she was seeing everything with her historian's brain, Lily noted everything visible in the room and her outfit. The furniture, the fabrics, and the very air she breathed all pointed to one impossible conclusion: She found herself in the middle of the 19th century, as if time had traveled back into the era. She murmured, ‘This can’t be real, and then she proceeded to pinch her arm to confirm whether she was dreaming or not. The painful jolt that ran throbbing down my spine told me it was not a nightmare after all. Lily’s thoughts whirled, completely overwhelmed and trying to figure out what was going on. The mirror in her grandmother’s attic could have been more than just a piece of furniture that has aged with time. Before she could think of a proper response, she heard footsteps coming closer to them; a cold feeling of uneasiness ran through her. Lily tried to remember where she could sit, or maybe an explanation of why she was there was still possible, but that was not going to happen. She opened the door wide, and a fairly well-built man with black hair and striking blue eyes stood before her. “Oh, there you are,” he said, his baritone informing her that he was relieved to see her. “I was starting to get lost as to where you went, Miss Thompson.” Lily blinks in confusion. Not only was he somehow ahead, but this stranger seemed to know her name. "I'm sorry, but who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "And how do you know my name?" The man's face creased with worry. "My dear Miss Thompson, are you all right? I am Alexander Harrington, the owner of this property. We have seen each other for days." Lily's mind wandered. She had no recollection of meeting this man or spending any time with him during this time. Could it be that he not only travels through time but has somehow been replaced by another version of himself? "I'm... I'm afraid I'm feeling a little dizzy," Lily managed to say, picking up no explanation that wouldn't make her sound completely insane. "Maybe I got sick." Lord Harrington's face paled. "Honestly, the excitement of the past few days must have taken a terrible toll. Please allow me to accompany you into the drawing room for some tea. It might help clear your head." Grateful for a moment of respite, Lily nodded and took his hand. As they walked down the grand hallways of what she now understood as the grand manor house, Lily’s storyteller sensibilities came through again, and she drank in everything—the artwork on the walls, the intricate carvings, the gleaming wooden floors under her feet. It was a repository of history, more vivid and authentic than any textbook or museum could ever hope to capture. They enter a beautiful drawing room where a young woman with flaming red hair is sitting by the window, reading. He looked up as they entered, his green eyes shining with curiosity. "Alexander, is this your friend you were telling me about?" he asked, putting down his book and rising to greet them. "Of course it is," replied Lord Harrington. "Miss Lily Thompson, I present my sister, Miss Emily Harrington. Emily, this is Miss Thompson, the American lady I spoke of." Emily took Lily's hand in hers and rushed forward. "Oh, how wonderful it is to meet you at last! I look forward so much to seeing you. Alexander hasn't said anything else since you arrived." Lily smiled, warming the young woman's enthusiasm despite her confusion. "Nice to meet you, Miss Harrington. I hope you'll forgive me, but today I'm a little confused." "Oh, you poor dear," Emily said, guiding Lily to the comfortable settee. "You need to rest. Shall I call for tea?" While Emily was busy planning refreshments, Lily’s mind raced. She was an American in Victorian England and apparently knew these people, but she had no recollection of how she got here. ` The mystery of the mirror in her grandmother's ceiling seemed to run back a lifetime and was inextricably linked to her present situation. Lord Harrington sat across from her, his blue eyes a mixture of worry and something else—something that caused Lily's heart to quiver unexpectedly.  "Miss Thompson," he said softly. "I hope you know you can. Talk to us freely.  If there's anything that bothers you, we're here to help." Lily took a deep breath, weighing her options. Should she tell them the truth about where, or when, she’s from? Will they believe her and think she’s crazy? Seeing Alexander's serious expression and feeling the warmth of Emily's genuine concern, Lily made up her mind. These people, despite being everybody else for themselves, seemed trustworthy. And to get through this impossible situation, she would need an ally. "Lord Harrington, Miss Harrington," she began, her voice more composed than she felt. "I have a really interesting story to share with you," she said. "I assure you that this is a fact, even though I'm not sure if you will accept it as real with me." Lily braced herself for what was about to transpire as the tea arrived and Emily proceeded to pour. She was going to challenge everything these individuals thought they understood about her and the world. Despite her dread, Lily experienced a hint of pleasure as she saw Mom appear in the other room, adorned in remnants of a bygone era she had only ever read about in literature. She became a living history, sharing a more personal firsthand experience with it than no other historian had ever experienced. Whatever arrived later, she was aware that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Lily took a deep breath and started telling her story, noticing how her new friends' expressions changed from mild curiosity to shock. She recognized what had been going on in her grandmother's attic, talking about the elaborate mirror and the unusual feeling she had when she touched it. Her Victorian companions felt both fascinated and terrified by her definition of herself as of the year 2024. Lily saw the struggle in Emily and Alexander's eyes as she spoke; their desire to believe her story was at odds with its apparent impossibility. She presented a picture of a historian that was so different from theirs that it may have been from another planet as she talked about her life as a historian and college instructor. Lily said, "I know this sounds remarkable," with a mix of amazement and desperation in her voice. "But every word is real, I promise you. I have no idea how or why I ended up here, but I need your help to comprehend what has happened and... to find a route home." There was a long silence as her words hung in the air. Emily and Alexander looked at each other, having a silent conversation between them. Alexander finally bowed to her, his face earnest but unfriendly. "Miss Thompson, Lily," he addressed her by name for the first time, "I have to concede that your story has some validity." A world of horses and machines that moves with you is time travel. It's challenging to comprehend. However..." His gaze grew wide as he examined her features.  He was taking a break. “But I still have faith in you. You have an unquestionably genuine gaze." With pleasure, Emily nodded. "Well, I do agree with you! Everything is quite thrilling, including all the things you must have discovered and learned. "Lily experienced a sigh of relief. They had faith in her. These two, from a different period, were prepared to believe her improbable tale. She said, "Thank you," in a very emotional voice. "You have no idea what your faith means to me." Reaching out, Alexander grabs Lily's hand in his. She shuddered at his touch, a connection that felt unreal only a day before. With seriousness, he continued, "We'll help you, Lily. Whatever happens, together we will unravel this mystery and find a way to return to your time—if that's what you want." Lily experienced an odd mix of anxiety and hope as he said this. Even though she was out of time and far from everyone, she felt warm inside when she saw new friends like Emily and Alexander, who welcomed her right away. Whatever the difficulties, threats, or shocks this world of Victoriana held, Lily was certain that her life would never be the same and that the journey had only just begun.