Traveler by L.E. DeLano (book suggestions .txt) 📕

I smile widely at myself now, taking it all in. I turn as far around as I can and crane my neck to see myself from the back. I look amazing! I wish I could take a picture of this, I really do.

I make my way over to the open window, and my senses register the sound of seagulls as I approach. I look out over the water and down at the docks off to the right. My house sits up on a small hill, overlooking it all, and it is spectacular. The ships at the dock are unlike anything I’ve seen before, bearing massive metallic sails that still manage to ripple and billow with the wind. A few are made of wood, but the rest are metal, sleek and shiny, with scrollwork figureheads and grand murals painted on the sides. It’s like I’ve landed in some kind of steampunk reality.

I dash across the room, throw open the door, and push my way out into the hallway, nearly tripping on my skirts. I’d better slow down until I get used to this. Maybe I should go back and change into something easier to move in?

No, better not. Other me had a reason for putting this getup on. I’d better stick to her plan or people might get suspicious.

I grab the banister in one hand and pick up my skirts with the other as I slowly make my way down the winding staircase. It isn’t until I step out the front door that I realize I live in a lighthouse. I stare up at it in awe. It’s whitewashed and red-trimmed, and the windows around the light gleam in the bright afternoon sunshine. I’m walking backward as I stare up at it, and give a violent start when I run smack into somebody.

“Easy there, my girl,” says my father. “You tear that dress, and your mother will buy you another the color of dun.”

“Oh, I couldn’t bear it,” I say, grinning mischievously. I am the apple of my father’s eye. His darling girl. And I know it. He wouldn’t have me seen in anything but the smartest clothes.

“I’m off to the docks,” I tell him. I want to get a closer look at the amazing ships, but memory tells me that Daddy doesn’t exactly like me wandering the docks.

“Mother said there was shipment of spices coming in today, and some perfumed oils,” I improvise, pulling from a thread of memory.

“Don’t be long,” my father says sternly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time down at the docks. People will begin to talk.” I answer with an indulgent smile. He worries too much.

My fiancé won’t care a fig if I’m seen at the docks. My dowry will see to that.

Whoa. I’m engaged. His name is Boyce Hadley, and he’s the son of a shipping tycoon here in New Devonshire. They’re a respectable family but have recently found themselves a bit cash-strapped. My dowry will get them back on even footing again and elevate me into society, far above my current position as lighthouse keeper’s daughter.

I search my brain, pulling the rest of the details together.

My mother is the sole heiress to her father’s fortune due to the untimely passing of her elder brother five years before her father died. She married for love, never caring much about society. She and my father run the lighthouse because they enjoy it. My brother will be taking over someday.

And I will be marrying Boyce, in eight weeks’ time, because it’s what I’m supposed to do.

Wait … where in the world is New Devonshire? The UK? I pull from my memories here, and it starts flowing in. America never challenged the British. There was no Revolutionary War. We are part of the kingdom of Britain, and if my fuzzy memory is correct, New Devonshire is somewhere on the coast of what I know as South Carolina.

I’m nearly overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells. High overhead, I can see a dirigible passing over, and I’m so excited to see it and the ships, I have to remind myself to slow down so I don’t trip in these heels.

I make my way down the sandy pathway to the edge of the dock, stepping carefully and picking up my skirts in my fist so they won’t catch any rough edges or nails on the boards. I make it about halfway down the dock when I see a familiar ship. The gangplank is extended, so I step carefully on and walk up it, reaching out for the bowline to steady myself as I step onto the deck. My skirt catches on the back of my heel, so I bend over, shaking it to pull it free. Just as I start to straighten up, I’m spun around and fall right into Finn’s arms.

And he laughs as his lips come down upon mine.

15

The Other Finn

Finn’s mouth is warm and his hands slide around my waist, pulling me in closer. He’s moving his lips expertly on mine, giving me a series of soft, sucking kisses that deepen into something longer as his arms tighten around me.

“You’re late,” he murmurs against my lips, between kisses.

“Ummm…” I don’t know what to say, but I’m also not sure I want to stop kissing him.

“Did your father suspect?” he asks. I pull back, looking at him curiously. He’d said father differently.

“Jessa? Is something wrong, love?”

I open my mouth and close it again, shaking my head. “You sound kind of … Irish.”

“Well, how d’you expect me to sound?” he asks, confused.

“I—I don’t know. I guess the Irish is fine.” Actually, it was sexy and it made my stomach flutter, is what I really want to say to him, but maybe it’s just the aftermath of those kisses.

I glance around. “Love the ship.”

“Well, I would hope so. It’ll be your home soon enough.”

“But I’m en—” I break off as the rest of the memories fill my head. I’m not marrying Boyce. I’m running